‘The whites give us much that is powerful medicine. They give us much that makes us strong, and we need to be strong to keep our land. The Blackfeet and the Sioux would like it very much if we were weak.’
‘Fagh!’ Tall Bull spat. ‘Our land has been ours since we took it from the Snakes, and it will go on being ours for as long as the sun endures.’
‘Would that it were so,’ Spotted Wolf said wistfully. He shifted to regard the two women and the pack horses. The boy was farther back, half dozing in the heat of the day.
Buffalo Calf Woman said to him, ‘I want a mirror on a stick like the one Basket Woman has.’
Spotted Wolf grinned. His wife had an envious streak that never ceased to amuse him. Whenever she saw something the other women had that she liked and did not own, she had to have one for herself. ‘A mirror on a stick might cost two furs.’
‘We have plenty,’ Buffalo Calf Woman said, letting him know that whatever else they traded for, the mirror on a stick was the item she wanted most.
‘Very well. A mirror on a stick for you and bullets and powder for me and after that whatever we find that we like.’
Tall Bull waited until they stopped talking to say, ‘Mirror on a stick?’
‘You have not seen Basket Woman’s?’ Spotted Wolf asked.
‘A warrior does not pay attention to what women do.’
‘A husband should, if only so he can be a better husband,’ Spotted Wolf said. ‘The mirror on a stick is in the shape of a face. Glass is on one side, and that shiny metal the whites love so much on the other. Brass, they call it. It has a handle you can hold while you look into the mirror. The women say it is the most wonderful thing.’
‘Women!’ Tall Bull said, and snorted.
‘They have their uses,’ Spotted Wolf said dryly.
‘Yes. They cook and they sew and they cure skins and keep our blankets warm at night,’ Tall Bull allowed. ‘But if your woman is anything like my woman, she tests your patience.’
‘Owl Woman gives you cause to complain?’
‘All women do. They are not practical. They would rather have silly trifles such as a mirror on a stick than something of greater use such as a rifle or a knife.’
‘To them a mirror on a stick is of great use.’
‘For what? Brushing their hair and admiring themselves? You would not catch a warrior being so silly.’
Spotted Wolf, in fact, knew several warriors who were quite fond of admiring themselves, but he did not mention that.
‘Women do so many silly things, it is a wonder we put up with them,’ Tall Bull declared
‘Without them there would be no more Crows.’
‘What are you saying?’ Tall Bull said. ‘Without cow buffalo there would be no more buffalo. Without cow elk there would be no more elk. I admit females have a purpose, but they need not be so silly about it.’
‘Talk to me again when you have lived as long as I have,’ Spotted Wolf told him.
‘I will feel the same then as I do now.’
‘Perhaps,’ Spotted Wolf said, and smiled.
Suddenly hooves drummed and Tangle Hair came trotting past the women. He pointed to the south in great excitement. ‘Look! Look! White men!’
Spotted Wolf frowned. He had been so engrossed in his banter with Tall Bull that he had not been as alert as he should be. He had not spotted the four riders angling to intercept them. That they were white was apparent even from a distance.
‘Do you think they are friendly?’ Tall Bull wondered.
‘I do not see why they should not be,’ Spotted Wolf responded. They were only a few days out of Bent’s Fort, and everyone, white and red, respected the long-held neutrality. That, and there had been no trouble between the Crows and the whites in a number of winters. Still, he put his thumb on the hammer of his rifle, and drew rein. ‘We will wait for them and see what they want.’
Tall Bull followed his example, saying over his shoulder, ‘You women stay behind us. Tangle Hair, stay close to your mother.’
‘But, Father,’ the boy objected. ‘I am almost a warrior. I should be by your side.’
‘You have yet to count coup,’ Tall Bull reminded him. ‘You will stay with your mother.’
The four whites had fanned out and were coming on rapidly. Spotted Wolf was not so sure he liked that. Out of the corner of an eye he noticed Tall Bull nocking an arrow to his bow string. He did not suggest the younger warrior put the arrow back in the quiver.
‘They have rifles,’ Tall Bull mentioned.
‘Whites always have rifles,’ Spotted Wolf said. In and of itself it did not mean anything.
The whites had slowed. Their clothes and their mounts were caked with the dust of many miles. All had greasy hair. Two of them were smiling as if to assure the Crows they were friendly, but there was that about them which filled Spotted Wolf with unease. He thumbed back the hammer on his own rifle.
Tall Bull glanced at him, then held his bow higher so he could unleash a shaft that much faster.
The four whites were approaching at a walk. One had hair the color of the sun. Another was a half-breed, but not a mix of red and white. White and black, Spotted Wolf suspected, although he had only ever met one black man in his entire life, and thus could not be certain. In the middle was a small man whose features made Spotted Wolf think of a ferret. The man raised a hand in greeting.
‘Do you Injuns savvy the white man’s tongue?’
‘I speak little bit,’ Spotted Wolf revealed.
‘What are you? Shoshones?’
Spotted Wolf’s people had another name for that tribe. ‘We not Snakes. We Crows.’
‘You don’t say,’ the ferret-man said. ‘I hear tell your people are almost as friendly as the Snakes or Shoshones or whatever they are.’
‘Whites no hurt us, we no hurt whites.’ Spotted Wolf sought to make it clear. He did not like how the broad one was staring at their pack animals, or how the one with the yellow hair was staring at their women. But then, he had to remember they were white men, and many whites had no manners.
‘That is good to hear,’ the ferret-man said. ‘My name is Bodin, by the way. Might I ask where you’re bound?’
‘We go Bent’s Fort,’ Spotted Wolf said, pointing to the south.
‘We just came from there. Got rid of a wagon and team we did not need.’ Bodin glanced at the pack horses. ‘Those are some mighty fine furs you have there, chief.’
‘I no chief,’ Spotted Wolf said.
‘What kind of furs are they, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘Beaver, bear, fox,’ Spotted Wolf said, and lifted his reins to ride on. He did not like these whites.
‘So you are on your way to do some trading of your own,’ Bodin said. ‘Those furs should fetch a good price.’
‘They good furs.’ Spotted Wolf said.
‘We have never met Crows before,’ Bodin said. ‘Mind if we ride with you a while?’
Spotted Wolf minded very much. But something—a feeling, intuition—warned him that if he refused, it might anger them, and if he angered them, these four might become violent. Hiding his worry, he smiled and said, ‘We happy have you ride a ways.’
‘Good,’ Bodin said. ‘That’s real good.’ He grinned at his companions and nodded. The broad one and the breed reined to the other side, while Bodin and the white man with yellow hair stayed where they were. This put Spotted Wolf’s party between them. ‘Off we go.’
Spotted Wolf kneed his pinto. ‘The whites are riding with us,’ he announced in his own language. ‘Stay calm and do not give offense.’
‘I do not like this,’ Tall Bull declared. ‘I do not like the faces of these four.’
‘Neither do I,’ Spotted Wolf replied. ‘But they are better armed than we are.’
‘They stare at our hides,’ Tall Bull said. ‘They want them for their own.’
‘That could be,’ Spotted Wolf agreed. ‘You watch the two on your side, and I will watch the two on thi
s side. Tangle Hair, you warn us if they try to shoot us in the back. Buffalo Calf Woman and Owl Woman, be ready to ride for your lives if blood is spilled. Forget the furs. Saving yourselves in more important.’
The man called Bodin leaned toward Spotted Wolf. ‘That is an awful lot of jabbering, chief. What are you going on about?’
‘I no chief,’ Spotted Wolf repeated.
‘Sure, sure,’ Bodin said. ‘But what were you just talking about?’
‘About trading we do,’ Spotted Wolf lied for only the second time in his entire life. The first time had been when he had seen but ten winters and used his father’s knife without permission and broke the tip on a rock. The shame of that lie haunted him for many moons.
‘Is that so?’ Bodin said. ‘You must be looking forward to all the things a person could get.’
‘Hides ours,’ Spotted Wolf reminded him.
‘Whites have a saying,’ Bodin said. ‘To the victor go the spoils. Ever hear that one?’
‘Me no hear.’
‘It means that the strong get to take what they want from the weak. Savvy strong and weak, do you?’
Alarm spiked through Spotted Wolf. He should not have let the whites get close to them. Now his wife and his friends were in peril. Unless he could think of something, and quickly, they might lose more than the hides. ‘Me savvy. Five Crows weak. Twenty Crows strong.’
‘What’s that?’ Bodin said. ‘What did you say?’
Spotted Wolf gestured to the north. ‘More Crows with us. More families. More warriors.’
Bodin straightened and gazed long and hard behind them. ‘I don’t see anyone.’
Keeping his voice as calm and casual as he could, Spotted Wolf said, ‘They get late start. Fall behind.’
The man with the yellow hair fidgeted in his saddle. ‘Do you believe him, Bodin? Could there be more of the red devils?’
‘There could be,’ Bodin said, but he did not sound convinced. ‘One of us should ride back and have a look-see.’
‘Nothing doing,’ said he of the yellow hair. ‘They might not be as friendly as this bunch.’
‘I don’t care how many there are,’ the broad one said. ‘They don’t worry me none.’
‘Why take chances we don’t need to?’ asked the mulatto.
Bodin appeared to weigh all their comments, and smiled at Spotted Wolf. ‘I reckon we will push on into the foothills. Thanks for being so hospitable.’ He slowed, and the other whites did the same. Together they wheeled to the west and departed at a gallop.
Tall Bull grunted. ‘They are leaving? Good. I do not know how you persuaded them to go, but I am glad you did.’
Spotted Wolf was glad, too. But he was also troubled. It seemed to him they had fallen for his ruse much too easily. He gazed after them, then announced, ‘We should ride faster.’
Four
The Rocky Mountains were Eden all over again.
Oaks grew close to the lake. Cottonwoods lined the streams that fed the lake from on high. Yellow pine was common. As Evelyn and Degamawaku climbed, the yellow pine was replaced by somber ranks of lodgepole pines, so named because Indians preferred the tall, straight trees for their lodge poles. Higher still grew glittering stands of aspens. In the fall, those stands became spectacular displays of vivid color.
Evelyn loved the aspens then.
As with the trees, the undergrowth changed with the altitude. Buffalo berry grew near the lake. So did a type of bush Evelyn didn’t like because it gave off an odor that reminded her of a skunk. The Indians found a use for it, though, as they did for most everything in the wild. They made baskets from the plant’s shoots and a drink from its berries.
Higher up were a few dogwoods and a plant with pink flowers that Evelyn adored, but for which the whites had no name. There was also a plant that carpeted rocky slopes; its red berries were popular with bears.
A valley so rich with plant life was bound to be rich in animal life. Deer were abundant. Elk, always wary, stayed in deep thickets most of the day, coming out at dusk to forage. On the highest crags dwelled elusive mountain sheep.
Smaller animals were everywhere: ground squirrels, rabbits, pikas, tree squirrels, chipmunks.
Beaver thrived in the streams. Hidden from the outside world in a valley the whites had never discovered and the Indians shunned because they believed it to be bad medicine, the beaver here had not been decimated by trappers. One of Evelyn’s favorite pastimes was to watch them at work or swimming about, and to see them slap their flat tails on the water.
Higher up, an occasional marmot would whistle shrilly at their approach and scamper into its burrow. Once they came on a hole with a large mound of dirt at the entrance, which told Evelyn the occupant was a badger. She saw sign where porcupine had indulged their fondness for bark, and trees with slash marks made by roving black bears. Her father said that bears regularly clawed the same tree again and again, marking their territory, as it were, and letting other bears know they were there.
The valley had been home to a grizzly when they arrived. But it had tried to break into the cabin one night, and her father had been forced to slay it.
The avian contingent flourished. On the lake swam ducks and geese and brants. Grouse lived in the bordering brush. Jays with bristly crests shrieked raucously. Magpies often gathered near the water. Woodpeckers went about their business, seemingly ignoring the rest of the world. Evelyn liked to watch them rove up and down a trunk as they pecked and pecked. She always marveled that they pecked so hard, she could hear them from a hundred yards away.
Evelyn adored the songbirds: the robins that warbled near their cabin, the wrens with their tiny cries, the sparrows that frolicked in playful groups, the solitary juncos. Now and then throughout the year Evelyn would spot a bluebird and be ecstatic. She loved birds with bright coloring, loved tan-agers and grosbeaks and buntings. But the bluebirds were her favorites. Mainly because, when she was little, her father had told her that bluebirds were a good omen.
Today, as Evelyn climbed steadily higher toward the north end of the valley with Dega following, she smiled in delight when she spied a pair of bluebirds. That she should see them now, when she was so wonderfully happy, was fitting. She pointed them out to Dega and he told her what they were called in Nansusequa. In this manner they had been teaching one another.
For all the splendor, Evelyn was aware there were certain types of animals they did not see, and was glad of it. The meat-eaters were usually abroad in force after dark, which was why she planned to be back at the lake and the safety of their dwellings before the sun went down.
It was still an hour shy of noon, by Evelyn’s reckoning, when she shifted in her saddle and suggested they rest a horses a spell.
‘As you want,’ Degamawaku responded, smiling.
Evelyn adored that smile, just as she adored so much about him. She had never met anyone so handsome. Of course, she had never told him that, nor any of her family. It was her little secret. And, too, she was worried that if her brother found out, he would tease her mercilessly.
Drawing rein, Evelyn slid down, her Hawken in her left hand. Around her waist was a leather belt that bulged with two pistols. On her hip hung a knife. She checked that the pistols were snug and moved to a spot where she could see the valley floor, and the lake. The three cabins stood out plain. Over in the trees to the east was the Nansusequa lodge.
‘I am glad your family came here,’ Evelyn remarked. ‘I like them very much.’
‘I much happy you like us,’ Dega said, and inwardly cringed. He knew he had said it wrong. He tried so hard to speak the white tongue as it should be spoken. He was in awe of Evelyn’s mother, who learned languages so quickly and readily, it was almost as if they were already in her head. Winona King had known his family but a short while before she spoke Nansusequa amazingly well. He wished he could be like her, to better impress her daughter.
Evelyn perched on a boulder and placed her rifle across her lap. ‘Do you like it he
re, Dega? Really and truly like it?’
The question caught Dega off-guard. Of course he did. Why would she even ask? Then he remembered that sometimes her questions were not as they seemed, that she might ask about one thing and want to know about another. ‘We all like here. My family—’ he searched for the word he wanted and nearly whooped with joy when he found it, ‘grateful your father let us stay.’
‘You are good people,’ Evelyn said. ‘It is awful what happened to the rest of your tribe.’ She regretted it the instant she said it, for she saw his handsome face cloud with sorrow. ‘I’m sorry. I should not have brought that up.’
‘It be all right,’ Dega said. But it never would. Not as long as he lived. He would never forget that horrible day, never be able to erase from his mind the screams and wails and the blood.
‘It is all right,’ Evelyn said.
‘Sorry?’
‘You asked me to correct your grammar,’ Evelyn reminded him. ‘You should sav is instead of be.’
‘Thank you,’ Dega said, wilting. He had got it wrong again. To change the subject he gestured at the magnificent vista below. ‘Your valley much nice.’ He almost added that so was she.
‘It is your valley, now, too. Yours and your family’s. It’s as much your home as ours.’
Dega could not get over how different she and her family were from the whites of New Albion. The Kings and Shakespeare McNair did not hate them because they were red. Even more incredibly, they had been willing to share the bounty of their valley.
How could his family refuse? They had nowhere else to go. They had lost everyone and everything: their tribe, their lodge, their land. In all the world, they were the last Nansusequa.
Here, they could live unmolested by the outside world. Here, they had friends, the only friends they had. And here was Evelyn. He noticed her staring at him and he coughed and looked away, half afraid she would figure out what he was thinking.
‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘Yes. Why you ask?’
Wilderness Double Edition 27 Page 17