Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

  She glanced up at Red Eagle and blushed. “Please, sit down,” she said.

  He dropped to the ground beside her. She fumbled with her food. “Father says there is still no sign of the buffalo.”

  “Red Quiver says the buffalo do not hear the cry of the warriors. We will move camp again if they do not come soon.”

  “So, when will we find them?” She nibbled at a fried cake.

  “I do not know. Red Quiver says that only the Above Ones have the answer to that. But then, is not all life a mystery, except to the Creator?” whispered Red Eagle, his dark eyes on her.

  Not since that night under the trees had Red Eagle come so close or spoken so earnestly to her. Liza had feared she’d offended him, and she was glad he sought her out tonight. His presence was soothing.

  She turned her attention to his moccasins. They were beautifully crafted. Had a woman or lover made them for him?

  She dropped the fried cake back on her plate. She wasn’t very hungry.

  “Life is full of things we can never understand,” said Red Eagle suddenly, pointing to a tree growing at the bottom of the ravine. “Do you see the wind? The Pikuni believe that wind comes from a great animal that lives in the mountains. He moves his ears backward and forward and the wind blows.”

  Liza smiled. “Do you believe that?”

  “Is it possible?” he said, returning her smile with a wink. He shrugged. “I do not know exactly what I believe. I do know that the world is changing for the Pikuni and the things they have always known are no longer true. But I was not raised with my mother’s people. My mother and I only visited during the summer months when they crossed over to the Sweet Grass Hills.”

  “The Sweet Grass Hills?” whispered Liza. “What a lovely name. It must be a wonderful place.”

  Red Eagle smiled softly and his dark eyes narrowed. “It is a place of great beauty and promise. Plenty of food and sunshine. It is also a place of peace. Each year, the people return to it.”

  “A little piece of heaven?” said Liza. She held her breath. What was heaven really, she wondered, her gaze drawn to Red Eagle’s mouth.

  Red Eagle smiled again, then drew a circle in the dirt with his fingers. The very air around them crackled as if on fire, and his nearness made her senses spin.

  She studied his lean, dark-skinned face. As Indian as he looked, it was hard to remember that he was half-white. Perhaps he had questions about his father’s world. Like her, maybe he was lost between two different worlds—

  The thought startled her. Until this moment, she had never thought of her own Indianness as something real. Looking down at her hands, she wondered if it was real. Did it change anything?

  Carefully she set the rough bark plate on the ground. Everything about the moment seemed to be wrapping itself around her like a blanket: her scattered thoughts, Red Eagle’s voice, his smell, his very presence.

  Oh, what was happening to her?

  Her gaze traveled boldly up and down Red Eagle. He didn’t seem to notice and she realized he’d closed his eyes. Her heart pounded erratically as her eyes found the small soft spot just below his Adam’s apple. It throbbed gently and its very throbbing filled Liza with her own, deep, fluttery ache.

  His eyes opened slowly then, and she cleared her throat, pretending not to have been affected. But his eyes, glittering like obsidian flakes in the long shadows of the evening, seemed to ask a question.

  He said nothing as he moved near. Reaching out, he brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. Her eyes searched his face as the heat from his touch burned her skin.

  Without hesitating, he slid his fingers down the side of her neck, tucking several strands of hair behind her ear. Liza trembled.

  His fingers grew more possessive then, curling around her ear and dropping to her throat. She let her buffalo robe slide off her shoulders, exposing her open neckline, inviting him to look, touch, caress. Slowly he moved his hand over her shoulder and down her arm.

  Red Eagle pulled Liza toward him, drawing her to him as if they were moving through water. Cautiously, curiously, she pressed two fingers to his parted lips.

  She had never known a man. Any kisses she’d experi­enced had been brief and hollow. But Red Eagle’s very nearness was like a brand, and she shivered all over as he stroked her face and chin and neck.

  She couldn’t understand the passion that drove her, but she responded to him eagerly, without embarrassment. Instinctively, she moved both hands over his leather-clad chest. The feel of his muscles and his musky scent aroused her.

  Liza heard her name whispered and she sighed, wonder­ing if he could taste the desire that filled her.

  He whispered something else, but it was in Blackfeet. Haunting and lyrical, she opened her own mouth to speak, to ask what he was saying, but he quickly stopped her words with his fingers. Then, before she understood what was happening, he jumped up and was gone.

  CHAPTER 16

  Early in the morning the entire camp was on the move. But today, instead of the usual chatter and laughter, voices were hushed and children subdued.

  Everyone was worried and Liza was, too.

  Before putting out the last of the fires, the fire carrier had taken out his fire horn, a large buffalo horn with the center burned out. Into this he had slipped a live coal and piece of punky material, then plugged the horn. The punk, Liza learned, would smolder indefinitely, and the fire carrier would feed in more as needed. When camp was set up, he would light the village’s fires.

  Her father now rode one of Crying Wind’s horses. Liza wanted him to ride the travois, afraid that if the horse stum­bled or shied he would be thrown. Red Eagle rode alongside him for several miles and she was grateful that he sensed her concern.

  She walked with Crow Woman as always, but today she wore a new pair of moccasins. They were made with high buck­skin tops and rawhide soles and had been smoked to protect them from moisture. Surprised when Crying Wind’s wife gave them to her, Liza had fondled them for many moments before slipping them on.

  Crow Woman, pleased with her response, smiled and nodded. Liza glanced only a moment at the tattered, hard-­soled shoes she’d worn for weeks before discarding them. The moccasins fit like a fine pair of kid gloves and she could move easily in them. A young girl, perhaps eight or nine, shyly asked for her old shoes, then paraded around in them as if they had been cut from fine cloth.

  Late in the day, the tribe finally halted. Liza’s father was moved to a travois.

  Dismounting, Red Eagle came over to Liza. “You will ride,” he said. “I will walk beside your father.”

  She shook her head. Red Eagle’s black horse was one of Crying Wind’s finest. He had presented it to Red Eagle the night of the celebration. The animal was young and spirited, and Liza feared she could not ride it capably.

  “Are you afraid?” asked Red Eagle, placing his open palm against the horse’s neck.

  Liza bristled. She was still angry that he had left her so abruptly the night before. Confused and hurt, she had spent a restless night trying to quell her emotions. He had given no explanation; indeed, he seemed more cheerful today than he had in a long time.

  “What’s the matter?” teased her father. “You’re an able rider. You haven’t lost your spark, have you?”

  “Of course not.” She glared at him. “Tell him I have always been a competent horsewoman.”

  “You tell him,” he returned jovially.

  “Humph!” she snapped.

  There were no stirrups and the saddle was a simple frame covered with hides. Hoisting herself up, she tried to straddle the horse but fell backward onto the ground.

  Red Eagle chuckled and Liza turned on him. “This is not a proper saddle.”

  He helped her to her feet, then bent over. Pointing to his left shoulder, Liza stepped up and jumped easily onto the horse. The black mare was anxious to be on her way and swung her head impatiently.

  Crow Woman laughed delightedly. “Come!” she cried
.

  Liza laughed then, too, suddenly enjoying being atop a fine horse. It whinnied and pawed nervously, so she pulled on the reins until the horse was quieted. She glanced down at Red Eagle and blushed. His smile was broad and infectious, his pleasure evident in his twinkling eyes.

  “Take her for a run,” he said. He pointed to the handful of adolescent boys waving to her.

  She barely hesitated before putting her moccasined heels into the horse’s flanks. Instantly, the mare broke into a trot.

  Liza rode hard for a hundred yards before easing up, the air lifting her long braids and burning her cheeks. The moment was one of incredible freedom, and she found herself reluctant to turn back to the crawling parade of travois and people. The pack of boys urged her to race back to Red Eagle and the others, but she declined. It was one thing to take the mare at a gallop, quite another to let her race unfettered.

  Liza was still laughing as she returned to Red Eagle and her father. Red Eagle’s nod of approval was almost as thrilling as his touch had been. She blushed and looked about awkwardly.

  Suddenly, however, the horse began to stamp and shake her head nervously. Liza turned in the saddle, just in time to see two riders moving at a hard gallop.

  At first, she didn’t recognize them, but soon she saw the dappled horse and realized that Running Antelope and Little Otter were approaching.

  It was easy to see they brought good news, for they whooped loudly as they cantered up to Crying Wind. Running Antelope drew up alongside her; nodding, his gaze raked over her boldly. His eyes flashed and even his horse trembled in response to his irritability.

  Liza did not waver under his steady gaze but Red Eagle moved quickly. Taking the mare’s head he held it steady, his own dark eyes on Running Antelope.

  Running Antelope grunted and said something to Red Eagle in Blackfeet. Red Eagle held his tongue but his face turned red with repressed anger.

  The tension was muted, however, as the news of buffalo spread quickly through the band. A herd was grazing only a few miles to the east.

  As if a wild prairie fire had been lit, the people set to work. The women unraveled the travois and lodges. The children scampered wildly, imitating the buffalo and the great hunters.

  Jumping off the mare, Liza handed her reins to a young boy who would hobble the spare horses in a ravine nearby. She hurried to join Crow Woman and Come Running as they set up Crying Wind’s painted lodge.

  But it was the hunters that captured Liza’s attention.

  Slipping off their tunics and any ornamentation, the buf­falo hunters discarded everything except their breechclouts. Frame saddles were removed from their best buffalo horses, leaving only simple pads that freed the riders from any con­straints. She watched Running Antelope slip a buffalo hide around the belly of his dappled horse, cinching it down with a buckskin cloth.

  Not every horse was capable of becoming a prized buffa­lo horse. Only those trained with precision could run down a buffalo within a mile or less. A good horse was able to move through a mass of stampeding cows and bulls while the rider communicated with just his knees.

  A war bridle, or rawhide thong, was tied to the horse’s lower jaw and a single rope, often fifteen to twenty feet long, was tied around its neck. The free end of the rope dragged behind the horse so that if the rider fell, he could grab hold of the rope and stop the horse instantly.

  Several hunters were selecting quivers of six or seven arrows while others chose rifles. One brave shoved a handful of bullets into his mouth; Liza had heard tales of warriors who could load their rifles at full speed by spitting bullets into the barrels of their guns. She wondered if it was true.

  The hunters, including Red Eagle, were ready in an amaz­ingly short time. Crying Wind had insisted his nephew ride his buffalo horse. Mounted and ready, Red Eagle was more hand­some than Liza had ever seen him. The oiled muscles of his bronzed legs and bared chest were taut as he held the nervous animal at bay; the animals were every bit as excited as the riders.

  As he turned to join the rest of the hunters, Red Eagle nodded to Liza. She smiled, feeling a thrill of pleasure that he would take the time to acknowledge her. Did he know how magnificent he looked?

  Exhilarated and animated, the hunters fell in line behind Running Antelope and Little Otter who kicked their horses sav­agely and galloped across the open plain. The line of hunters stretched for half a mile and several women trilled with delight as they watched their men depart.

  Meanwhile, the women finished setting up camp. Then, taking up their knives they followed the dust trail left by the men. Some were mounted but most went on foot. Their elation was contagious.

  Liza’s father smiled. “I am glad we’ve finally come across the buffalo. I was beginning to fear we had brought them bad luck.”

  “I didn’t think you believed in luck,” she said.

  “I don’t,” he said. “It’s clear the good Lord shines His light upon these people.”

  “It almost feels like the Fourth of July,” she said. “Give them a few rockets and I’d think I was back in St. Louis!”

  “Follow them,” he broke in, pointing in the direction of the scurrying women.

  “I don’t know. It could get bloody.”

  “I’m sure it will. So what? I would, if I could,” he added, almost wistfully.

  She glanced at her father. He had changed so much, inside and out, that he hardly seemed the same man. His face, though lean, was less pale; his hair, long and loose, hung over his ears. Each day he grew softer, kinder. He laughed over small things, a wonderful, child-like laugh that transformed him instantly. Obviously, something here had brought him peace.

  It didn’t take her long to catch up to the women. She held up her skirts as high as she dared, letting the air blow through her legs. She wished she could cut several inches off the heavy fabric since it dragged at her legs and slowed her down.

  Crossing a rolling expanse of land, she found the women hunched down hiding below a long ridge, waiting with their knives poised. They were giddy with anticipation but held their tongues, shushing one another so that no one moved too quickly.

  The silence persisted a long time until finally, triggered by some invisible movement among the grazing buffalo, the hunters burst into action, spurring their horses and shrieking wildly. The response was incredible, and Liza jumped to her feet to watch. Come Running grinned at her, pointing and waving at the thundering herd.

  Twisting this way and that like a fat, black snake, the line of buffalo wound down and around the ridge, but the snake suddenly snapped like a dry twig. Dust boiled up as animals scattered in small groups, cows bellowing, calves bawling. It was hard to discern man from beast through the heavy brown cloud. Only the sounds of the horses and buffalo, laced with the men’s high-pitched cries, gave clue as to their location.

  The grimy fog moved on and Liza was finally able to dis­tinguish a few of the men’s faces. She searched for Red Eagle but could not spot him. She saw Running Antelope and watched him, transfixed. At full speed, he dropped the reins of his bridle and held a gun to his cheek. Liza couldn’t tell how many bullets he fired but a reddish-brown cow fell to her knees and Running Antelope swerved past her. Quickly he raced after another enraged animal as it thundered across a dry ravine. Suddenly, it, too, staggered and dropped. Running Antelope moved as if he were an extension of his animal. It was an amazing sight.

  The women cheered as other hunters downed more beasts. One young warrior circled a buffalo calf. Pulling his bow back, he drove an arrow into its neck. He pivoted, his horse dropping to its haunches, then shot a second arrow into the calf’s side, just behind the left shoulder. The calf bawled as it fell, a hideous cry.

  Sickened by the sound, Liza turned away momentarily. The herd finally outran the warriors, but across the earth a dozen or more animals lay, some still quivering as they suffocated or bled to death. Then the women were on their feet, their tongues trilling rapidly a high-pitched, frenzied cry.
/>   Crow Woman, spotting Liza, called out, “Come! Come!” Liza followed but felt weak at the sight of such death. The moment they reached the carcasses, the women began to strip the animals of their hides. Several braves had already removed inner organs and, bloody and steaming, ate them eagerly. Liza, still overwhelmed by the smells and sights, felt faint. Just then, Running Antelope, his hand wrapped around a piece of tissue, approached her and grinned. Blood running down his arm, he bit off an enormous chunk.

  She gasped and ran away.

  Before she had gone very far, she vomited.

  CHAPTER 17

  For many days, the camp was alive with activity. Between feasting and celebrating, everyone worked to get the meat cut and dried. Some was pounded into mash and com­bined with chokecherries or sarvis berries, as well as tallow, for pemmican. Flattened into cakes, it could be saved and eaten in winter.

  The hides were stretched and scraped. Some were to be left as rawhide, others worked into buckskin. Many were tanned with the fur left on for bedding and robes, while others were softened just enough for cinches, ropes or lodge skins. Some of the hides were smoked so they remained soft and pli­able. These smoked ones were wrapped around a set of poles propped up like a small tipi. Various roots and barks were burned to color the skins.

  The buckskin would be used for clothing, too, but more for quivers, saddlebags, moccasin soles, and parfleches.

  By the end of the third week, Liza was exhausted. She was amazed by the women’s ability to manufacture so much from animal hides. Crow Woman, speaking through Red Eagle, instructed Liza at every step of transforming the heavy, stinking hides into soft, pliable leather. She had already been intro­duced to tanning deer hides, but these hides required great energy and strength. After scraping the hides, the women had to rub them down with oily mixtures of fat and buffalo brains, first with their hands, then with smooth stones.

  At first, Liza turned her nose up as Crow Woman handed her the slimy mess, but Crow Woman merely clucked her tongue and shook her finger.