Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

  “I am sorry you have refused,” said Stands Down. “She is strong and has a keen mind. She would make an excellent wife. She is also a capable warrior and has learned to use a rifle, as well as the bow. She would make a mighty warrior’s wife.”

  Once more Red Eagle declined. “Please forgive me, Stands Down. I do not refuse because she is not attractive enough. But I must refuse. I hope I do not dishonor her or you, in any way.”

  At first the old warrior did not respond but finally said, “I do not understand. Even if you have a sits-beside-you-wife, Blue Feather would make a good second wife. She is not boast­ful or noisy and I care not for horses or gifts, but,” he shrugged, “I can see that you are sure of your answer. I wish you well on your journey, my friend. Perhaps another young man will come along soon.”

  Red Eagle nodded. “I am sure of it.”

  Stands Down slapped his thigh then, signaling that the conversation had come to an end. Red Eagle stood.

  “Food will be provided you,” said Stands Down. “Take it. It is our gift. And do not worry about Crying Wind. His greatness is well known and we will care for his body.”

  Red Eagle tried hard not to reveal his deep sadness. “Thank you. Both gifts are received with many thanks. I also have a gift for you and your people here. Cans of food and milk for the babies and whoever goes hungry.”

  Stands Down followed him outside. He took one of the parcels Riplinger had packed for Red Eagle. In exchange, he tied on the leather sack of provisions Blue Feather brought him. She then disappeared into the tent without another word.

  “If I pass this way again,” said Red Eagle suddenly, lean­ing close to Stands Down, “and I have not taken a wife, nor Blue Feather a husband, we will talk.”

  Stands Down smiled and Red Eagle was glad he had pleased his host. The two men then exchanged farewells, and Red Eagle mounted his animal, anxious to be on his way.

  ****

  The trail leading north wound along the river. Cole, in the lead, whistled brightly. He led two of the four pack mules. Casting a glance at Schluter, he chuckled.

  “Don’t take it all so damn hard,” he said. “Potter was a problem from the beginning and Edelstein was a coward. Better to get rid of such triflings before we hit any real snags.”

  Schluter found it impossible to speak. The memory of what they’d done haunted him, but he knew better than to reveal that to the lieutenant. No doubt, the man would slice his scalp off next, without batting an eye. The two bloody pieces, one blonde and one brown, hanging from the pack box ahead of him, were a pretty clear warning.

  A warning he took to heart.

  He tried to think of something to say. He looked around at the changing landscape. The area was more wood­ed here, which was nice, but the snow was deeper, harder to move through. They’d been pushing the animals for two days now, stopping only to sleep and eat. But he wasn’t going to complain. He had seen the meanness in Simon Cole, the cruel hardness in his eyes. He’d never known anybody so demonic.

  If only there’d been another way out. Like Cole, he’d grown weary of the monotonous, pitiful conditions at the fort. DeTrobriand was worthless, and most of the men nearly so. If he could just forget the look in Cole’s eyes, and the bloody, empty face of Potter and Edelstein, he could maybe look forward to the money. Maybe, but maybe not.

  He sighed audibly. With the money they got from pawn­ing medicine, whiskey, and the stolen rifles, the two could make a handsome sum. Then, they’d high tail it to California.

  Holding his gloved hand in the air, Cole signaled a stop. Schluter reined in his horse. “What’s up, Lieutenant?” he said, his voice coming out in a thin squeak.

  “Tracks,” said the lieutenant quietly. “Lots of them. Little ones and big ones. I’d say we have us a party of women and children up ahead.” He turned around and grinned. “Keep your eyes wide open. I wouldn’t want us to miss anything so inter­esting.” He laughed then and the sound echoed in the dome of silence that surrounded them. “A man gets lonely out here, doesn’t he, Schluter?” he added.

  Schluter kept his thoughts to himself, grunting a simple ‘uh huh.’ He tapped his horse lightly and fell into line. Immediately, his eyes fell across the scraps of Edelstein and Potter flopping against the packsaddle ahead.

  “God almighty,” he cursed silently, “the man’s crazy. Meaner’n a rattlesnake on a hot skillet.”

  ****

  Liza worried that Mad Horse might find a way to retali­ate against Cut Finger and the others. Having freed her after the encounter in the woods, Cut Finger ordered Mad Horse to leave. Glaring at each of them in turn, he had finally left.

  At first, everyone was relieved.

  After two days of pressing on, however, the group real­ized they had wandered from the trail and found themselves forced to cross a part of the river that was wide and perilous. Rides-a-Horse wanted to turn back and find Mad Horse. Cut Finger staunchly refused, saying they could manage without him.

  The river was wide and the banks steep; in several places craggy bluffs stretched out over the water. There seemed to be no easy crossings anywhere. At the same time, there was no way to be sure it was frozen clear through. Liza could hear the rush of water beneath the iced surface.

  Skunk Cap continued to limp along, but it was Cut Finger who was leading the group now. Sadly, they all grew weaker every day.

  They spent a day deliberating over the best way to cross the water. The children, delighted to have some freedom, ran up and down the banks digging for roots and wild onions that had survived the winter or greens and stems, which could be added to a soup.

  On the second day, Cut Finger managed to trap a snow­shoe rabbit and the children devoured the roasted meat eager­ly. It was a welcome change from pemmican and dried meal. Without Mad Horse, there would be little fresh meat.

  Rides-a-Horse continued to worry about food. “My stomach growls day and night,” she whined. “We need more food. I could eat an entire rabbit—”

  Sharp Hand shook her head. “The Sun Chief watches over us, woman. See how he has provided for us already?”

  Rides-a-Horse quipped, “Then let the Sun Chief provide us with more meat. My belly is too empty. At least, Mad Horse was a hunter—”

  Fat Dog, one of the older women, stepped forward. She had said very little in the days they had traveled together. “We all cry for food,” she said. “The children are hungry, but they do not growl. See, even now, they are cheerful.”

  “They do not have bellies that require as much as mine,” snapped Rides-a-Horse.

  Fat Dog frowned. Rides-a-Horse was a difficult woman and sniffed about everything.

  Suddenly, a cry came up from the water. Cut Finger was waving to them. “Come. Come quick! Look what we found.”

  Rides-a-Horse and Sharp Hand were immediately on their feet. Liza and Fat Dog followed. Even Skunk Cap hobbled down to see what the commotion was about.

  “Ha. Do not eat it until we get there,” cried Rides-a-­Horse. She slid down an icy embankment, her fat arms waving through the air.

  There, along the frozen edge of the water, Cut Finger and the children were struggling to hold onto something. At first, Liza could not see what it was, but it thrashed wildly in the weeds and grass.

  “Ach!” shrieked Rides-a-Horse, clapping her hands.

  “Tsanistapiwats?” asked Liza, trying to see over the heads of the children. Bull Child had joined Liza, her eyes danc­ing with mischief.

  “Can you not see it?” cried Rides-a-Horse. “It is a young beaver.”

  Liza’s eyes widened.

  “He did not spot us as he swam under the ice!” shouted Cut Finger, triumphantly. “See, his lodge is downstream.”

  “Foolish pup,” clucked Rides-a-Horse. “His foolishness has provided us with our next meal.”

  “The beaver is strong medicine,” ventured Skunk Cap, who had stepped forward. “What do we have that would make a gift for the Underwater People so that they will not be an
gry?”

  Rides-a-Horse shrugged. “Perhaps Five Shot’s necklace!” she cried. “It also has strong medicine—”

  Liza wrapped her hand around the beads and claws hanging from her neck. “No—” she said, stepping back.

  “Well, I am too hungry to worry about it,” snapped Rides-a-Horse. “Even a hungry warrior has eaten his brother the beaver. Surely he does not begrudge hungry children a meal?”

  “Help me!” cried Cut Finger, as the animal twisted in her hands. “We’re going to lose him.”

  “Get a club,” laughed Sharp Hand.

  Fat Dog and Sharp Hand scrambled to find rocks or sticks large enough to knock the beaver out. Skunk Cap, taking the largest stick, stunned the animal with three good swings. He then slit its throat.

  “I want its claws,” he said, as Fat Dog and Sharp Hand dragged it back to a level place in the snow.

  Fat Dog nodded. “You killed him. You are welcome to them. But for that, you can also help me skin Mr. Beaver.”

  Skunk Cap and Fat Dog skinned the animal and in no time, they had cut the meat away and sliced it into thin strips.

  “We will boil the meat and eat our fill tonight,” said Fat Dog to the children, “then dry what we do not eat. Tomorrow we will move on. We will cross the water and be on our way. See,” she added jovially, “the Above Ones heard our cries.”

  In the morning, however, Liza woke to the sounds of worried voices. Skunk Cap, in conference with Cut Finger and Sharp Hand, was obviously concerned about something. Liza approached them quietly.

  Cut Finger turned to her. “Skunk Cap says there are rid­ers coming from that direction.” Pointing to the south, she frowned. “He fears we angered the Underwater People because we did not leave a gift. It was bad medicine.” She shook her head, her lips pinched tight.

  Rides-a-Horse, joining the group, protested. “It is not wrong to take such an animal when there is hunger.”

  “How does Skunk Cap know there are riders coming?” Liza asked as she scanned the horizon carefully, seeing nothing.

  “He went off during the night,” explained Sharp Hand. “He saw the pale glow of a campfire and smelled the animals.”

  Liza looked over at the boy, impressed by his abilities, especially in light of his injuries. He would be a strong warrior someday. “What does he think we should do?”

  “What can we do?” moaned Rides-a-Horse. “We cannot cross the river without knowing where it is safe. We will be swept under and frozen in the water. And what about the children? Oh, if Mad Horse was with us, he would know what to do.”

  Cut Finger frowned. “We will just have to find a way,” she said. “We must not whine, or it will frighten the children.” No one argued with her.

  CHAPTER 30

  Skunk Cap and Cut Finger finally agreed on a place to ford. It was high noon and the sun, though brilliant in the blue sky, shed little warmth. A strong breeze was blowing and everyone huddled together in silence, contemplating the fearful obstacle.

  “I will go first,” said Skunk Cap. “Watch me carefully. Put your feet where I put mine. Do not move too fast and do not wait too long. We must follow each other closely.”

  Cut Finger nodded, but Liza could see the apprehension in her eyes. No one knew if the ice would hold them. In places it was thin enough to see the water underneath. If it could hold them just long enough—that was all they could hope for.

  “Send the children after me,” continued Skunk Cap.

  “What if one falls in?” demanded Rides-a-Horse.

  “I shall go after you,” she said, “and help the youngest ones.”

  “But you are heavy,” protested Sharp Hand. “Let me go. I am smaller, faster, and stronger than you.”

  Cut Finger frowned. “Sharp Hand is right. She will go second and the children will follow. Then Fat Dog will cross. You will go after her,” she said, turning to Rides-a-Horse. “Five Shots and I will go last.”

  Bull Child pulled on Liza and shook her head. Liza kissed her. “Perhaps Bull Child can go with me?”

  Cut Finger glanced over at Skunk Cap before answering. “Yes. Very well. Now we must strap whatever we have to our backs. Do not carry anything in your hands, for you will need them if you slip.”

  Everyone quickly prepared their own packs. It would be impossible to take everything and as Liza stood looking across the crystalline slab of water she wondered, not for the first time, if she were making a terrible mistake. She should never have left the village site. Surely Red Eagle, her father, and Crying Wind had returned by now; they were probably looking for her. She turned and faced south. What if they thought her dead? Would they venture this far?

  And what if the riders Skunk Cap had spotted were actu­ally Red Eagle and her father?

  She grabbed Cut Finger by the hand. “I cannot go,” she announced, taking a deep breath. “I cannot go any further. What if Red Eagle loses our trail? If the men Skunk Cap spotted is them, I must wait here. Don’t you see?”

  Cut Finger shook her head. “Skunk Cap said the riders were dog-faced soldiers. He saw them well enough to see that they were not Pikuni.”

  Liza bit her lip. Her heart fluttered and she felt sick. Oh, that she had never left at all.

  “We must go,” said Cut Finger softly. She patted Liza on the shoulder. “Now.”

  Liza turned around. She shook off her fear and fought tears. What other choice did she have? She straightened her shoulders and nodded.

  Skunk Cap had already started across the ice. Stepping carefully, he placed one moccasined foot in front of the other. Sharp Hand followed closely behind, stopping to direct the footsteps of the silent children, who almost seemed to skate over the ice. Fat Dog was next.

  It was as Rides-a-Horse stepped out on the ice that Liza shivered. The woman lumbered awkwardly, first one way and then the other. Liza stifled a scream when Rides-a-Horse slid and fell to her knees, but the woman quickly got to her feet. Turning to show them that she had recovered, Rides-a-Horse didn’t realize the ice was cracked. Liza instinctively threw her arms out.

  But the woman was in the river. With a harrowing scream, she catapulted into the still, black water. Cut Finger, moving like a flash, ran to the bank and slid across the thickest piece of ice on her knees. Rides-a-Horse gasped, the frigid water sucking the screams right out of her. Skunk Cap, on the far shore, stood yelling to Fat Dog to hurry. Meanwhile, he, too, scrambled out onto the ice.

  Liza, paralyzed at first, stumbled to the shoreline. Bull Child tried to follow her but she ordered the child back. Trembling, she approached the ice carefully. “Let me hold onto your hand,” she called to Cut Finger.

  Cut Finger ignored her as she inched farther onto the ice.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Liza whispered as she heard the ice cracking all around her, “save them.” She waited, holding her breath.

  Suddenly, she heard a child’s tiny voice raised in a muf­fled scream. Spinning around, she gasped. It was Mad Horse.

  He had Bull Child by the hair, his long knife at her throat. Liza, throwing herself back to shore, scrambled after him. He laughed, the black pool of his mouth opened wide.

  “Damn you to Hell!” Liza heard herself screaming. “Let her go. Let her go!” She closed the distance between them yelling, first in English, then in Blackfeet. With each cry, the wizened warrior laughed louder.

  Bull Child’s screams grew more frightening and Liza, once more faced with the loss of someone she loved, realized that nothing else mattered except rescuing Bull Child. She approached the leering Mad Horse, her eyes fixed on the terri­fied child wrapped in his grip.

  “Please,” sobbed Liza, her hands stretched out in suppli­cation. “Don’t hurt her.”

  Mad Horse yelled something, his scarred face twisted in fury, but she had never been able to understand him and his words were even more indiscernible now. His haggard shoul­ders shook, lips curled in an ugly scowl, and his eyes flashed vengeance.

  “Dear God, you can’t do this,”
cried Liza. “Take me. Do what you want with me. But let her go—she’s just a child—”

  Liza took a faltering step forward. What if Mad Horse ended Bull Child’s life before she could stop him? Already, he was pressing the tip of his blade into the soft flesh under Bull Child’s chin. The child bravely stifled her cries. Only her eyes pleaded for help.

  In a frantic gesture, Liza yanked the bear-claw necklace off her neck, losing several beads in the water-softened snow.

  It was enough to tempt Mad Horse, who smiled slowly.

  “They’re yours!” yelled Liza. “Yours.” She threw them into the snow.

  Mad Horse grumbled and then, without warning, tossed Bull Child to the snow at his feet. He hurried forward to retrieve the necklace.

  But Mad Horse had not seen Cut Finger moving toward him. Her face was red with fury as she lunged wildly, knife poised, voice a vicious growl. Mad Horse moved but too late and she plunged the knife into him.

  He let out a savage cry as blood streamed from his abdomen. Still on his feet, he swung his own knife fero­ciously at Cut Finger. The woman, not fast enough to move out of its path, fell to her knees. The long blade had cut through her cheek like a butcher’s knife slicing bacon, into the flesh of her collarbone and shoulder.

  She howled but steadied herself as she struggled to her feet. Blood flowed down her face. Mad Horse, circling as if Cut Finger were a wild animal, was still smiling.

  Out of nowhere, screeching as loudly as he could, Skunk Cap came forward, spinning his blade through the air like a sil­ver sword. Mad Horse, one hand still pressed to his bloody stomach, dodged it expertly.

  Meanwhile, Bull Child had run to Liza, her own small knife extended. Liza grabbed it from her, then pushed the child to safety, mumbling something to console her. Mad Horse, spy­ing the tiny blade, laughed wickedly, but the diversion gave Cut Finger and Skunk Cap an opportunity to regain their footing. Immediately, they ran at the old warrior. Cut Finger, her face ashen in spite of the blood oozing down her neck, slashed at his chest, while Skunk Cap sliced open his right shoulder.