by Paty Jager
Summer Cloud nodded. “It is as I thought. May the Creator always walk with you.”
Sa-qan smiled. If the woman only knew. “May the sun guide you with warmth.” She hurried into the forest, shifted to smoke, and back into her bald eagle form. She must catch up to the Nimiipuu and continue to help with their journey.
Pí-lep
(4)
Wade stalked back and forth in front of his men. “What do you mean two horses are missing?” He glared at the group, who avoided his gaze and shifted nervously. His control nearly snapped at the sight of the smirk on the Bannock’s face.
“It looks like they came loose and wandered off,” Private Marks answered.
“Then get out there and find them. If they wandered off they can’t have gone far.” He waved his good arm and waited as the men clambered onto their horses and rode out, leaving Wade and Private Trainor standing by a smoldering campfire.
“What if they can’t find the horses?” Trainor asked, kicking at a rock.
“You’ll double up on two horses.” He didn’t like the idea of two men riding on one horse. It would slow them down and be hard on the animal. The best alternative would be to leave two men here to wait for General Howard. Five years ago he would’ve made this decision. Ordered two men stay and the rest move on without wasting time searching for the missing horses.
But he valued lives, even those of slightly reformed criminals, more than he had five and ten years ago. Marks and Trainor enlisted to see the West and live out the stories they read in dime novels. Half of his small group chose this life over going to jail for crimes from stealing to murder, and the other half being immigrants fresh off the ships barely spoke English.
Wade wiped a hand over his face, trying but not succeeding in swiping away the tiredness he couldn’t shed over the past year, and even more so since having his arm slashed open the other day. He sat, taking the cup of coffee the private offered. Hard tack and coffee were the best he could offer his soldiers on the trail. Staring into the cup, he watched coffee grounds float to the surface. What he wouldn’t give for a full course meal and a glass of whiskey. The good stuff. Not the rot gut sold from a tent near the fort.
“Lieutenant. Sir. How do you think those horses got loose?” Private Trainor clutched his rifle and watched the open area ahead of them.
“Tired people don’t tie knots as well.” He sipped the harsh black brew and wiped his mustache releasing coffee grounds. A hot bath would be welcome, too. Loosen his saddle sore muscles and layers of dirt on his skin.
“What if them Injuns snuck in and let them loose?” The warble in the man’s voice caught Wade’s attention.
“Trainor, if it had been Indians, they would’ve taken all of the horses.” He dumped out the remainder of his drink and stared at the private. “Are you afraid of the Indians?”
“N-no. Well, I’d rather not fight one. I don’t mind being hunkered down behind something and shooting at them, but they’re fierce in hand to hand fighting.”
“I know.” Wade rubbed a hand up and down his throbbing arm. He had a sizable gash that still oozed to remind him of how well they fought. “But you have to put aside your fear if you’re going to be of any use to the rest of us in a fighting situation. You do what you have to do.”
“Like Sergeant Cooper?”
Wade sighed, deep and long. The ache in his lungs rivaled the dull thud of his heart. Cooper was a good man. His wife and children would miss him. As soon as he returned to the fort, he’d send out a correspondence and the man’s pay to his widow.
“Yes. Cooper was a good man. I fought beside him many years and can easily say we were friends.” Of all the ways for the man to go. Hiding under a bush. But life always seemed to throw oddities at Cooper.
“What do you tell his kin?” Private Trainor continued to peer into the distance.
“The truth. He died with honor doing his job.” Wade stood, stretching his good arm and back. The horses couldn’t have gone that far. He dreaded bouncing on the horse all day, but he would rather be on a horse than sitting in this canyon more or less defenseless.
Two horses appeared, running fast toward them. Instinct grabbed his rifle and flung his body to the ground. Wade used a rock to hold the barrel. Movement to his side brought the realization the private still stood.
“Get down!” he ordered Trainor.
A shot rang out before the man moved, and his body crumpled to the ground.
Damn! Another young, good man gone. He didn’t have time to mourn.
Two warriors raced through the camp on army issue horses. Horses the others now searched for. Wade discharged his Henry at the retreating marauders as fast as he could cock the gun.
The horse in the rear spun around and charged back at him.
Wade rose to his knees, aimed his rifle at the warrior’s chest, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Jammed!
He stood, holding the gun by the barrel like a club, and waited for the warrior to race by.
The horse bore closer; pounding hooves matched the pounding in his head. It was either him or the Indian.
He raised the gun to swing. The sweat and dust of the horse mingled with the tang of fear on his tongue.
He swung.
The horse dodged.
The force of his swing carried him on unsteady feet toward the retreating horse.
The animal slid to a stop, pivoted, and the warrior faced him. He raised a rifle.
The bullet slammed into Wade’s shoulder, forcing him to spin. The blast ricocheted in his ears as he fell to the ground landing on his wounded arm. Pain shot through his body, drowning him in blackness.
****
Sa-qan flew toward the soldier’s camp. A group of soldiers along with the Bannock scout followed the trail of the horses she’d stolen the night before. She did not see the lieutenant among them. Why did he not follow the horses as well?
The crack of gun shots rippled the feathers on her neck. She soared toward the sound. Fear sprouted in her stomach and balled in her throat at the sight of the warriors racing off and two bodies unmoving near the campfire. The clothing on the one told her she had found the lieutenant.
Guilt riddled her thoughts. She stole the horses the warriors rode. If she had not taken those animals…She dove, landing near the lieutenant. She peered at his chest; it rose and fell in an erratic cadence, but he lived. He could be healed.
Sa-qan flapped her wings and walked to the other soldier. She recognized the young man who gave the wounded food. His open shiny eyes and gaping wounds left little doubt he was no longer of this earth. He could not be healed.
Her attention focused on the lieutenant. She could not heal him all at once. She needed time. If the shots brought her here, the soldiers would return. To heal the man she had to take him away. But where? She scanned the area. The camp stood at the base of a ravine with a river wandering through it. Halfway to the top of the steep ravine her keen sight spotted a flat area. With the injuries to his arm and chest she didn’t dare carry him in her talons.
Smoke wrapped around her form, and she swirled into a mortal. She squatted next to the lieutenant, scooped him into her arms, and stood. A quick glance around proved they remained alone. Long strides carried them toward the side of the ravine, and she began climbing.
Her strength, though more than that of a mortal man, began to drain with each step, from the weight of the lieutenant. The outcropping came into sight. Relief flowed through her spent body, giving her steps renewed vigor.
She placed the man against the cliff and peered down at the camp. The other soldiers had returned. One gestured wildly as several dug a hole and others scouted the ground around the camp. They would find the horses’ prints but not her steps. As a spirit she never left a trail. The disappearance of the lieutenant would plague them, but she refused to allow him to die from her actions. Once he was well, he could do as he pleased.
Using her weakened txiyak, she sto
pped the bleeding and sat down next to the lieutenant. Rest would strengthen her. She studied his strong, square jaw, straight nose, and wide forehead. His black hair did not hang straight like a Nimiipuu. Dark, short pieces, damp from sweat curled along his hairline and longer hair had contours like bark on a pine tree.
She leaned close, sniffing. The scent of male, gun powder, blood, and something pleasant mingled in the air around him. The pleasant smell fluttered her insides with a peculiar warmth.
The sound of racing hooves drew her attention to the canyon below. She crawled to the edge and peeked. The group rode back the way they had come. A new pile of dirt marked the resting place of the young soldier. The soldiers no longer followed the Nimiipuu. Without that threat she could concentrate on the lieutenant. Once she regained her strength.
Sa-qan returned to the man and sat. She leaned her head back, chanting for renewed strength and wisdom.
****
The sun hovered directly overhead. Sa-qan placed her hands on the lieutenant’s cheeks, gauging the life still in him. He had not regained consciousness. His life beat strong and warm on her palms. He would heal quickly. Her fingers strayed to the ends of the hair on his lip. Thick and soft. She pushed stray strands from his forehead. His hair also resembled a soft, rich beaver pelt.
The rhythm of her heart increased as her hands lingered on his face.
What are you doing? Heal the man and feel nothing more. She worked the fasteners of his shirt free and exposed the blood crusted shirt underneath. The tiny fasteners on this shirt taunted her fingers. She tore his shirt open, exposing a large hole in his upper right chest. She slid her hand around his side, leaning near him, searching for an exit wound. The heat of his skin and firm muscles under her fingers triggered a flash of fire in her body.
She sat back on her heels, staring at him. How was it touching his skin gave her a fever? She was a spirit. They did not become sick or experience such things. Contemplating her reactions to the man did not heal him. Without an exit wound the bullet remained in his body. It had to come out or her healing would not last.
Sa-qan settled him flat on his back on the ledge. Her fingers and the man’s knife would have to be enough to remove the bullet. Water would be needed for cleansing.
She changed into a bald eagle and leaped off the ledge, floating on spread wings down to the camp area. The soldiers left in a hurry, leaving behind many items she could use for the lieutenant. She changed to mortal form, filled a canteen with water, and stacked it with other useful items on an outstretched blanket.
Smoke swirled around her, and she changed into an eagle. She flew to the cliff ledge grasping the sides of the blanket in her talons. The man remained unconscious. She changed back to a maiden and drew the man’s knife from his belt. The wound no longer bled from her first healing, but the bullet had to come out.
Her chant of a steady hand for her and good health for the lieutenant filled the air as she worked the tip of the knife into the wound and searched for the bullet. Blood flowed, again, obstructing her view. The lieutenant moaned and started to fight. She flattened her palm on his shoulder, taking away the pain and easing him to sleep.
The knife sunk deeper into his body. The blade connected with the hard object she sought. Her stomach squeezed with concern. Blood gushed and the blade cut more of his flesh as she wrestled the bullet from his body. Finally, the bullet lay on the ledge beside her. Sa-qan placed a palm over the wound and chanted for his life blood to still and his body to renew.
Soon the blood no longer trickled down his shoulder. Sa-qan used the knife to cut away his undershirt. She wet a blood-free piece of the shirt and washed the dried and new blood from his body. Her fingers traced his muscles, much like a warrior’s. She thought all so·yá·po were lazy and let their bodies turn soft. The lieutenant had firm smooth skin, and a sprinkling of dark curly hair on his chest running down his tight stomach.
Sa-qan folded the blanket and placed it under his head. He would need nourishment. She, as a spirit, did not require it, but mortals must replenish their bodies with food. Rummaging in a leather pouch produced a hard bread and leathery meat. She thought back to the many summers before she became a spirit. Her mother had boiled meat such as this in water to make soup. Sa-qan plunged her hands back into the pouch and brought out a tin cup. This would work to boil the water, but a fire would be needed.
The side of the cliff offered little wood. Trees in the bottom of the canyon would have dead limbs and bark. She shifted into an eagle, grasped the man’s outer shirt in her talons, and leaped off the ledge. In the cover of the trees, she filled the shirt with twigs, limbs, and bark. The sleeves barely met over the wood piled in the garment. She clutched the material in her talons and returned to the ledge.
On the ledge, she struggled to remember another childhood lesson—starting a fire. She squealed with delight watching a spark catch the bark. She leaned forward, blowing on the small glow until smoke feathered toward the sky and a flame licked at the bark and twigs she placed on top. She placed the cup of water and meat over the flame and waited.
****
Pain. Wade’s mind struggled to ignore the ache and spasms as a gentle hand raised his head and pressed something to his lips.
“You must drink to regain your strength.”
He knew that voice. So soft and lyrical. Not one of the fort prostitutes. He forced his eyelids to rise. Who was this woman? Where was he? The struggle with his memory and opening his eyes sucked his energy.
“No, do not go to sleep. You must drink.”
The forcefulness of the voice drew his eyelids up. He stared into the amber eyes of the captive woman from the village. “How?”
“No words. Drink.” She pushed a tin cup to his lips.
The meaty flavor of the broth surprised him. She didn’t relinquish his head until he drank the whole cup.
“Where am I?” He tried to shift his head to see the lay of the land, but she slipped her hand from under him, and his head sank into something soft.
“You are safe and healing.” She placed a blanket over his body and disappeared from his line of sight.
His stomach muscles tightened as he tried to sit up. His left arm worked to push off the hard ground, but pain shot up his right arm and pierced his right shoulder, roiling his stomach. “Hellfire!”
Hands pressed on his left shoulder. “Do not try to rise. Give the wounds time to heal.”
Wounds? He had a gash on his arm from wrestling the warrior during the skirmish…another wound? The flash of two warriors on Army-issue horses caught in his mind. Trainor dead. His gun malfunctioning. Taking a bullet in the shoulder and passing out.
“How did you find me?” He listened, hearing only the whoosh of the wind. “Where are the others?”
“I was traveling to catch up to my people when I heard shots.” She sat down next to him, her shoulder and one side of her face within view. “I found you and the other. He was not of this earth anymore.”
“Did you bury him? He was a good young man. He deserved to be buried.”
She glanced down at him. Something in her eyes…Respect?
“The other soldiers put him in the earth.”
“Where are they?” He swiveled his head, but he only saw a cliff wall on one side and the woman on the other.
“They have left.” She stood, walking away from him.
“Left? They wouldn’t leave me. We don’t leave wounded.” Private Marks wouldn’t have left him with only a young woman and no weapons. The two warriors who did this could come back.
“I had moved you before they arrived. They could not find you.”
“Moved me? Why? I need to be with my men.” Dizziness and fatigue swamped his head. He fought the anxiety rippling up his spine. “Where am I?”
She knelt beside him, placing a hand on his forehead. His body relaxed and warmth flowed through him.
“You are safe. You will come to no harm with me. Rest and heal.” Her soft words sang
in his head as his mind closed down and his body relaxed. Why wasn’t he anxious anymore? Why did her touch soothe? Where the hell were his men?
Pá-xat
(5)
Sa-qan paced the ledge. She had retrieved three more loads of wood and filled every possible thing that could hold water. The lieutenant slept through the rest of the day and all through the night, only waking long enough for her to force him to drink more soup. She knew he would soon be strong enough to sit up and realize they camped on a ledge. He would ask questions. Ones she could not answer.
Wewukiye, where are you? The band must have moved even farther off for her to not be able to communicate with her brother. In their generations of helping the Nimiipuu as spirits she had always been the one her brothers came to with problems. Now it was her turn to ask for guidance. The Creator had stopped communicating with her since she chose to save Girl of Many Hearts in mortal form. The Creator had always been with her, helping her guide her brothers and the Nimiipuu. Fear for herself and those she helped trickled through her body, causing her arms and legs to shake.
This scared her even more. Never had fear or any other emotion been a part of her existence as a spirit. What was happening? Why have you abandoned me when I need you the most? she questioned the Creator.
The lieutenant pressed up on his good arm and scanned the area. His dark gaze roamed over the stockpiled supplies and then to her.
“Where are we? Are we alone?” His raspy voice urged her to pick up the canteen and kneel beside him.
“We are on a ledge above the canyon where you camped.” She held the canteen to his dry lips. He drank heartily and leaned back, closing his eyes.
“Are we alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why did my men leave me with you?” His eyes opened, and his piercing stare revealed a man full of confusion.
“They could not find you.” She plugged the canteen and shifted to find the hard bread.
He clutched her arm, stopping her from turning away. “Why couldn’t they find me?”
