Wilderness Giant Edition 3

by David Robbins

  Quick thinking on Bluebird’s part saved him from a dunking. She lunged, wrapping both arms around his chest, and heaved backward with all the strength her slender form could muster.

  Together they rose, Zach dripping wet, the water-skin in his right hand. He turned, and without warning they were nose-to-nose, pounding heart to pounding heart, the smiles on their lips freezing. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss her, the very first such urge he had ever had, but as he bent his face to hers she broke out in raucous laughter and pushed him away.

  “You should see yourself!” Bluebird signed despite her hysterics.

  Zach stared at the surface of the pool. His face and head were dripping wet, but in his estimation he didn’t look all that funny.

  Bluebird calmed down and took the bag, which she closed and draped over her shoulder. “Care to walk me back?”

  “I would be glad to.”

  Neither made a comment until they entered the village. Zach brushed water from his hair, all the words he had rehearsed the past few days gone. So he signed, “You still have not told me why you were so upset with me.”

  “I should not have to. But girls are always wiser than boys, from the cradleboard to the grave.” Bluebird was smiling again, her old radiant self. “When you are older maybe you will understand.”

  “My father says men and women were not meant to understand one another. He says they are as different as the sun and moon.”

  “Your father is very smart. It is a pity you do not take more after him.”

  Zach laughed, enjoying her good-natured ribbing. Until that second he had not realized how much he’d missed her company. Or how much he would miss it when he left to find his folks.

  “Are you ill?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Your face,” Bluebird signed. “For a moment you had a sick look.” She put a hand to his forehead. “You do not feel hot.”

  “I am fine,” Zach stressed. He saw the lodge was not all that far off and slowed in order to have more time with her. Their elbows brushed and his arm tingled.

  “What are you thinking?” she inquired.

  “About my stay here. It has been a happy one so far, except for you being mad at me.” Zach surveyed the serene encampment. “I sure have learned a lot in a short while.”

  “Such as?”

  “Blackfeet are not the beasts everyone else claims.”

  “Who would say such vile things about us?”

  “Trappers. Soldiers. Other tribes,” Zach listed them. “Practically everybody I have ever met.”

  “Where do they get such crazy ideas? What do we do that they should think so poorly of us?”

  “Your people refuse to live in peace with the whites, for one thing.”

  “Is that wrong?”

  “Once I thought it was.”

  “My mother told me they would kill off all our beaver, take our land for their own.”

  “That they would,” Zach signed. “And now that I see the problem from your point of view, I see things differently.” He gazed upon the village, watching children frolic and women tanning a hide and several warriors gambling, and he realized he no longer despised the Blackfeet as he once had. Nor did he fear them as much as before. They weren’t fiends incarnate. They were Indians. Nothing more, nothing less. “I will always look back on this time as special,” he signed.

  Bluebird kicked at a small rock, then scrutinized his features. “You make it seem as if you will not have more special times among my people in the future.”

  Zach had blundered. To alleviate any suspicions she might harbor, he signed, “Who can tell what the future holds for any of us? My father says we must take each day as it comes along and make the best of the time we are given in this life.”

  “I hope you do turn out like him,” Bluebird signed. “I will make a record of all your sayings for our children.” She took another step, then jerked her head as if stung on realizing what she had said.

  “So you have had the same thoughts I have,” Zach said.

  “A few, perhaps.” Bluebird’s bashful streak was showing again. She gave him a sisterly smack on the arm and broke into a run. “We both talk too much at times. Come. I will race you.”

  Zach barely won, even though she carried the heavy water bag. Laughing gaily, she went in. He stood there catching his breath and caught sight of Abigail at work beside Cream Bear’s lodge She was on her knees, pounding strips of dried buffalo meat into tiny pieces and mixing them with berries to make pemmican.

  Bending to peer into Bird Rattler’s lodge, Zach saw Bluebird helping her mother sort through a sewing bag. He slowly backed away, turned, and swiftly walked to Cream Bear’s teepee. Zach stopped in its shadow and pretended to be checking his left moccasin for a stone.

  Abby glanced at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk, ma’am.”

  “Make it quick. Cream Bear is gone but he’ll return at any minute. He’s preparing for a buffalo hunt later.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m taking this chance.” Zach removed his moccasin and felt around inside. “I’m leaving as soon as the sun sets. If you want to come, you’re still welcome to.’’

  “Why are you going so early? You should wait until the middle of the night when everyone is sound asleep.”

  “No, ma’am, I shouldn’t. If anything goes wrong and the horses or some of the dogs start a ruckus, every warrior in the village will rush outside lickety-split. They’d all be after us in no time.” Zach upended the moccasin and acted puzzled, as if he couldn’t find the stone. “But right after sunset no one will pay much attention to a few yapping dogs or bother to check if a horse or two whinnies.”

  “I don’t know—” Abby said.

  “There’s another thing to consider,” Zach went on. “The Blackfeet can’t track at night.” He gave the moccasin a shake. “Well, they can, but they’d have to use torches and it would slow them down a lot. We’d have a big lead on them.”

  “You keep saying we.”

  “I’m sorely hoping you’ll come, ma’am. This is no place for you. You’d spend the rest of your days as miserable as a wet hen.”

  Several warriors were passing close to the lodge. Abby resumed pounding the meat until they were gone, then mentioned, “I haven’t made up my mind yet. One minute I’m torn one way, the next minute another.”

  “You have until sunset. About ten hours, I reckon.” Zach pulled the moccasin back on and stood. “I don’t want to leave you behind, but I have to go while the going is good. So with or without you, once the sun goes down I’m riding out.”

  “Wait!” Abby said. “If I do decide, where will we meet?”

  “Behind Bird Rattler’s lodge, where he tethers his horses,” Zach signed.

  “He won’t like having his animals stolen.”

  Zach grinned as only a brash boy could. “I did it before. And my ma always says that things get easier the second time around.” He strolled toward Bird Rattler’s teepee. Halfway there someone hailed him.

  “Hackeryking!”

  “Oh no,” Zach said to himself.

  The keeper of the sacred Beaver Bundle had a blanket draped over his slim shoulders. Smiling paternally, White Grass set a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “Walk with me.”

  Zach yearned to rejoin Bluebird and spend as much time as possible in her company before evening came. To refuse, however, would be an insult to the revered warrior and remarkably bad manners. Since his folks had taught him to always respect his elders, he let himself be led off.

  “I thinking we have words while still can,” White Grass said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Zach responded, his pulse racing out of fear the Blackfoot had been on the other side of Cream Bear’s lodge and heard every word he’d told Abby.

  “I old. Very old. Not many winters left.”

  “Oh,” Zach said, relieved. “Don’t worry. My pa has a friend who has to be ninety if all the tales he tells about hi
s early days are true, and he’s still got plenty of vigor and vim left in him.”

  “Vigor and vim?” White Grass repeated.

  “Energy. Strength. Life.”

  “Life. Yes. Life precious.”

  They walked aimlessly on, Zach chafing at the delay. He knew enough not to rush the warrior. White Grass would get to the point in his own good time.

  “What I say, Hackeryking, maybe you no remember till long time come. Maybe then understand. Savvy?”

  “Sure I do,” Zach said, when actually he didn’t have the foggiest notion what the warrior was getting at. All he was concerned about was returning to Bluebird.

  “We Blackfeet not bad as many like say. Not killers. Not butchers. No worse Sioux, Shoshones.”

  “I agree there.”

  “You do?” White Grass patted him. “Good.” He halted to observe several boys playing roll the hoop. ‘‘I worry. Thinking maybe you no see. Maybe you too young.”

  “I have grown to like the Blackfeet,” Zach confessed.

  “We like you. Chief very much like you. Say leave you be. Say let you do as want. Say decide is yours.” The warrior locked eyes with Zach. “Very important you savvy. Yes?”

  “Yes,” Zach said, assuming the keeper referred to the adoption.

  “Some maybe want stop. Maybe.”

  Stop what? Zach wondered, and was going to ask when he was distracted by Bluebird emerging from her lodge and gazing around as if in search of him.

  White Grass folded his hands. “He have many arrows. Many, many.”

  “Who?” Zach asked absently.

  “Bird Rattler.”

  “A warrior can never have too many arrows,” Zach said for lack of anything else. Bluebird had missed him and gone back inside.

  “You go now,” White Grass said. “Remember me.”

  “I always will.” Overjoyed, Zach went to bound off when he thought of something he’d been meaning to ask for some time. “Say, White Grass. I don’t mean to pry, but I’m a mite curious. Where did you learn to speak my tongue?”

  “Many, many winters past, white man live with Blackfeet. Take Blackfoot wife. Have Blackfoot son. Then he made go when son baby. Much sadness, then, Hackeryking. Much crying and wailing in the village.”

  “This white man have a name?”

  “Yes. I remember well. We good friends, Shake-spear-Mac-a-nair, and me.”

  It took a moment for the revelation to sink in, and when it did Zach stood and gaped as the old warrior shambled off and was presently lost among the teepees. “Well, I’ll be!” he exclaimed. No one had ever told him much about Shakespeare’s past. And now that he thought about it, his folks had been left in the dark as well. Was that deliberate? he wondered. Did Uncle Shakespeare have secrets he was trying to hide?

  An interruption prevented Zach from delving into the question. He heard a yell and saw Bluebird hurrying to meet him. “I was hoping we could spend more time together,” he signed happily.

  “You disappeared. Where did you get to?”

  “White Grass wanted to see me.”

  “Was it something important?”

  “No.”

  “He came by our lodge yesterday while you were off with Elk At Dawn and the other boys,” Bluebird disclosed. “Father and him whispered together for a long time, and when he went home, father looked sad.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “I could not hear. Mother shooed me outside so I would not pester them.” Bluebird smiled. “But enough of adults and matters that do not concern us. What would you like to do?”

  “You pick. I will do whatever you want for the rest of the day.”

  “Anything I want?”

  “Anything.”

  She held him to his word, and from then until the bottom rim of the blazing sun touched the red horizon they walked and talked and played and had eyes for no one except each other. They hiked out over the prairie, waving when they saw Bird Rattler, Cream Bear, and other men riding off after buffalo. Later they watched youngsters gambol about in the water like frisky otters. They made a complete circuit of the village, not saying a word.

  Zachary King would have cause to remember this day, and the others spent with Bluebird, in the not too distant future. But for this one and this one alone his cares and woes evaporated. He was as content as it is humanly possible

  to be, and his contentment was all the finer because it was part and parcel of that last vestige of innocence a boy enjoys before manhood descends with the weight of an anvil.

  Toward evening melancholy filled Zach’s soul. His heart was heavy with sorrow he had to struggle to contain. As they neared the lodge, he boldly took her hand in his and felt his heart soar when she didn’t try to yank loose. Near the entrance they halted. “I want to thank you for today,” he signed.

  “There will be many more like this one.”

  Guilt prompted Zach to release her and half turn toward the sunset. “I hate this,” he said aloud.

  “What?” Bluebird signed.

  “I said I am hungry,” Zach signed.

  “Men. All they think of is their bellies.” Chuckling, Bluebird went in to assist her mother in fixing the evening meal.

  As the sun dipped lower and lower, so did Zach’s heart. He didn’t budge until she came to fetch him. Inside, during supper, he embarrassed her by staring at her so steadfastly her mother signed a remark about his paying more attention to his food, and Elk At Dawn snickered.

  The sun had gone and a fire had been lit as a feeble substitute when Zach rose. “Please excuse me,” he signed. “I told White Grass I would visit him after we ate.”

  “Do not be long,” the mother signed. “Bird Rattler will want you here when he returns.”

  Zach stepped to the flap. He paused to look at them: at the industrious mother cleaning up, at the smiling boy sharpening his knife, and at Bluebird, sweet, dear, wonderful Bluebird, who bestowed on him a smile of such dazzling beauty that for a bit his determination faltered. He had to mentally push himself from the lodge. Once out, he didn’t look back.

  Quickly Zach walked around to the rear. Here, along a strip of grass, the chief kept his most prized horses. Among them was a black bay a lot smaller than the brown stallion, a bay Zach had seen fit to visit regularly the past few days. He’d brought handfuls of sweet grass from near the stream each time, and stroked and petted the animal while it ate.

  Now the bay lifted its head but did not shy. Zach rubbed behind its ears, moved to its side, and gripped the mane to swing on top.

  “I’m here!”

  At the whisper, Zach started and whirled. Abigail Griffen wore a tattered dress, probably the same garment she had worn the day the Piegans snatched her, and a green shawl. From her shoulder hung a full parfleche. Around her waist was strapped a large knife, and in her left hand she held a spare. In her right, a lance. “This is for you,” she said, holding out the extra.

  Zach took it, wedged the sheath under his belt. “I’ll take the lance, too, ma’am, unless you’ve had more practice with one than me.”

  She hesitated, then handed it over.

  “Pick any horse,” Zach said. Clambering onto the bay, he adjusted his grip on the lance and seized the animal’s mane.

  Abby had picked a paint, a mare.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I was ready the day I was taken from my Lane.”

  Zach touched his heels to the bay’s flanks and walked the horse westward since the prairie was closer on the west side of the village. Few Blackfeet were abroad. This was the quiet time, when families sat around their fires resting and talking about the events of the day.

  “I’m not much of a rider,” Abby whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t lose me.”

  “We’re in this together from start to finish,” Zach pledged. “I won’t desert you.”

  A woman crossed in front of them, her back burdened by firewood. A warrior stood at a nearby lodge offering a prayer, his back to them.
A camp dog trotted by, giving them a wide berth.

  Soon the plain appeared. Zach angled to the south, toward the Yellowstone. His joy at possibly seeing his parents again temporarily eclipsed his grief at parting from Bluebird. He glanced at Abby and smiled encouragement, then brought the bay to a gallop, eager to put miles between the village and them before daylight.

  At that instant a series of harsh yells shattered the serenity. Abby gasped, cried out, “They know already!”

  “Ride, then!” Zach coaxed, as behind them the Blackfoot village exploded in bedlam.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zachary King had no inkling of what had gone wrong. From the uproar he gathered the entire population was falling out to answer the squalls of the yeller, which spurred him into a headlong dash across the prairie. He had to hold the bay in a little in order for Abby to keep up, but they made good time nonetheless. For several minutes they fled unhindered.

  “Look!” Abby shouted, pointing rearward.

  Torches moved among the lodges. Figures jammed the open spaces. Among them were horses, a lot of horses, and Zach saw warriors mounting animal after animal.

  “They’ll catch us!” Abby lamented.

  “Not if I can help it,” Zach said defiantly. There was hope for them if they could lose themselves in the darkness before the Blackfeet organized. He slanted westward again, taking them farther into the comforting veil of darkness. The spirited bay and the paint had not been ridden for several days and relished this chance to gallop like the wind.

  Gradually the tumult lessened. Zach checked and believed he spied riders spreading out from the village, bearing to the south. Naturally the Blackfeet counted on them making straight for the river, for the border of Blackfoot country. Had he done so, Abby and he would have been in their clutches within the hour.

  The bay took the slope of a basin on the fly, hooves hammering. Zach had to keep one eye on the ground ahead and another on Abby, who flounced awkwardly to the rhythm of the paint but was able to stay on. They flew across the basin and up the other slope.