by Karen Kay
He tried again, replacing the baskets. Same results.
Sheepishly, he gazed up at her. He grimaced and tried to set the flower baskets back into place once more. But it was useless, and when they fell over again, he ignored them, as though he had accomplished the feat perfectly.
He came to stand beside her.
Effie chose not to comment on his clumsiness.
“You say you understand English? How?”
Pretending that nothing had happened, he said, “I scouted for a black robe who was traveling through this country in his search for the Flathead tribe. It was through him that I learned the language.”
“I see. No wonder your pronunciation of the language is excellent. You were taught by a monk.”
He treated her to a rakish grin, and for a moment Effie forgot to breathe.
Collecting herself, she continued, “Do you know the way to the Gates of the Rocky Mountains?”
“Aa,” he said, as he stood over her, yet next to her. “I do. I am from that country.”
“Are you? What tribe are you?”
“I am from the Southern Pikunis,” he replied proudly.
“Oh. I was hoping you might be from the Blackfeet tribe, since the Gates of the Mountains are in their territory.”
“Southern Pikunis are part of the Blackfoot Confederation.” He stood stiffly, as though afraid to make a move, any move, lest something else tumble down around him. “There are three tribes that make up the Blackfoot Confederation, and they are the Blackfoot, the Bloods and the Northern and Southern Piegan or what we refer to as the Pikunis.”
“Oh, this is good. If I were to hire you for a job, would you be able to start in a few days?”
“Aa,” he said, and again he nodded.
“Aa? Does that mean yes?”
“Aa.”
She frowned. “Hmmm. I suppose that it does.”
He didn’t answer, merely continued to stand rigidly, uncomfortably.
“I would like to meet with you tomorrow. Where would be a convenient place and time for us to talk? If I am to hire you, I would need to tell you the reason I am here, the project that needs doing and the journey ahead.”
He nodded. “You come here to town, I will find you.”
“No matter where I am?”
“I will find you.”
She grinned at him. “Thank you, Mister…ah…Mister…”
After a time, he said, as though educating her, “An Indian never speaks his own name unless he has to. It is impolite to do so.”
“Oh.”
“But you could call me Red Hawk.”
“Ah, thank you, Mr. Hawk. Well, that explains a thing or two.” She didn’t elaborate as to what that thing or two was. “Till tomorrow then.”
Again, he nodded.
With a quick smile at him, she turned to walk away. Having rounded the building, however, she peeked at the man from around the corner.
She could see him draw in a deep breath, and then move away from the post, which she supposed had been holding him up and keeping him standing straight. He looked as bewildered about the entire exchange as she felt.
Heaven help her, he was certainly an interesting character. Clumsy, yet handsome…and, if she were to be honest, something about him seemed achingly familiar. If she thought for a moment, maybe she could remember…
Frowning, Effie turned away.
“Are we going to abandon the project, then?”
The question came from dark-haired Carl Bell. With mugs and teacups in hand, the group was seated around a rudely cut, wood-hewn table, which sat in a far corner of a smoke-filled, dimly lit tavern. It was the only establishment in town that served food.
“No, we’re not going to abandon it.” Effie glanced at the young man. “Why would we?”
“Because of the trouble last night, as well as the matter of our guide quitting the project this morning. We can’t very well travel into Blackfeet country without a guide. Plus—”
“All excavations have their problems,” interrupted Effie. “It’s part of our duty to overcome them. We all knew there might be danger connected with this project, by its very nature.”
“Yes, but somebody accosted you in your room, Effie. They shot at you. That’s never been done before,” responded Lesley.
Effie frowned in Lesley’s direction. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been threatened. Do you remember that dig in Mexico that our parents were part of? Do you recall the danger of bandits?”
“Yes,” said Lesley, “but somehow it seemed more adventurous at the time, not dangerous.”
Effie nodded and smiled slightly. “You’re right, it did seem more adventurous. In fact, if any of you wish to quit the project, please feel free to do so. You are by no means bound to continue.”
Carl shifted uneasily in his chair, as did Henry, while both women stared anywhere but at her.
To press the point, Effie said, “If you’re going to quit, I would prefer it if you did so soon. At least then I will have a better idea of what I must do to get this project going.”
Effie waited. A moment passed, then two, the seconds clicking by slowly.
When no one rose to leave or interrupt the silence, Effie continued. “Then we’re all agreed to go on?”
Each one nodded.
“Good,” said Effie. “Then I should tell you that I have this day hired another guide. And this one, I think, will do well for us. In fact, I believe he’ll even be better than the last, for he is Indian.”
“Indian? Really?” gasped Henry Smith.
“Yes. His name is Red Hawk, he is Blackfeet, he knows the country that we must journey to, and he is willing to guide us and provide some protection, as well. I will be meeting with him later to finalize the details.”
“Miss Rutledge, I don’t know about this,” uttered Madeline, who was a pretty, slender, ginger-haired woman. “Are you certain you can trust such a one? After all, aren’t our people and his at war?”
“Come now, Maddy,” censured Carl. “We’re here to discover the truth about an Indian tribe. Surely it’s our good luck to have an Indian accompanying us. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can think of many things I would like to ask him, if given the chance.”
“But I’ve heard that Indians are not trustworthy.”
“I think that might be pure gossip, Madeline,” Effie replied. “I have spoken with the gentleman, and I can assure you he is trustworthy. In fact, I think much more so than the gentleman I had first hired.”
Madeline seemed reluctant, and she stared at the others, as if seeking an appeal. When no one spoke up for her, she uttered, “Am I the only one who objects?” Silence met this question, and Madeline went on to say, “There will be trouble because of this. I’m certain of it. I can feel it.”
“We already have trouble,” said Effie. “Perhaps that is what you feel. Personally, it is my hope that this man will help end any difficulties we’ve encountered. Later you shall all meet him, and then you can each share your opinions. In the meantime, let us review again our plans for the rest of the afternoon. If we work quickly, I believe we shall be ready to leave as originally scheduled. Madeline and Mr. Bell, have you arranged for a wagon yet?”
“We are negotiating.”
“Good, good,” said Effie. “And, Lesley and Mr. Smith, have you arranged for rations?”
“We, too, are negotiating.”
“Very well, then. It seems to me as if we already have our day planned. Shall we continue?”
Various nods and agreeable noises met Effie’s question. Their waitress arrived, bringing with her the delicious aroma of roast beef and cabbage. As they applied themselves to the meal, it occurred to Effie that for the first time this day, things seemed to be going well.
As was his way, Red Hawk welcomed
in the new day with song. Naked, and with burning sage on a rock at his feet, he smudged himself with the sacred herbs, turning slowly in its smoke. After a moment, he knelt by the rock, and using a feather as well as his hands, passed the herbal smoke over his face, his neck, his entire body. It was a necessary procedure, for sage cleansed.
Looking upward and raising his arms toward the heavens, he lifted his voice in song:
“Haiya, haiya. Thank you, A’pistotooki, for this new day.
Haiya, haiya, I have discovered the water being, and have found her beautiful.
It is good. And though she has changed greatly, I am happy to see her again.
Haiya, haiya, I will help her by doing all that I can to find the thing she seeks.
Haiya, haiya. Her problems, her troubles will be as mine.
Haiya, haiya, but, Creator, I do not know what she seeks, or why she seeks this thing, that for which I also quest.
And I do not understand the poem you have given me.
Haiya, haiya, Creator, I would see the sea dog, my protector, again.
Haiya, haiya, for I have questions I would ask of my spirit protector.
I would understand this sign that you have shown me better.
Haiya, haiya, have pity on me. My needs are simple.
Haiya, haiya, haiya, my prayer is done.”
Lowering his arms, Red Hawk stepped out of the sacred smoke and knelt beside the stone, taking care to smother the fire and ensure it was out. Carefully, he returned his feather to a pouch, before arising to pace the few necessary steps to the water. Inhaling deeply, he dove into the middle of the lagoon. The water was cold and invigorating as it slid over his body. He lingered there, beneath the water. Here, he felt closer to something… He wasn’t certain what that something was. Only that something here soothed his troubled spirits. In due time he surfaced, and shaking his head, he felt the droplets of water run down his back, watched as they splattered everywhere.
For a moment, he worried that the ever-expanding circles in the water might warn an enemy of his position here. But, though Red Hawk was, indeed, within enemy territory—Crow country—he feared little.
He had scouted the area thoroughly before engaging in his daily prayers, and he had found nothing. He supposed this was due to the fact that the Crow were friendly toward the whites. Further, he conjectured that in order to discourage any incident between the two peoples, the Crows, as a rule, stayed away from the white man’s town. In truth, this was a part of the country that held little reputation for shootings or killings.
With these thoughts effectively stifling any fear he might have held, Red Hawk returned his attention to the matter at hand, and plunging farther underwater, he awaited contact from his spiritual helper, hoping that the Creator had heard his plea. He waited…and he waited.
But of one thing, there was no doubt. Though he had bathed himself again and again, when there was no need, he did not meet the sea dog this day.
Chapter Seven
The mist was ushering in another fine morning as Effie stepped to her room’s only window. Staring off due east, she could see that the sky was still navy blue, a sign that she had awakened long before the others were to arise. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to him, the boy from her youth.
Where was he? And why was he etched so deeply in her mind?
Effie had spent a sleepless night. Not due to the boy, but rather because of the previous evening’s “guest”. Alas, she had barely closed her eyes.
Tired though she was, sleeplessness wasn’t the worst of her troubles. Effie was worried about the turn of events. She could no longer leave the artifacts in her room. Locked or not, this hotel was not now the safe haven she had once thought it to be.
Briefly, she considered her options. She could carry them in her purse or she could even purchase a safety deposit box.
On this last thought, she frowned. No, she couldn’t put them in a deposit box. A bank might be too easily robbed, particularly in an out-of-the-way mining town like Virginia City. Plus, there was an additional difficulty: She would require these artifacts to be at hand as soon as the digging commenced. If their excavation did uncover the other two nuggets, only as a complete set of four could they be presented to the Lost Clan.
But surely there was something else she could do to protect the golden valuables.
“I could ask Madeline or Carl to keep them for me,” she mumbled to herself. “Or perhaps Lesley might be willing to hold them in trust.”
No. In reality, Effie wasn’t certain she could trust Lesley or even any of the others in her group.
She immediately pulled up on that thought.
What a terrible thing to believe. After all, out of the many different kinds of people in this town, her crew was probably the most trustworthy.
“And yet…” She paused.
It was that uncertainty that made Effie hesitate to include the others in her confidence. True, everyone in her party had already seen the artifacts. It had been necessary to show them to her crew so each would know what the nuggets looked like. Indeed, identification without a good representation of what needed identifying was almost impossible.
But this had taken place while they were back East. It was her understanding that Madeline and Carl Bell thought that Effie still held the valuables there. Only Lesley, and perhaps her husband, knew the entire story of the legend, and only they were aware that all four artifacts were required to be present together, otherwise…
“You don’t suppose…?”
No, that was another rather unpleasant thought.
Still, Effie couldn’t shake the rather startling idea, and she wondered, could Lesley be the one who was trying to steal the artifacts? Had she sent her husband to do her dirty work? Was it he who had broken into her room?
Effie frowned. It could be.
It was certainly true that Lesley liked the finer things in life, and the nuggets would fetch a handsome dollar.
“No, it can’t be,” Effie whispered to herself.
Hadn’t she known Lesley all her life? Though Lesley might be more than a little spoiled, and mayhap a bit frivolous, Effie could not envision the other girl as a thief.
But if not Lesley, then who?
Perhaps Lesley or her husband had let slip to someone that Effie carried the precious nuggets. Had some conversation between the two of them been overheard?
If that were the case, then the thief could be anybody.
It was all rather confusing. For a moment, Effie wondered if her father had realized what dangers would follow in the wake of the artifacts leaving their secure place back East. Had he realized that if his daughter carried them on her person…?
Wait! On her person.
Surely that might present a solution. Could she not carry them? Hidden in her effects?
After all, the stones themselves weren’t terribly heavy, weighing about two pounds apiece. She could place them each into a satchel and hang them from around her waist by a string, perhaps one on either side of her hips. No doubt her very full skirts would hide them.
But was there a drawback to doing so? Effie tried to envision a scenario where the artifacts, if tied to her person, might be insecure. There was only one possibility she could foresee.
Once on location, she would be forced to bathe in a river or stream. It would be then, and perhaps only then, that she would be required to set the stones aside.
Or would she? Could she possibly arrange it so that, even then, the artifacts remained with her at all times?
Suddenly it came to her, and gasping aloud, she snapped her fingers. That was it. It would be perfect.
Her bathing suit would be her solution, since it was full enough to hide the valuables. But could she wash those secret places on her body and remain clothed at the same time?
She would have to conduct a te
st of it, bathe in a stream and see if it were possible. If it were, her problem would be solved.
Effie quickly stepped to her vanity and rummaged through the drawer until she found a needle, thread and some sturdy material. Next she scooted the vanity chair toward the window, where she could gaze outside with ease. She sat down, preparing to sew together two satchels, one for each rock.
It wasn’t long, however, before the fog swirled in through the open window and into her room. A short time after, memories of the past swept to the fore of her mind, prompting her to recall another place and time.
Where was he?
It was odd how much her new guide, Mr. Hawk, reminded her of the boy from her past. Maybe it was because both tended to be clumsy. Was that why the man seemed so familiar?
On that thought, she frowned.
Virginia City was a gold mining town, having been quickly established at the end of the Bozeman Trail for this specific purpose. It sat in the grasslands of the friendly Crow Indians, thus making raids by the natives few.
On any given day, from a venue on a hill outside the city, one was presented with perhaps the most chaotic sight in all the territory. Men, six thousand or more of them, were crowded into the gulch where gold had been discovered. There these men dug, fought, cursed, drank, pushed and shoved. Teams and wagons stood knee-deep in mud, and the road was almost impassible. Tents were everywhere, but there was a sawmill here, as well, a little farther downstream, with its smoke and horrible noise adding pollution to the already turbulent nature of the place.
The din was almost unbearable, for the buzz of those saws was continuous. Add to this the clamor from more than six thousand men, and the effect was deafening.
But there was another aspect of the city that few had ever taken the time to discover. Located in the heart of the plains, and skirted by grass-covered hills, Virginia City also spawned places where one could sit and think.
On the other side of town, over a few hills, one might discover a quiet stream, a place where the water ran deep, and where the brook babbled its way eastward. Alongside that stream grew several scarce cottonwood trees, as well as one immense willow whose roots were well embedded in the soil. The rocks in the stream were slick, and the water was swift, but cool and refreshing.
