by Karen Kay
But wait. The wind was changing again, becoming once more a simple tuft of spinning wind. It sped closer and closer to him, growing bigger and bigger until at last only it filled his vision.
And then came the words, “Dáauk, they must leave. They bring harm…to me…to the people. You must protect…you must protect…”
And then it was gone.
No, there was more.
There before him was the white man’s fort, Fort Ellis. He saw it as clearly as if he stood next to it. And there she was, stepping down from one of the white man’s carriages, her brown hair protected by an odd-looking hat that almost hid the simple, yet luxurious color of her locks. And he recognized her. He would always recognize her.
She turned; she stared at him. She reached out to touch him, and…
The vision went blank.
A-luu-te Itt-áchkáat, or Lone Arrow, awoke with a start.
And while sweat poured down his face, he stared out into the glory of a pink-stained sunrise. The fresh fragrance of a newborn day teased at his nostrils, helping to bring him back into the present moment. He inhaled the pine- and wood-scented air slowly, savoring each breath that he took, letting the wind whisk the ends of his waist-length hair around his otherwise naked body.
Still caught up in the passion of the vision, he remained oblivious to the coolness of the air, though he savored its bracing caress upon his exposed skin.
She came.
He let out his breath as his eyes surveyed the land around him, his view taking in the gentle rise and fall of the terrain surrounding him. It was as though he needed to do this in order to reassure himself that the land he loved most still remained as he knew it, untouched.
Ah, and such wondrous land it was, he thought. It was here where he felt close to the spirits; here where he could commune with nature; here where his heart could reach out to touch the essence of He, who made these things.
Yes, the Maker had surely smiled down upon Lone Arrow’s people, the Absarokee, that He would give them this beautiful country in which to live. In truth, so fine was it that with its rolling, grassy hills, its bountiful game, and its sharp-edged mountains, many of the other tribes were beginning to covet this same country for their own.
It was not too hard to understand. Pushed westward by the advancing whites, a large number of Indian tribes were already pressing their way into Absarokee country.
The Crow welcomed these people, for the Absarokee territory abounded in richness. All were welcome to come here and to hunt, so long as they returned to their own homes when finished.
But not always did the other tribes go home; not always did they have homes to go back to.
Still, things in this part of the country might have been peaceful if the other tribes had abided by Absarokee decree. It was simple: leave their people alone.
But perhaps it was too much to ask. Always, it seemed that Absarokee women or Absarokee horses were at risk.
However, the old ones predicted even more change, even greater challenges would come to pass. It was now being said that the Absarokee people, though they had laid claim to this land for thousands of years, were soon to be defending their country against an even greater foe, the white man.
But though this might all be true, none of it mattered at the moment to Lone Arrow.
After eight and a half long years of absence, the Maker had at last smiled upon Lone Arrow, giving him a vision. Even the spinning wind, Lone Arrow’s protector, had returned to him.
It was good; so very, very good. Yet, the vision had clearly shown him that there were problems.
Was she one of them?
Why did the white girl stumble so often into his thoughts? And why had he seen her coming here again?
In the dream, she had been separate from the white men. It was this fact which was leading him to believe that she might not be the problem.
But what if he were wrong?
He grimaced, for the thought worried him. Worried him because the white girl was mixed up with him in spirit, entangled with him in some way that he did not fully comprehend. Somehow—and Lone Arrow did not like to think this way—but somehow, she made him feel whole, as though she completed him.
He snorted at the thought.
Yet he could not deny what he had dreamed or the signs which were telling him what the future held. For with this vision, the Spirit of the Mountains, he who made the rain to fall and the wind to blow, spoke to him…something that had not happened in eight and a half years…not since she had left.
Had he been granted the vision because she was returning?
Lone Arrow scowled. The mere thought of her made him feel as though he were pulled in two directions. A part of him—that portion which felt motivated to defend his people—did not want her here. She would most likely cause him annoyance or, at the least, inconvenience.
Yet—and this is what he did not understand—there was another element in his nature, a very masculine part of him, which rejoiced at her homecoming.
Alas, Lone Arrow was no fool. Though he had always found her to be an aggravating little thing, he had also discovered her to be…bewitching.
And try though he might to keep from reacting to this little bit of knowledge, it was this very thought that irritated him the most.
“Do you mean to tell me that Fort Phil Kearny and Fort C.F. Smith are no longer in existence?” Carolyn asked, wondering if her distress was evident in her voice.
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” answered the soldier who was probably no more than a youngster of fifteen. He was also the only other person to share her coach.
“What happened to them?” she asked.
“Well, ma’am,” the young man began, leaning forward, “it seems that them Sioux, Red Cloud and Crazy Horse, won their war, so to speak. The army abandoned them posts a few years back…had to.”
Carolyn frowned. “Oh, I see,” she uttered.
But did she?
She opened her mouth to ask another question, but an unusually deep rut in the road jostled her in her seat, and she threw her hands out to her sides to steady herself.
The moment passed, and as she sat back in her seat, she said, “Then there is no fort in the Bighorn Mountains anymore? What happened to the Carters, the family that ran that post? Do you know where they went?”
The young man shook his head. “The Carters? I don’t rightly know, ma’am. Can’t say as I’ve heard of them, let alone where they went. All I know is that there ain’t no fort there no more.”
“Oh,” said Carolyn, though she would have liked to have voiced a good deal more.
Tipping his head toward her, the young soldier asked, “Then I take it you’ve been here b’fore, ma’am?”
Carolyn nodded, but did not volunteer any more information, nor would she; not ever. That time period in her life was not something she wished to talk about to family and friends, let alone share her thoughts with a stranger.
The young soldier, thank goodness, as though taking the hint, gazed out the window, leaving Carolyn to try to piece together her thoughts.
Well, this was another fine mess she was in. What was she to do now? And why hadn’t she inquired about Fort C.F. Smith before beginning this journey?
Frankly, it hadn’t occurred to her that the fort would no longer be in existence.
Would it have made a difference if she’d known?
Carolyn pouted. She knew it would not have mattered one little bit. She was here because she had to do what she had to do. Her life, her family’s very future, depended upon her success here.
It was why she had spent every last penny she had to get this far away from Virginia City. But time seemed to be running out; that and money.
And she could not, under any circumstances, go back home without her purpose accomplished. Nothing would go right until she fulfilled her duty. Nothing at all. She knew that now.
Which left her with a problem. How was she to find him? And in a timely manner? It seemed a
lmost impossible, yet, she had to make it happen.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “So is Fort Ellis the only fort, then, between here and the Bighorn Mountains?”
“’Fraid so, ma’am.”
At that news, Carolyn sat farther back in her seat.
“We’ll be there in a matter of minutes,” volunteered the young man.
Carolyn raised a brow. “Will we?”
“Yes ma’am. If you look out your window there, you’ll see Fort Ellis just ahead.”
Carolyn looked, more out of courtesy than curiosity, and what she saw was pleasing enough, she supposed.
Up ahead, a fort, looking very much like a series of logs which had been spread out upon the prairie, loomed off to her left. And behind the fort, to the east, sat a range of snow-capped mountains, their peaks looking tall and forbidding.
“What mountain range is that?” she asked of the boy, pointing to their crests with a white-gloved hand.
“Them are the Crazy Mountains, ma’am,” the youngster replied. “Heard tell that Indians go there to seek their visions.”
“Hmmmm,” she said. Then, almost absentmindedly, she uttered, “Thank you,” before turning away.
Darn! She pressed her face against the hard wood of the coach until a bump had her leaning away. How was she ever going to get over those mountains? Or perhaps more importantly, how was she going to find him without traversing those peaks?
Carolyn groaned. Even if she did manage to locate him here at Fort Ellis, would it do her any good? She had little idea of how to gain his cooperation.
Yes, she had a plan. Yes, she had gone over and over what she would do, if she were forced into it. But somehow it had all seemed so much simpler when, as she’d first hatched the idea, she had been safely nestled within her home in Virginia City.
Yet, she was resolved not to fail. After all, she was not here for herself.
Drawing in a deep breath, she gave the mountains one more quick scan, ignoring the sinking sensation in her heart. Somehow the task, which had not initially seemed so great, now loomed before her, and she began to doubt her ability to accomplish what she must.
How could she ever do it?
Because he would come to her.
Glancing once again toward the young man who sat opposite her, she asked, “Do the soldiers at Fort Ellis ever go into the Bighorn Mountains?”
“Yes, ma’am, though not very often,” replied the soldier.
“I see,” she said. Then, as though with inspiration, “Do you know if there is any plan afoot to go there soon?”
The young man shook his head. “I wouldn’t know, miss. You could speak to the captain, though, as soon as you’re settled in. He would know.”
Carolyn nodded. “Thank you. I think that I will.”
Of course she would speak to the captain. At the earliest possible moment, too.
Her mission was simple, if desperate. Find the cave, return the cross, go home.
Return the cross.
That, in essence, was the purpose of this trip. She must return that cross to that cave, and she must do it soon—for herself, for her family and their prosperity. Hadn’t she dreamed as much?
She saw the cave again, moved through it, once more witnessing the glistening of the golden objects.
And always he was there beside her.
Together they held the cross. Together, they set the cross back to its rightful place. Together they embraced.
And all was right with her world. Her family’s property had reverted back into their own control. Her mother smiled at her. Even her father walked again.
But most importantly, she and her love had embraced…
Carolyn sighed. It had been the dream which had led her back here; that, plus the knowledge that until she returned what she had irresponsibly taken, nothing would be right.
Of course, she hadn’t believed the message in her dream. Not at first.
There were, after all, other ways of ridding herself of the object, the simplest of which was to throw the thing away. But it had not been as easy as it might seem.
Thinking back on it, it appeared as if the item had been granted a life of its own. Whenever she would reach for it, intent on getting rid of it, the cross would somehow elude her.
And the one time she had managed to throw it away, she had felt compelled to return to the place and retrieve it. It was as though she were connected to the object in a manner she did not understand. It was either that or, like a bad omen, her sense of guilt would not allow her to let it go.
Still, it all added up to one thing: she must get herself back to that mountain and to that cave.
However, she had little time in which to accomplish this task. In six short months, the bank would begin its threat to foreclose on her parents’ property.
And though to another this might not seem the end of the world, to Carolyn it was like the kiss of death. Without that property, her mother and father would have nothing. Nothing for all their hard work and devotion. Nothing, for all the kindness that they had shown her.
No, her mission was clear. She must work quickly, steadily and, she must find him. For he was her only link to those caves.
“Ma’am?”
Carolyn glanced up to discover that her young traveling companion no longer sat in front of her. The door of their coach stood open, and he hovered in the opening there, his hand outstretched toward her.
“We’re here,” the lad said, unnecessarily. “Welcome to Fort Ellis, ma’am.”
Carolyn smiled at him, and bending, she accepted that hand. With some trepidation, she alighted from the coach, one slim foot at a time. A feeling of déjà vu stole over her as she felt the sun beat down upon the top of her head. It reminded her of another time she had been in this same vicinity. Another time. Another place.
She had come home.
Home? Where had that thought come from?
Shaking her head, Carolyn stole a glance forward, espying the Crazy Mountains jutting up behind the fort. She would have to cross those mountains—and soon.
Still, it was not something she had to do today. Today, she would start her search for him. Today, she would speak to the captain about taking that trip into the Bighorn Mountains. Today, she would begin plans for what she must.
Grinning up at the young soldier in front of her, she said a quick “Thank you” and felt in her pocket to touch for the cross which she kept, of late, never out of reach.
Running her fingers over the smooth texture of its handiwork, she stiffened her resolve, making a promise to herself. She would find her Indian friend…somehow…and in a timely manner, too. And she would return this cross if it were the last thing she did.
Turning away from the spectacular sight of the Crazy Mountains, Carolyn took a step forward and tripping, fell over her trunk.
“Do you know where I could reach the one I seek, A-luu-te Itt-áchkáat?” Carolyn asked the young, pretty Indian woman, whose name she had come to learn was Pretty Moon.
“Him…not…here.” Many hand motions accompanied the Indian maid’s attempt at English.
Carolyn glanced at the sky, then fretted. It was getting on toward evening, and there was yet no sign of him. Having marched here on her own, she was reluctant to leave so soon and return to the fort. Still she could not afford to be caught here in the Indian encampment after dark. She had one further question to ask, and with words as well as the hand signs, which she had studied with care these past eight and a half years, she began, “Do you know of any way to get a message to him?”
The maid made a negative sign, saying again, “Him…not…here.”
“I know that,” Carolyn voiced aloud, not signing the meaning of the words. Absentmindedly Carolyn fingered the silver locket around her neck, the gesture comforting. It was, after all, her one prize possession, for the necklace had been given to Carolyn by her birth mother, shortly before her death. It was also the same locket that Carolyn had once presented to him, altho
ugh he had given it back to her once he had led her to the safety of Fort C.F. Smith, some eight and a half years ago.
Carolyn watched as Pretty Moon’s gaze fixed onto the locket. Goodness, but that stare practically oozed envy. Did she like it?
Carolyn held the locket out toward the other woman, saying, with words and with signs, “Would you like to see this?”
The Indian maid nodded.
Carolyn beckoned her forward, and at the same time pressed a small button on it. The locket fell open at once, revealing a small likeness of a man and woman. Carolyn said, “It is a picture of my mother and father.”
Pretty Moon clasped her hand over her mouth, obviously stunned by such a magnificent sight, one she had evidently never seen before. And with big eyes, the maid gazed up at Carolyn.
“White…woman…trade?”
Carolyn shook her head, and closed the locket’s clasp. “No, I couldn’t”—she added signs to her words—“It is the only treasure that I possess. Although once I offered it to…” Her voice fell off, but if the other woman noticed, she did not comment on it.
Instead Pretty Moon nodded at Carolyn and smiled. “It pretty. If…white woman…trade”—she held up a beautifully tanned skin—“Have many…things…you like…trade?”
“You most certainly do have many beautiful things, but, no,” said Carolyn, as she glanced around her, noticing distinctly that none of the other Indians were inclined to talk to her. But then, it was not something she should take personally. Why should they be anxious to communicate? Especially at this hour.
This was the time of day when families would be serving the evening meal, although, Carolyn admitted, Pretty Moon did not seem to be in any hurry to leave. Carolyn said again, with words and with signs, “It is getting late. I will come here tomorrow. Perhaps there is something else I could give you if you could get a message to the man that I seek.”
The young Indian woman made a negative motion with her head, and Carolyn gave up trying, at least for the time being.
“I will see you tomorrow,” Carolyn reiterated, and with a smile and a quick sign indicating their talk was done, Carolyn turned to trod back toward the fort.
