by Karen Kay
Quickly she drew on a nightdress before she commented, “You are deliberately misunderstanding me.”
“Am I?” he countered. “My people tell me that a white woman has been asking about me. They tell me that she wants to see me. It is a strange thing: a white woman asking after an Indian man, particularly here at a white man’s fort. My people are very curious. I think that I am, too. What is it that you want with me?”
Carolyn peeped around the screen, and gave his back a sharp glance, trying to ignore the broad design of his stately pose. She fretted briefly. She was not quite prepared to broach this subject most dear to heart. Not yet anyway. And so she countered, “How is it that your people would be curious? Surely they would understand that I am the same girl that you saved eight and a half years ago.”
“How would they know that?”
She drew her arms through the sleeves of a dressing coat and tied it around her waist before stepping around the screen. She said, “You must have told them about the incident.”
Turning again to face her, he shrugged slightly. His gaze took in her clothed form, but she could not determine what he was thinking, for his expression revealed no emotion. “There was no point in doing so,” he said.
Wasn’t there? Hadn’t she heard from soldiers, or perhaps from her former wagon master, that Indians bragged about their escapades?
Well, no matter. She said, “I disagree. There was good reason to speak up about it. After all, you saved my life and went out of your way to bring me to a white man’s post. You were, you are, a hero. Surely your people would like to know that.”
He turned aside, as though to make light of her words, but he offered no reply. Nor did she have any idea what to say next, particularly when she was not yet willing to lay bare her most urgent request.
After a while, she offered, “You speak English.”
“I learned.”
She gave him what she hoped was a sweet smile and swept forward, toward him. She said, “And I have learned to speak with sign language. I used to seek out the old trappers who often traveled through Virginia City, and I’m afraid I hounded them about teaching me the sign language until I had mastered it.”
He nodded. “It is good.”
He waited, his gaze roaming over her, from her face, down to the tip of her slippered feet. But he said no more.
She sulked, realizing that there was nothing for it. If this was to be the confrontation he wanted, she was going to have to make do with it. And although this was not exactly the sort of meeting she had envisioned having with him, for she would have presented him with her best face, she had to be thankful for one thing: he was here.
She proffered, “Won’t you be seated?”
She took the chair nearest the tub, the place where the towel had previously been tossed, while Lone Arrow slid gracefully to the floor, sitting cross-legged.
She asked, looking down upon him, “How have you been these past few years?”
He placed his arms over his chest, and said, “I live well.”
She inclined her head. “And your family? Are they well?”
“They are good.”
“I have learned from other Indians here at the fort that your name, A-luu-te Itt-áchkáat, means Lone Arrow.”
He nodded. “That is good.”
With these words her expression stilled, and she tried to sort out how to begin, finally deciding that her best tactic was to be blunt. Rising up from the chair, she sat beside him on the floor before she said, “I need your help.”
He did not move a muscle, nor did he respond in any way to her, and she wondered if his lack of reaction meant he would not assist her.
Stiffening her spine, she began. “Lone Arrow, please forgive me for asking this of you. Believe me, if it weren’t important, I would not have come here seeking you.”
He inclined his head several times, showing his understanding, and he said, “I am glad that you have come.”
“You are?”
He gave her a quick look of approval.
And she sent him a speculative glance in return. Did that mean that eight and a half years ago, he might have liked her…a little?
She inwardly grimaced. He might not be so happy about her return to this place, once she told him why she had come. Nonetheless, she knew she had to come to the point, and she blurted out, “Lone Arrow, I need you to lead me back to the cave.”
“The cave?”
“Yes,” she said, “the one where the treasure is hidden.”
She felt, more than witnessed, the barely perceivable difference in him; beheld that he withdrew from her.
All he did outwardly, however, was narrow his eyes. He asked, “Why do you want to go there?”
The truth, she cautioned herself. She must speak only the truth. This was a delicate point she remembered about this man so very, very well. He would know if she lied.
And so she began, “My family has come into some bad times. Things in the gold fields have not been so profitable for us, and we stand to lose everything we hold dear if we can’t come up with the finance to pay our creditors.”
As a look of confusion came over Lone Arrow’s countenance, she reached a hand out to him, touching him and covering his fingers with her own. She explained, “In our world, the white man needs this golden rock, the same kind of rock that I saw in that cave. It is this golden rock that purchases food and housing for us, since we do not live off the land as you do.”
She watched as he glanced down at her hand; watched as he flipped his hand over; observed him as his large fingers encircled hers. He said, “There is so much difference in the colors of our skin. Do you see this?”
She frowned. “Yours is only a few shades darker than mine. Lone Arrow, you leave the—”
“And yet those few shades make much difference, do they not?”
Carolyn drew her hand back from him at once. She asked, “What do you mean?”
He looked away from her, saying, “The golden rock means nothing to the Indian. You must know this. Yet it has great appeal to the white man. Very much, indeed. It is hard for the red man to understand. I have seen what the golden rock does to the whites. I have seen it drive white men crazy. Do you, too, have this fever?”
Carolyn cleared her throat and glanced at those fingers of his. Again she reached out to place her hand over his, as though to give comfort. She said, “Though I cannot deny that I would like to have much gold, in order to help my family, I do not believe I have the fever. That is not why I am here.”
“Is it not?”
“No,” she shook her head, and withdrew her hand as though his graze had somehow burned her. Dear Lord, what was happening to her?
Carolyn felt odd, as though a slow fire were being lit inside her. His touch, the feel of his skin upon her own gave her a curious feeling, as though she were all warm and fuzzy inside, and…she paused to take stock of herself. She felt naughty.
The thought came out of nowhere. Still, Carolyn wondered what it might be like if Lone Arrow were to take her hand in his, to pull her against him, to dip his head toward her, to touch his lips to hers, to caress her in all those places on her body which so suddenly yearned to be touched…
But he did not do it, thank goodness. In truth, he did the opposite and pulled back from her, saying, “If the memory of the gold rock has not driven you crazy, why have you returned?”
There it was; the direct question. She should answer, yet she did not feel it appropriate to tell him everything.
Or was she merely being cowardly? What would he think of her when he learned that she had been a thief?
But as though her pause had somehow offered evidence of her guilt, he stood and, turning away from her, paced once more to the corner of the room. From there, he swung back around toward her, saying, “You are here, then, to take the things that are in that cave?”
“No!” she denied at once.
“Why are you not?” he countered. “If what you are s
aying is true, that kind of treasure could help your family. Many people would do it, and no one would really blame you.”
“That’s true, but—”
“But those things in that cave are cursed,” he cut in. “Much bad luck. Better to leave them alone.”
She knew that…now. She said, “Please believe me. I’ll not be wanting to take anything from there.”
He frowned, looking as though he recognized her words as being true, but he also realized that there were certain conflicting facts in her story. He said, “Then why must you go there?”
“Because,” she said, hesitating, “I—I…please don’t think badly of me, Lone Arrow.”
“How could I think any worse of you than I do at this moment? That cave—those things you saw there—were never something you were supposed to see. I only took you there because I had no choice. If I am to protect that mountain, the spirit that lives there and its treasure, why would I take you there?”
She swallowed. “Because I have not come here to steal anything.”
He gave her a doubtful look.
She should tell him, she realized; she should simply muster up the courage and confess her misdeed. Perhaps he would understand. After all, she had been no more than eleven years of age, and she had been desperate.
She opened her mouth to tell him all; she took a deep breath, held it—
“The white man,” Lone Arrow said, “has many habits that my people do not understand.”
“Yes, but—”
“He takes without asking,” he continued, “he makes promises he cannot keep, he has even taken our women as wives, only to throw them away and deny his own children.”
Carolyn gulped. She said, “It is not good to generalize about an entire group of people. There are many differences person to person. Why, I could be very different from the image you might have of a…a white person.”
Lone Arrow gave her a curious look, before saying, “Are you?”
“A—am I what?”
“Are you different? Are you unlike many of the white people of my acquaintance?”
“Of course I am,” Carolyn answered at once.
“Are you telling me that you are a person of honor?”
“Of course I am a person of honor,” she said, realizing as she did so, that she had sealed her own fate. Never, not ever, could she tell him her crime. Not now.
She said, “Lone Arrow, you simply must believe me when I say I do not intend to steal any more treasure.”
He gave her a long look. His attention, however, seemed to catch on one thing, and he asked, “Any more?”
She stared away from him. Dear Lord, she was making mistakes…and she could afford none. She said, “I—I can’t tell you any more. That’s—that’s what I meant.”
She chanced a peep up at him, and winced. He looked stern, even more formidable than ever. As she watched, he brought up his arms to fold over his chest, although the blanket hid the full effect of his body from her. He said, “You have stolen before?”
This was yet another chance to come clean with him. She should take it now and tell him all. Surely he would understand, especially since all she wanted to do now was return the cross to its rightful place.
Or would he understand? If she had stolen something once, might he think that she would do so again?
She hesitated. “I—I—”
He tread forward. “Did you take something?”
“I—I…” Words failed her.
“Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“What you stole.”
“No,” she said. “It’s—it’s only a little…wait. You are putting words in my mouth. I did not say I stole anything.”
He ignored her. “What was it?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing…much. It is only that I picked something up there on that mountain, something of little or no value and I wish to return it.”
“Humph! Might I see it?”
“It’s nothing much, I tell you. Nothing to see, really. Besides, if I show it to you, you might take it from me.”
“As well I should if what I think you have done is true. Tell me, did you take this thing that is ‘not much’ from that cave, or from the mountain itself?”
She opened her mouth to speak, found her voice caught somewhere between her throat and her tongue. She tried to get a word out, but could not do it. Nor could she incline her head. She sat on the floor, surrounded by the warmth of her nightgown and coat, herself frozen.
“Give me the item,” Lone Arrow said, “for it is only then that I will decide if I will help you or not.”
Should she? She sat mute, perfectly still. Finally she was able to utter, “No.”
“No?”
“No,” she said more emphatically.
“No, you do not want my help?”
“Not exactly. I need your help. It is why I am here.”
“Then, what?”
“No, I won’t show you what I have.”
“Why not?” he asked. “If it is truly no more than a small thing…”
“Because—because…?” Why? Oh, why hadn’t she practiced what she was going to say to him before having to confront him?
While she paused, he paced back to her side, and Carolyn could feel the heat of his regard. He said, “If you give it to me, I will return it to the treasure mountain for you. If your intentions are honorable and you truly do not wish to take anything else from there, this you will do.”
Carolyn hesitated. That sounded logical. Too logical.
Yet, why not do it? It would be so much easier to give the cross to him. Easier for her and faster.
But he would then know that she had been no more than a common thief.
Well, he was going to find that out about her anyway…in truth, if what he said was true, he already did think this of her. Plus, if she gave it to him, she could return home at once.
Except that she did not want him to know that she had stolen an actual artifact. If it had been something small, of little use, like a stick or a stone, perhaps an arrowhead, then that would be less condemning.
There was another aspect to be considered, also. What if she did give him the cross, and he did not take it back to the cave in a timely manner? Or worse yet, what if he lost it?
And what if she gave him the cross, and he left her without so much as a by your leave? She would never see him again.
That thought struck her hard. Surely she did not still harbor a young girl’s fantasy about him, did she?
No. She could not possibly. Well, even if she did—she thought, a little more honestly—she had to remember that she was not here for herself.
There was also one other possibility that she must consider. If she did not, herself, return the cross to the cave, would the curse still be broken?
Could another make restitution for her, given that she had been the one who had committed the crime in the first place?
Taking a deep breath, Carolyn came to a decision and, gathering her wits about her, said, “I’m sorry. As much as I would like to simply give the thing to you, and have you return it for me, I cannot do it that way. You will have to take my word for it that it is a small item, and ah, as I said, nothing much. Besides, I must be certain this thing is done…and quickly.”
He pulled a frown. “What do you mean? Why do you hurry?”
“Because,” she said, “my family is on the brink of disaster. I have come to realize that until this object is returned, I have no chance of helping them. In truth, I am a hindrance to them. Believe me, I have come to understand that this thing that I have—even though it is nothing much really—is, indeed, cursed.”
Lone Arrow stared down at her, his gaze skimming over the full measure of her white night coat.
He did not believe her. She knew it, but she would not tell him more.
He narrowed his eyes at her, and asked, “What do you have to give me in trade if I do this thing for you?”
Carolyn fretted. So here it was at last. She had known it would come to this, had sensed that he would not donate his undivided time and attention to her…for nothing. This she had feared.
But at least in this thing, she was prepared. She knew what to do.
She said, “I have very little to offer you.”
He let his gaze travel over the length of her scantily clad body as she sat before him; once, a second time, again, but he remained otherwise silent.
She followed that glance upon her own person. Did he know what she was thinking? If he did…
Of its own accord, embarrassment consumed her. Truth to tell, she felt her face tingle.
She sighed. No matter how often she had rehearsed this thing she knew she must say, she was uncertain she could go through with it. After all, it was quite one thing to resolve to make the offer she knew she was going to have to make; another thing to actually do it.
Carolyn gulped in a breath of air, preparing for the explosion which she knew would follow—that is, if she revealed all. Courage, she heartened herself. Aloud, she said, “I—I…could give you…m-my…”
He looked at her expectantly.
“M-my,” she gulped. “My-s-e-l-f,” she finished. This last word had been spoken in no more than a whisper.
But he had heard it, for he became suddenly very quiet. He squatted down beside her, but she would not acknowledge him, would not look into his face.
It would appear, however, that he would be having none of her shyness, for with a single finger under her chin, he lifted her face up until he could look her in the eyes, even though she refused to make that contact.
Alas, she was doing her best to glance down at the floor when she heard him ask, “Then, The-girl-who- runs-with-bears is not married? That she could give me this?”
She shook her head.
“And she would willingly give me this?”
She nodded.
“Then it must be more than a simple trinket that you took, Carolyn.”
It was the first time Lone Arrow had ever spoken her English name, and the effect of it, the way he had said it, sent shivers of fire running up and down her spine.
“How do you know my name? I don’t think I ever told it to you.”
