by Karen Kay
But there were problems. For instance, would she recognize that same mountain, even once she was within its vicinity? She might, she answered her own question. Chances were particularly good, if she could locate that circle of stones.
And then there was the question of finance. Where was she going to obtain the money to buy the necessities she would need for such a trip?
She had little in the way of funds. Alas, she had made her financial calculations based on obtaining Lone Arrow’s cooperation. And since Indians traveled with nothing but the shirt upon their backs, she had estimated that the entire trip would cost her little. At the time, such an idea had been a godsend, and had helped her to confirm her travel arrangements.
But if she were to do this thing on her own, she would need supplies, and in the very least, a horse. How was she to accomplish this, she wondered, with no money, no collateral; with nothing of worth to sell or trade?
Her fingers came up to nervously twiddle with the locket around her neck. And several moments passed before another idea struck her. Wide-eyed, she held the necklace up before her face, doing nothing more than looking at it, really looking at it.
By itself, it was worthless. But the Indian maid, Pretty Moon, had wanted this trinket, had been willing to trade most anything for it.
Could or would Pretty Moon help her? Would this locket buy Carolyn an ally? Or at the very least a horse?
Clutching the pendant into her hand, Carolyn came to a decision. True, her plan might only be a dim possibility at the moment, but just wait. She was going to make it become a reality, or die trying…
Much farther south, at Fort Laramie on the North Platte River, two men sat in a dark corner, huddled around a bottle of whiskey.
To all outward appearances, they could have been mountain men, or perhaps scouts, clad as they were in wide-brimmed hats, buckskin coats and high-topped moccasins. But there the illusion ended, for the slow drawl in their voices left no doubt as to the Southern origin of their birthplace.
Dixon, the one with darker coloring, looked sullen, while Jordan shuddered.
“It’s imprinted in me head, ah tell ya,” said Jordan.
The bushy, dark brows of his companion, however, drew together in a frown. He said, “Now, you know ah wouldn’t wanna call you a liar or nothin’,” Dixon’s voice was low, though distinctly harsh. “But I’ll be hog-tied to a whore afore I’ll trust that noggin of yourns. Ah reckon ah didn’t wait any part of those two-bit years in a Yankee prison, waitin’ to come back here, only t’ be told there ain’t no map.”
Jordan shrugged. “You could’a made one yerself.”
“Why ya yaller-bellied coward.”
A chair squealed against the floor in accompaniment to the words; the table wobbled for a moment as though it might tip over, and Dixon burst to his feet. In the aftermath, a blaze of furniture crashed to the floor, the noise only adding to the already tense atmosphere.
Dixon made a grab for his companion, clutching at Jordan’s lapels until he had nearly pulled him clean off his feet.
He roared, “What was that ya said?”
“N-nothin’, Dixon. Nothin’ at all.”
“Now, ya listen up real good like,” Dixon hissed, though he kept his voice low. “Ah said it before, ’n’ I’ll say it again. Ah want that map, and ah want it now. Get it fer me tonight, or else.” He shook the smaller gentleman. “Do ya understand’?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dixon pushed Jordan up against the wall.
Jordan nodded and said, “Sure thing, Dixon. Sure thing. Ah’ll have it fer ya first thing…tomorrow, ah promise.”
“Ya better.” Dixon’s brows narrowed. “Ah know what yer thinkin’. But don’t ja believe for a minute that ah wouldn’t be able ta find ya, if’n ya was ta run out on me. And don’t think ah would take kindly ta’ yer double-crossin’ me. We’re partners, after all. Got that? Partners.”
Jordan swallowed. “That’s right, Dixon. Partners.” He nodded pathetically. “Ah’ll have it fer ya. First thing tomorrow.”
Dixon grunted. “We leave at first light. Ah expect ya here with supplies and with the map. Got that?”
“Y-yeh. First light.”
With another snarl, Dixon let his “partner” go, slapping the bottle of whiskey, already toppling dangerously on the table, to the floor.
“No more fer ya tonight,” said Dixon. “…And pay the trader on yer way ta’ bed…if’n yer fixin’ ta sleep tonight.”
With an ugly sneer, the big oaf swung around and stomped from the trading post, the Indians and a few others in the crowd making room for him.
Meanwhile, Jordan pulled out a dirty piece of cloth, clutching it in his hand before he ran it across his face, unaware that this action made a mess of the dirt and sweat which had accumulated there.
What was he going to do? He had no map. He’d never made one.
Nor had Dixon, he reminded himself. Dad-blame it, anyway. It wasn’t his fault. Eight and a half years ago, Dixon had been as scared as he. Yet you didn’t see Dixon making no map.
“Do this, Jordan, do that,” he mimicked under his breath. “Well, Ah’m tired of it,” he continued. “Tired, ah tell ya. Ah won’t do it. Let Dixon make up his own map. Ah’ll jest leave here ’n’ …”
Remnants of a bad memory stirred Jordan’s features, and he brought a hand up to run over his neck. It was as though the recollection itself brought pain.
Well, he thought, best to put pen to paper, and produce something for Dixon. He didn’t like it, but he’d do it. It was better than the alternative.
Chapter Nine
A recent squall had flooded the Montana region with hot air, causing Carolyn to feel as though her simple chambray skirt and white bodice more resembled a suit of sweltering wool rather than that of washed cotton. Luckily, her wide-brimmed bonnet was made of white muslin and trimmed in eyelet so that it reflected the sun. At least her head and neck were spared the direct light, if not the heat. Even her paisley shawl, which she had let fall to her elbows, had, only moments ago, felt like lead around her shoulders.
Still, as she made her way to the fort’s main gate on this bright day in June, her steps felt light upon this earth; lighter than they had been in days.
And why not? She had a plan.
As Carolyn paced through the gate’s wooden pillars, moving on into the Indian camp, she brought back to mind an image of Lone Arrow as he had appeared to her last night. Her breath caught.
Darn the man. No doubt about it; he was handsome, perhaps a little too handsome. And it was very probable that women surrounded him night and day. Maybe this would account for his rejection of her.
Perhaps.
But as though the thought itself had power, embarrassment consumed her, and she wondered if she might ever have the nerve to look Lone Arrow in the eye again. Drat the man. Why wouldn’t he help her?
She knew the answer to that, of course. She realized that he considered the cave sacred; probably thought that hers was an impure cause. And of course there was the most obvious reason for his lack of cooperation: he did not trust her.
Not that she had given him any reason to do so. What would he do, what would he think of her, when he discovered that she had actually stolen an artifact from the cave?
Well, hopefully, he would never know.
Carolyn squared her shoulders, determined to set these considerations aside, at least for the time being. It was a beautiful, bright day—and she had hope.
Having browsed about the Indian encampment these past few days, Carolyn knew where she would find Pretty Moon’s lodge, and she made her way there now, traversing the Crow encampment, the smell of campfires heavy upon her nostrils. How colorful were these Indian dwellings, Carolyn thought, as she sped past them.
It wasn’t long before Carolyn found the young woman whom she sought. There she was, on hands and knees, at work outside her tepee. Good.
Briefly, Carolyn studied the scene before her. Funny, how the
young woman looked small in comparison to the lodge. Who would have thought an Indian dwelling would be so large? Standing perhaps twenty feet tall?
But the attraction of Pretty Moon’s lodge was more than its size, Carolyn realized. The skins on it had been bleached until it looked as white as linen. It had been painted with designs of bright blue, red, and yellow; and pictographs of war scenes, animals, and row after row of multicolored porcupine quills adorned it.
In truth, the scene before her was so peaceful, so full of harmony, that for a moment Carolyn’s most urgent purpose faded beneath its beauty. Of course, adding to that inducement were the delightful sounds of children playing, as well as the quiet talk of the women and low hum of the old men, who were perhaps regaling the young with stories of their past.
But too soon, Carolyn remembered who she was, where she was and why she had come. She smiled.
“Ka-hee.” Carolyn said the Crow word, which when translated, meant hello.
Pretty Moon glanced up, and seeing her visitor, broke into a wide smile. She responded to Carolyn with her own, “Ka-hee.” Then she sat back on her haunches, while Carolyn squatted down beside her.
Resolutely, Carolyn took a deep breath and came directly to the point. Grasping hold of her locket, she undid its clasp, letting the jewelry slide into her hand. Next, so that there would be no misunderstanding, she offered it to Pretty Moon.
It was only when this was done that Carolyn said, with words and with signs, “I have changed my mind about this necklace, Pretty Moon, and have decided that I would like to trade. Very much,” she added.
Pretty Moon’s first reaction seemed to be one of shock, although that look was quickly replaced with a gaze of fascination. Shyly, she glanced first at Carolyn, and then at the necklace.
Carolyn sensed the other woman’s pleasure, watched as the young lady struggled to contain her enthrallment. At last, Pretty Moon said and signed, “Have…many things…trade.” Her eyes sparkled with warmth. Then, advancing another timid look up at Carolyn, Pretty Moon added, “Would…white woman…like…see what…this one…has?”
Carolyn was more than prepared for this inquiry, but instead of answering Pretty Moon’s question directly, she asked one of her own, “Do you have any horses that you could trade?”
Pretty Moon nodded.
“Would you trade a horse, and perhaps a mule for the locket?”
Pretty Moon frowned. Without speaking, she signed, “Why do you want the horse? And a mule?”
As it had been the previous evening with Lone Arrow, Carolyn found that she was without adequate means to express herself. So great had been Pretty Moon’s captivation, that Carolyn had not anticipated the need to explain her intentions.
For a moment Carolyn looked away from the locket, and from Pretty Moon. At length, however, gaining her thoughts, she said, with words and with sign, “I need to travel east, into the Bighorn Mountains. There is something there that awaits my return. I have no horse of my own, and do not think I can make it there afoot.”
Pretty Moon bobbed her head, then still without speaking, she signed, “My people live there, and I know it well.”
Carolyn nodded.
To which Pretty Moon made another series of gestures, “Will the soldiers accompany you there?”
Carolyn shook her head.
“Then my husband and I will go with you,” signed Pretty Moon.
“No,” the word was out of Carolyn’s mouth before she could stop it, and she watched as a frown crossed Pretty Moon’s countenance. Carolyn added, “How kind of you to offer, but you needn’t go out of your way. The horse and the mule will be enough.”
In truth, Carolyn did not want the company. Not from her would these people learn of the cave, if they didn’t already know of it. So she had promised Lone Arrow.
Pretty Moon, however, seemed to have other ideas and persisted, asking with signs, “Do you know the way?”
Carolyn hesitated. Should she tell the truth?
Carefully, she shook her head.
“Then you will need us,” affirmed Pretty Moon. “The white people in the fort, the soldiers, would never excuse us if we were to trade a horse to you and let you go that way alone. We would be blamed if anything happened to you.”
“But I would ensure that the soldiers understood,” Carolyn signed.
Pretty Moon merely smiled, signing, “No, it is no trouble, and my heart would be happy to accompany you.” She pointed to herself. “Pretty Moon and her husband are good friends to the white man. We will not let you become lost.”
“But…”
“It is good that we go with you,” continued Pretty Moon. “You deserve more than a horse and a mule for a necklace like this. Besides, my husband and I would be honored to accompany you. Good friends, are Pretty Moon and her husband, to the white man.”
Carolyn cast the girl an uncertain look. This was not going well. She said, as firmly as possible, “No, I could not possibly put you to the trouble. I will find the way myself.”
Pretty Moon merely shrugged, and signed once more, “It is no trouble. We have been anxious to be away from the white man’s fort for many passages of the sun, but our chief has kept us here in order that we show our friendship to the white man. But now we have reason to go. When do you want to leave?”
Carolyn sighed, then brightened as an idea crossed her mind. She signed, “I wish to leave here without delay, this afternoon.” Perhaps the speed with which she meant to travel would put the other woman off. As if to instill this fact upon the Indian woman, Carolyn pressed the locket into Pretty Moon’s hands. “So of course I will understand if that is too soon—”
“It-chik,” said Pretty Moon with a firm hand motion out and away from her chest—the sign for the word “good.” She continued in sign: “Pretty Moon can be ready to go before the sun is high in the sky. It is always a good time to be on the move.”
“But—”
Pretty Moon laughed. “I will tell my mother at once. She will be excited that we are being given the chance to leave.”
Luckily, another thought occurred to Carolyn, and she signed, “Won’t you need to ask your husband if he wishes to go?”
Pretty Moon laughed, making a gesture which said, “It is nothing. He will do as I ask. Have you not yet learned how to manage a man?”
Carolyn gave Pretty Moon a blank stare, as though to say, Is there such a thing?
To which Pretty Moon added with gestures, “You are not yet married, are you?”
“Baa-lee-táa, no,” Carolyn answered in the Crow tongue, using one of the few words that she knew.
To which Pretty Moon giggled, and signed, “Watch me carefully when I am with my husband, and you shall see how it is done.”
Carolyn found herself unable to keep from gawking at the young girl, wondering if she had missed something in their exchange. However, she found that she was barely able to keep herself from smiling. Now, that would be a valuable piece of information.
Nonetheless, as though to keep their conversation on firm footing, Carolyn asked, “Will you show me the horse and the mule?”
“Certainly,” signed Pretty Moon, adding, “I will also come with you to help you pack.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
Pretty Moon sent Carolyn a surprised glance, before saying, “White woman…does not like…Pretty Moon?”
“Of course I like you.”
“Yet,” the young lady signed, “I would be scolded by my mother and others if I did not help the white woman to pack.”
“You would?”
The young lady nodded. “I would be called lazy and unworthy to be your friend.”
Carolyn sighed. She did not want to do this; she did not want the company.
Or did she? In some ways, the idea did have merit.
Pretty Moon and her husband would add companionship on a trek that was already difficult. Their presence would also make Carolyn’s task so much easier, and so much more pleasant,
their company ensuring that at the very least, she would not get lost. Also, with Pretty Moon’s husband along, the two women would be ensured a constant supply of food.
There would be only one problem, Carolyn figured. Once they arrived at the mountains, she would have to invent a reason which would demand her departure from these two; some reason why Pretty Moon and her husband would feel obligated to leave her there, alone.
Was there such a cause?
Well, she would have many weeks in which to ponder it, she decided. For Carolyn had given her word, and she would never—not ever willingly—betray Lone Arrow’s confidence.
Never.
And so upon this hopeful note, Carolyn and Pretty Moon made their plans.
“Where is the white woman going?”
The question had been made by a masculine voice, one that Carolyn recognized only too well. The inquiry had also been addressed to her, in all likelihood—not to Pretty Moon—since the words had been spoken in English.
Lone Arrow had to be standing directly behind her, Carolyn decided. With a grimace, she finished tying a blanket onto the mule in front of her, and even as she did so, she straightened her back, as though preparing herself for battle.
Because Lone Arrow would not be pleased.
She sighed. Could he stop her?
She supposed that he might try. But she knew she would fight him.
Before she turned to confront him, however, Carolyn gazed at Pretty Moon, the woman standing directly in her line of vision; there, next to the pony, her back to Carolyn. Both she and Pretty Moon had led the pony and the mule to Carolyn’s quarters, tying them in front of her building, that they might load them.
Perhaps that had been a mistake.
Nevertheless, Carolyn could not help but wonder: when it came down to it, would Pretty Moon side with Lone Arrow? Or would she take Carolyn’s part, helping Carolyn to persuade this man to their way of thinking?
Carolyn gazed up briefly toward the heavens, as though seeking divine intervention. But when inspiration failed to strike, she nervously cast a glance over her shoulder.
