by Karen Kay
Oh, dear, there he was. And as she espied him, a short gasp escaped from her throat. Goodness!
If she had thought this man handsome last night, she had been deceived; deceived by that blanket Lone Arrow had worn. This man was magnificent, purely and truly.
At present, the trade blanket had been discarded. All the man wore now were breechcloth, leggings, moccasins, plus, she admitted, a great deal of jewelry.
But if one might have considered that the adornments would add a touch of femininity to this man’s demeanor, he would have been greatly mistaken. The finery did not detract from Lone Arrow’s masculinity—not in the least. Somehow, the jewelry added to it.
Nonetheless, she took a minute to appreciate the sight of him. His shoulders were broad, she noted, well formed and practically boasting of their ability to hold her.
She scowled at that thought.
Around his neck he wore a beautiful, if common, Crow ornament: a loop necklace, made with strings of shells and beads. The embellishment hung down the front of Lone Arrow’s chest with row after row of quarter circles, one tier falling down after the other—the full effect of it not completely covering his ample, and naked, male breast.
Also, she observed, at the side of his waist were six to eight feathered ends of arrows, which he must surely be carrying in a bow and quiver case stretched across his back. Over one shoulder he had suspended his bow, while in his hand, he wielded a gun. In truth, these weapons did a great deal to affirm her conviction that this man was dangerous.
But the most distinguishable thing about this man, Carolyn was quick to notice once again, was his hair. As with most Crow men, his dark mane usually hung long in length well below his hips. He had at this moment, however, tied two braids at each side of his face, each braid strung with “Crow bows,” a type of shell ornament which resembled an hourglass. And on one side of his face, nestled there along with the Crow bows, was a single eagle feather, which was at present fluttering in the wind.
As she turned slowly toward him, she brought her gaze up to stare into his eyes, noticing that his hair had been cropped short in front; the hair there pulled up and away from his forehead.
Truly, she admitted to herself, he looked splendid, and Carolyn was certain that her heart skipped a beat or two. Perhaps that explained her breathlessness.
He did not say a word to her, however. It was as though he merely awaited her answer to his question.
Well, he would have a long wait, she decided, for she had no intention of telling him anything.
Hoping to disconcert him, she mumbled in a voice barely audible, “I thought you left last night.”
He raised an eyebrow. Obviously, he had heard her, and he asked, “And what would make you think that?”
No sooner had the question been asked than a soldier passed by them. The young man raised his hat to Carolyn, adding a softly spoken, “Mornin’ Miss,” to the greeting.
To Lone Arrow, however, the soldier sent a frown, while he ignored Pretty Moon completely.
“Good morning, soldier,” Carolyn responded calmly enough, even though another uncertainty embraced her. Should she explain Lone Arrow’s presence to the man? Hadn’t Lone Arrow intimated that, as far as the Indians were concerned, only a fool would speak to a white woman?
“Pretty Moon,” she called over her shoulder, and with signs, she asked, “Could you come here to my side for a moment?”
The other woman was quick to respond, and as soon as Pretty Moon had planted herself beside her, Carolyn said and signed, “Would you be so kind as to explain to this man”—she pointed to Lone Arrow—“that we are going on a trip.” It was no question.
Before answering, however, Pretty Moon, seeming confused, contemplated first Lone Arrow and then Carolyn. And it was several moments before Pretty Moon at last spoke a few words in the Crow language, to which Lone Arrow muttered a mere, “Humph!”
A long discussion between the two followed thereafter, but Carolyn was only able to keep up with it in brief, since both were using very few precious signs.
“So.” Carolyn heard the English word and glanced up to catch Lone Arrow frowning at her. “The white woman has decided to go into the mountains on her own.”
Carolyn lifted her chin. It would appear that the attack had taken a more personal turn. She said, injecting what she hoped was a note of boredom into her voice, “I told you it was important.”
But if he noticed her attempt at bravado, it did her little good. His stare at her seared into her own, and Carolyn had difficulty simply training her gaze to meet his.
At last, however, he uttered, “We will see.”
“Yes,” she said just as certainly, “we will see.”
“If…”
“If?”
He nodded. “If Pretty Moon will be so eager to help you when her husband disapproves.”
Carolyn winced, and despite the impression that she should not try to persuade him to explain, she found herself inquiring, “Why would her husband disapprove?”
“Because he is my friend, that is why. And because I will tell him what you intend to do.”
“Oh,” her lips rounded on the word, and Carolyn wondered if her face fell. Drat, the man. He held the upper hand.
Still, straightening her shoulders, she shook her head at him. “Fine,” she responded, “tell her husband what you want. I am going to the mountains with or without you—or Pretty Moon.” Darn him. She turned her back on him.
“And do you know your way to the mountains?”
His voice came from a distance much too close to her. Carolyn fretted, not so much for herself but for him. Would there be trouble because he was speaking to her?
And why should she care?
“Do you?” he prodded. “Do you know your way there?” His voice was closer even still.
“You know that I don’t.”
“Then the white woman should go home, as I told her to do last night.”
Carolyn gritted her teeth. She was fast becoming tired of hearing this from him. She said simply, “No.”
She could perceive the heat of his glance, there along the nerve endings on her back. She said no more to him, however, nor did he utter a word.
Instead, he turned away. She wasn’t sure how she knew he had done so, since she did not hear a single sound to indicate motion. But she knew he had left. Perhaps she should say that she felt it; felt the release of pressure, there upon her being.
Carolyn sighed in resignation. Swiftly, she glanced toward Pretty Moon, espying on the other woman’s countenance what must have been determination.
Too bad, Carolyn thought. She would have enjoyed the other woman’s company on this trek.
Well, enough. That was that.
As Carolyn smiled at Pretty Moon, she tried to disguise her own disturbing thoughts, and she signed, “Your help has been appreciated. You have taken pity on me, and I’m sorry that in the end, you had to stay behind.”
Pretty Moon’s eyes grew round. And she uttered, “This one,” she pointed to herself, “stay…behind?”
Carolyn shook her head. “Yes, you’ll need to remain here now, since your husband will most likely object to your going with me.”
Pretty Moon frowned. She signed, “It is true that my husband’s friend Lone Arrow will tell him about us. It is true that my husband’s friend Lone Arrow will try to persuade my husband against what we do. Because of this, my husband will try to sway the opinion of his wife against the white woman. And all this, because of the words of his friend Lone Arrow.”
Carolyn nodded. “I’m so sorry.”
But Pretty Moon grinned. “Still,” the young woman signed, “does the white woman think that these things would make a difference to Pretty Moon?”
At the question, Carolyn was taken slightly aback, and she asked, “Doesn’t it?” only remembering belatedly to add the signs.
Pretty Moon’s eyes twinkled. “If Pretty Moon stopped doing the things that bring her pleasure simply because h
er husband disapproved,” she signed, “she would have no pride. You must learn that it is the woman who determines the happiness of her home, and it is Pretty Moon who is master of her lodge, not slave to her husband.”
Really? Carolyn was at once fascinated. How many of Carolyn’s contemporaries could say such a thing?
Pretty Moon, however, was not finished, and she asked, “Do you not know this?”
Carolyn shook her head.
“It is as the old ones say. The white women are slaves to their men. But not you. You watch Pretty Moon. I will show you how to manage a man.” She completed the signs and then said in English, “You…watch.”
Carolyn could not help but smile at the young woman. “Then…are you telling me…that you will still go with me?”
Pretty Moon nodded, saying only, “Humph!”
“And we’ll leave as we planned?”
Pretty Moon made a rather distinct, and perhaps indecent, gesture in the direction where Lone Arrow had retreated. She signed, “If our men object, they can try to find us, but by then, we should be well on our way.”
Our men? It was in Carolyn’s mind to correct Pretty Moon’s impression about Carolyn’s own relationship with Lone Arrow. But she thought better of it. After all, might she not have misread those signs?
Still, as Carolyn gazed at the young woman before her—with an expression that might have been part inquiry, part awe—she began to realize that she had made a friend. And she was pleased to note that the knowledge gave her great comfort.
Pretty Moon signed, “We leave tonight, as soon as our men sleep. When I send you the signal, you are to come to me in the Indian camp. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Carolyn confirmed, and as she observed Pretty Moon’s expression, she could not help it. Carolyn grinned, the gesture turning easily and swiftly into a deep, spontaneous laugh.
Chapter Ten
Standing on firm, high ground, Carolyn gazed out over the grayish-green bog before them. A few buffalo were grazing on the low land, the animals munching on the lush grasses which grew so abundantly around the swamp.
In the distance Carolyn’s eyes fastened on a huge mountain of ashen-brown rocks jutting up into the morning brilliance of a blue, cloudless sky. Those rocks appeared to Carolyn as though they might have once been a majestic cathedral or a gigantic castle worn down over time to mere rock and grit.
Closer at hand, the ground rose up on a gradual incline toward those rocks. It was here that she was mesmerized by the sight of a buffalo herd so vast it looked like a blanket tossed over a spot of grass. And right in front of her a part of that herd—fifteen or perhaps twenty buffalo—grazed. The animals were probably not more than thirty feet away. Brushing a fly from her face, Carolyn thought she would never again mistake the scent of buffalo.
Funny how that one sense, the one of smell, could bring back memories of eight and a half years ago. Funny, too, how she had forgotten.
But then, why should she remember these things from her past? As life had gone on, and when she had thought of the past at all, she had overlooked many things: like her reaction to Lone Arrow.
Would it have made a difference if she had remembered? Would it have changed her decision to come here?
Of course not.
She sighed, and as she did so, she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the grasses and flowers which littered the bog. Their scent, all mixed up with the grimy odor of dirt and marsh, stimulated her, bringing back wave upon wave of memories. Ones she hadn’t even known she had.
Odd, she thought. This was probably the closest she had ever been to the buffalo; even eight and a half years ago, she had never come so near to them. Usually the animals moved away as soon as they caught the human scent.
Which brought to mind another question: why didn’t these buffalo run?
Carolyn turned to Pretty Moon, thinking to put the question to words, but as though the other woman knew her thoughts, Pretty Moon said, by way of signs, “It is the wind.”
“The wind?” Carolyn signed the question.
Pretty Moon nodded.
Ah, so that was it; Carolyn at last understood. She and Pretty Moon stood downwind from the buffalo; and because of this, the pack could not pick up the human scent. These buffalo literally had no idea that they were being watched by human eyes.
Inhaling another earth-fragrant breath, Carolyn continued to watch the scene before her with fascination. Meanwhile, Pretty Moon silently slipped off their pony’s back. The young Indian woman came to stand by Carolyn, and together, both of them stared out upon the land before them as though it were the most beautiful thing under God’s creation.
And perhaps it was.
Carolyn relaxed. She felt good; moreover, she was experiencing more than a slight feeling of kinship with this woman who stood beside her.
It was an entirely new experience for Carolyn. Never having had any siblings or close friends her own age, Carolyn began to wonder what she had missed by not having sisters.
Had it been only this morning that she and Pretty Moon had made a pact? It seemed so long ago.
Having only the one pony to ride, they had agreed that they would alternately ride or walk, each one taking their turn atop the animal while the other led the pack mule. It was a perfect arrangement; absolutely perfect, for friends.
Pretty Moon touched her shoulder, and gaining Carolyn’s attention, she pointed out something. Carolyn stared off in the direction shown her. Ah, there it was—there, to her right. A coyote was crouching behind some bushes, he, too, watching the buffalo herd; only this wiley animal did so with hungry eyes.
Carolyn smiled. Alas, this was, indeed, a glorious moment, and she felt as though a part of her were expanding—at least that part of her which had nothing to do with the physical body. Leisurely, as though she had all the time in the world, she let her vision travel to the far corners of the surrounding countryside.
Interrupting her thoughts, a bee flew before her eyes, perhaps showering her with little bits of pollen, for Carolyn all at once sneezed, then sniffled.
Fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief, she let her thoughts drift back to the early hours of the morning, to the fort. Strangely enough, the two women had escaped Fort Ellis and the Indian encampment, as well, without incident. Carolyn had simply explained to the fort’s guards that she had hired Pretty Moon to lead her to her parents’ graves, which were located somewhere in the Bighorn Mountains.
It was a factual enough statement, since it was something Carolyn meant to do…if she had time. She really hadn’t lied.
Had she?
So why should the half-truth bother her?
No, she thought as she ran the idea around in her mind, she had done what she had to do. The trouble was, and this was what was difficult to understand, leaving the fort had been so easy to do.
Too easy. Perhaps that’s what bothered her.
Would their men follow them?
Their men?
Carolyn instinctively shied away from that thought, as well as any reason as to why she might have had it.
Of course Lone Arrow and his friend would follow them. And they would be angry.
At least Lone Arrow could not stop her, could he? Not now anyway, now that she had left.
After all, what could he do?
She groaned. A great deal, she feared. He could ensure she never found the cave.
Carolyn was not aware that she was frowning until Pretty Moon reached out toward her, cutting into Carolyn’s contemplations. In her hand Pretty Moon extended a piece of jerky.
Ah, breakfast. A smile came easily to Carolyn’s face as she accepted the food readily, tearing off a section of it with her teeth.
Reaching into her own bag, Carolyn replaced her handkerchief and took out a couple of honeycombs that she had brought with her from the fort, offering one of them to Pretty Moon, who accepted it.
Presently, Pretty Moon indicated that the two of them should keep moving, and Carolyn no
dded.
“Make no sharp movements,” Pretty Moon signed as Carolyn, finishing her meal, licked her fingers and threw her bag over the pony’s back.
Positioning herself as she had watched Pretty Moon do, Carolyn jumped up onto the pony.
Although it took her three or four attempts to accomplish it, at last, Carolyn sat atop the pony. She nodded, and the two women headed out of their shrub-bush cover, out into the midst of the buffalo herd.
Hopefully, they would be halfway to those imposing, rocklike mountains before the men caught up to them. That she would have to explain herself went without question. That she and Pretty Moon might be required to turn around and go back to the fort didn’t bear consideration.
In the meantime, Carolyn decided, she would enjoy herself and the little bit of freedom she had left.
It started harmlessly enough. A bee buzzed around Carolyn’s face and fingers, most likely because honey still clung to her in those places.
Darn. She hated these little bees. She swished at the insect, but the little bugger wouldn’t leave her alone.
She could stick a few of her fingers in her mouth to wash off the honey, she supposed, but she hated to do that. What with petting the horse, keeping hold of the reins and pushing aside bushes in their way, Carolyn’s fingers were filthy, covered with bits of dirt and dust…and they were sticky.
Wait, she had put her handkerchief into her bag only a few moments ago, and it was within her reach. It would take her only a second to get it.
Hating to bother Pretty Moon, Carolyn leaned down to open her bag. Unfortunately, she brought up her leg slightly as she turned, not realizing until too late that the movement hit the bee, which had already landed on the horse.
The bee stung the horse, who then reared, and Carolyn, already twisted in her seat, could not hold on. She flew off the horse’s back, sailed through the air and came down with a plop, landing in a boggy mire of dirty water.
“Ouch!” Lifting a mud-soaked hand out in front of her face, she wiggled her fingers and toes; at least everything still seemed to work.
And perhaps the entire incident would not have been so bad if it hadn’t been for Pretty Moon. The other woman stood beside her, laughing.
