Lone Arrow's Pride

by Karen Kay

  “How can you laugh?” he heard his wife ask.

  But Pretty Moon could not answer. In truth, Lone Arrow could see that the other woman could barely breathe, so hysterical was she. Though, in all fairness, Pretty Moon tried to hide it.

  “Oh!” It was his wife’s cry.

  Lone Arrow ran toward the two women. “What is wrong here?”

  Pretty Moon, still unable to speak, pointed toward his wife’s leg.

  At first he thought his wife’s action merely unusual. But then he, too, grasped the situation. And though he would have liked to have remained neutral, perhaps stoic even, he could not help himself.

  He, too, broke out into a fit of laughter.

  “Well, I’m glad to see that the two of you find my death amusing.”

  He grinned. His wife had barely been able to say the words. How could she when her actions were consumed with stamping up and down, as well as beating at herself with that rug. She said, “I hope you’ll laugh all the way to the burial grounds.”

  “Perhaps that time may yet come, my wife,” said Lone Arrow. “But I think that the time is not now.”

  She almost cried. He could see it in her features, and she asked, “How can you say such a thing? I’ve just been bitten by a—”

  “Vine.”

  “A…rattle—A vine?”

  He nodded, pointing to her leg. He said, “While I am sure it has a bad bite, the white woman will live, I think.”

  He witnessed his wife’s bewildered look before she uttered again, “A vine?”

  Once more, Lone Arrow nodded, while Pretty Moon turned away, her hand still covering her mouth, her shoulders still shaking, and her giggles still loud enough to be heard.

  But all his wife said was, “Oh.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his glance motioning toward the bear rug, which was still smoking. And though he knew he should leave well enough alone, he could not help but observe, “Is it your intention to eat…bear?”

  “Eat bear?”

  “When my friend and I asked our women to smoke the meat, we did not mean the bear rug, too.”

  She gave him a weak sort of grin. “Ha…ha.”

  But Lone Arrow merely beamed at her. He said, “I think because of this great occasion, that I will have to give you new name.”

  “What? Because of this?”

  “Yes, because of this.” He thought for a moment. “I think,” he said, “that from this day forward I will have to call you…Smoking-the-bear.”

  And while he grinned at the brilliance of his own wit, his wife gave him the shortest of looks, uttering once again, “Ha…Ha…”

  Chapter Twenty

  They spent the rest of the evening outside the lodge—and a good distance from it.

  In truth, they’d had to move out of it, since hours later, the smoke still hadn’t cleared. Plus—and this was perhaps more important—the smoke could have alerted any wandering war party of their presence.

  And of course it rained. What should she have expected?

  The men had set up a temporary lean-to as protection. However, it was far from adequate, and as Carolyn lay upon her back, looking up at the arrangement of timber and sticks, she shivered.

  Not that she would have slept inside the war lodge either, Carolyn reasoned. With a snake in there?

  Luckily, the men had retrieved the meat that the women had dried and was now thoroughly smoked. Lone Arrow had reported, too, that the snake was doing well and that it was a bull snake, not a rattler. To this, Carolyn had turned a deaf ear, especially when both Pretty Moon and Lone Arrow had, in turn, laughed.

  Returning from scouting, even stoic Big Elk, who hardly ever uttered a word in her presence, could barely keep a straight face around her.

  Well, what did it matter, after all? People make mistakes all the time. And she certainly wasn’t an exception.

  The only person who had not laughed outright at her was Lone Arrow’s friend Running Coyote. Some day, Carolyn thought, she would have to thank the man for that.

  But not tonight. Tonight she had other things on her mind.

  At present the three men were sitting guard; not in shifts, but at the same time. Did they never sleep? It seemed to Carolyn as if all this protection was unnecessary. Wouldn’t one sentry be enough? It was not as if she and Pretty Moon were sleeping in the lodge.

  Problem was, Carolyn was wide awake. She could not stop thinking. But whether this was because she was too overwrought or too excited from all the tumult, she was uncertain.

  She only knew that hours ago she had spread her blanket upon the ground, and here she lay, tossing and turning. Plus, she hadn’t yet been able to speak with Lone Arrow.

  Biting down on her lip, she stirred uneasily. She needed to talk to Lone Arrow, particularly since she feared that, until she did so, her thoughts would not let her be.

  It was puzzling. First she and Lone Arrow were married, then they weren’t. Then, according to him, they were again. In truth, it was getting so that she did not know what to expect from him.

  Actually that was not true. She knew exactly what to expect from him. That was the problem.

  She sighed. There was nothing else for it; she was going to have to seek out Lone Arrow and talk to him. And she was going to have to do so this night if she wanted to get some rest.

  No sooner had the thought materialized than she threw off her blanket and sat up, peering out into the night. Although she could not see where the men were, she knew they were there.

  Carolyn crawled from beneath the lean-to, which, she thought, might be more accurately dubbed a double lean-to, since four poles, two sets each, had been set up against a long, yet strong overhanging willow limb. The whole thing had been covered in bark, which, truth be known, had done a fairly decent job at keeping out the rain.

  But not the cold.

  Pulling her shawl more closely around her shoulders, Carolyn stood up. Wet grass, along with a good portion of mud, seeped into her shoes as she took a step forward.

  Squish, came the noise of a single footfall. Odd, how that sound carried on the night air, even over the wind. Odd, too, how cold a body could feel when one’s feet were wet.

  She shivered, her teeth rattling in her head. However, she did her best to ignore it. After all, she could not allow her discomfort to keep her from her purpose.

  Carolyn inhaled, and the rain-soaked air, freshly perfumed with the scent of pine, filled her lungs. It smelled good, this high-mountain atmosphere; it felt good on the body, too, when it was not so cold, and closing her eyes, Carolyn took another few sniffs.

  Enough. She had to find Lone Arrow. Opening her eyes, she tread forward yet another step.

  “Why do you not sleep?”

  Startled, Carolyn jumped. She had not heard Lone Arrow come up behind her.

  She pivoted, and was at once met with an image that was as intoxicating as it was gorgeous. She caught her breath. Goodness, but this man was handsome.

  The lighting was perfect: shimmery, misty, ethereal; the moon’s radiance outlining Lone Arrow in reflections of softness and dark. All at once, her insides tingled and her stomach fluttered as though a thousand butterflies had been let loose within it.

  Beautiful. It was the only word that came to her to describe him. This man was absolutely beautiful.

  Funny how his onyx-colored hair looked brown in this light; odd, too, how the ephemeral moonbeams highlighted a single one of his cheekbones, leaving the other to be outlined in shadows of grey and black. The rest of his image remained hidden to her, however, beneath the blanket of darkness, although his silhouette stood out majestically, proudly against the moonlit sky.

  Looking at him made her feel as though the breath had been knocked from her. But heaven forbid if she could afford to ever let him know that.

  Sniffling, she tossed back her head, hoping beyond hope that her nonchalance would hide any lingering reaction to him. Even so, it occurred to her that it was a shame that she
had to take such precautions.

  Shame, because she could not have him. Shame, because, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she would admit that she wanted him.

  Why not have him? urged a little voice inside her. All it would require is that Carolyn bend a little…

  Mesmerized, perhaps by the man’s arousing image, Carolyn briefly considered letting go of a moral or two. Could she make love to this man and walk away? Did men not do that to women?

  But her spirits sank at the mere thought of it, and she exhaled slowly. No, she could not do that. Her own sense of worth, her own conception of virtue, would not allow it.

  Then what about marriage? He had not thrown her away, nor had she done so to him, at least not yet.

  But could she honestly marry a man who declared his right to take another wife? A man who openly admitted that either he or she could bring another lover into their lives?

  Silly questions, Carolyn decided. Religious beliefs aside, there was no man alive, no matter how beautifully put together, that was worth the expense that this scenario might cost a feminine heart. And as surely as the sun rises each day, there would come a time when she would hate him, hate herself.

  Barely daring to breathe out and rocking back on her heels, Carolyn realized there was little point in further contemplation of the matter. And before she had time to change her mind, it would be best to confront the man with what must be her final word on the subject.

  So decided, she swept back her hair from her face and, stiffening her resolve, she stated, “I left the lean-to in order that I might talk to you yet this night. I have something important to say. But you…you startled me.”

  Lone Arrow did not answer all at once, although at length, he said, “I detected movement, and, not knowing what it was, I needed to investigate.”

  “I see.”

  “It was not my intention to startle you.”

  “Wasn’t it?” she began, gazing away from him, as though she did not expect him to answer. And when he remained silent, she stated simply, “I could not sleep.”

  He nodded. “It is to be expected. You are still frightened of the vine?”

  “No,” she denied, grinning slightly at her own expense. “And remember that I was frightened of a snake.”

  The wind caught at her, whipping her shawl from around her shoulders. And though she managed to keep the shawl in place, she shivered.

  He said at once, “Are you cold?”

  Carolyn tilted her head. “Not very.”

  “Does ‘not very’ mean ‘yes’ or does it mean ‘no’?” he asked, although he did not wait for an answer. Drawing off his buffalo robe and taking a step toward her, he placed the whole of it around her shoulders, fur side down for warmth. Briefly his fingers stole over the length of her arms.

  And in return Carolyn gasped. Heaven. Dear Lord, his touch felt like a breath of heaven. Unbidden, shivers of anticipation stole over her arms. Oh, how she wanted to draw in closer to him; oh, how she craved his arms around her.

  But she could not do it; she must not do it.

  Indecisive, she did nothing; said nothing for several moments.

  Neither did he. It was as though each waited for the other to speak first.

  After some moments, however, Lone Arrow took the initiative and said, “You should keep this on while we are in the mountains. I am more accustomed to the cold than you are.”

  So saying, he let go of the robe and took a step away from her.

  Carolyn bobbed her head in agreement, and this time she graciously accepted, too cold to consider doing otherwise. Especially when his warmth, plus the scent of his skin, remained within the folds of the robe.

  “It-chik,” said Lone Arrow, making the sign for “good.” “Looks good on you.” And Carolyn felt herself blush at the compliment.

  They sat in silence for a short while longer. In the far distance a storm cloud thundered, and Carolyn stared out to where the sky was awash with light and dark clouds. And although above them a bright moon shown, in many ways, this night reminded her of another time, another place; a period eight and one-half years ago.

  He asked, “Does something bother you?”

  Carolyn exhaled without saying a word. This was it. Now was the time to put words to what was on her mind. But what exactly to say, and how to begin?

  She hugged her arms around her while she scrambled for the right words. Meanwhile, he waited, and after a moment, his silence seemed to invite her to say, “Yes, something is disturbing me. It is why I am not sleeping, why I am walking around our camp, despite the late hour.”

  A low grunt was his crisp acknowledgment.

  And she continued, “The truth is, Lone Arrow, that there is much to be said between us, and I fear the time has come for us to speak frankly to one another. Otherwise, I may never find sleep this night.”

  He inclined his head once and, crossing his arms over his chest, leaned back against a tree.

  One more breath for courage, and she began, “I have something personal to ask you.”

  Again, he nodded, though he said not a word.

  “Do you mind?”

  Briefly he looked puzzled. “Mind?” He shrugged. “You are my wife. I would hope that you would be personal with me…very personal.”

  She chanced a quick glance at him. Had there been a glimmer of humor in his voice? Was he laughing at her? Somehow the idea that he might be was more discouraging than it was humorous, for she could not laugh with him.

  And so, with more than a little trepidation, she asked, “Would you…would you really rather be married to a Crow woman?”

  At first he appeared puzzled by the question. Then, as he so obviously mulled over her words, he grinned. Darn him! He actually grinned.

  It made her want to turn her back on him; it also caused her some bit of anguish. Goodness! How she wanted to walk away from him; how she desired to pretend that she did not need him, so much as an inch.

  The trouble was, she reminded herself, she did need him. Needed him, not so much for herself, but for those she loved; those she had left behind in Virginia City.

  Tightening her mouth, she gritted her teeth as she stewed. And it was not long before she observed, “Just because I am dependent on you while we are on the trail does not give you the right to take advantage of me.”

  Her words caused Lone Arrow to frown, and whatever good humor he might have been feeling, faded. He said, “And how do I take advantage of you?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “By laughing at me,” she said, “and by…by…”

  He waited.

  She cleared her throat. “By…wanting to be with other women, when you are supposed to be with me.”

  Lone Arrow’s frown deepened, and he said, “Who has told you that I do this?”

  “You have.”

  “I?…”

  “This afternoon,” she said, coaxing his memory. Her statement appeared to make his hesitation more pronounced, and the scowl on his face deepened, looking as though it might become a permanent fixture. At last, he said, “You are right to feel as you do, if I gave you that impression. Know, that I do not want other women.”

  She snorted. “That’s not what I heard back there next to the stream.”

  Once again puzzlement gave way to enlightenment, all within the heightened breath of a moment. After a time, he even chuckled.

  “Oh! Stop that.”

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “That. Don’t do that,” she uttered. “How can you laugh at me?”

  “I am not laughing at you,” he said.

  “It appears that way to me.”

  “I am sorry. I am not laughing at you, I give you my word. It is only that—”

  “Oh!” Carolyn turned away.

  Indeed, she would have left posthaste, if he hadn’t placed a hand on her shoulder, and if he hadn’t said, “I knew you were in the tree.”

  That stopped her, but she was not ready to give him quar
ter. Not yet. She stuck out her chin. “You couldn’t have known I was there.”

  “Could I not?” he asked. “Have I not said so?”

  “But—”

  “My father does not speak English.”

  “Your father?”

  “Éeh, the one who was with me.”

  Father? she thought. The same fellow who had so recently joined them? The one who was, himself, no more than a youth? How could this be?

  And she observed, “How could a man who looks hardly older than you be your father?”

  Lone Arrow slanted her a frown. “Why would that be unusual?”

  “Because he could not have fathered you.”

  “Ah,” said Lone Arrow, “I think I understand why you are confused, and if you will bear with me, I will explain. Know that my companion today is not he who fathered me. But he is, nonetheless, my father.”

  Carolyn’s head spun a little as she tried to make sense of this line of thought, and she wondered if she looked as baffled as she felt. She said, “Well that’s still not very understandable, is it? He is your father? He isn’t your father?”

  Lone Arrow grinned, and, clearing his throat, he said, “Let me explain. The one that you saw me with today is a male relative from my father’s clan. All the male members of my father’s clan are called father.”

  She paused. “Oh,” she said at last. “I see.”

  “But we leave the point,” Lone Arrow went on to say, “which is that I knew you were in the tree. Why else would I have said those words in your language, if not for trying to tease you?”

  “Tease me?” She took a moment to compose herself. “Tease me? It didn’t seem like teasing to me. And if that is the manner in which you jest, you should think again, for all you gained by doing so was to worry me.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Was he? she wondered. He did not look very contrite. And she said, “If you want my opinion, I think it was a cruel, bad-mannered thing to do, to say.”

  He shrugged. “It might have been bad manners,” he conceded, “but it was not meant to be cruel. And you must admit that I spoke truth. I have not had the warmth of my wife beside me for many a night.”