by Rita Karnopp
Colorfully beaded and quilled parfleches lined around the inside of the tipi to hold down the bottom of the tipi liners. No doubt they were loaded with dried meat and pemmican. The ground had been covered with soft rabbit fur in all shades of white, tans, browns, and even black.
The cooking tripod took dominance in the center from which a kettle hung from a chain over the fire. Summer noticed the altar between Nah’ah’s mattress and the cooking fire, in the center of the tipi. She remembered watching Nah’ah clear off the grass and scrape the earth in a certain shape to build a white clay altar. She’d burn incense every time she was going to pray or take out the medicine bundle, in the morning, or when she brought the bundle back inside, before dark. Nah’ah would take the bundle outside on nice days and hang it from a wooden tripod to the back of the tipi. She used a forked stick beside the altar to make incense. Summer liked the smell of sweetgrass and often received braids of it from Nah’ah on her birthday. She secretly loved them.
“You seem at peace, Niipo. Does my tipi please you?”
Summer glanced over at Nah’ah and smiled. “It brings back many memories of when I was young and treasured everything Blackfeet.” Summer moved her fingertips across the taunt tipi wall.
“As a child I loved living with my grandmother in her tipi. One of our ancestral traditions is that the tipi and its household contents belong to the woman. If she no longer keeps her husband, he is left with nothing. Most times he would just go move back with relatives or friends. If a couple has a tipi design it belongs to the husband and wife together, but the cover that it’s painted on still belongs to her.” Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“So they even had divorce in those days, huh?” Summer couldn’t help chuckling. “Not all that much had really changed.” She moved to the center fire and dropped to her knees.
“I know most napi’kwans think the Blackfeet woman was a slave, but they are wrong. A husband does not have property rights in his wife. He cannot just trade her away. He has all personal rights and can beat her, or for just cause even kill her, but he cannot sell her to another man.”
“Well, that’s reassuring, isn’t it?”
Nah’ah sat near the altar. “Did you know our tipis always face east? Each morning we pray and sing our sacred songs to help Natosi rise.”
“Like the sun really needs our help to rise. Did they really believe the sun wouldn’t rise if they didn’t sing sacred songs?” Summer got to her feet and dragged her bags to her mattress and sat.
“Don’t be sarcastic, dear. I put a hot coal on my altar and sprinkled sweetgrass on it to burn. The smoke purifies us and lets Ihtsi-pai-tapi-yopa hear my prayers.”
“Grandmother, I realize you feel a need to tell me all this, but I don’t have a driving need to pray to the essence of all life. I truly believe, if you must know, in Jesus Christ. We can’t have it both ways.”
“Believing in a higher being is a good thing, Niipo. May I share the etiquette of the tipi with you?”
Summer felt ashamed for having scoffed at Nah’ah. “I’d love to hear about that.”
Nah-ah smiled. “In the old days entering a tipi had proper rules. A woman entered and turned to the left while men entered and turned to the right.”
“Fascinating,” Summer leaned back on her bedding.
“Proper custom required a person moving about in the tipi to never pass between another person and the fire. Even worse yet is if a person were to pass between the sacred altar and the fire.”
“And if you did, what would happen to you?” Summer yawned and closed her eyes.
“People would consider you to have bad manners. Being respectful of customs was most important in those days.”
“Kinda like eating with your mouth full of food is rude and bad manners?”
“You are not in a very good mood, are you Niipo? Tell me what is wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong…unless Jordan’s murder counts. Unless killing a man by hitting him over the head with a frying pan counts. How about being accused of something illegal…but you have no idea what they’re talking about? Yes, you might say I’m a bit on edge and not exactly in a good mood.”
“My, you are…unsettled. I had a dream last night. It was about you.”
“You know I don’t put much value in dreams.”
“Our people believe dreams are actual experiences of our shadows or souls while our bodies sleep. Sun is the supreme god of earth and sky, and enables us to look ahead and tell what is going to happen. I saw you talking to a man in black. He held a flat, small, black suitcase and wanted you to tell him why it was empty. You kept telling him you didn’t know anything about it. He should go ask Joshua. The man in black had a gun and he raised it toward you. Then I woke. What does this mean, Niipo?”
“You couldn’t possibly have dreamt that, Nah’ah.”
“Well I did. Don’t you feel the spirits of our ancestors all around us? They are agitated and are whispering to us. You must find a way to listen to them. I think they want to help you.”
“Nah’ah, if I believed for a second they could help me, I’d listen. But spirits don’t help people. Our ancestors are dead and so are their ways. We have to face the inevitable truth. The time of the dinosaur is over, never to return. The same is true about the Blackfeet nation.”
“You are wrong, Niipo. We can live in the world of the napi’kwan, but we still can stay true to those who came before us. We can learn from their mistakes, so we don’t make them again. We can take our traditional values and practices to create a workable government. We need schools that teach our young their past and help prepare them for the future. We need to guide those in need and develop justice systems that are fair to the Indian. As our people see their own traditions reflected in these changes, they will support them. We must learn to live together, we must learn to understand and accept each other as individuals.”
“That sounds all great…and our relatives have been saying the same thing for years. Where has it gotten them?”
“When you were a young girl, you always felt the pain of the Blackfeet. You wanted to get an education so you could make things better for your people. But you have changed. You are not the caring girl you once were. Now you only want to forget the fight…it takes too much effort. If we all thought like you, we would no longer be Ni-tsi-ta-pi-ksi, the real people. Our young people will never know the Sao-kit-apii’ksi are our people who live on the plains. That Nitsi-poi-yiksi are the speakers of the Real Language, our language. Your father teaches this to the children. Do you want to tell him it all means nothing?”
“I’m sorry, Nah’ah. I don’t hear the whispering spirits as you do. I am what some call an apple.”
“I do not understand what you mean.”
“It means I’m red on the outside, white on the inside.”
“I do not believe this, Niipo. You have been gone too long. You have lost your way. I have felt this for some time. That is why we need this time together.”
“I’ll only disappoint you, Nah’ah. I’m going back as soon as that supply chopper gets here.” Summer closed her eyes and listened to the chanting prayer Nah’ah offered at the altar. The pleasing fragrance of sweetgrass filled her senses and she closed her eyes and relaxed.
* * *
Summer approached Two Medicine Falls. The clear water, cold as ice, surrounded by an unbroken forest, extended from the north and south shores high on the mountain sides. To the south, Mount Rising Wolf rose abruptly, and to the west, the massive Continental Divide displayed snow covered peaks.
A meadowlark thrilled her song over and over, as though warning of impending danger.
“Listen to your nah’ah. You are in great danger. Do not trust anyone. Think over your relationship with Jordan. What are you not seeing?”
Sitting on a rock off the edge of the water, a young Blackfeet woman sat. She wore a soft, white doeskin dress heavily beaded with elk teeth and fringed edges. Her hair hung in two braids tied off w
ith mink, falling close to her waist. She seemed familiar, yet Summer couldn’t place where she’d seen this woman before.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Although it is not wise to speak one’s own name, I will tell you this one time my name is Oota da’bun.”
“Day Star? How lovely. Why have you come to me? Are you real?”
“Your nah’ah speaks of whispering spirits.”
“Yes, all the time. It drives me nuts. I don’t hear my ancestors talking or whispering to me.”
“Your nah’ah is trying to show you the way. Don’t be so quick to disbelieve. Again, I want to tell you to beware, you are in great danger.”
Again the Meadowlark sang her warning song and Summer quickly looked up. She glanced back to the young maiden…and she was gone. Summer searched the wooded edges…was she real?
Her heart pounded. Summer opened her eyes and looked around. The dream had seemed so real.
Chapter Four
Running Crane took his bag and headed for his tipi. Summer had become more opinionated over the years. Her beauty hadn’t diminished, if nothing else she had become even more attractive.
He wanted to be honest and upfront with her, but he couldn’t. She most likely knew he worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Once she found out he worked in alliance with the FBI, she would surely run in the other direction. He’d always found her attractive, but kept his feelings to himself since she was his brother’s girlfriend…until that day at the dance. Now he understood it more than ever. She never wanted to make a commitment to Terry…so she used…me. How could she? Until today…he believed what her kiss said.
The taste of her had lingered with him all these years. Since then he’d compared every woman he’d kissed to her soft, inviting lips. None had compared to the passion she shared with him. He always believed they had something special between them. How could he have allowed himself to be so completely fooled?
He entered his tipi and gave the area a quick glance, making sure nothing had been disturbed. He’d talked Nah’ah into hiring him as their protector and hunter. She’d only planned on staying a short time, yet he managed to convince her to take her time and complete her duty.
Should he have told her Summer’s life might be in danger? It seemed impossible the killer would find her here…but stranger things have happened.
There was always a slight chance that Summer knew what was going on. If that was the case, she could be guilty of murder. The FBI had been casing her apartment for over a month. Joshua and his friends were doing drugs, but they weren’t dealing. They had higher stakes that crossed at least twenty states. Stolen Native artifacts brought major dollars. Had they moved on to something even more illegal?
The Summer he thought he knew wouldn’t have involved herself in—
Cracking branches and rustling leaves betrayed the intruder. Running Crane unsnapped the strap to his pistol.
“Knock…knock!” Summer shouted. “Mind if I come in?”
He released a deep breath. “Come on in. What do you need?”
“Um…I…wondered if we could talk.”
“Sure. You want to talk in here or outside under the cottonwood. We have a history with trees, you know.” He laughed and glanced her way. Her nervous reaction surprised him. “Come on, Summer, I was joking.”
“I know…it’s just…I haven’t been in a humorous mood lately. Did you know that my friend, Jordan Perkins, was murdered about a month ago?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry for your loss. I actually heard all about it from your father. It must have been hard to believe you killed Derek Wallace with a fry pan. I think they should have done an autopsy to see if he had more than one bump on his head.” He watched her reaction.
“I don’t believe I killed him. Thing is, who did? That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I can’t take a chance…Nah’ah needs your protection. Before I left Missoula I received several threats.”
“What kind of threats?” He noticed she hesitated.
“I don’t have a clue why Jordan was killed. I do believe his brother, Joshua, is involved somehow. Father told me Joshua was at my apartment when he came to visit me.”
“Was that odd?” Running Crane knew she didn’t get along with the man.
“Joshua and Jordan were opposites. They didn’t get along at all. I’ve only had Joshua at my apartment once, and that was because of Jordan’s birthday. I barely tolerated him.”
“You think he was involved with Jordan’s murder?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. He didn’t have a job and he sponged off all his family and friends. Then about six months ago it seemed he had money for everything. Jordan and I both thought he was dealing drugs. We weren’t sure.”
Running Crane motioned for her to sit on the rabbit rugs. He opened a cooler and pulled out two bottles of Bliss white raspberry water, then sat next to her.
“Thanks, you have no idea how good this looks to me.”
“Help yourself if you’re ever in need.” He took several swallows of water, then said, “Why do you think your grandmother needs protection?”
“The killer is looking for something Jordan had…I don’t have a clue what that is. But I received a threat to leave Missoula and go back to the res where I’ll be safe.” She paused and looked up at him.
“There’s more, isn’t there? I can tell you aren’t sure you can trust me. Let me say this, I read the police report on Jordan’s murder. There are a lot of things that just don’t add up. Detective Buggeta contacted me and…asked if I would keep an eye on you. He doesn’t believe you have a clue what’s going on or why Jordan was killed. He does believe your life’s in danger.”
“So you worked your way into Nah’ah’s confidence and got hired to protect us?”
“That’s one way of putting it. I’m going to confide in you…I have reason to believe Joshua and possibly Jordan were involved in smuggling and selling Native American artifacts. It’s surprising how many private collectors there still are out there. There are numerous sacred Blackfeet artifacts that were taken by unscrupulous explorers and illegally obtained by museums. Even soldiers managed to take souvenirs that are now valuable artifacts. These were never returned to the Blackfeet people, instead they are kept by ranchers and families…handed down generation to generation without even realizing the value to the People. Several of these home collections have been stolen and sold for outrageous amounts on the black market.”
“I don’t believe Jordan had anything to do with that.”
“Did he ever ask you about families you knew in Browning that had sacred artifacts from the old ones. Maybe those who still might have sacred medicine bundles, like Nah’ah?”
“No…you think the only reason he was dating me was for information on the Blackfeet?”
“I’m not saying that…I just wondered if the subject ever came up.” Summer had been hurt by recent events; he hated prodding her for information.
“I understand these sacred artifacts nurture spiritual life and enhance spiritual understanding, but selling them on the black market…how does someone do that? Unless your artifacts fit in a thin computer case, I doubt your theory is right.”
“Arrowhead collections would?”
“What?”
“A computer case would be perfect to transport arrowhead collections and even knives, small arms, and I guess the list could go on and on, because anything small would transport easily. Who would even think Native artifacts would be nestled inside a computer case or bag?”
“You really think that’s what this is all about? It’s worth killing over?”
Running Crane drank more water and leaned back on his elbows. “Maybe you read or heard about the Blackfeet sacred artifacts that were the topic of negotiations between a provincial museum in Canada and Blackfeet Indians from Montana in 1990. A sculptor in Montana sold a bundle of sacred tribal artifacts for over one point one million. The collection had been a part of his pri
vate museum. So you see, there is ridiculous value in Native artifacts.”
“I never would have guessed. But I’m telling you right now, Running Crane, I don’t know a thing about dealing in stolen artifacts. Jordan wouldn’t have either.”
“You ought to give that some thought. Think back to conversations or places you two went and look at it from the angle, could it have been a deal connection.” He could tell by her expression she wasn’t convinced.
“I didn’t come here for accusations, Running Crane. I came to ask if you’d keep an eye on Nah’ah. I came to be honest with you…that on the way to Browning…my father and I were shot at.”
“You what?” He sat up abruptly. “Why haven’t you told me this before? Things have escalated and I can’t even let my team know about it. Neither of you were hit, right?” He glanced her over, and liked what he saw.
“Nice. Keep an eye on Nah’ah, not me.”
“Come on, Summer. I’m not the enemy. You’d better do some real thinking and figure out who is. Do you have any idea who would do that?”
“No. He phoned and threated to shoot father in the head unless we pulled into the next rest station. I questioned his ability to do that and he shot the windshield, right between us. Father wouldn’t stop and the caller said we’d pay for that decision.”
“I doubt anyone could find us here, but you’d better keep a sharp look-out and listen to your surroundings.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“This isn’t a game, Summer. If it was just you and me, I wouldn’t be so worried. But Nah’ah being here won’t make things so easy.” He waited for her to respond, hoping she’d believe he was here to help.
“I should have brought my pistol. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra, would you?”
Running Crane thought for a moment, considering the consequences of Summer having a gun.
“I know how to shoot. If I remember right, I’d won a couple of shooting events that you lost. If you want me to be aware, that should include a way to protect Nah’ah and even me.”
