by Mark Wildyr
“There was another with him.” Buffalo Shoulder stood his ground. “There is another who knows the truth.”
Had it not been such a serious matter, it would have been comedic. Each man looked to his neighbor and then searched across the heads of others. At long last, a young man stood. He was a member of Lodge Pole’s wife’s family who went by the name of Bois d’Arc.
“Buffalo Shoulder speaks the truth. Lodge Pole shot at the soldiers and claimed he could lay it on the back of Cut Hand.”
“Liars!” the big Indian screamed. Children whimpered. Camp dogs barked and slunk away. The very light seemed to fade from the sky. “They lie to protect their own.” Then abruptly changing tactics, he appealed to the hotheads in the group. “What are we, men with our stones removed? We have always hunted where we pleased, roamed where we wanted without asking permission. Now we shuffle along behind the white man like pet dogs. Not me! I am a man! Who is with me?”
A few accepted the challenge, but Cut stepped forward to put an end to it.
“I hunt where I please,” he shouted over the war whoops of a few young men. “I walk where I wish. But like honorable warriors in the day of my father and the time of my grandfather, I do not shoot from ambush to provoke the anger of a mighty enemy from personal ambition!”
Yellow Puma struggled to his feet without assistance and moved to the center of the group. “Lodge Pole, you have coveted the leadership of this band from the very day you arrived among us after you were made unwelcome by your own kinsmen. You have done this thing to discredit my son in the eyes of his people. The act, itself, was despicable. The fact it endangers not only my tiospaye but all others in this winter camp is unforgivable. You will no longer throw a long shadow over my people. You are banished from the Yanube forever. You will leave our camp and never return. If you disobey, then any man is free to kill you. I will take my leave now and permit the other headmen to make their own decisions in the matter. And know this, Sioux! If the soldiers come, none of us will pay for your perfidy.”
I cannot imagine the cost to that sick, proud man to march in firm steps out of the crowd back to his own lodge. Cut Hand and most of the Yanube left with him. I trailed along with the women.
WE DID not have to wait long for the arrival of the soldiers. Sentries alerted the village the following morning that a troop was drawn up in a skirmish line about three miles to the southeast. The camp’s warriors formed their own battle line behind their leaders. Bear Paw and one of the other band’s young men took mounted groups to flank the dragoons. Then we helped Yellow Puma aboard his white stone horse and rode out unarmed in advance of them all. Cut ordered me back to camp, but I ignored his entreaties… as he expected I would. I bound a white rag made from one of my undershifts to a lance so our intentions could not be misconstrued.
We knew no one at Fort Ramson, and indeed, the officers who came to meet us were strangers. Yellow Puma put all his remaining strength behind his voice as he hailed the military men ten paces ahead of him. Cut Hand translated his words.
“Welcome to our American brothers. I am Yellow Puma, misco of the People of the Yanube. We know why you are here and are anxious to end this matter as it should be, without violence and in the spirit of friendship. I am known to your brother officers at Fort Yanube as a peace chief.”
The leader of the troop, a mature man wearing captain’s bars, gaffed his horse two steps closer. “We have heard of you, Yellow Puma. We know you as a good man who desires peace. But perhaps you do not control your young men.”
“It is true young men of both our peoples do not always behave as they should, but we iron-hairs do the best we can.”
“We come because two of our messengers were fired upon along the Yanube River. The army cannot ignore such dangerous acts.”
“Nor can we,” Yellow Puma, speaking through his son, agreed. “When our hunters reported the incident upon their return yesterday, we held our own council and identified the culprit.”
“Then you can turn him over to us, and the matter will be finished.”
“The matter is finished,” the chief said in a firm voice. “The Sioux with snake blood who took refuge with us after his own turned their back on him has been sent away. None in this village will shelter him. The Teton will not allow him back. He has nowhere to go. He will be a problem no longer.”
“Give me his name, Yellow Puma,” the captain insisted.
“His name will never again be spoken by any of our people. He is dead to us. You have my word he alone turned his medicine gun upon your soldiers.”
The officer edged his horse over to me. “Would you be the Mr. Strobaw who trades for these people?”
“I am,” I acknowledged.
“Perhaps you are not bound by their custom.”
“I participated in the council. All I can do for you is confirm what Yellow Puma has said. But I see you have your own Indian scouts with you….” I allowed my voice to trail off. The captain understood.
The officer turned back to Yellow Puma. “One troop will pass south of your village. The other will cross the river. Please assure the women and children we intend no harm.”
“Thank you, Captain,” the chief replied.
We returned to our warriors, and Yellow Puma collected them in plain sight of the dragoons to demonstrate he had strength at his back when he chose to parley. I hope the Americans appreciated the significance of this as they passed through our lines and set about the task of finding Lodge Pole’s trail.
I do not believe they succeeded, as some months later I heard of a gigantic Indian killed in a drunken brawl down in Indian Territory.
Chapter 12
THE NEXT day Cut Hand began his courtship of Morning Mist, which bore all the earmarks of a short affair. Only the close scrutiny of the entire village kept her from crawling into his blankets that very day. The next fortnight was as painful for me as any I remember. I slept on a cold bed in the bachelors’ tipi while Cut rotated between his father’s lodge and a bedroll beside mine. A bargain was struck, horses exchanged, and the marriage was accomplished quickly. A week before the move northward was expected, Cut Hand took Morning Mist to bride. Their wedding night, spent in a new tipi near his father’s, was pure agony for me. Images of Cut mounting his new bride left wounds like a flint blade. Pale Hunter shriveled, and my testes crawled upward, seeking cowardly shelter. I was wracked with a physical pain as if my very soul struggled to escape its corporeal body.
To my surprise, after the wedding ceremony Yellow Puma, supported by Bear Paw and Lone Eagle, scratched at the doorway where I sheltered. The ailing man entered and sat across from me. The other two settled comfortably on either side of him.
“Tonight is not a night for Teacher to be alone,” Yellow Puma said. He gestured toward Bear Paw, who passed an earthen jug to me.
Strong drink and I do not mix well, but that night it was welcome. I recall neither my companions’ departure nor the remainder of the night, but when I woke to a headache and harsh stomach the next day, I was wrapped snugly in my blankets. Lunging to my feet, I staggered outside, seeking some secluded area, nearly soiling my clothing from every orifice before finding a measure of privacy.
I had not realized I wandered so far from camp until each step back drew more leaden than the one before. I needed Cut to—
Oh my God! Cut! He would be with her! He was a new groom. I was sick, alone, and abandoned. I dropped to my knees and flopped onto my belly in the cold, half-frozen grass. My chest ached until I passed out in the mud and snow.
“Wife? What are you doing out here?”
Cut’s voice startled me back to my senses. I raised a frozen cheek. “Too much to drink.”
He roared with laughter. “Do I carry you back like some weak, swooning woman?”
“No, but you can help me up.” I grasped a strong brown arm, and he hauled me upright. “Can… make it… now.”
For three more days I endured the torture, clinging to the forlorn b
elief that each sunrise brought us closer to the time of departure for the Mead. Morning Mist was everywhere. Most women do not touch their men in public—not so this new bride. She clung to him possessively. To my tortured mind, it was a silent proclamation he no longer needed the support of his old win-tay wife.
Then disaster struck! At least it was a disaster to me. A heavy bank of dark, lowering clouds slowed the snowmelt and delayed the People’s departure. Otter and Butterfly stayed nearby to lend quiet, unassuming support. Even the self-important Lone Eagle found opportunities to do things with me. It was an uncommonly unselfish offer from this handsome teen, and I was grateful. In fairness, except in events he perceived a challenge to his manhood, Lone Eagle was a pleasant youth.
When the departure for the north was delayed yet another week in deference to the weather, I could stand it no longer. I informed Cut I was returning to the Mead.
“You can’t!” he exclaimed. “You can’t get across the river.”
“I will load the wagon and go by way of Yawktown to trade furs for supplies. The People have some plews that should bring a prime price. Afterward I will head home.”
His chest puffed in anger. “I won’t let you go!”
“Why?” I snapped. “You don’t need me! You’re otherwise occupied.”
He dropped his gaze. “I know it’s hard for you, but this is… what was it I read in those books? A honeymoon? Yes, this is our honeymoon. But it will soon be over. And you are wrong. I need you more than ever.”
In my pitiful desperation, I half believed him. “We shall see, Cut. But you don’t need me right now. Let me go home to tend our animals. The supply of food we put out for them will be running low. And I can do some trading on the way.”
“I will send warriors with you, at least through the Pipe Stem country.”
“That will only provoke trouble. I am going alone.”
His eyes softened. “Will you be there when I return?”
I met his steady gaze. “When I leave you, Cut, I’ll tell you first.”
His pride nicked, he withdrew slightly. “So be it. I will gather the furs and whatever else we have for trading. Lone Eagle and Otter will accompany you.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I leave tomorrow… alone.”
He turned away. “Very well.”
I busied myself loading the wagon before taking a solitary meal, politely declining an invitation from Yellow Puma’s household. Otter came to the bachelors’ tipi to sit with me until my husband appeared.
“Wife,” Cut said, walking up to me and clutching my shoulders. “I did not want you to leave with bad feelings between us.”
“I’m glad,” I whispered as he drew my shirt over my head. He took a few moments to finger my bare torso before removing the rest of my clothing. A friend must have been guarding the entrance, as he showed no nervousness over being interrupted. Cut lay with me then, confirming his love, drawing out my own responses, retying the bonds that held us until I was afire within and without. So far as I could tell, Dark Warrior had not suffered contamination from his coupling with Morning Mist. I slept in the afterglow of his flanking, trying to ignore a persistent niggling at the remote edges of my aura.
Cut and half a dozen friends traveled a league with me along the bank of the swollen river the next morning. Finally the others withdrew and gave us a moment alone.
“I love you, William Joseph Strobaw,” he pronounced solemnly. “Why must things change between us?”
“Damnation! Things have changed!”
“Not so deeply as you seem to believe.”
Mindful that he opened and closed each day by speaking to his Great Mystery, I gave words to the thing that worried my mind the night before. “Cut, do you remember when I first took you? I imagined my God frowning down on me and preparing to strike us for being sinners of the flesh.”
He frowned, seeking to understand.
“That went away when I realized what I held for you in my heart was true love. And then we made vows to one another that reaffirmed my belief. God no longer tortured my mind.” I held all his attention now. “But when you came to me last night, and I enjoyed your body, the physical demonstration of your love, I experienced it again—the disapproval of my Master. According to my laws, you legally belong to someone else now, a woman. And that is the natural order of things.”
Cut shook his head slowly. “According to our laws, I still belong to you.” He clasped me to his breast, oblivious to the warriors who watched from a distance. “Oh, Billy, what have I done? I did not understand your struggle. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I settled it. Because I had no idea it would intrude again. Because I love you, and because I love the Yanube, I will do what I can for as long as I can endure it. But I have to fight another battle and come to an understanding with my Lord anew.”
He held me at arm’s length. “How can I help you with this battle?”
“You can’t. This is one I must fight alone.”
He drew me to him again, kissing me hard on the mouth, exciting my passion before releasing me and vaulting from the wagon onto the back of Arrow. Without looking back, I urged the double span of blacks forward. The wagon moved with a clink and a creak across the rough bench of hard prairie stretching alongside the Yanube River.
THIS TIME I was aware of the Pipe Stem brave as soon as he materialized on the horizon. Even so, I kept doggedly to the faint trail. Whatever happened was beyond my ability to change it. He paced me for half a day and then disappeared. It was no surprise, therefore, when I topped a rise and found three warriors barring my way. One was Carcajou.
The Pipe Stem climbed from his pony to the wagon seat without my slowing. “Hau, Teacher,” he said. “I will ride with you a part of the way.”
“Welcome, Carcajou. How has the winter been with you and your people?”
“We have endured… most of us. My father, Great Bull, died when the snows came the hardest.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “I have heard he was a good man.”
“A hard one, but a good one.”
“So you now lead the Pipe Stem people?”
He nodded. “Ask me what you last asked him.”
“If I would be welcome at the fire of the Pipe Stem?”
“You would be welcome. You did not know of this, Teacher, but from the moment you spoke plain and true to me in front of your stone house, you have been under the protection of Great Bull. No Pipe Stem would harm you. He respected your words and reputation that much. Now you travel under mine.”
“That is good to know.”
“Our winter grounds are not far. Will you make that visit now?”
I would have preferred to keep on the road to Yawktown, but he seemed intent on my accepting his invitation. The wagon and its white drover occasioned a great deal of excitement in the Pipe Stem town. Small Horse, recovered from his burns, emerged from a lodge marked by poles holding medicine bundles. He solemnly greeted his chief and his guest. The old man was quite loquacious, especially around the council fire that night. About all I could contribute was the fact that a detachment of soldiers would soon be coming up the south bank of the Yanube and that the army was on the nettle because of Lodge Pole’s actions. That, of course, required the telling in full.
Carcajou came to talk in the bachelors’ tipi set aside for me that night. In the warmth of the interior, he threw off his outer coverings, exposing his broad, dark chest and strong thighs. I felt a familiar stir of interest. He was handsome in a totally different way from Cut Hand. Darker, shorter, straight-nosed, cant-eyed, he could have been a Chinese warlord lounging before me.
“What is this medicine you have? Does Double Woman give you sexual power over men?” he asked abruptly.
“I hold no power over men.”
“You examined me with such interest that I quickened,” he said as if to refute my denial. “Two strong men lust for you. Cut Hand took you to wife. Now Carcajou has admitted his desire. T
his is not power?”
“It is only a medicine you give to me, Carcajou. I loved Cut Hand from the first moment I saw him. I pursued him and forced myself on him. It is you two who hold the medicine. His power is such that I deserted my own people to come with him. Your power makes me want to forget my pledge to him.”
“Hah!” he said. “So I did not imagine it.”
I recognized this was dangerous ground. “I look on Carcajou and find myself wondering what it would be like to lie with him. But I will never know as I have made a vow.”
“I could take you now and do what I want.”
“Yes, but it will be to my shame. If you would disgrace me, then so be it.”
“Why would it be shame?”
“Because my religion promises punishment for one who breaks a vow. But more importantly, because of the love Cut Hand and I hold in our hearts for one another.” I continued before he could interrupt. “Between Carcajou and me there is respect and the bond of friendship. But neither of us can claim love. You would bed me for the novelty of it, nothing more. I would do it from curiosity, which would then turn to shame, and our friendship would be gone.”
“Perhaps I would be better than Cut Hand. Maybe I can claim your love.”
“And what would you do with it if you succeeded? Are you willing to make me your wife before the whole band?”
“I could put the lie on my lips and claim so, but you are right. I think we would both get great pleasure from our coupling, but we shall never know. I will confess something to you. After our last meeting, I looked up a youth in our village who is considering the win-tay life. It was pleasant, nothing more. To be certain, I went to him again. The same. But just as it is different with some women, so it would be different with you.”
“It is different with some women because of feelings you harbor for them.”
“I will allow you to rest now. You will be on your way to the fort tomorrow.” It was not a question but a statement. When he rose, he permitted me to see that he was aroused. I almost reached for him but resisted.
