Al would cook a good supper, and afterward they would sit around the fire. Clinton was a great talker, as Al already knew, but she found herself getting more vocal than she had ever been with anyone.
After they had eaten and washed out their dishes in the creek that ran by their campsite, Clinton said, “We’ll be back home tomorrow. You know, Al, I’m kind of sorry it’s over.”
“So am I. It’s been the most fun I’ve ever had.”
“Well, me too, I guess.” He got up, poured coffee into two cups, and came over and sat down beside her.
Al looked up at the skies, which were adorned with glittering stars, and began to recite:
“Star light, star bright
First star I’ve seen tonight,
Wish I may, wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.
“I say that every night when I see the first star.”
Clinton sipped his coffee and said, “What’d you wish for?”
“You can’t tell what you wish for. It won’t come true if you tell someone.”
“Well, I ain’t superstitious. I’ll tell you what I wish. I wish Brodie and Quaid would find my sister. That’s what I want most in the world. She’s been gone a long time.”
“That’s a good wish, Clinton. I’ll wish that, too.”
“You know, I’ve been worried about my Aunt Julie.”
“She’s really nice.”
“She sure is, but she’s workin’ in a saloon, and you know what that means. I’ve talked to her a whole lot, but she just laughs when I try to tell her she’s livin’ wrong.”
“I guess people have to come to find out what they are by themselves.”
Clinton drained the rest of the coffee, set the cup down, and turned to face her. The moon was full, and he was struck by her even features. “I don’t know what you mean by that. There’s got to be folks to tell us what’s right and what’s wrong—like preachers and parents and people like your grandma and grandpa.”
Al did not argue with him. She had discovered that arguing with Clinton was like arguing with an anvil. It made no impression whatsoever.
Clinton finally sighed and said, “It seems like I spend half my time tryin’ to straighten people out.”
Al suddenly laughed. “You certainly do. Maybe I need to spend a little while straightening you out.”
“Me?” Clinton said, staring at her with blank astonishment. “Why, I don’t need no straightin’ out.”
“Yes, you do.”
Clinton glared at her. “What would you straighten me out about?”
“Well, for one thing, you make an absolute fool over yourself running around after Lucy Abbot.”
Al’s words touched a sore spot, and Clinton said, “I ain’t neither. I’m gonna keep on chasin’ her, too.”
“You won’t catch her. Everybody knows it except you.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know what everybody knows. She’s a stuck-up, spoiled young woman who will marry a rich man ’cause that’s what her parents want.
That’s what she wants, too.”
Clinton reached over and grabbed her arm and shook it. “Don’t you talk like that about Lucy!”
“Turn loose of me!” Al said. She tried to jerk away, but Clinton took her other arm and pulled her around.
“Listen to me,” he said, “I’m tellin’ you—”
Al wrenched aside and slapped at Clinton. She had not intended to hit his face, but she did. Instantly, she was sorry.
“Why, you little varmint!” He grabbed her shoulders to shake her, and she pulled away. Clinton was pulled off-balance, and when she fell backward, he kept his grip on her. Her hat fell off, and her soft hair that had been tucked up underneath fell down in soft waves around her face.
Clinton was a strong young man, and he pinned her to the ground, “Now, you just listen to me, Aldora Stuart. I won’t have no kid tellin’ me how to run my life!”
“I’m not a kid! Let me go!”
Clinton’s face was over Al’s, and her struggles were nothing to him.
He was looking at her lips and was shocked when he realized how beautifully shaped they were. They were round and curved, and his whole attention fastened on them. Al grew very still, and he looked deeply into her eyes. He saw something in them he didn’t understand and was uncomfortably aware of the rounded form that he rested on. Clinton Hardin, for all his purity, suddenly lowered his head and kissed Aldora. The softness of her lips came as a shock to him, and he sensed her response, which he had not expected. He had grown so used to thinking of Al as a good friend, someone to fish and hunt with, but now he was aware that she was a woman, soft and desirable.
Al twisted her head away and said, “Let me go!” He released her at once, and she shoved him away.
“I . . . I’m sorry, Al. I didn’t know—I mean, I didn’t mean—”
“You get away from me, Clinton Hardin!” She scrambled to her feet and gave him one withering look. “Go on and make a fool out of yourself over that ol’ Lucy Abbot!”
She marched off to where she had placed her blankets ten yards beyond the fire. Clinton struggled to find something to say, then called out, “Hey, Al, we’d better leave early in the morning.” He got no answer, and he sat down before the fire staring at it for a long time. He was confused and upset with himself. What’s the matter with me? I must be losing my mind. I’ll be glad when we get home!
Jerusalem had sensed that something was wrong with Clinton the minute he returned from the cattle drive to New Orleans. Two days later he came out with it when they were alone. He told her the whole story and said, “I don’t know what got into me, Ma, but we was wrestling around, and suddenly my face was right next to hers, and I just—well, I up and kissed her.”
Jerusalem sat silent for a moment, then said, “And how do you feel about kissing her?”
Clinton did not answer for a time, and he finally stammered, “Well, you . . . you know, Ma, sometimes I think I’m not as smart as I think I am.”
Jerusalem laughed and hugged him. “You’ll be all right, Clinton.
You’re just growing up.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY
The Staked Plains encompassed an enormous amount of ground, most of which was uninhabitable, as Quaid and Brodie discovered. They had only a vague idea concerning the exact location of Bear Killer’s camp, so their only hope was to either happen upon it by luck, which would be dangerous and perhaps even fatal, or to find someone who would be willing to divulge its location.
As they wandered through the area, Brodie was impressed at how time and weather had etched a great chasm into the high plains. Some of the canyons dropped away beneath their feet so suddenly that it took his breath away. The horizon stretched away forever, so it seemed, and one day when the sun was still high in the sky, Brodie said, “Quaid, we could wander around like this for a year and never find Bear Killer’s camp!”
“You got another plan?”
“Another plan? Don’t seem to me like we have a plan. To tell the truth, I’m gettin’ a little bit desperate.”
Quaid sat easily in his saddle, letting his gelding pick its way across the sandy soil. He kept a sharp look ahead, taking in the stunted pinyon junipers, but the only moving thing he saw was a roadrunner dashing ahead of him with long, rushing strides. Winter had come, and the cold had swept across the country, dropping ice and snow across the land. But the weather was unpredictable. The sudden, violent chills could come, and the next day a warm breeze would come, so there was no way to prepare for it. The Indians, of course, thought that spirits controlled the weather and pummeled the land with violence to show their displeasure.
The two rode steadily for two hours, and finally Quaid drew his horse up sharply. “Something up ahead,” he said. “Can’t make it out.”
Drawing in his reins, Brodie stared. “I see it. It ain’t an animal.”
“No. Let’s see what’s up.”
/> The two kicked their horses into a gallop, and shortly afterward Quaid said, “It’s an Indian all by himself.”
Indeed, it was an Indian, but it was an old woman, they discovered. They kept their eyes constantly moving, looking for danger, but they saw no signs of others. When they pulled up in front of the old woman, she was sitting with her eyes closed and singing a song.
“Singing her death song,” Quaid said. He stepped off his horse and moved over and spoke to her in Comanche. “Old mother, what are you doing here?”
The old woman stopped singing and slowly opened her eyes. “I go to the spirit land,” she whispered. Her lips were dry, and her tongue seemed thick in her mouth. “Bring some of that water over here, Brodie.”
Brodie came out of his saddle, pulled off a canteen, and handed it to Quaid. Quaid unscrewed the top of the wooden canteen and held it to the old woman’s lips. Some of it went down her chin, but she drank eagerly.
“That’s enough for now. You can have all you want later.”
The woman’s face was wrinkled, and she studied the two white men. “Will you kill me now?” she asked in Comanche, as she watched them without fear.
“No, we do not kill women. Where are your people? Are you Comanche?”
“No, Kiowa.”
“Did they leave you to die?”
“No. Our camp was raided. I was in the bushes, and they did not see me. I started walking back, but I am too old now.”
“We’ll help you find your people if you’ll tell me where they are.”
“My name is Sky Woman,” the old woman said. “I am of One Ear’s band.”
“Well, do you know where we could find him?”
“Yes, I will guide you.”
“I think we’d better take her back, Brodie. This One Ear, whoever he is, may be able to give us some information about Bear Killer.”
The two made a quick meal, for they had shot an antelope earlier in the day. They had to pound it to make it easier for the old woman to eat, but as she ate, she became more curious. She kept looking at them, and finally when she had eaten and drunk her fill of water, she sat quietly by the fire, saying, “You are Silverhair, and you are Tall One. There are tales about you.”
Quaid interpreted this for Brodie and said, “What have you heard about us?”
“That you seek for the white woman, the captive of Bear Killer.”
“Yes. That is true. We want to take her home to her people.”
“Bear Killer will never let her go. He is a mighty warrior.”
“We will take her,” Quaid said quietly. Then he asked idly, “I don’t guess you know where Bear Killer is?”
“Yes, his camp is beside the two mountains.”
Quaid stiffened, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Two mountains? Where are they?”
“That way. One day’s ride in a canyon. His people camp there during the winter.”
Quaid turned to Brodie, his eyes flashing. “We’ve got him! He’s by two mountains, a day’s ride that way.”
“That’s what she said?”
“Yes. Now, we’ve got to get her back to her people.” He turned and said, “Old woman, can you sit on a horse?”
She smiled at him. “I was sitting on a horse before you were born. Take me to my people. . . .”
Getting the old woman back to One Ear proved to be an easy ride. She had led them to a Kiowa camp, but One Ear was not there. Instead, the old woman presented them to a subchief named Antoine. He had been surprised at the two white men worrying themselves over an old Kiowa woman, but he had said, “She is the grandmother of One Ear. He will be happy to see her.” On being questioned about Bear Killer’s location, he confirmed what the old woman had said. “Yes, Bear Killer always winters in the big canyon beside the two mountains.”
“We will leave, then.”
“One Ear would help if you would wait.”
“No, we will do this alone.”
Antoine shook his head. “You will not take the woman alone. Bear Killer’s band is large, and he is the most fierce warrior among The People.
You will die if you try.”
Quaid had grinned at him. “Well, Antoine, they can’t kill us but once, can they, now?”
Antoine laughed. “You have good medicine, Silverhair. May the spirits go with you.”
With Antoine’s advice, finding the two mountains had not been difficult, for they had risen up against the horizon, making an obvious target. As they approached where Bear Killer had taken his band for the winter, Brodie said, “I don’t know what we think we’re doing. According to Antoine, Bear Killer’s got a big band. He might have as many as fifty warriors there. Who knows?”
“I thought we might go back and get help, but by the time we do, they might’ve moved. Let’s go look it over first and see what we’re up against.”
They approached the mountains gradually, and according to the description given by the old woman and Antoine, Bear Killer’s band stayed in a large canyon that was almost hidden from view. As they drew closer, they found that the trees were thicker here, not tall, but of many varieties, including hornbrim, sycamore, and blackjack. Quaid said, “We don’t know what we’re running into, Brodie. We’d better stake the horses out here and go ahead on foot until we find them.”
The two dismounted, hobbled the horses, and tied them for extra security with their ropes to the tops of large saplings. When the horses pulled, the saplings would give, but the lariats would not break.
For several hours they carefully made their way forward, going according to Antoine’s directions. They found the main canyon just as dusk was beginning to fall. Crawling up to the edge of it, they looked down and could see a large stream cut down through the middle of the canyon. The canyon itself was covered with mesquite and dried buffalo grass. Along the edge of the stream were cottonwoods and prickly pear.
They scouted down the rim of the canyon and noted that there were knolls and mounds and bluffs and that the walls ran straight to the plains above without footholds in many places.
“Well, Bear Killer found him a good place to winter,” Quaid murmured. “If I’m not mistaken, I see smoke over there, probably their camp.
It’ll be too dark soon. We’d better get back to the horses. First thing in the morning, we’ll come and scout out the camp.”
The two made their way back, and as they ate the last of the antelope, Brodie said, “We won’t be able to shoot any game.”
“That’s right. Too much danger of some of Bear Killer’s band hearing us.”
“Well, we’ll have to find some food quick, or we’ll starve.”
“Let’s get all the sleep we can. We may need it. I sure wish we had brought some more grub.”
“I wish we had another horse. If we get Moriah back, one of us will have to ride double. I don’t fancy that with Bear Killer’s band chasing after us.”
“We haven’t got her yet,” Quaid said soberly. Then he smiled and said, “But we will. I think we’re gonna do it, Brodie. Now, let’s get some sleep.”
The next morning, shortly after daylight, the two went back to scout out the camp down in the canyon. “That’s got to be Bear Killer’s camp.
He wouldn’t allow any other Indians to stay here,” Quaid said. They had moved up and down the canyon walls searching for a way down. Finally they found one passageway where the horses could make it down, for there were many prints on the ground. “I expect this is the way the tribe gets in and out of this canyon.”
They made their way down and stayed inside the shelter of the cottonwoods until they came to a spot where they could see the smoke of the camp easily. “I don’t think we ought to get much closer than this in the daytime,” Quaid said. “Let’s just stake out here and see if we can spot anything.”
They stayed there all day watching for any movement, and from time to time, Indian women would come to the river for water. They would fill their pots and then walk back to the clearing of teepees.
At once Quaid came out away from the tree and moved to stand beside Brodie. He looked across the creek and saw two women coming.
“What is it?” he said.
“That one on the left—it’s Moriah!”
Quaid had good eyes, but he had simply seen two Indian women accompanied by a small boy. He focused on the one that Brodie had indicated and said, “You’re right, Brodie. That’s her!”
Brodie slapped Quaid on the back, and the look on his face was exultant. “We found her, Quaid; we found her after all this time!”
“Some doubt in your mind about that?”
“I reckon so, to be truthful.”
“If we had the horses, we could get her right now. But that won’t work.”
“Well, we know she comes to the river for water. What we’ll have to do is bring the horses up as close as we can and wait for a chance like this. I wouldn’t doubt if she’d come every day or two.” Brodie was speaking, but his eyes were fixed on Moriah. “Look at her,” he said.
“She’s laughing.”
Quaid watched, and sure enough, he could see Moriah’s teeth flash as she smiled at the other woman. “She seems to be all right,” he said.
“That’s a relief.”
“From a distance she looks just like a Comanche.”
They watched as the two women filled their pots and started back.
The boy followed them slowly, and they saw Moriah reach down and touch his head to urge him forward. Neither of them said anything, but both had their long thoughts about the boy walking beside Moriah.
“We’ll bring the horses here in the morning, but we can’t go in that camp. There’s too many of them.”
“We’ll find a way. Don’t worry.”
Finding a way to get Moriah away proved to be more difficult than either of them had thought. They watched constantly for four days. They were about to starve, so Brodie had taken a horse and ridden back half a day’s ride, where he shot a deer and brought it back. They had to go back up and away from the canyon to roast it so the smoke wouldn’t be seen by anyone from the camp.
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