by Lucy Inglis
The others ate the bread, toasted, for breakfast. I stood stubbornly with Tara, stroking her white face.
As we mounted up, you handed me the water canteen. ‘Gotta drink if you won’t eat.’
I drank and handed it back, refusing to look at you. With a swift movement, you were suddenly mounted on the red horse without a saddle, for Lucky did not have a spare. You gathered the reins. ‘C’mon, English. Mount up. We got work to do.’ You wheeled your horse around, leaving me standing next to Tara. I climbed into the saddle as quickly as I could.
We rode out. Lucky streaked away to what I thought was northwest. You and I went west, steadily.
‘Where are we going?’ I said sullenly.
‘To a place on the railroad map. Check it out. Look at the rocks and see if they can be blasted. Or not. See about water. Elevations. Landscape.’
‘Oh.’ Something else I didn’t understand. I sighed and looked down at my hands on the saddlehorn. Mama would be aghast at how tanned I was becoming. You leant over and caught Tara’s reins and hauled on yours, pulling us to a halt.
‘Em? What’s the matter?’
I said nothing.
You sighed audibly. ‘Remember what I said, about accepting things?’
I nodded, but still didn’t look at you, so you reached across and tucked the persistent stray strand of hair behind my ear, pulling on the lock. A tiny mischief. ‘The people I grew up with ain’t like you.’
‘So I see,’ I said stiffly.
‘Don’t make them wrong, just makes them different.’
I turned my head away.
‘They ain’t savages, neither. And you’re dreadful pretty when you sulk, but I don’t hold with sulkers.’
I bit my bottom lip. You were right, sulking wasn’t nice. ‘But they . . . that wasn’t proper,’ I said, voice small.
You responded immediately. ‘I do get that you wouldn’t understand. I do. But they weren’t doing nothing wrong. You think soldiers are any different with the women they engage with on the march?’
‘Engage . . . ? W-wait, have you done that?’ I asked, shocked and petty.
You took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’d rather Lucky’d waited until we were asleep, but they’re newly married. What do you expect? He’s having a hard time working out why you’d rather sleep up on the butte – if you slept at all – keeps asking me if I’ve forgotten how to please a woman now I’m living like a white man.’
You ducked and caught my eye, teasing. I turned my head so you couldn’t see my face.
‘Oh . . . come on, it ain’t like he was hurting her, is it? She—’ There was silence as the penny dropped. ‘Emily? What do you think they were doing?’
I wanted the ground to swallow me, fiddling with Tara’s reins. She shifted, picking up on my unease.
Your hand came beneath my chin, lifting my face in a way that brooked no argument. ‘Look at you, all fine and dandy, with your Mozart and your Milton and your pretty manners. You don’t know nothing about nothing, do you? And your momma, selling you into wedlock on a foreign continent without even . . . Shameful is what it is.’ You broke off, disgusted, and let me go.
Shameful. You thought my ignorance was something to be ashamed of.
Far off, there was a gathering noise: Rose, galloping across the plain. She was magnificent. Tall in the saddle, hair flying. Powerful, strong, capable. Everything I wasn’t. She crashed to a halt between us, voice clattering.
You and she talked, your red horse increasingly skittish. Sitting down hard, bareback, you settled him, keeping up a constant conversation with Rose. Suddenly she wheeled away and was gone, leaning into her mare’s neck, barely moving in the saddle.
I cleared my throat. ‘Is she always so dramatic?’
You glanced at me, calculating, before allowing our previous subject to drop. ‘Pretty much.’
‘What did she say?’
‘That the buffalo hunters are in Blackfoot territory.’
I took a breath, and my courage. ‘What are we going to do?’
You shrugged angrily. ‘Nothing we can do. Rose is up for rallying the Blackfoot, but that’s dangerous, pitting the Indian against the white man.’
‘Will they listen to her?’
‘Well, traditionally our tribe and the Blackfoot ain’t the greatest of friends. But they do like nothing better than a good scrap and it don’t take much to rile them. And Rose and Lucky have roamed around this territory all their grown lives, got friends everywhere, on account-a Rose being Rose.’ She was a speck in the distance now.
‘What does that mean, please?’
‘You noticed Rose’s clothes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who do you think she looks more like, Lucky or Clear Water?’
I thought about it. ‘Lucky. She dresses like a man.’
You nodded. ‘Fights like a man too. Tough as hell. They say she’s two spirits in one body, a brave and a woman. It’s a sacred thing out here. Rose gotta lot of respect around these parts.’
‘Rose fights? With men?’
You grinned. ‘When we were kids she fought with the boys like a Kilkenny cat. Rode out in her first skirmish party, the year Momma died. All the old vets were laughing at her, noisy little thing that she was. Weren’t laughing so hard when she came back with a scalp on her saddle.’ You watched her disappear, suddenly serious. ‘But these days, Rose goes to war. Which is what I’m worried about.’
‘Aren’t we going with her?’
‘Nope. Ain’t getting involved. I got enough on my plate as it is. Got a home to look to now. You and Tara and this fella here to take care of. Ain’t putting my ass out on the line again because Rose is itching for a scrap, ’cause trust me, that ain’t no irregular occurrence.’
‘But if the killing goes on, won’t the Blackfoot die in the winter without the buffalo?’
Glancing over at me, you raised an eyebrow. ‘You sound like you want to go with her.’
I thought about it. I never wanted to see another buffalo massacre. And I was worried for Rose. Papa said that women had no place on the battlefield. Yet he had always told me I should try to do the right thing and behave with integrity.
‘We should try and help,’ I said, into the silence of the plain.
‘Why, Emily? Why would you want to go parley with Indians over the fate of some dumb animals?’
It took me a moment to speak, wanting to answer carefully. ‘Because this is wrong. It’s needless killing, and it doesn’t matter if it’s animals or men. And in this case it’s both. Papa would think we should attempt to help.’ I lifted my chin and tried to sound certain.
‘It won’t be safe.’
I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. ‘Safe seems like a long time ago.’
You looked into the distance, eyes narrowed. ‘OK, English, if this is what you want.’ The red horse sprang forward under your heels and Tara raced to catch up. We tore over the rolling plain.
When we finally caught up with Rose, she was with Lucky and Clear Water, who had broken the camp but not made it far. Clear Water was sitting quietly on her roan pony, but Rose and Lucky were talking. You reined to a halt next to them and added your voice to the mix.
I was still catching my breath when your discussion finished.
‘Well, it’s settled then, we’re going to the Blackfoot.’
‘How far is it?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll have to find the band nearest the hunters. When I was up here last year there was one about two hours’ ride from here. Should be close enough. Just gotta hope all their braves are in camp.’
We set out, arriving after some hours at the camp over a bluff giving on to a large, spread-out settlement of buffalo-hide tents of varying size. Small campfires burnt, some with pots hung over them, some just smoking. Women walked around, in long sleeveless dresses, carrying large wooden bowls on their hips or talking; children played at their feet. There were dogs everywhere, many of them at the heels of children. As w
e rode in, the camp stirred and young men on horses came toward us. Most of them were wearing simple deerskin shirts and their hair was different from Lucky’s, worn in varying styles. They were not quite as tall either, and very slender. Most of them looked about my age and they crowded together, blocking our way.
‘Quit gawking, Emily,’ you said out of the corner of your mouth. ‘Ain’t mannerly.’
I dropped my eyes. A thin, older man approached on foot. You all began to dismount straight away and I slid down from Tara, landing awkwardly on feet that had lost their circulation. It was clear the chief knew you from the way you all spoke together. Almost instantly he called you away into one of the lodges, closing the door flap behind you.
I stood with Clear Water, loosening the cinches on all the horses between us. Other women came up. They were particularly interested in my pale skin and in my eyes, and talked amongst each other as they examined me minutely. When they began to touch my face and clothes, Clear Water intervened. She handed me two of the water canteens and I followed her to the stream which flowed behind the camp. One boy, my age, was standing waist-height in the water, throwing it over himself. Shaking water from his hair like Tippet used to, he turned and waded out of the river. Naked. I stared, eyes wide, as he grabbed a loincloth from the bank and began to dry himself. Clear Water stifled a laugh at my gawping. I started and glanced at her, embarrassed, then concentrated on filling the canteen.
Clear Water and I sat on the bank for a while, watching the camp. It was a beautiful day and we were warm in the sun. Clear Water produced a piece of hard, biscuit-like tack from her bag and passed it to me, making an eating motion. I thanked her gratefully. Then I got up and went to check on the horses, who were standing, docile, by the large tents. I saw you standing with Rose, sharing a machine-made cigarette. Rose looked at me, the corner of her mouth kinking up, and said something to you.
You shook your head, stole the cigarette from her and offered it to me, eyebrow raised in challenge. I rolled my eyes, another habit Mama loathed, and took Tara and your red horse to the river to drink. Listening to them suck up the water with satisfied grunts, I didn’t notice the boy from earlier standing behind me. He was wearing leggings and a tunic and his hair, still damp, was in a thick, sleek ponytail. He smiled.
‘Hello.’
My eyes widened. ‘Hello.’
‘You are surprised I speak your language.’
‘A little, yes.’
He patted the red horse, stroking a hand down his flank.
‘I am often in Fort Shaw, with my father, Two Tails. He is the chief here.’
‘Oh.’ I tried to think. Finding common ground was important. ‘My father is a chief too, amongst our people.’ It wasn’t a lie, after all.
He looked pleased. ‘You are called English, yes? Like your tongue.’
I couldn’t see the point in correcting him. ‘Yes.’
‘They are curious.’ He gestured to the camp. ‘They have heard you belong to Pale Eye and want to see his wife.’
‘I’m not his wife,’ I said stoutly, surprised at my own voice.
His expression changed. ‘But he has the agreement of your family?’
‘I . . . er . . .’ My voice petered out.
He looked at me, his copper-coloured skin smooth in the sun. ‘But Pale Eye claimed you. Before my father. I heard him say it.’
Claimed me? Claimed?
‘Dog Child? You trying to get me into trouble?’ You loped up behind him, elbowing Tara out of the way and putting a large, flat saddle on the red horse.
The boy shrugged, unperturbed. ‘I only told her our customs. If you have not the agreement of her father, have made no offering, you are not married and she does not belong to you.’
You ducked beneath the horse to grab the cinch and straightened, threading it through the rings. ‘Run along now and play with your little toy bow and arrow.’
‘Maybe that arrow will not feel so small if it is lodged in your chest, Pale Eye.’
You snorted with laughter, finishing the knot. ‘You in the market for a suitor now, English? I missed this news.’
The remark confused the young brave. He looked at me, eyes dark, one last time, then walked away.
You shook your head. ‘I leave you alone for a solitary minute and you’re playing truant with the chief’s son.’
‘I was not!’ I said, indignant. ‘He came to speak to me.’
‘Which is against the rules and he knows it.’
‘Rules? Oh yes, you’ve claimed me, apparently,’ I retorted sharply, my mettle thoroughly tested. ‘I wasn’t aware that the Indians raffled off their women. Did they ask to see a winning ticket?’
You laughed, pretending to stumble and clutching your heart. ‘Nice shot, English. Didn’t stop him trying his luck though, did it?’
‘What luck? I don’t understand,’ I said, thoroughly confused by the whole exchange.
‘I gotta explain every last thing to you, Emily?’ You tutted, chucking me under the chin. ‘Looking up at him with those blue eyes as if he’s the only man in this world, the poor boy don’t know where he is.’
‘What on earth do you—’
You talked over me. ‘Your momma did a fine job of raising you up to make a man drunk just talking with you and you know it.’
‘Mama did no such thing and I don’t know it. You mustn’t say so, because I don’t. She and Papa raised me to be good, and kind, and to try my best.’
You adjusted the saddle, pulling on it. ‘They did such a good job maybe even you don’t know you’re doing it.’ You glanced at me. ‘Maybe.’
‘If you don’t stop I’ll . . .’
‘What’ll you do?’ you teased. ‘Take me over your knee?’ You made a show of patting your pockets. ‘Ain’t got a spare horse bit for you to practise your aim with this time. You feel up to trying the rifle again?’
‘Shut up,’ I said, then covered my mouth in shock at my bad manners.
You were buckling the throat strap on your red horse, and you laughed out loud at that. ‘I only claimed you ’cause we’re moving out. You’ll be safe here until we get back, if they think you’re mine. OK?’
‘Oh.’
‘But the chief’s son probably got more sway, and he’s definitely got more than one good leg, so maybe it’s time to switch your allegiance.’ You turned back to the red horse.
‘Do stop. Such humour is in very poor taste.’
You mimicked me in silence, still checking and rechecking the kit behind the saddle. I looked around and saw signs of the camp galvanizing. Women were carrying saddles to horses, braves talked in small groups. Two thin, wiry warriors painted each other’s faces with white and black stripes across their eyes. Clear Water and Lucky stood close together by his horse, barely touching, yet Clear Water’s adoration of her husband was plain on her face. I looked away, feeling as if I were intruding, and the reality of my situation set in. ‘How . . . how long will you be gone?’ I asked your back.
You shrugged, still not looking at me. ‘Don’t know.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Make a stand against the killing party. Probably start a state-wide war. Bring down the wrath of the people’s government upon these fool Indians’ heads. Get my own shot off.’ You sighed without turning around. ‘Leave you all alone.’
‘No!’
You flung the reins over the horse’s neck. ‘You wanted this, remember?’
‘But I—’
At that moment, Rose rode up and barked out a question without looking at me. I stood holding Tara’s bridle in a slack hand, staring up at her as you answered, then turned to me.
‘Well, Emily, it’s been a pleasure.’ Stooping, you touched your lips to my forehead, ignoring my startled intake of breath. ‘Give my regards to Railroad. And don’t worry yourself none whatever happens.’
Across the camp, braves were mounting their horses. You swung into the saddle. What if you were shot and I never saw you a
gain? And to sit in a camp where I would be stared at and poked like a butterfly on a collector’s pin? No, that held no appeal. Yet if there was to be a battle, I had no place in it. Yet I could not stay here alone without you. No. It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. Besides, Rose wasn’t staying behind. I tightened Tara’s cinch and stuck my foot in the stirrup. Grabbing the saddlehorn, a second later I dropped into the seat. You both stopped talking and turned to stare at me.
Gathering the reins, I looked at you. ‘Well, I seem to remember this was all my idea anyway.’
‘Em—’
My insides trembled with fear, but I tried to make my voice steady. ‘Why not?’
‘Won’t be no place for a woman.’
I fed the leather through my fingers, not looking at you. ‘Rose will be there.’
‘Like I said, Rose can take care of Rose. And she’ll probably take care of about five of them too. I don’t want to have to worry about you.’
I thought back, listening to my father’s interminable diplomatic conversations, and the red flock wallpaper and the bright green ferns of our drawing room. ‘Well then, Pale Eye, you should have left me in that river bed, shouldn’t you?’
Rose looked between us, and raised a soot-black eyebrow.
You set your jaw. ‘Well then, Emily Forsythe, let’s go.’
Setting our heels to our horses, we left the camp at a brisk trot and headed out towards the east.
The camp, you told me later, was large for the Blackfoot, numbering perhaps two hundred souls, of which there were thirty braves. You and Lucky rode to one side of Two Tails, his sons, including Dog Child, to the other. Rose rode slightly separately. I stayed at the back, the only other woman. The men ignored me. Tara kept up easily and, at that moment, I was pleased with my decision to come. Then the band halted and there was a brief conversation. We were exposed as a large group, that much even I could see. Dog Child had dismounted and was examining the ground. I looked down, seeing rutted wheel tracks running through the grass. The hunters had passed this way.
As the group split into three, wheeling away north and south, you dropped back and fell in with me and Tara.
‘Likely we won’t have much time when we get upon them, ain’t much element of surprise out here. You stay back when I tell you, and if it all goes to shit, you turn Tara around and you get back to that camp as fast as you can. Yes?’
