by Karen Kay
The butte was certainly an interesting sight, thought Marietta, for it seemed to pop up out of the prairie as if by accident. All the rest of the land around it was flat. Beautiful, mysterious land, yes. But flat.
The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving its signature on the plains by bathing the land in the glow of a multicolored rainbow and a dusky, crimson sky. The rainbow sat south of them, Grey Coyote having pointed it out to her earlier.
At present, Marietta sat atop their little steed while Grey Coyote led the pony up the slope. This was a rather difficult concern for her. It wasn’t as though she was exerting herself in any way, but rather, what was hard was trying not to notice Grey Coyote. He had removed his cloak and shirt, having long ago draped both of them around her. That this left him standing before her in no more than leggings, breechcloth and moccasins shouldn’t have taken her attention. Yet it did.
His style of dress was savage, wild. She tried to tell herself this was so, as if only by downgrading him could she find relief. But in the end, it didn’t matter what she did or what she thought. He was a magnificent sight.
Every muscle of his back seemed to be proportionately placed, all centering down to narrow hips. His leggings and breechcloth were tied around his waist, though both fell down indecently low on him. She tried to avoid looking there, for it tended to lead her gaze downward toward his tight buttocks.
He had a tall, slender build, perhaps six feet in height, and his long hair fell in dark strands across his back. In one hand, he carried a lance, and around his shoulder and falling down low over his backside was his sheath, full of arrows, as well as his bow.
His thighs and calves were firmly encased in buckskin. The snug leather emphasized every lean muscle as well, and as he climbed the butte, she watched the strain of his muscles. On his feet were moccasins, which made little sound over the ground, even as he stepped from rock to rock. Only the pounding of the pony’s hooves interrupted an otherwise balmy, silent journey.
This man thought he was her husband. The idea seemed suddenly erotic. Oddly she wondered if she truly wished this man to think of her in a platonic way.
Hastily, she pulled herself up on this particular line of thought. It was unproductive, for regardless of what happened here, she was merely passing through this country.
Yet, it did no harm to look, did it?
How she wished Princess Sierra were here right now. If she were, Marietta would confide in her, share her thoughts, perhaps discuss the ways of men. But the princess wasn’t here. Marietta would have to decide these things on her own.
And decide she did.
As the two of them wound their way up the incline, Marietta’s reflections drifted to other things, and she found herself wondering about Grey Coyote’s reasoning. Surely their trail didn’t require them to climb up and over this butte, did it? Couldn’t they go around it? Or was there some other reason for their trek?
At last, they reached the top of the little mesa, and as soon as they did so, Marietta was no longer left in doubt as to what was in Grey Coyote’s mind. It wasn’t from necessity that they were here. Indeed not. Grey Coyote had come here by choice.
Standing quite still, he gazed at the sunset laid out before them. As though only now remembering her, he looked behind him, and Grey Coyote motioned, indicating that she should slip down from the pony.
Wasn’t he going to help her down? Disappointment washed over her. It was too bad, for she had begun to think of Grey Coyote as a savage sort of gentleman.
“Sir,” she said, “do you mean not to aid me in getting to the ground?”
Grey Coyote spun back toward her, and she at once wished she had remained silent. It was one thing to ride next to the man with scant inches of clothing between them; it was another to bear witness to the wide expanse of the man’s muscular and naked chest. Perhaps she would do well to hand him back his shirt.
She gulped instead.
Frowning up at her, he asked, “Help you to the ground? Do you have an affliction that does not allow you to jump off the pony on your own?”
She bit her lip. “No, I can jump.”
His frown deepened.
“It is only,” she continued, “that in my society, a gentleman helps a lady down from her mount. It is considered good manners.”
Grey Coyote nodded. “And so you think I am ill-mannered?”
“Well…”
“This is not a custom in my country. Here, most women would be offended if I offered help. Here, a woman might wonder why I was assisting her instead of attending to my duty to guard her.”
“Really?”
“Hau, hau, it is so. She might even be angered if I tried to aid her, for in her mind, for me to do this, would be as to say that she was not worthy of defending.”
“Truly?” Marietta gazed off at the panorama of beauty. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“Strange?”
“How different are some of our customs.” Bringing her attention back to the matter at hand, she started to vault down from the pony. But she had only begun when he was there in front of her.
He tossed her a lighthearted grin. “Let me help you.”
She laughed.
Looking up at her, he stopped cold, staring at her as though she had sent a poisoned arrow to his heart. His smile faded, and time seemed to have developed a warp, for she could have sworn it stood still.
He recovered swiftly enough, and without further hesitation, his hands came around her waist, and he lifted her easily from the pony. On the descent, she rubbed against him, the action sending a jolt of energy surging through her body.
Briefly, he held her closely, and then with a chuckle and a shake of his head, he said, “I never realized how clever is the white man.”
“Oh?”
“Hau, hau, it is so.”
“And what makes you say that?”
He grinned. “A red man would need a very big reason to hold a woman such. But the white man excuses himself with manners. Hau, hau. I think the white man is very clever, indeed.”
Marietta, too, grinned. “Indeed.” Gazing up at him, she stepped out of his arms.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, held. Then, unexpectedly, he turned away.
To her surprise, she felt suddenly bereft. “Mr. Coyote,” she said, stepping up to him. “Did I say something to offend you?”
“Hiya, you did not. In truth, I am uncertain that you could do something which would offend me. But I came here to see this.” He gestured toward the western side of the prairie, where the sun was announcing its departure by means of a glorious, golden sunset.
Marietta gazed the way he indicated, and saw that the sun, which had been hidden from them most of the day, was practically screaming at them now. As they gazed outward, the sun sent streaks of light upward through clouds, clouds that were awash in various shades of golds, reds, pinks, blues and greys. Moreover, the sky itself was painting the once brown-drab prairie, transforming it into shades of amber and scarlet, the land appearing as though it were a gigantic mirror, set afire in color.
Then the strangest thing happened. Coming down onto his knees and lifting his hands to the sky, Grey Coyote began to sing.
Watching, Marietta stood aghast. The moment was unusual, yes, for Marietta was not accustomed to men opening their arms and breaking out into song. But unaccountably, the event was also stunning, and she hardly dared breathe, afraid she would disturb its remarkable charm.
In due time, she allowed herself to take a breath as she gazed toward the west. From here one might very well be able to see forever. In truth, so much space was there, she felt as though her soul expanded.
It was then that it came to her. Grey Coyote was praying. He had climbed all this way to do no more than communicate with his Creator. Was he even now thanking the Lord for the beauty set here before them?
Looking on, Marietta was aware that her throat felt tight, and worse, there was a tear forming in her eye. Not because o
f him. No, more likely it was because of the enchantment of the prairie, or maybe even the crisp feel of the pure air. Or perhaps it was no more than the incessant wind, which was now blowing directly in her face.
How curious to discover such artistry here, here where there was nothing but the earth, the sky, the winds. Unforeseen, unexpected, the beauty seemed to take hold of her.
“It reminds me of you,” said Grey Coyote, and Marietta was awakened to the knowledge that it had been several moments since he had stopped singing.
“What was that?” she asked. “What did you say?”
“The sunset.” He pointed outward toward the west. “It is golden like your hair, red like your cheeks, pink like your lips. You should be called Little Sunset, I think. Even now, your hair reflects the colors, looking as though it is set afire.”
The praise was simply said, yet it was one of the most excellent compliments she had ever received. Certain she was blushing, Marietta turned away. “Thank you. That was kind of you.”
“Perhaps. But it is also true.”
Marietta didn’t know why, but she could not look at Grey Coyote right now. To do so might break whatever enchantment she felt. Instead, she said, “You were praying.”
“Hau. I was praying. Were you not also doing so?”
“I… I…”
He gave her a queer look. “Do the white people not pray?”
“Of course we pray.”
“Hau. Then why do you not pray now?”
“Now? But why should I?”
He gave her another one of those perplexing looks. “Were you never taught to give thanks every morning for the new day, and every evening for the day past?”
“I… No. We…ah… We pray differently where I come from.”
“Differently?”
“We pray only when there is great need, or perhaps only on Sunday.”
“Only then? Only in great need? Every Sunday? Do you never simply thank the Creator for the beauty He has created?”
“I… Perhaps in my own way. Sometimes before I go to sleep at night I will give thanks, but I also ask for His grace to see me through the night.”
Grey Coyote nodded. “It is good.” He arose, his movements so elegant it was uncanny. “Come, we must continue our trek, for it is no longer safe for us to travel in the country of my enemies during the day. Today was an exception because the rain hid us. The night will hide us also.”
Marietta glanced up into his eyes. “I didn’t know you were in the land of your enemies.”
He didn’t respond.
“Who are your enemies?”
“The Crow, the Blackfeet, the Gros Ventre, although I have friends amongst the Gros Ventre, as you saw last night. However, someone from their village may try to follow me.”
“The Gros Ventre? You mean the ones who live in the mud huts?”
He nodded.
“But I thought those Indians were called the Minnetarees.”
He shrugged. “Gros Ventre is their French name. There are the Gros Ventre of the Plains and the Gros Ventre of the River. Those that are by the river are also called the Minnetarees. But they are the same tribe.”
“I see. These are all your enemies?”
“It is so.”
“Then what we are doing is really rather dangerous.”
He nodded. “Hau. But if we journey through the night and are careful, we should meet with no trouble…unless the Gros Ventre or your husband follow us—”
“LaCroix is not my husband,” she reiterated.
Grey Coyote didn’t respond.
After a while, Marietta asked, “Isn’t it more difficult to travel at night—I mean, you can’t see very far in the dark, and what if we accidentally disturb someone…else?”
“I can see well enough in the dark. There are usually stars or a moon to guide us. And I will not make the mistake of running into…someone else.” He grinned good-naturedly at her, and it was Marietta’s turn to stare hard at him. This was the first time Grey Coyote had openly smiled at her, and something about it caught her attention. True, the gesture transformed his hard face, making him appear almost boyish. But there was another thing about him, an energy, if you will, that she couldn’t quite name.
But he had turned away and bent down, unfastening the hobbles from around the pony’s legs. For an instant, she watched his powerful fingers at work, recalling their feel upon her waist only a few moments ago. Strange how a simple action like this could seem so utterly erotic.
Too quickly he was finished, and without looking at her, he opened one of the bags he had hung over his pony’s back. From there he extracted something…
Why, it looked like a blue-and-white garment of some kind, and…was that a corset? And…
“My dress,” she supplied. “You have my dress.” She stepped toward him.
Almost shyly, he offered the garment to her. “The nights are often cold here,” he said, his gaze looking anywhere but at her. “You may need these, as well as my shirt and robe.”
She accepted the gift from him. “Yes, I will need them. Thank you.” Spinning away from him and using the pony as a shield, she stuffed the corset into a bag and threw the dress over her head, settling its length down over her waist and her chemise. She drew in the dress’s waist with its buttons and ties, and then began the long process of fastening the material-covered buttons down its back. But it was hard work.
“Mr. Coyote,” she said, after a moment. “Might you help me? I can’t seem to reach all these buttons.” Her back was to him, but when she cast a quick look over her shoulder, she was amazed to glimpse an expression of the utmost apprehension on his face.
She smiled to herself. Was he as affected by her as she was by him?
However, she did truly need his assistance, and when he didn’t immediately rush to her aid, Marietta glanced again over her shoulder. “Sir?”
He cautiously approached her.
With one arm bent, and reaching down over her back, she gestured toward the buttons. “They are here, at the top of my dress.”
She felt his fingers on the dress, working over the buttons. It took a much longer time than she would have expected. Once or twice, when his touch grazed the delicate skin at her neck, shivers raced along her spine.
She gulped.
At last she heard Grey Coyote cough, obviously clearing his throat, and he stepped away from her. “It is finished. Now, come.”
“Very well.” She turned around for his inspection. “How do I look?”
He didn’t say a word. Indeed, he gazed at her as though he barely believed she had to ask.
But he was her only mirror, and Marietta repeated, “Do I look all right? Everything in the right place?”
Grey Coyote nodded, appearing most strained in doing so. However, after a moment, he seemed to have collected his wits about him, and said once more, “Come.”
“Yes. I will.”
Together, with the pony following after them, they wound their way down the bluff.
Before they left that spot completely, Marietta glanced back at the top of the rise affectionately, looking for the place where they had stood. What was it about that spot? Their time there? If she wasn’t mistaken, there, on top of that lonely butte, something had touched her heart.
Chapter Six
They traveled south and west, riding through the soft, balmy night. Grey Coyote appeared to take his direction from the North Star, since she observed his examination of it several times. So that was how Indians found their way.
As if by mutual consent, Marietta rode her own mount now, noting with some surprise that the animal had already been primed for this purpose. Her pony was equipped with buckskin reins and a blanket for a saddle.
Strange how the thought of escaping from this man now had the appearance of being ridiculous. Was it only this morning she had accused him of stealing her?
Perhaps he had done so, but she didn’t really care anymore. Though she had been in his pre
sence for only a few hours, she felt as though she could trust him.
Would he take her to St. Louis? Could she use feminine wiles to her advantage? He had said maybe—if she performed well on their travels. But would she perform well? After all, what did she know about camp life?
Glancing ahead toward Grey Coyote, she saw with some astonishment that he must have increased his pace, for he was leaving her behind.
“C’mon, pony,” she whispered to the mustang. “Let’s not let him get too far ahead.”
Soon, with very little effort, both were racing their mounts over the land. On the one hand, it was frightening. Dusky shadows darkened the earth, she couldn’t see where she was going, and images of prairie dog holes danced in her imagination.
On the other hand, the open spaces of the prairie seemed to urge a person to let go. Not of anything in particular, but to simply give up her cares. The peacefulness of the prairie, the expanses of the space, as though it were urging one to be free, pressed in on her. Despite herself, she felt unfettered.
The stars above her littered the sky from horizon to horizon. Indeed, from her position, their numbers looked to be so great she thought if she were to account for their total with a slash on a blackboard for each star, those slashes might well fill an entire room.
Marietta’s pony jostled beneath her, and she petted its neck and bent down. “What a good pony you are. You run like the wind.” At her words the animal snorted, creating the impression that it glowed with pride, appearing to step even more sure-footedly over uneven ground.
There was a constant wind in this place, Marietta noted. But this was summer, and it was not a cold wind that blew at her, though at this late hour of the night, the breeze did tend to chill. However, she had her dress, Grey Coyote’s shirt and his cloak to warm her, so it was not as if this were a hardship.
Glancing upward, she decided it was probably around midnight or perhaps later. And if that were the case, then they had been riding hard for well over five hours. Yet she was not very tired. Indeed, glancing off toward the north, Marietta spied a series of lights, columns of dancing brilliance. Now green, now blue, now yellow.
