by Karen Kay
Chapter Fifteen
“Husband…heap…good scout.”
Marietta gave Grey Coyote an affectionate glance, as well as a warm smile, even though he wasn’t at the moment gazing at her. So deeply was he involved in setting up their camp, he took little notice of the two women.
All night the three of them had set their wits against the warriors. By keeping to an irregular path, crawling through bushes and shrubs, and constantly paying attention to erasing their trail from the land, they managed to still be alive.
At last—it was early morning—it appeared as if the enemy had given up, and the three escapees had stopped to set up camp, each enjoying a good bath and scrub.
A narrow coulee would be their home for the day, providing them with shelter as well as a few amenities. Nearby ran a shallow stream that played host to a solitary live cottonwood tree. Several dead tree stumps were scattered over the ground, looking as though they had been lifted up by their roots and thrown about the earth, perhaps in some long-ago battle between God and the elements.
Sundry thorny shrubs and bushes grew close to the water, as well as short bunches of green grass. The walls of the coulee were lined with sandstone, and many of the rocks heaped up next to the stream were of this same sandstone. It was near these boulders that Grey Coyote worked, and Marietta could tell he was taking pains to set up their temporary dwelling so it would fade into the environment, becoming invisible to all but those who knew it was there.
After a while, Marietta said, “You are right, my friend. Grey Coyote is a good scout, isn’t he?”
Yellow Swan held her right hand up, forefinger up. Twisting her hand slightly, she brought that finger down in a flash—Indian sign language for yes. “Him embarrass enemy…warriors all.”
“Yes,” agreed Marietta. “And he’s teaching me a little about scouting too.”
“Humph!” replied Yellow Swan. “Wolf Clan…secret…hmmm…club. Him risk…much…telling you…”
“Does he really? He dares the wrath of his own people by showing me how to scout?”
“Clan of…scout…secret…even to own…tribe. Many not…know who…are. If warriors know…how scout…track…scout not…safe. Them keep…all secret.”
“How very interesting. I didn’t know that.”
Yellow Swan nodded.
It was still early in the morning, and as yet the sun hadn’t appeared on the horizon. Still, in the east, the sky was starting to come alive in shades of silver grey and navy blue. Not a cloud marred the heavens, and in Marietta’s opinion, it was looking to be a beautiful day.
Not that they would see much of it. For all intents and purposes, they would be asleep inside their hidden shelter.
It would be a well-deserved sleep. They had traveled far through the night, and this continuous skulking over the landscape was becoming wearisome.
They had fled over a midnight prairie as though they were lengthy shadows touching the earth. It had been a pleasing night, but Marietta couldn’t recall ever being more exhausted.
“Tell me, Yellow Swan,” said Marietta as she turned her attention away from Grey Coyote and to her friend. “What happened to you? How did you come to be with that war party?”
Yellow Swan nodded, then began. “When white…friend’s other…husband—”
“Mr. LaCroix was not my husband,” Marietta corrected.
“Oh,” said Yellow Swan, “that right. It hard…for Yellow Swan”—she pointed to herself—“to…understand. But I…try.” She smiled at Marietta. “When white man who act like husband…”
Marietta sighed.
“When him lost…white woman…to him”—Yellow Swan indicated Grey Coyote—“white man took Yellow Swan as wife. Travel far. Go down…Big River. One night…war party come…kill him…take me.”
“That war party that had captured you—they killed LaCroix?”
“Han.” Yellow Swan nodded.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It…bad thing…but…waste…good,” Yellow Swan said. “You go with…this scout.” Yellow Swan inclined her head toward Grey Coyote. “White friend—avoid…bad…things. You go with…white man you be captured…too.”
“That’s true. I hadn’t thought of that. But tell me, I never did understand exactly why you were traveling south with me, and I never asked. Were you, by any chance, going that way in order to reunite with your tribe?”
“Hiya, no. Yellow Swan…travel south…to find…own husband. Him gone…long time…go south…get ponies. Him gone…too long. I go…look for him.”
“Dear Lord,” uttered Marietta. “I didn’t know that was why you had agreed to make this trip with me.”
Yellow Swan nodded. “I…find him…soon. Be…happy.”
Marietta stared at her friend for several minutes, and though she doubted that Yellow Swan would ever find her husband alive, she kept this opinion to herself. “Then it is good that we rescued you. And since we are proceeding south, perhaps we may find your husband along the way.”
“Han,” said Yellow Swan. “Sece, perhaps. White friend…good friend.”
“I try to be. I do try.”
At that moment, Grey Coyote approached them both. He appeared to have finished his chore, but it seemed he needed something else. With several hand signals, he instructed Yellow Swan to do something for him. At least it looked that way to Marietta, since Yellow Swan arose and stepped toward the water.
Marietta started to rise and follow in her wake, but Grey Coyote placed his hand over Marietta’s, keeping her seated.
Curious, Marietta asked, “What did you tell her?”
“I asked your friend to get us water.”
“Oh. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but it would be nice if you would speak in English, so that I could understand you, as well. Otherwise, I feel rather…left out.”
He nodded. “I will try to correct this, but perhaps also my wife might think to learn the language of sign, for it is the way all tribes talk to one another.”
“Yes. Although…” she cast Grey Coyote a veiled glance, “…since I won’t be in this country very long, there seems little reason to learn it.”
He didn’t comment, but his look at her was long and solemn. “I came to beg a moment alone with you.”
“Oh?”
“Come, I have found something I want to show you.”
“Very well.” She followed him up and trod across their camp. He led her to a log that had fallen across the stream, perhaps in ages past. At least it seemed it must have been ancient, because in spots the log was hollowed.
Without warning, Grey Coyote squatted, poked his hand into its trunk, and pulling back, he came away with something…alive. A tiny, little masked creature.
Marietta gasped. “Is that a baby raccoon? Oh… It’s adorable.” She reached out to touch it. “It’s sweet, isn’t it? But where’s its mother?”
“She is nearby, perhaps gathering food or maybe watching us. Her tracks are here.” He pointed toward them. “And they are fresh. But the baby does not yet know fear, and she has a few brothers and sisters in this hole with her.”
“Oh… Can I pet her?”
Grey Coyote gave her a smile and nodded. “It is why I thought I would show her to you. But we cannot keep her. You know this.”
“Of course I do. But I have never seen a baby raccoon.” She returned his grin. “How can you tell it is a girl? I mean, she’s so small.”
“In the age-old way.” He pulled up its tail. “She may be small, but it is not impossible to distinguish male from female.”
“I see.” She bestowed a good-natured smile upon Grey Coyote.
He laughed with her, but it was more than the gesture of a simple smile. Somehow, in some way, this moment between them was special. It was as though they were sharing an instant unlike any other. Love and affection flowed like a current between them. And all because of a baby raccoon.
She should tell him, she thought. After
all, he had confessed his love for her. She should at least admit she had…feelings for him. She took a breath, glanced up at him, opened her mouth…but whatever she had meant to say died on her lips.
Behind him, standing at the peak of the coulee, were two coyotes. Seeming neither friendly nor fearful, they appeared rather misty, as though they stood in shadow.
“Mr. Coyote, look there.” Marietta indicated the spot with her head.
Grey Coyote turned, nodded slowly, then gazed at her in a curious fashion. Though he said, “You see them,” his look at her was puzzled.
“Of course I see them.”
Unexpectedly, the oddest thing happened. The coyotes were howling, yipping, with one answering the other, but gradually, although she was never certain when it happened, their barking turned into talk…human talk…English…
Was she losing her mind?
“The one you seek is near,” said the male coyote, the larger of the two. “Your chance approaches.
“Neither small nor large, nor wide, nor narrow, the white man possesses a thing that will propel you toward freedom. Though he will think it is possessed by him and though you must possess it, and it will possess you, only when you are free from it, yet act as it, will your people be released from the mist.
“You alone must solve this, you alone must act on it, and if you do, your people go free. Fail to settle the riddle satisfactorily, fail to act, and your people remain enslaved. Further, if you err and do not resolve this, you will live the rest of your life forever knowing that you did not prove yourself worthy.”
But there was more.
The female coyote yipped, then spoke. “Woman, do not be deceived. You are now, and have always been, a part of this.”
Then in unison, they said, “We have spoken.”
Slowly, the images disappeared, as though they had been no more than a mirage. For a long moment, Marietta could neither speak nor look away from the spot where they had been.
When she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the spell dissipated. She shook her head. “That was…bizarre.”
“Indeed,” Grey Coyote responded.
Marietta blinked several times. “I…I could have sworn…no, it couldn’t have been.”
Grey Coyote was glancing at her strangely. “Couldn’t have been?”
“Oh, it was nothing. I just… I thought… Did their howling seem peculiar to you?”
“What do you mean, peculiar?”
“I… I…” She chortled. “I could vow that they…” she hesitated, “…spoke.”
Grey Coyote nodded. “Indeed, they did.”
“Then I am not mad?”
“You are not mad,” Grey Coyote affirmed. “The small wolf is my spirit protector and often speaks to me in vision. What I find curious is that you heard the coyotes, and you saw them, as well as I. That has never happened before.”
Slowly, she nodded. “Never?”
“Not ever.”
“But…was that a riddle?”
“It was.”
It all seemed a bit much, and placing her hand on Grey Coyote’s arm, she lowered herself to the ground.
“Please, sit with me,” she entreated, as she attempted to pull him down beside her. He complied easily enough and came to squat next to her. “Tell me. Tell me what is going on. I don’t understand what happened. What does this mean?”
Uncertainty, all mixed up with other telltale facial expressions, flitted over Grey Coyote’s countenance. “I hesitate to tell you everything, and yet if you have seen this vision—”
“Was that what the Indians call a vision?”
“Hau. We have shared a vision. This is rare.”
“Yes. I would assume so.”
“In all this time, I have thought that I, alone, must bear this burden, must solve this riddle, but somehow now you are a part of this. I know not how, so I cannot explain your role in this.”
“I see,” she said, though she was unsettled and a little rattled about what she had witnessed. “Since I did hear the words of the coyotes, then I feel it right to ask you to tell me what you do know. What is this?”
“Hau, hau. I will, but you will find it difficult to believe. Even my adopted people, the Assiniboine, would think I had been in the sun too long if I were to speak of the entirety of my life and that which I must accomplish. And the Assiniboine are a spiritual people, given to belief in the mysteries of the universe.”
“Yes. This is why you have never related to me what the deed is that you must accomplish? Because it is fantastic?”
“Hau. What you say is partly true. But perhaps you might recall that a part of the riddle said I alone must solve it.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I do recollect that.”
He inclined his head. “I have believed that to share my problem with anyone—be it you or even a medicine man—would be as to betray my people, not the Assiniboine, but those who are trapped in the mist.”
“In the mist? I don’t understand.”
“Nor should you. I will explain. The Assiniboine are my adopted people. The people of my birth are of the Blackfoot tribe. They are the Lost Tribe, the people of the mist. Because of a great wrong they committed to the children of the Thunderer, they were cursed by the Creator to live forever in the mist. Their existence is but a half existence, neither dead, nor real. But once in each new generation, a boy is chosen from each band of the tribe. He is charged with the duty to go out into the world, to learn of the environment around him, and to undo the curse, if he can. This is my purpose. The riddle you heard is my clue. The man I seek possesses something that should help me end this spell. And once I find him, to undo this riddle, I must correctly guess what this thing is that he possesses. I must act on what I find, and if my deeds are done in the right way, I will end the curse for my people.”
Marietta didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Of course, it all made sense now. All his actions, all the things he had done. It explained much. However, it left her with questions.
“That one coyote, the female, said I am now a part of this. Is that true?”
He paused. “It is the first time I have been told this piece of the riddle. Because this has never been stated before, I can only tell you that, for my people, a vision is the phenomenon which gives a man—or a woman—purpose, it is the event most precious in life. It shows one what he must attain if he is to live a good life. If you ask me whether or not a vision shows truth, I can only say that a vision is the Creator’s way of communicating to you.”
“I see.” She nodded. “And of course if this is from God or as you call Him, the Creator, then it would be truth.”
“Hau. However, I do not know what part you are to play in this.”
“Nor do I,” she said. “Nor do I. But I can say that I begin to understand you a little better.”
“Waste, this is good. And now I think I can tell you that the night when I won you in the game of chance, the wind whispered your name to me. But I didn’t put the name to you until you told me what you are called in English. I knew then I could not let you leave me. But I couldn’t tell you why. I regret if I have caused you pain.”
“Oh how strange this all is for me, and I thank you for the apology. It begins to make sense.” She frowned. “Tell me, the male coyote stated that the enemy is near, and the time to end the curse is at hand.”
Grey Coyote bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, I too have ascertained this, because my dreams of late have been filled with the image of the man whom I seek. It is why I must journey to the trading post as quickly as it is safe to do so.”
“Then we should hurry there.”
“Hau, we will hasten to go there—but we must never forget how it is we will travel. We must go there as a scout would go. No other way to proceed is safe.”
“Which means we will go about it very slowly…”
“It does. You should remember I am also in hostile territory. Come, let us return this tiny raccoon to her br
others and sisters, and then we will rest. If all goes well, we should arrive at the trading post within the next few days.”
“This is good.” She nodded. “Do not be deceived, however. I cannot give up my plans to return to England. I will help you as best I can. But I too have a dream to follow.”
He didn’t respond, merely looked at her.
In defense, she explained, “Those dreams are all I have.”
He nodded, one brief bob of his head. Then turning, he was gone.
Something was not right.
Grey Coyote realized it as soon as he was within a half day’s journey of the LaPrenier and Acme Trading Post. There was no noise in the air, no motion, no ever-expanding circles in the atmosphere to indicate movement. Of which there should be.
He frowned. Worse, the closer he came to the locality of the post, the less sound accompanied them. No twittering of birds overhead, no quick rustling of the animals in the undergrowth.
True, the wildlife stayed away from a white man’s post as a rule, but the LaPrenier and Acme Trading Post had been here long enough that there should be some hint of animal life. At the very least, Grey Coyote should hear the cooing of doves.
But there was nothing, no sound, save the wind.
It was not a good sign.
At present, the day was only beginning. In the east, though the sun had not yet risen, a pinkish light was slowly advancing toward the earth. Soon, the cloak of darkness would no longer shield them.
The three of them had been winding their way through the night and had come to this place, which was a slight rise in the prairie. On the other side of this hill lay the trading post, a site which usually held many of the white man’s unusual provisions and gave the red man much interest.
And so Grey Coyote had thought to spend some time here, perhaps entertain his wife here. But not today. Grey Coyote could not allow either of the women to go farther, not when he sensed danger. Something was not right.
What he needed was to find shelter for the women, a hiding place where he felt they would be safe. He scanned the prairie in all directions, gaze seeking a cover, but he saw little except expanding fields of dry, yellow grass. However, there were bushes which surrounded this hill.
