by Karen Kay
And she wondered: How could a structure as important as a war lodge have no windows? This was not the same sort of dwelling as a tepee; those lodges at least had a skin covering, which glowed warm and airy, allowing some sunlight to filter into it.
She wondered for a moment if any of the men here would care if she were to fix up the lodge.
It looked easy enough to do. There were places here and there, where the bark was the only thing between the inside and the outside of the lodge.
It would be simple to poke a small hole through a few pieces of the bark in order to add some light to the dwelling.
Should she do it?
First, she had to see what it would look like.
Taking a small piece of the bark, she wedged it here, fiddled with it there, until it allowed a small portion of light to enter.
It looked so much better!
Dare she do it again, so that more light could enter?
Perhaps not, but it looked so pretty.
She found another piece of bark and began to adjust it, too. And then another piece.
It looked better and better. Surely no one would object to such a change, would they?
Of course not.
Feeling assured that the entire party of Indians would thank her profusely for her helpfulness, Katrina looked toward a section of logs that had a break in between them, with nothing but a flimsy piece of bark to cover over the gap.
She tried to adjust the bark and the tree limbs, but no matter how she scooted the limbs, or set the branches and bark, it remained firmly in place.
She looked around her, espying a sharp tree branch on the floor. Maybe she could poke a small hole in the bark. Surely, except for the additional light, no one would notice.
She took hold of the branch and, using all her might, she broke through the bark, leaving nothing but a gaping hole.
Sunlight immediately poured in through the opening.
She smiled. Beautiful.
She found another gap. One more, she decided. She pounded through another hole; then oddly enough, another.
Why, already it looked better.
Just one more, she decided, this one and she would be finished.
She looked for another gap, found it, and held her stick up to it. One, two, three. Putting all her force into it, she hit at that bark, her attempt so successful, she knocked over one of the major log supports, in her attempt to stay on her feet.
The log next to it tumbled unsteadily for a moment, then stopped.
She let out her breath, unaware she had been holding it.
But, she relaxed too soon. Within minutes, that same log moved again, loosening itself and the one next to it. And then the worst thing that could have happened, did. The unsteady beam fell, causing a singular rippling effect, and every single other piece of timber began to fall down, domino-like, until the entire structure rumbled and roared, tumbling to the ground.
It had all happened within the speed of a few seconds, and Katrina had been given no chance of escape. However, she didn’t need it. She was never in any danger, and no logs fell on her, the entirety of the main supports simply tumbling to the ground, in a cardlike fashion, one over the other.
She threw her hands over her face, unwilling to witness the effect of what she had caused. Dirt flew in the air as heavy logs hit the ground, sticks flying off in every direction, logs, bark and grass shooting up into the sky and then falling softly to the ground like so many petals of rain.
And then it was finished. No more booming, no more rumbling or reverberation, no more sound at all, and Katrina uncovered her eyes to look around her. She, alone, stood in the center of the wreckage; she, alone, surrounded by sprouted pine boughs, bark and a scattering of branches in her hair.
She glanced at the damage done and then, more tentatively, she gazed up at the Indians.
Trying to smile, she drew in a sharp breath, but her smile was too small to take effect.
No one returned the gesture.
In truth, to say that the Indian warriors exhibited astonishment, as they looked at her, standing as she was in the middle of their former lodge, would have been a gross understatement. To say that none of them could move or could talk for many, many moments, too, would not have properly described the enormity of the bafflement displayed by one and all.
Several minutes passed where the only thing to be heard in the air, in the forest, was the frolicking of the wind through the trees, as though it played some joke on them all.
It was many more such moments before Long Arrow had recovered sufficiently enough to lean over toward White Eagle, Long Arrow murmuring, “My friend, we did not have great foresight, I think, when we said there was little trouble your wife could cause within the lodge.”
White Eagle, seemingly unable to do more than stare at his wife, who bore branches and bits of dirt and leaves scattered in her hair, on her shirt, all over her clothing, slowly shook his head and began to walk toward her.
White Eagle chose a different site for the construction of their new war lodge, in case their enemy had heard the sounds of the wreckage of the old one and had come to investigate.
“A war lodge is supposed to have no windows,” he said to Katrina sometime later, “so that it is shelter against the weather. The light coming in from where the poles meet at the top is enough. Once we are inside, we will build a fire, and it will be a fine shelter. You will see.”
The Indians promptly proceeded to build another leaving Katrina to herself. A few times she had tried to help them, but the men had looked upon her with such instantaneous fright that she soon stopped offering.
“We must build this lodge stronger than the other so that it will not fall down at the mere touch of a woman,” White Eagle told them. “It is a good thing that my wife discovered the old one’s weakness. Perhaps we should thank her.”
Yet no one did.
Katrina watched the men work, as the warriors collected windfalls and heavy timber as well as sections of bark from the cottonwood trees. And she did her own part to help, by gathering together brush and branches, which, she had discovered the hard way, were used to cover over the gaps in the structure.
By nightfall the lodge had been completed and, with the floor set with pine boughs and grass, and a fire blazing in the middle of it, it presented some measure of warmth and comfort.
Katrina slept within the protection of White Eagle’s arms, his buffalo robe thrown over them both. And though they cuddled through the night, it didn’t seem enough.
Katrina was beginning to miss their lovemaking. Yet, there was nothing for it. Sighing, she turned over, her body fitting into his as if this were its only purpose.
The next morning, White Eagle sent out two of his best men to scout the area for the enemy, posting another four men as sentinels, each one perched on a hillside near the lodge, the four men guarding their location from each direction.
He had instructed the scouts to be gone for two days, and then to return, no matter if they had spotted the enemy or not.
He then ordered all the rest of the men, which included himself, to go out and hunt buffalo.
“Why?” Katrina had asked.
“Because,” he answered her, “this will be our final hunt before we go to fight the enemy. Each man will need a supply of food in order that he return home safely. And so it is expected that the meat we obtain from this hunt will sustain each member of the party on the return journey.”
“It seems impossible to me. Buffalo meat and the ribs are quite large. I don’t see how you could possibly take these things into battle, not without becoming burdened.”
She witnessed his indulgent smile. “We cut the meat into strips,” he said, “and dry it or pound it into mookaakin, pemmican. Then we can carry it easily within pouches we have brought with us. The pouches should not hinder us in battle. But in case someone forgets his supply of meat in the excitement of war, we will leave some dried slabs of it here in the lodge, so that any me
mber of our party can refurnish his supply on his way back home, if the need arises.”
“I see,” she replied. However, she had never realized that such organization occurred within the ranks of the Indian warriors. She wondered, not for the first time since she’d met White Eagle, how it could be that the reports on the Indians that filtered back East were not as completely accurate as they ought to be.
And so it was that, all day long, every member of their party kept busy with hunting or cutting up meat, or drying it.
She found the drying process to be ingenious. The meat was first cut, and then placed on top of a bent, willow-frame structure, while a small fire burned beneath it. Thus, the drying process was fast, healthful and nutritious.
Katrina busied herself making pemmican, pounding out strips of buffalo, mixed with peppermint and fat, but even then, she noted that the men kept her off to the side, well away from where they worked.
It was maddening.
Toward evening the scouts returned, Katrina witnessing them making a pattern of zigzags down the hills as they approached; this, Katrina discovered soon enough, being the signal that they had seen the enemy.
Excitement burst out within the camp immediately. And all made ready to leave at once.
Katrina watched it all with great misgivings. She did not like this. This meant her husband was going to war. This meant her husband was putting his life in danger.
She did not approve.
But it seemed she had little say in the matter. They left the next evening, after having prepared their stores of food. White Eagle then instructed the scouts to go before them, warning them not to get too close to where they had first seen the enemy. They were to go halfway there, and then wait for the rest of the party.
He had no more than instructed the scouts on what they were to do, when he turned to her. “You will wait here,” he said to her, “with Strikes Two. Both of you will guard this place and the ponies that we have brought with us.
I will return here as soon as I am able to do so. Strikes Two will scout the area to watch for any of our party returning, as well as for the sign of an enemy. If we are pursued by the enemy, you may be required to leave here in a hurry, so have the ponies prepared to leave at any given instant, and yourselves, too.”
She nodded.
“I am leaving you this knife for your own protection. Do you know how to use it?”
She shook her head, and he sighed.
“Keep out of the way and listen to Strikes Two. Whatever he says, you do.”
She gazed up at White Eagle. “I will, but what about you? I wanted to go with you.”
“It is not possible.”
She hesitated. Something was wrong here, she sensed it. She needed to be with him, and she knew it. And so she persisted, saying, “Don’t you understand that this is the only reason I have followed you? I wish to be with you so that whatever befalls you will happen to me too.”
He paused, studying her, until he said, “It cannot be. I would worry about you too much, and it would keep me from putting my full attention onto the enemy. Besides, we heed someone to stay here and look after the ponies.”
“Strikes Two could do it alone,” she countered. “He doesn’t need me to help him watch over ponies.”
He scowled at her. “You have never been in a fight,” he reasoned. “You are not prepared to confront an enemy, and you would surely be killed. I cannot let that happen.”
“And what am I supposed to do if something happens to you?”
He just gazed at her for several moments. “Do you really care so much?”
She stared directly at him. “Look at me. I can’t cook, I can’t sew, I can hardly keep up with you and your warriors. It is true that I have no experience with any of this, and yet I have chosen to come here. Why do you think I have done this? Would I be here if I did not feel greatly for you?”
He reached up a hand toward her, there to run his fingers over her cheek, her neck, her lips. He murmured so softly she could barely hear him, “Kitsikakomimmo, I love you.”
She closed her eyes and brought her hand up to his, taking it and holding it in her own. “And I love you. I would be with you, too. It is the reason I am here. Do not leave me behind.”
“I will fare better in battle if you stay here, for I would fear for you so much, it would dull my judgment. Though I understand what you have said, and why you have said it, I would have you safe.” He reached down to gently touch her stomach. “Have you not considered that you might, even now, be carrying my son?”
“Our son,” she corrected.
He grinned at her. “Our son. I am asking you to stay here.”
“And I am asking you to let me go.”
“Saa, no, I cannot. I will tell Strikes Two to keep you well while I am gone.” As if that were the end of it, he kissed her. And, though she appreciated that he catered to her by kissing her in front of his warriors, it still did not appease her.
So she tried once more, saying, “Please?”
He groaned. “I cannot let you.” He touched her under her chin. “I will return here to get you. Wait for me,” he said, and then he turned away from her, taking his place out in front of the others and leading the party of warriors, on foot, toward the country of their enemies.
She waited several moments, until he was well out of earshot and then she said to herself, “We will see about that; my fine warrior. We will see.”
Chapter Twenty-One
She followed them. It was what she had intended to do all along.
She had needed to say her good-byes to Strikes Two, but he had understood, telling her in the Blackfoot language, and in sign, that he realized why she felt as she did, that it was the way with some women that they needed to protect their men.
Again, the boy had given her a smile, effectively melting her heart. And she thought that if this boy were truly an orphan, he had just found himself a home.
So, she trod along after those warriors, knowing she had to avoid their scouts, who might, unbeknownst to her, spot her before she was ready to make her presence known.
And though the darkness of the forest, the night itself, frightened her, she would not relent in her purpose. She needed to be with her husband; she knew it.
The lessons White Eagle had taught her about tracking, about following a trail, helped her to keep her party well in sight. And she was amazed to discover that it took only a few hours for the main war party to reach their scouts, who had gone ahead and had waited halfway to the enemy encampment, just as they had been instructed to do.
And here, as soon as they had reached the scouts, the party paused, and though she didn’t understand all that they said as she hid behind some bushes, she imagined that they discussed strategies and avenues of escape, if there would be the need.
They began to smoke and to sing, while Katrina looked on with curiosity and listened to the strange sounds. And she realized that this must be what she had heard referred to as a “medicine smoke.”
She glanced up at the heavenly bodies much as she would have done a pocket watch in earlier times, deciding it was around midnight.
The two scouts were suddenly sent out again, and though she didn’t know exactly why they were let loose, she assumed that they had gone to discover more about the enemy; perhaps the location of the enemy’s horses in relation to the rest of the camp, or mayhap to discover the lodge which housed her uncle.
Those men returned soon with full reports, though Katrina could neither hear nor understand much of what was said. She vowed to herself that she would learn the Blackfoot language at the earliest opportunity.
The party listened closely to what the scouts had to say, and then, with only a few more words, they set out, moving more quickly now, and Katrina was left with the task of keeping pace with fleet-of-foot Indians.
She managed to do so only by keeping their tracks in sight, as she too, walked quickly up hills and ran down the other side.
Lu
ckily, there was a bright moon this night, and she was able to pick out the trail left by the Indians, who had long ago outdistanced her.
She almost stumbled upon the entire party of them, not realizing that they had come so close to the enemy camp, but she held herself back just in time.
And then they waited. Katrina couldn’t believe how long they waited, and a few times, she almost gave herself up to them, if only to go and discuss what advantage they had by lingering here until morning, when the enemy would be more numerous and more alert.
Better to catch them in the early hours before dawn, wasn’t it?
But she held back, unwilling to frighten White Eagle by announcing her presence. If he would worry about her, in battle, then she would not let him know that she was here.
She waited and she waited. Whatever role she was to play in the scheme of things, she prayed she would manage her part well.
She must.
White Eagle lingered until their chance for success was most assured. He didn’t want to rush in too early, knowing that many in the camp did not retire to their beds until the wee hours of the morning.
It was not his intention to take scalps or to seek revenge for his Pikuni relatives. He only wanted to free his friend and, perhaps grabbing one pony, swift of foot, to sail back to the war lodge to pick up Shines Like Moonlight.
He wondered what Shines Like Moonlight’s reaction would be to the sight of her uncle. The man did not resemble any of the white people that White Eagle had met at the fort.
In truth, her uncle looked more Indian than white, except, of course for his hair and eye color and, thought White Eagle, his disposition. The white trader had never exhibited the patience so necessary to the Indian in order to survive.
Suddenly, it occurred to White Eagle that he would need to give the trader some ponies and blankets and beads for the right to marry Shines Like Moonlight. Perhaps, thought White Eagle, he might capture more than one pony to offer to his friend.
Finally, just as the first silvery light of dawn approached on the eastern horizon, a few boys began to stir in the camp below them, the lads awakening to their tasks of seeing to the tribe’s herd of ponies.
