When the Wolf Breathes (Madeleine Book 5)

by Sadie Conall

  “They targeted Esa-mogo'ne’ because they thought she was me.”

  Te’tukhe repeated the words in his own Ugákhpa dialect and Madeleine looked up at this young woman who she had known as a child, who she had cradled in her arms as Deinde'-paggwe was now cradling Wi’keya, for the little girl was trembling with shock. And as Deinde'-paggwe looked at each of them, still in astonishment that they stood before her, as they were of her sudden explosive arrival at their camp, Madeleine was aware of a darkness in her eyes that suggested something dangerous lurked there.

  “You knew them?” Te’tukhe asked, as he sat down opposite her by the fire.

  Deinde'-paggwe didn’t respond to Te’tukhe’s question. Although she was aware they were waiting for her to speak, for until now she had remained silent, even when Madeleine invited her to join her by the fire. But even there she had sat in silence, taking pleasure in the warmth of the flames, rocking the little girl in her arms, watching Madeleine as she sorted through her herbs and boiled water in her clay bowl for a potion, as Ryder and Te’tukhe gathered the men’s weapons and horses.

  They had carried the bodies away deep into the forest before rounding up the horses and hobbling them together with their own. The dead men’s weapons now lay in a pile, unwanted, distasteful to them all.

  Ryder paused from tending Madeleine’s wound to look across at Deinde'-paggwe and when she turned to Madeleine, they waited, hopeful she would tell them how she came to be here and who those men were.

  “Esa-mogo'ne’?” she said at last, her voice soft, continuing to speak in the Sioux dialect. “It is you, is it not?”

  Te’tukhe once again translated in his own Ugákhpa dialect. Madeleine nodded, but when she answered Deinde'-paggwe, she spoke in the girl’s own bannaite’ language.

  “Haa, it is I, Esa-mogo'ne’. And this is Mi'wasa and his Ugákhpa brother, Te’tukhe. Do you remember them, Deinde'-paggwe?”

  The girl stared at her in bewilderment then astonishment, as though struck mute. Then she nodded slowly and began to speak in her own dialect, although her words were still slow and unsure. “Haa. I remember you all. But it has been a long time since I heard my own dialect spoken or anyone called me by my Bannock name. It sounds strange to my ears,” she paused, bending down to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “I don’t know what you’re doing here. None of this makes sense to me. But I will ask this of you. Did you know I was taken from our village, along with many others, by a Hidatsa attack many years ago?”

  “Haa,” Madeleine replied, taking the clean buckskin cloth Ryder held out to her with gratitude. It was wet with water and cool against the open wound. She looked back at Deinde'-paggwe, holding the girl’s gaze. “And we’ve all just come from the Mandan village, where we went to get you and your daughter. We were devastated to find you not there.”

  Deinde'-paggwe looked bewildered, then shook her head. “I understand none of this. And my voice is weak, along with my Bannock words. Once when Kimana was a babe I dared to speak to her in bannaite’ but Loĉhín’míla heard me and beat me very badly. It was the last time I uttered my own language, more for Kimana’s sake than my own, for I could not bear to see her beaten for knowing it,” she glanced back into the woods. “Is he really dead? Are you sure he will not come back?”

  Ryder frowned. “Loĉhín’míla? Is that his name? The man with the wound? But who is he to you?” he asked.

  “Is he dead?” Deinde'-paggwe asked again, glancing at Madeleine who saw that same dangerous thing there, lurking in her eyes.

  “Haa. He is dead,” Te’tukhe said. “His body lies back there in the woods, if you want to see it for yourself. He died from your knife wound to his neck along with the wound from Esa-mogo'ne’s knife. Although from the look of his upper thigh, he would have been dead soon anyway.”

  Deinde'-paggwe nodded. “It is a good thing he’s dead. He and his friends were not good men. And yes, I knew them, as my daughter knew them,” she looked down at the child in her arms. “I’ve heard you call her Wi’keya, which is her Sioux name, but she was named by her father and I never liked it. Now that he’s dead, I would like her to be known as Kimana. It is a Bannock word for butterfly.”

  “He was this child’s father?” Te’tukhe asked in astonishment.

  Deinde'-paggwe looked up at him and nodded. “Haa. The wounded man, his name was Loĉhín’míla. He was the son of a Mandan Chief and my husband. I ran away from him not four months ago and he and his friends have been chasing me ever since. They would have found me within days had you not been here, so I thank you for it. You’ve saved my life,” she paused then looked across at Madeleine.

  “You almost found me a week or so ago, for I saw you with Kimana and Mi'wasa in the woods, near a river. I’ve been following you ever since, waiting to take Kimana, not daring to talk to you, for I trusted no-one,” she paused and frowned. “Except for one person who loved me. And who loved Kimana.”

  She began to cry then, just silent tears running down her face. “It’s my fault you were attacked this morning, for had I not been following you to steal Kimana away, knowing Loĉhín’míla was close, he would not have come here. And had any of you been hurt by his hand, I would never have forgiven myself.”

  “Who were the other three men?” Ryder asked.

  A flash of hatred passed over Deinde'-paggwe’s face. “Loĉhín’míla’s friends. If I tell you they abused me badly, you will understand I think, without my having to tell it. We were on our way to the Crow, for Loĉhín’míla wanted to trade me, to get me as far away from the Mandan as he could. But a month into our journey I ran away from them. I’ve been running ever since.” She looked down at her daughter and shook her head in wonder. “I think this is a dream and I shall wake soon and find I am back with Loĉhín’míla and his friends.” She wiped her eyes then looked across at Madeleine, before moving Kimana gently off her knee.

  “Come Esa-mogo'ne’, we need to dress that wound. Please, let me help you,” she said, reaching for a small leather bag which she carried on her hip, full of herbs and root vegetables. She spoke softly to Kimana in Sioux, settling the child, mixing some of the words with Bannock words as she shrugged off the matted fur coat. And only then did Ryder and Te’tukhe and Madeleine realize how thin she was. She looked gaunt, her eyes dark and haunted, as though they had seen too much.

  The water in Madeleine’s clay bowl had gone cold, so Ryder once again filled it from her waterskin then handed it to Deinde'-paggwe who placed it by the fire to heat. Then he and Te’tukhe got up and left the women and child alone, to once again check the woods around their camp, along with the horses.

  Madeleine sat quietly and watched the girl work, her movements quick and efficient. She wanted to reach out and hug her, but knew she could not. This girl needed no-one. She had been fighting alone for too many years to welcome any kind of embrace. And then Madeleine suddenly remembered a dream she had had, of a girl running through the woods with a monster chasing her. That girl had been Deinde'-paggwe.

  “Tell me about your life with the Mandan,” Madeleine said, her voice gentle, in a bid to get the girl to talk, but Deinde'-paggwe shook her head, working in silence as she ground evening primrose and snakeroot into a paste to make a soothing antiseptic salve. The evening primrose would help ease the swelling and bruising, the snakeroot with inflammation. Then she added sumac bark along with willow leaves to the hot water for a potion, for the bark contained salicin, also known as aspirin, to help ease the dull ache. Although the blood had stopped flowing from the wound on Madeleine’s forehead, it looked inflamed and painful.

  “I wasn’t happy there, so there is little point in speaking of it. I loathed Loĉhín’míla and all his family, except his grandmother. She was a blessing to me and Kimana. But I was never popular with the Mandan because I spoke my mind and because I spoke my mind, I was abused for it, for my husband was a bully. And because he was the son of a Chief, his behaviour was tolerated.”

  She paus
ed to move the clay bowl away from the heat of the fire to allow the potion to steep. Then she leaned towards Madeleine and with gentle fingers examined the wound to make sure there were no splinters left in it. Then she applied the poultice. It felt cool and pleasant against the heat and throb of the open wound and Madeleine closed her eyes as Deinde'-paggwe bound the poultice in place with a clean strip of buckskin. When she finished knotting the buckskin strip to secure it at the back of Madeleine’s head, she sat back on her heels and looked at her.

  “How did you know I was living with the Mandan?” she asked, bewildered.

  Madeleine smiled. “Because Poongatse and Wannge’e told me.”

  Deinde'-paggwe looked at her in astonishment and only then did Madeleine reach out to touch her, taking her hands in her own and holding them to her heart.

  “I met both girls by chance in a village a long way south of here, more than a year ago. That knife you killed Loĉhín’míla with, that was my knife. I purchased it a long time ago in the hope of gifting it to your father when next I saw him. But I used it instead to trade for Poongatse and Wannge’e’s freedom. They’ve been living with me for more than a year. They knew we were going to the Mandan in the hope of getting you and Kimana. And soon we shall see them, for they wait for us only a few weeks ride from here, if you would join us.”

  Deinde'-paggwe sat back in shock, covering her face with her hands, the tears running freely now. Madeleine moved to hold her, as the girl sobbed in her arms. And when she was still, when the tears stopped at last, she looked up at Madeleine.

  “Tell me what I must do,” she whispered. “I want so badly to come with you, but I don’t know what to do. Must I return to the Mandan? Will Loĉhín’míla’s family still come after me?”

  Madeleine shook her head. “The Mandan have no idea where you are dearest girl. They will think you and Loĉhín’míla and his friends perished in the wild, if they even bother to come looking for you all. Besides, the Mandan don’t know our connection, for we never spoke your name,” she smiled and leaned towards her.

  “We went to the Mandan to get you and Kimana. We want you to come with us and I hope you will agree to it. From here we ride north to stay with the Lakota Sioux, the Hŭŋkpapĥa, for a man there is related to Te’tukhe. But we only plan to stay a few weeks before we turn west, in the hope of reaching the Bannock and the Snake River Plain by winter.”

  Deinde'-paggwe stared at Madeleine incredulous. “You’re heading for the Bannock?”

  Madeleine nodded, reaching out to wipe the tears from the girl’s face. “Haa, we’re going home dearest one.”

  *

  When Ryder and Te’tukhe returned some time later, they brought with them the men’s weapons, placing them all near Deinde'-paggwe. There were four muskets, eight knives, pouches of shot and powder, four sheaths of arrows along with four bows.

  “These all belonged to your husband and his men,” Ryder said. “And by rights they should be distributed to the men in their families but of course, they aren’t here. But you are. And because you’re Loĉhín’míla’s widow, we believe they now belong to you, along with the four horses back there.”

  The girl didn’t understand at first. It was inconceivable to her that she should own such wealth.

  “There’s also a fifth horse hobbled some way back there in the woods. We presume it belongs to those men.”

  Deinde'-paggwe looked from Ryder to Te’tukhe in astonishment, her face flushed with emotion. “That other horse is likely mine. I left him in the wild some weeks ago in the hope they would follow his tracks and not my own. And it worked for a little while, but not long enough. I know now I would never have escaped from them.”

  She stared at the bounty beside her. Neither Ryder nor Madeleine had a care to claim anything. And all Te’tukhe wanted was a horse and perhaps a knife, but they could talk on that later. But these weapons, along with four horses, would enable Deinde'-paggwe to return to the Bannock with wealth. Yet at what cost.

  Three

  Once I drank the potion Deinde'-paggwe made for me, we packed up our camp and continued north, for it was still only a few hours past dawn and we had miles of ground to cover. We hadn’t yet had a chance to tell Deinde'-paggwe how Kimana came to be with us, nor of the role that Hanyewi’winyan played in it. Indeed, Deinde'-paggwe seemed to think Kimana left with us when we rode out of the Mandan village.

  But that would all come later. For now, we all just concentrated on getting through the day and putting some miles behind us after such a gruesome morning. And for a lot of the way we followed old deer trails through the woods, riding in single file, which didn’t allow for quiet conversations.

  Kimana now rode with her mother which allowed me more freedom and when the men left us early in the afternoon to hunt, Deinde'-paggwe and I rode on. The men would easily catch us up, for we rode at a walk because of Kimana. The little girl had fallen asleep against the warmth of her mother’s body so when we came out on the riverbank again, allowing us to ride side by side, I took the opportunity to tell Deinde'-paggwe in more detail of my meeting with Poongatse and Wannge’e in St Louis more than a year ago.

  I spoke of our lives together, of our meeting Te’tukhe in the wild, of our journey north to the Omaha where we met up with Ryder and Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’. I didn’t speak of those three lost years when Ryder disappeared, for it was obvious that this girl had known suffering of her own. But I told her of our decision to ride to the Mandan to get her and the role that everyone played in that, from Te’tukhe and Ryder to me, to Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’ and the Bannock girls. And finally I told her of meeting Hanyewi’winyan and of her passing, yet as I spoke of the night she died, I suddenly remembered Hanyewi’winyan’s spirit had turned to me and said those few words, which now sent shivers down my spine.

  she is close, yet so afraid. I beg you, don’t leave this place without her

  And now I understood she was speaking of Deinde'-paggwe. I said nothing about it, for that was mine to know. But Hanyewi’winyan had known Deinde'-paggwe was close. And I wondered, had she sent Deinde'-paggwe across our path? Or sent us to cross Deinde'-paggwe’s path? I would never know, but it gave me comfort to think on it. Perhaps one day I would tell Deinde'-paggwe, but not now.

  “Ryder and I didn’t understand her dialect, so we never knew what she wanted from us, or even who she was. All we had was her name and Kimana’s Sioux name. But after my brief meeting with her at the Mandan village, she somehow managed to get a horse and follow us north, although I’ll never know what her plans were. Did she mean to stay with us? Or ride north to try and find you? And who was she?”

  Deinde'-paggwe said nothing for a long moment and when I turned to her she was crying. “I thought you had brought Kimana with you when you left the Mandan, but now I discover Hanyewi’winyan’s role in it,” she paused and wiped her face, yet the tears still fell. “Hanyewi’winyan was my husband’s grandmother. Kimana was her great-granddaughter. As to where she was going, I think she may have been heading north, but not to the Crow, for she knew the chances of finding me unlikely. But she may have been trying to find the explorers, the men who wintered over at the Mandan village. One of their leaders called himself Captain Clark,” she paused, seeing the surprise on my face.

  So now I knew for sure, that those men who built that fort just south of the Mandan village had been the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Which meant Jimmy had been there. Had perhaps even seen Deinde'-paggwe over the winter months. It was a strange thing to think he had been so close, both in seeing me and Ryder and meeting this girl.

  “Esa-mogo'ne’, do you remember a Shoshone girl who used to play with us as children? Her tribe often spent their winters with us on the Snake River Plain. Her name was Saca-tzah-we-yaa.”

  I nodded, for I remembered the girl well. Good friends with Deinde'-paggwe, along with Wannge’e and Poongatse, Saca-tzah-we-yaa had always had a quick mind and I remembered her wanting to learn English with me,
when I asked Ryder to teach me the English words.

  “I think Hanyewi’winyan was riding north to find her,” Deinde'-paggwe said. “She knew Saca-tzah-we-yaa was travelling north with the explorers because her husband, a French-Canadian trapper was travelling with them as an interpreter. Hanyewi’winyan knew that Kimana would be safe with Saca-tzah-we-yaa and all those men.”

  I told Deinde'-paggwe that I knew of Saca-tzah-we-yaa’s marriage to the French-Canadian because Poongatse and Wannge’e had told me of it.

  “But what you don’t know is that Saca-tzah-we-yaa has had a child since they saw her last. She gave birth to a son not six months ago. And Hanyewi’winyan knew she would look after Kimana. Saca-tzah-we-yaa was her only hope.”

  I suddenly remembered those few words that Hanyewi’winyan had kept repeating to me while trying to make me understand, when we were at the Mandan village. safe and being with the men.

  Now I understood. She had thought Ryder and I were heading north to meet up with the Lewis and Clark Expedition, for that’s what we told everyone in the Mandan village. And Hanyewi’winyan wanted us to take Kimana, to be with Saca-tzah-we-yaa.

  “What was Saca-tzah-we-yaa’s Mandan name?” I asked, knowing it already, but needing to hear it.

  “Gi’zica,” Deinde'-paggwe replied, looking at me.

  I nodded, thinking if only those Mandan women, even Hanyewi’winyan, had called Saca-tzah-we-yaa by her Bannock name, I would have understood.

  “Saca-tzah-we-yaa was my last link to my family and my village, even though she was Shoshone and I was Bannock, for I had lost Wannge’e and Poongatse over a year before. Had I known they were living with you, what a difference that would have made to my life! It would have given me hope for myself and Kimana. But at least I still had Saca-tzah-we-yaa and she loved Kimana with all her heart, as I loved her little Pomp, the name Captain Clark gave her little boy. But Hanyewi’winyan had no idea of your close relationship with me, for I rarely spoke of my past. I couldn’t have endured my future, had I thought on my past,” she paused and looked ahead, as though seeing something quite different to the wide sandy riverbank on which we rode.