by Sadie Conall
“I saw her. I saw her twice,” she said, although I wasn’t sure what she meant.
“Saca-tzah-we-yaa,” she said. “I saw her twice. The first time, we passed her and the men of the expedition party on our way north. They were camped on a riverbank and we stopped and camped with them that night. There were a lot of other people camped along with them, for a few people had come to trade. But Saca-tzah-we-yaa had seen me when we rode into camp and later that night when I left to use the woods in private, I went and saw her. She told me she was happy enough. She was hoping the party would head west through her own lands, so she might have a chance to see her family. I told her Loĉhín’míla was taking me north to sell me to the Crow, but that I was going to escape and find a way back to the Mandan to get Kimana. She was frightened for me, but I swore to her that one day I would find my way home, back to the Bannock.”
Deinde'-paggwe paused, looking out across the river. I knew she was crying. So I waited, giving her time.
“When I saw her the second time, I was on the run. But I knew Loĉhín’míla and his friends were close. I had an idea what they would do to me when they found me, I knew Loĉhín’míla would make me suffer for humiliating him, so I hoped Saca-tzah-we-yaa could hide me away somewhere. But I never got the chance to speak to her, for Loĉhín’míla and his friends arrived that night.”
“How did you survive?” I asked. “You had nothing when we saw you, except the knife and that old fur coat and the bag of herbs. What did you do for food?”
She shrugged and touched the knife tied to her rawhide belt around her waist. “I could not have survived without this. It helped me cut vines to set snares and butcher the small animals I caught. It allowed me to spear fish in rivers which I ate raw. I might not have eaten well every day, but this knife gave me a chance.”
“Yet how did you get it?” I asked, intrigued.
“Hanyewi’winyan gave it to me. She knew it had been traded for Poongatse and Wannge’e because we all heard that story from her other grandson when he returned from the big village of St Louis. He used to boast about the trade. But the day we rode out of the Mandan village bound for the Crow, Hanyewi’winyan brought the knife to me wrapped in buckskin. She stole it to give to me. Perhaps she knew it was my only chance of survival,” she glanced at me, her face pale and her eyes dark.
“I’m glad you got safely away from the Mandan Esa-mogo'ne’, because the man who traded this knife for Poongatse and Wannge’e was my husband’s cousin. His mother was with him when he made that trade and she never forgave him for it. I can only imagine their distress when they found the knife gone. And had they recognised you when you arrived at the Mandan village, I’m not sure they would have let you leave without a suitable trade to replace it. I know Mi'wasa would have fought to the death to protect you, but let me tell you now Esa-mogo'ne’, no-one could win a battle against that vicious family.”
I looked across at her. “Yet you did.”
She shook her head even as I thought of the bivouac Ryder and I had seen, built high up on that bank under cover of the trees. I asked her about it, but she shook her head. No, she didn’t know the bivouac I meant. Her life on the run had been spent in shallow caves where she could light fires with her flint and cook meat from her snares, or root vegetables and wild onions in the hot ashes of her fire before moving on.
“No, I didn’t win. I could never win against them. As I said to you before, had you not come, I would have perished within days, for Loĉhín’míla and his friends were so close to finding me.”
I said nothing more for Ryder and Te’tukhe suddenly rode out of the trees just ahead of us. They had half a dozen grouse tied to their saddles. We would have a feast tonight and as I looked across at Deinde'-paggwe, I wondered when she had last eaten a decent meal. I doubted she had for a long time.
*
We set up camp on the riverbank a few miles further north. It was a pleasant place, set among beech and cottonwood, the water so clear we could see the sandy bottom on it.
After we’d eaten our fill of the birds, roasted with herbs and wild onions and fresh bread made from piñon nuts we had found earlier, we sat and talked and Deinde'-paggwe told us more of her life over the past five years. When we brought out our pipes and tobacco, I was surprised when Deinde'-paggwe retrieved one from her own bag. She said Hanyewi’winyan had introduced her to smoking more than a year ago and had gifted her the small clay pipe which had been one of her own. Pipe smoking had been one of her rare pleasures and she was grateful to share our tobacco.
She spoke of the attack on the Bannock and Shoshone villages in April 1800 and of seeing her beloved older brother, Huu’aidi, fall to a Hidatsa axe. She spoke of her time in the Hidatsa village and then her life with the Mandan. She had been taken as wife to Loĉhín’míla when only fourteen years old, more to spite other men who wanted her, than for any feelings of love he might have had for her. When she bore him a daughter less than a year later and not a son, he began to taunt her, calling her worthless. And by then, he was beating her regularly.
She spoke of the three months she lived alone in the wild. She had been frightened for most of it, especially the nights, but preferred the solitude to her life with Loĉhín’míla. That she survived all alone for so long was extraordinary, although she was born a child of the land. She had been taught by her mother and other women of the Bannock how to lay snares, how to light a fire with bits of kindling using a crude piece of flint, how to create a bivouac using wood and loose branches taken from the forest floor. She had been doing this since she was Kimana’s age.
She spoke of how devastated she was when she learned that Poongatse and Wannge’e would never return to the Bannock. And when Saca-tzah-we-yaa left with her husband and the men of the expedition, she was determined that one day, she would also find a way out. Only when she did finally escape Loĉhín’míla, she’d had no option but turn east, back to the Mandan, because she had been desperate to get Kimana.
It was Te’tukhe who mentioned Harry. “He’s four years old and Mi'wasa’s double, as you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
We spoke of Harry then, just for a little while and Deinde'-paggwe was astonished again that Ryder and I had left him to go to the Mandan to trade for her. But then Te’tukhe leaned forward and asked how Loĉhín’míla got the wound on his upper thigh and the light, happy mood in the camp suddenly changed as Deinde'-paggwe looked away, a look of loathing coming over her face, making her look so much older than her sixteen years.
“He and his friends had been brutal to me the night before he got that wound. I had hoped they would leave me alone to hunt, but when the men rode off, Loĉhín’míla stayed behind. I knew what was coming for he always liked to hurt me a little. We ended up on the ground near the fire, near my furs, and when he went to kick me, I felt the bulge of the knife Hanyewi’winyan had given me, pushing into my back for it was hidden within my blanket. Desperate for him to leave me alone, for I was in a bad way that morning, I rolled over and without even thinking what I was doing, the knife was in my hand and as he reached for my hair to yank me to my feet, I swung it up and around. I didn’t mean to stab him, he was just there, in the way of the knife. He didn’t scream, he just fell to his knees, staring at me in shock, even as the blood spurted out all over him. And then he must have fainted for he lay there without a word. I hoped I had killed him. But then I remembered the other three men. I knew they would kill me for this. So I quickly dressed and rode out of there, taking nothing but my furs, the knife and my bags of herbs, for I knew I would need them if I had any hope of surviving. I realized later that I should have taken his horse, for that would have slowed them up a little,” she paused and looked back at Te’tukhe.
“That was almost four moons ago and they’ve been following me ever since. I did everything I could to cover my tracks. And had I continued making my way west to the Bannock, which was my first thought, I think they might have given up on me. But I couldn’t leav
e Kimana behind. So I began to backtrack, changing my direction every day, doing anything I could to put them off, for within the week I knew they were following me. I rode the horse through streams and rivers. I took risks that should have killed me or the horse, but everything I did gave me a little bit of time,” she paused to look across at me.
“But I was foolish a few weeks ago. I made one stupid mistake. Instead of finding somewhere to hide and keep safe and dry during a storm, I walked the horse on, leaving a clear trail behind me in the wet earth. When I realized they were close I let the horse go, turning him south, hoping to confuse them but less than two weeks ago I saw them way in the distance. I knew then that it was only a matter of time before they caught me,” she paused and glanced at Ryder and Te’tukhe.
“You will know I think, how I felt when I let my horse go. But I was desperate. After the storm, I was setting some snares on a secluded river when I heard men talking. I sprinted back into the woods where I’d hobbled my horse and rode him deep into the woods before doubling back, having no care to lose my snares and wanting to see who these men were. It was Loĉhín’míla and his friends. They were looking at the tracks left by the horse in the soft mud by the river. I knew then that I was doomed. So I made the decision to leave the horse where he was and I took off at a run, knowing they would see both sets of tracks and wonder which way I’d gone. I climbed trees to reach rock faces or high banks, I did everything I could not to leave tracks. And all the time I was slowly making my way back to the Mandan to get Kimana. I didn’t have a plan how I would get her away from there, although I hoped Hanyewi’winyan would help me. Although I knew she was ill and sometimes I wondered if she was still alive. At least I feel a certain peace about her, at least.”
I saw Ryder frown as he looked at Deinde'-paggwe, then he leaned slightly towards her. “You said you saw us by a river. Why didn’t you approach us for help?”
She looked over at him and that dark, dangerous thing was back in her eyes. “Because I trusted no-one, not even you Mi'wasa. But when I saw Kimana, I thought myself hallucinating. I tried to keep up with you, but I was too slow, always an hour or more behind. When your tracks led me to the fur trappers camp, I thought of taking Kimana then. But then I saw Loĉhín’míla ride in with his men, so I remained in the dark, hiding, waiting my chance. And during the night, hours before dawn, I saw one of his men creep over to your camp to look at the child. They would have recognized her and thought you me, Esa-mogo'ne’, with the blanket covering your head, thinking I had organized someone to bring her to me, while I was still living at the Mandan village. But that morning, there was little chance of taking my daughter, so once again I followed you. When I heard the muskets shots and the screams, I knew it was Loĉhín’míla. When I saw him raise that axe to strike you Esa-mogo'ne’, I thought you doomed,” she paused and put a hand on Kimana’s head, but the little girl had long ago fallen asleep, lulled by her mother’s voice. “And now he is passed, yet I feel nothing. Relief, perhaps, but little else. And I have no shame in saying this. He was a bad man. And a bad father. But now I ask you this. How do I thank you for what you have done for me? Indeed, I cannot. Perhaps one day you might need my help and I swear on my life, on this little girl’s life, I will be there for each one of you.”
I leaned forward and put an arm around the girl’s shoulders, feeling her tremble at my touch. “Hush Deinde'-paggwe, for don’t you understand that you saved my life? Had you not been there, had you not pushed him aside and used your knife, I would have perished.”
She looked at me then nodded, before asking one more question of us. “How did Hanyewi’winyan find her way to you, on horseback with Kimana? She had never been on a horse in her life, let alone follow tracks or feed and keep a child warm and dry in the woods. How is it possible that she did this, when I know she was desperately ill?”
Ryder and Te’tukhe glanced at me, for we knew that had Hanyewi’winyan and Kimana not slowed us down, Deinde'-paggwe would never have crossed our path. We would have pushed our horses hard in a bid to get to the Hŭŋkpapĥa village, passing through that territory at least a week earlier than we did.
“Perhaps something greater than us had a hand in this which we will never know, nor understand,” Te’tukhe said, his voice low and deep.
I saw the shadow cross Te’tukhe face as he spoke, but I said nothing, nor did Ryder, for none of us could explain how Hanyewi’winyan did it, for what she had accomplished had been extraordinary.
We finished our pipes, but no-one went to their beds. Instead, we stayed sitting around the fire, speaking long into the night about our lives since last we met. We spoke of the people waiting for us at the Hŭŋkpapĥa village. Of Poongatse and Wannge’e and Harry and the Allard family, of Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’. And then we spent some time calculating how long it would take us to reach the Snake River Plain. And that in itself, was a joy.
Four
Madeleine claimed the first watch and Ryder and Te’tukhe let her, knowing that she and Deinde'-paggwe would want to talk privately. Within minutes the men were asleep in their furs but Kimana wouldn’t settle so Deinde'-paggwe picked her up and carried her away from the fire, walking with her a little, talking softly.
As she reached a small clearing just back from their camp, she dared to sing a lullaby to the child, her voice nothing more than a whisper yet it drifted up into the night. Madeleine stood on the far side of the camp and turned to listen, recognizing the lullaby as the same one she had sung to Deinde'-paggwe as a child countless times. And as that faint, haunting melody drifted out into the night, as Madeleine watched Deinde'-paggwe hug her daughter to her, rocking her in her arms, all she longed for in that moment was to hold her own little boy and hope never again to be parted from him.
*
Not long after Deinde'-paggwe and Kimana finally went to their furs, just an hour or so before she woke Ryder to relieve her, the crippling headache began.
It came on slowly, a dull pounding ache in her forehead that became a crescendo of pain, radiating down her face and across the back of her neck.
With fingers that trembled, unsure of what might cause such pain, Madeleine poured water from her waterskin into her small clay bowl and left it to heat by the fire while she picked out some willow leaves and sumac bark from her bag of herbs to make a potion. While she waited for the water to heat, she got up and walked about camp, hoping some movement might circulate her blood and take away the pain when she began to feel dizzy and nauseous.
She sat down where she was, just beyond the light of the fire, not having the strength to make it back to her furs. She didn’t call out for help. Instead, she put her fingers to her head in a bid to massage away the pain when she suddenly felt that familiar icy chill creep up her spine. She groaned softly and moved to kneel, breathing deeply, concentrating, not wanting to have a dream here, not now. But as she fell away into that other world of blurred images and sounds, her own world lost to her, she began to see something else, the images slowly becoming clear and focused.
She saw a man who looked like Ryder, yet was not Ryder. He was tall and strong and virile with long dark hair, worn in the same way which Ryder wore his own. He carried a musket. No, not a musket, some other weapon unknown to her although it looked like a musket, yet it was shorter and thinner. And then he was riding with the Bannock across a field of wild flowers, laughing as he rode, an elderly man beside him with flowing grey hair and Madeleine knew that man to be Ese-ggwe’na’a. And then another vision, of her and Ryder in England, sitting in the Gallery at Millbryne Park with the summer sun streaming in through the open windows, talking to two men in their early-thirties. These men were familiar to her, as they expressed a business proposal to Ryder. And then she recognized the men as Jimmy and Bryn.
And then another vision of her standing at the rail of a strange ship which sliced through the waves as if it owned wings and where smoke rose from a great chimney built in the very centre of the ship’s deck. Be
side her was Ryder and beside him stood a young woman, her hair tied up in a fashion unknown, yet she owned Madeleine’s colouring and beauty.
And then someone was moaning and as Madeleine came slowly out of the vision, she knew those sounds of distress came from her and then she heard a woman’s voice, soft and full of concern calling to her, using her Bannock name.
“Esa-mogo'ne’, Esa-mogo'ne’!”
Madeleine pushed her away, feeling deathly tired as she always did after one of her dreams, but the voice persisted.
“Esa-mogo'ne’, Esa-mogo'ne’!”
Madeleine opened her eyes, her mind still full of all she had seen, and stared unseeing at the girl who knelt beside her although Deinde'-paggwe’s hands were gentle as she helped Madeleine sit up, as she held the bowl of herbs for her to drink. Madeleine took the potion with gratitude, aware in her foggy state that her head was still pounding although Deinde'-paggwe had returned to the fire to make another poultice for the wound on her forehead.
Madeleine watched her and with some grief realized that the beautiful child she knew and loved was gone, that this young, strong, fearless woman had taken her place. A young woman who was full of fire and fight. That she had seen the badness of life was obvious and to anyone who bothered to look, it was clear she had suffered, for within her eyes was that darkness, a barely suppressed rage, along with hate. She looked ten years older than her sixteen years and there was a worn look about her for her hands and fingers were callused, her arms and legs showing old bruises along with new cuts and abrasions, some of them taken during her days on the run. And she was terribly thin, almost emaciated.
Madeleine pushed herself to her feet and returned to sit beside her by the fire as Deinde'-paggwe grinded herbs for the poultice. She finished the potion, although that dreadful pain in her head was nothing more than a dull ache now, although she was sure it hadn’t been the use of herbs which had eased the pain. That came from something else, or someone else who had been with her tonight.
