“I know,” Nate said. Buffalo tended to take flight at the first sight or scent of humans. Once a hunter loosed an arrow or fired a shot, the rest of any given herd would pound off into the distance as fast as their heavy legs would take them. So when a man needed to kill more than one, he had to take companions along and hope each was lucky; or he could spend weeks stalking any buffalo he spied, but this method was a tedious and not infrequently futile exercise. Because even if the hunt did score a hit, there was no guarantee the buffalo would fall. Buffalo were exceptionally hardy animals, almost as hard to kill as grizzlies. There had been verified instances where a buffalo bristling with a dozen arrows or pierced by five to ten balls had fled and eluded the hapless men after it.
Nate didn’t envy Red Hawk his task. Slaying buffalo was only the first step in going about making a lodge. Depending on the projected size of the structure, a dozen or more large hides might be required and each one had to be meticulously skinned from the carcass, then diligently prepared to make it waterproof yet resilient.
“I know of a way you can obtain all the hides you might need at one time,” Spotted Bull signed.
“How?” Red Hawk asked.
“Join us in a surround.”
In all the excitement of the past few days, Nate had completely forgotten about the planned surround. The reminder jarred him. He felt certain that Spotted Bull would again ask him to go along, and this time he couldn’t plead his son’s birth as an excuse. He still didn’t want to participate in the hunt. Unfortunately, since surrounds were considered tests of bravery and skill, any man who repeatedly refused to go on one stood the risk of having his manhood questioned. If he was to decline graciously again, he must have a legitimate excuse for not going. He listened attentively to their conversation.
“I have been on surrounds before,” Red Hawk said. “They are grisly business. Many of your warriors might die.”
“We are aware of the risks,” Spotted Bull said. “The Oglalas are not the only people who know how to properly hunt buffalo.”
“When are you leaving?” Red Hawk asked.
“In two or three sleeps.”
Red Hawk reflected for a moment. “All right. I will go with you. Perhaps, if I am lucky, I will kill many buffalo and my lodge will be completed that much sooner.”
“We will be glad to have you ride with us,” Spotted Bull said. “And I would not worry much about the danger. So many good omens have taken place in the past few days that every warrior in our village is confident this will be the best surround we have ever taken part in.”
“I pray you are right,” Red Hawk said.
Spotted Bull glanced at Nate. “The hunt would go all that much better if the man many believe carries good fortune on his shoulders would come with us.”
An icy finger stabbed into Nate’s chest. He knew the Shoshone was referring to him, and he deliberately stared at a snowcapped mountain situated north of the encampment to give the false impression that he wasn’t paying attention.
“Grizzly Killer?” Spotted Bull said aloud.
Nate’s heart sank. He couldn’t avoid the inevitable. “Yes?” he answered, facing his host.
“Now that your son has been born, would you agree to accompany myself and the other warriors who are going on the surround? We would be very honored,” Spotted Bull signed.
Nate suppressed an automatic impulse to frown. There was no way out. If he declined, by nightfall every man in the tribe would know. He would be the main topic of discussion around every lodge fire, with everyone in the village speculating on the reason for his refusal. They might doubt his bravery, or they might mistakenly believe that he knew something they didn’t, that he had experienced a dire premonition and expected the hunting party to meet with disaster. They would take the refusal as a bad omen. His future relations with the tribe could be severely jeopardized by his answer, and he disliked being put on the spot. He tried not to let his resentment show as he replied, “I would be delighted to go with you.”
Spotted Bull grinned. “This is great news. Excuse me while I go inform the others who are going.” He headed off at a brisk clip, saying over his shoulder, “I would not be surprised if more warriors decided to go once they learn you will be along.”
Nate plastered a phony smile on his face until the Shoshone was out of sight. He glanced at Red Hawk and found the Oglala studying him critically. “You have something to say?” Nate signed.
“If you do not want to go, why not tell Spotted Bull the truth?”
“Is it that obvious?” Nate asked.
“To me,” Red Hawk signed. “Even though I have not known you long, I feel as if I know you as well as I do my own brother.”
“You have a brother?”
“Two. Both married with children.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Of course,” Red Hawk signed. “We were always in each other’s company. In our childhood we played, rode horses, and practiced with weapons together. When we became grown men we hunted, went on raids, and even took our brides at the same time so we could be married together.” He smiled wistfully. “I miss them most of all.”
“Maybe one day you will see them again,” Nate said.
“If I do, they would be forced to slay me. An outcast who tries to return is always put to death. They could not spare me because we are related.”
Nate felt a burning curiosity to inquire about the specific details behind his friend’s expulsion, but he wisely refrained. “I am glad things have worked out for you here,” he said. “You have a new home. The Shoshones accept you as one of their own, so your wandering days are over.”
“And I owe it all to you,” Red Hawk signed.
From inside the lodge arose light feminine laughter. Nate glanced at the closed flap and mulled over how best to inform Winona of his upcoming departure. The direct approach would only upset her. He had to exercise tact.
Red Hawk stood. “I am going to take another walk around the village,” he signed. “After being alone for so long, I find that I like to mingle with people more than I ever did.” He surveyed the village, his eyes alight with contentment. “These are my people now, and I must get to know them like I know my own.”
“Enjoy yourself,” Nate said and watched the warrior stroll away. He shoved to his feet, stepped to the lodge, and slapped the flap. “It’s me,” he called out in English. “Are all of you decent?”
“What a silly question,” Winona said. “Shoshone women are not like the Otos. We do not sit around naked in our lodges. Come in, husband.”
Nate entered. His wife sat to the left, cradling little Zachary King in her arms. The baby had been bundled in a blanket, leaving only the top of his head visible. Morning Dove was busy at the cooking pot, while Willow Woman was sorting through a parfleche in the far corner. He walked over and sat down next to Winona. “How is our son?”
“Sleeping soundly,” Winona said and parted the blanket to reveal Zachary’s tranquil features. She tenderly stroked the infant’s rounded chin. “Would you care to hold him?”
“He looks comfortable right where he is,” Nate said, glad they could speak English and not be understood by the other women. “I don’t want to wake him up.” He leaned closer, proudly examining their son’s face, and said softly, “Stalking Coyote is in perfect health, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Winona said. “We have been blessed with a fine son. He hasn’t cried once yet.”
“When they’re this age,” Nate said, “taking care of them is easy. One parent can do it with no problem.”
Winona regarded him thoughtfully for a full fifteen seconds before she asked, “What are you getting at?”
“I have something to tell you,” Nate said, refusing to meet her probing gaze. He should have known she would realize he was beating around the bush. Now he must come right out with it. The thought of deserting her so soon after their son had been born racked him with guilt. At least, he rationalized, she would be among relatives and frien
ds, so it wasn’t the same as when he occasionally left her alone at their cabin to go off trapping or whatever.
Winona waited expectantly.
“Spotted Bull asked me to go on the surround,” Nate said.
“What did you tell him?”
“What could I tell him?” Nate asked, finally looking at her. “I told him I would go.”
Anxiety lined Winona’s countenance. “I do not like it,” she said flatly. “You have never been on a surround before. It’s not fair that they should want you to go when our son was born just a few days ago.”
“I agree, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Winona placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can let him know you have changed your mind. Wait until tomorrow and tell him you had a bad dream while you slept. Tell him that you saw yourself being gored. He will understand.”
“I would be lying,” Nate said. “And I have already given my word. There is no way out. When the warriors leave on the great hunt, I’ll be with them.”
“And if something happens to you? What will I do then?”
“Take good care of our son,” Nate said and felt her fingers dig into him. He placed a hand on hers and patted it. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to make you a widow after all the trouble you went through.”
“No man can predict his time,” Winona said.
“You sure know how to cheer a man up,” Nate said, trying to make light of the situation, hoping to bring a smile to her lips. Instead, she scowled.
“I am not trying to cheer you up. I am trying to convince you that you are taking your life in your hands if you go,” Winona said earnestly. “I lost a cousin and two close friends to surrounds when I was a girl, and I have never forgotten the way their bodies looked after the buffalo were done with them.”
“I can imagine,” Nate said. He touched her cheek and kissed her. “Mark my words, dearest. If it’s humanly possible, I will return.”
Refusing to be comforted, Winona held their son to her bosom and said sadly, “Words are no match for buffalo horns.”
Chapter Fourteen
Two days later forty-one riders rode eastward from Clear Lake. Forty were in exuberant spirits, talking and laughing and singing, while one rode in somber silence at the head of the band wishing he was somewhere else. Most of the villagers turned out for the departure, with the women waving and smiling and the children dashing playfully around the mounted men.
Nate would never forget the haunted aspect to Winona’s eyes as she bid him farewell. He got the impression she never expected to see him again, although she had never come right out and said so. For the better part of forty-eight hours she had moped around the lodge, her usual cheerful disposition replaced by moody preoccupation with the surround.
And she hadn’t been the only one.
Nate had noticed both Morning Dove and Willow Woman become unusually taciturn the closer it grew to the appointed time for leaving. Morning Dove’s attitude he could comprehend; she was concerned about Spotted Bull. But Willow Woman’s melancholy had puzzled him at first. He’d attributed her feelings to her affection for her father, although at times she seemed even more upset than her mother. Then he’d seen Willow Woman and Red Hawk strolling along the lake, their shoulders occasionally brushing together as they chatted amiably, the one always glancing at the other when the other wasn’t looking, and he could have slapped himself for being such a dunderhead.
Afterwards, he noticed other things. Such as how Willow Woman had taken to doting over Red Hawk, giving him extra portions at meal times and preparing his bedding at night. She was even sewing a pair of leggings for him. And once, when Nate unexpectedly entered the lodge, he caught them kissing. No one else had been there at the time, and he had quickly backed out.
The only one Nate told about his discovery was Winona, and she had actually grinned and asked why it had taken so long for him to see the obvious. Apparently everyone else in the lodge knew of the budding romance, which had Spotted Bull’s blessing. The Shoshone had taken Red Hawk under his wing and regarded him as a second son.
The first son, Touch The Clouds, showed up at the lodge the day before the forty warriors were to leave for the surround. He had been off hunting elk with friends and consequently learned of the encounter with the mountain lion after his return. He’d immediately gone to his father’s lodge to pay his respects to the famous Grizzly Killer and the Oglala.
Of all the men Nate had ever met, Touch The Clouds was the biggest. A veritable giant, standing close to seven feet tall and endowed with a powerful physique, Touch The Clouds appeared capable of fighting a grizzly with his bare hands and emerging triumphant.
When he entered a lodge he had to squeeze through the entrance, and if he was to straighten too quickly, he often bumped his head. When he rode his war-horse, it was as if he rode a pony even though his splendid black stallion was larger than any other horse in the camp. His war club was three times the size of those carried by his fellow warriors, and his bow could shoot twice as far. His lance resembled a lodge pole. All in all, it was no wonder that Touch The Clouds was widely regarded as the single bravest warrior in the Shoshone nation although he had yet to count as many coup as some of the older men.
Now Nate rode between the giant on his left and Spotted Bull on his right. Behind them came Red Hawk, White Lynx, and Drags The Rope. The rest of the hunters were clustered in groups and strung out over fifty yards to the rear.
“Where should we seek the herds, father?” Touch The Clouds asked.
Spotted Bull, as befitted his status as the leader of the hunters, was responsible for making the major decisions pertaining to their course of travel and the sites they would select as their nightly camps. He scratched his chin, his brow knit in thought. “I told Broken Paw that we would head toward the Greasy Grass River country. Buffalo are always plentiful there at this time of the year.”
“So are the Arapaho, Cheyenne, and Crow,” Touch The Clouds said.
“We will stay to the west of their usual hunting grounds,” Spotted Bull said. “If the Everywhere Spirit smiles on us, we will not run into them. And once the rest of our people have established a village in the foothills, there will be so many of us that the Arapahos, Cheyennes, and Crows dare not attack.”
Nate tensed and glanced at him. “What is this about the rest of your people?”
“Surely someone told you,” Spotted Bull said. “Those we left behind will strike camp tomorrow morning, and within six or seven sleeps they will have set up a new village near the area where we will be hunting.”
“Everyone will come there?”
“Of course.”
Flabbergasted, Nate stared straight ahead. No one had bothered to mention the entire village would move to be closer to the surround. Winona had not said a word, either because she’d believed he would object to her being in close proximity to hostile territory or because, like the rest of her tribe, she had taken it for granted that he would know the whole tribe would relocate.
“Why are you so surprised?” Spotted Bull asked.
“No one bothered to tell me,” Nate said lamely.
“Who do you think will butcher the buffalo we slay?” Touch The Clouds said. “Warriors don’t do the work of women. By moving the village to the foothills, the women will be near at hand when the surround is over and can skin the animals on the spot.”
“We go ahead of the main camp because such a large number of people often scares the buffalo away,” Spotted Bull said. “We will find a herd the proper size and keep watch over it until the village is in place. If the buffalo wander, we will keep track of where they go.” He paused. “A surround must be well thought out or it will fail.”
“So I see,” Nate said. He made a mental note to have a long talk with Winona once they were reunited.
“I hope to take fifteen buffalo, at least,” Touch The Clouds said. “I can use a new lodge.”
“The one you have now is only two winters old,” Spotted
Bull said.
“And already it shows signs of wear and has been repaired in several spots,” Touch The Clouds said.
Spotted Bull looked at Nate. “Perhaps Lame Elk was right,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Nate politely smiled, his mind not on their discussion. All he could think of was the fact that they were going to enter the hunting grounds traditionally used by the tribes who dwelled on the Plains, and how the Arapahos and others were bound to resent the intrusion. He wasn’t as optimistic as Spotted Bull; if something could go wrong, it invariably did. Which meant the Shoshones might find themselves embroiled in tribal warfare with one of the powerful nations inhabiting the region adjacent to the Greasy Grass River. He didn’t like the idea one bit.
“I will be content with one buffalo,” Spotted Bull said. “I have it in my heart to give Morning Dove a new robe as a gift, and the wife of a friend has agreed to make it if I supply the hide.” He grinned. “Morning Dove will be very surprised.”
“You’re going on a surround for just one robe?” Nate asked in disbelief.
“It is part of my plan.”
“I do not understand.”
“If I were to go off hunting buffalo by myself, Morning Dove might guess that I intend to give her a new robe,” Spotted Bull said. “This way, she will have no idea. It would never occur to her that I would go on a surround just to obtain a single hide.”
“Nor anyone else,” Nate said dryly.
“I am proud of you, father,” Touch The Clouds said. “It is a kind gesture. I hope my wife and I are still as much in love when we are your age.”
“Never take your wife for granted,” Spotted Bull said, “never let her take you for granted, and your marriage will last until you are both gray-haired and ready to depart this world.”
Nate absently bobbed his chin in agreement. He’d never discussed marriage with a warrior before and found the insights fascinating. “I agree with you. But there are other factors that go into making a successful marriage.”
“True,” Spotted Bull said. “Loyalty, a calm tongue, and a sense of humor.”
Wilderness: Vengeance Trail/ Death Hunt (A Wilderness Western Book 4) Page 24
