Chapter Nine
Their little camp had become a flurry of activity, and it was a good thing Grey Coyote had secured their gully against an enemy, for it would be here that they would pause for a few days. Days which would be filled with the chore of drying meat and making pemmican.
“We will be traveling deep into enemy territory,” Grey Coyote had explained. “We will not be availed of the luxury of lighting a fire along the way.”
Lighting a fire was a luxury? One would never know it, Marietta thought, the way she struggled with the chore.
Grey Coyote continued to speak. “Kakel, thus, although I do not like to wait, for there is urgency in my duty, we must take these few days to prepare our food. But I can only allow two or three, perhaps four days at the most.”
Marietta readily agreed. This suited her, and she was quick to let Grey Coyote know as well.
So today, their third day together, Grey Coyote had taken to the hunt early, informing Marietta that she was to remain inside their hideaway until he returned. Since she bore many chores involving the pounding of various berries, this was no hardship.
Grey Coyote returned before noon, carrying the carcass of a deer over his back. Marietta watched from their shelter’s entryway as he lowered the animal to the ground. In truth, she never tired of looking at the man, for his physique was most pleasing.
Crawling out from the shelter, she said, “Good morning, husband.” Odd how the term husband fit him well. Strange also how natural it sounded on her lips.
“Hau, hau,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. He gave her a robust hug.
“It never ceases to amaze me.”
“What is that, my wife?”
“How is it that you can carry a deer for miles and miles, and do not seem to tire?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps it is because I have done so all the days of my life. I know of no Indian man who cannot do it.”
She merely shook her head. “And still, for me, you are the only one I know who can.”
“Perhaps the white man has a more leisurely life.”
“Maybe. Well, come. Before we start skinning the deer, you should take yourself down to the stream and bathe, for you smell of deer and blood.”
He sniffed at himself, pulling at his shirt. “You do not like it?”
“There are other scents I prefer.”
He grinned, but nonetheless, turning, headed toward their little stream. She watched him with a greatly adoring gaze. Then, sighing, she returned to her chores.
Soon both she and Grey Coyote were hard at work.
It would be Grey Coyote’s duty to clean and gut the animal, while Marietta set to striking up the fire and fixing the tripod that would hold the meat for smoking. It would also be her task to dig out the marrow from the various bones of the deer, for this yellowish fat looked and tasted much like butter, and when it was pounded, along with berries and dried meat, it made a fine pemmican.
At the moment, however, she had ceased her work, for Grey Coyote had come to her and was bent over her, painting her face.
To herself, she grinned, for it seemed Grey Coyote regarded her with a bit of awe. His hands shook at his task, and his fingers were unsteady. Though she dared not smile openly, Marietta was thoroughly charmed.
“Tell me again,” she said, barely moving her lips, “why is it that you are painting me?”
He paused, his midnight eyes looking deeply into her own. For a moment, they shared an affectionate glance. “Because your skin is fair and will burn under the sun. Therefore, you need protection. Also because it is my duty as your husband to do this for you.”
“Ahhh. An Assiniboine husband performs this custom for his wife as a matter of course?”
Grey Coyote nodded. “Every day. Unless there is no sun.”
“I see. And what does an Assiniboine wife do for her husband in return? Does she paint his face as well?”
Grey Coyote drew himself up as straight as he could, given his position. “No man requires a woman to paint his face.” He frowned at her, his countenance mock-serious. Though he smiled, he asked, “Do you mean to insult me?”
“No,” she said, not wishing to offend. “I was just curious.”
This seemed to placate him easily enough, and despite the fact that his hands still trembled at his task—reminding her again that he treated her like she might be a fine jewel—he at last completed the chore.
Sitting back, Grey Coyote surveyed his handiwork. “Since you have asked, I should tell you that instead of painting a man’s face, an Indian woman takes care of her man by cleaning the meat, sewing him good, sturdy clothes, putting together their lodge, and many other things. An Assiniboine wife is very tireless in her work, and when a man returns from the hunt with game, she will settle her man into their lodge and bring him pipe and food. She will even remove his moccasins and rub his feet.”
“Really?”
He bobbed his head. “She will also slick down his pony and take the game he procured, will dress it and cook it. It is a good time for a man. An Assiniboine husband anticipates these leisure activities with his wife with much joy.”
“Does he now?”
“Hau.”
“It’s really a lot of work for a woman,” Marietta said with a smirk. “You should know this.”
“It is true. And a good woman is the object of much affection, as you are with me.”
She grinned.
“But tell me,” he continued, “does a white woman do no work?”
Marietta shrugged. “She does much work, as does her husband.”
He nodded. “It is the same for the Indian. There are women’s chores and men’s chores. And when in camp with others, the two never cross. Now here, I help you with many of the chores that are traditionally considered the tasks of the woman. I do this because there is no one else here, and because you do not know our ways. But were I in an encampment of my people, if I were to be caught doing these things for you, I would be laughed at, even called a woman, perhaps rejected from the society to which I belong.”
Marietta tossed her head and tut-tutted.
Still, he continued, “But a good Assiniboine wife does not object to her work. If she is a good woman, she takes much pride in her tasks, and would shoo a man away with a stick if he tried to help her.”
“Truly?”
“It is so. She would accuse him of trying to make her lazy. Her mother and grandmother, if they were also good women, would taunt her. They would call her lazy, and this no woman of good merit could stand.”
Marietta smiled at him. “Well, husband, if we are ever in an Indian encampment, I will be certain to bring you your pipe and food, and rub your feet.”
“But only if I return with game.”
“Only then?”
“It is so. If I fail to bring home food for the family, the Assiniboine wife will ignore her man and will leave him alone, sometimes not even returning that night to sleep with him.”
“Honestly?”
“I speak true.”
“All right, then, if we are ever in an Indian encampment and you bring home game, I will collect your pipe and food for you, and will rub your feet…most adoringly,” she added.
It caused him to grin. “Do not tell me this, wife, if you do not mean to keep your promise, for I will hold you to it.”
“I’ll do it.” She frowned. “If we are ever together in an Indian encampment. But I doubt this will happen.”
He gave her a rather crafty smile. “We will see.”
“Humph.”
“And I will remember to hold you to it.”
She smiled at him. “Do that.”
Two days had passed. Two days of rapturous bliss, the daylight hours being filled with the chores of pounding berries, smoking meat and pemmican making, the evenings fueled by passion, quiet conversations and teasing embraces.
It was a little past noon on this, their fifth day together. Grey Coyote was sitting across from her in their shelter, a small fire between them. He had been sewing a pair of extra moccasins for their journey. When he at last finished, he put away his handiwork and stared at her. “The time has come for us to make final preparations to go.”
Go? Leave their paradise? So soon?
Their gazes met, locked, and though neither one spoke what might have been in their hearts, each knew what was on the other’s mind. Still she managed to smile. “This is good.”
He nodded.
In the silence that ensued, each one of them carefully avoided looking at the other. In due time, Grey Coyote said, “There is one more thing I will require before we journey to the trading post. But only the one.”
“Oh?” she said. “What is that?”
“Arrows. I will need a few more arrows. Therefore, we will travel to a place that is good for this, a forest in the hills. After I have procured the right kind of wood, the arrows are not difficult to make. But I must find the right kind of wood.”
“That is good. And then we will be ready to travel onward?”
“It is so.”
“And is this forest very far out of our way?”
“A little,” he said, “but though time is precious, this must be done if I am to defend us properly.”
“Ah. Does that mean we leave today?”
“Hau. From now until we reach the trading post, we will of necessity travel only at night.”
“Is it safer to travel that way?”
“Hau, hau. It is summertime. A time for warring parties, for young men seeking revenge, and for young men looking to count coup so as to court the girl of their choice. It is not a good time to be traveling on the open prairie.”
“I see.”
“Therefore we will sleep during the day and go forward at night, and even in doing this, we will need to disguise ourselves and be very careful.”
“All right,” she said. “Then I should make preparations to leave tonight?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “What kind of wood do you require for your arrows?”
“The Juneberry or the chokecherry are the best wood for this.”
“Did you say the Juneberry or the chokecherry?”
“I did.”
“But…I don’t understand, why do we have to travel to find this wood? There are Juneberry and chokecherry trees here. I have been picking berries from them. Did you not know? I am glad I asked, for now we are saved a needless trip. Perhaps we could spend the extra time here in our camp. Hmm, although probably not, since time is of the essence.”
He didn’t respond. She went on to say, “You see? Your requirements are right here.”
“And so it might seem to you,” uttered Grey Coyote at last. “But in making an arrow, one must consider other things.”
“Other things? Like what?”
“Look around you, outside our small dwelling, and tell me what you see.”
Although Marietta saw little point in the exercise, she pushed back the entrance flap and glanced here and there. “Well, there’s lots of space, much brown grass, a few scrub trees…but mostly there are Juneberry trees,” she emphasized.
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what? If they’re Juneberry trees…” She shook her head.
“Look again.”
She sighed.
“You must glance around you and discover what you do not see.”
“Look at what I don’t see?”
“Hau.”
“But I don’t see anything else.”
“That is the point.”
Marietta frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“There is nothing else here, and it is this which you must observe closely.”
She groaned.
He paid her little mind. “Do you notice that there are but few trees here, and even they are having a hard time in this soil?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me. From what you see here, would you say this land needs these trees?”
“Well…”
“Why take what these saplings offer when they are required to remain here for the overall good and survival of the land?”
“Because they’re convenient?”
“Ahhhh,” he said. “You say they are convenient. But think again. If you do this, if you take the lives of these young trees, what will you leave for your children, and their children?”
Unconsciously, Marietta wrinkled her brow. “Does it matter?”
Grey Coyote jerked his chin to the left. “Of course it matters. Others will come after you. If you leave nothing but waste for those who follow, you are ignoring your greatest duty.”
“But—”
“Is it good and right to steal from your grandchildren to satisfy yourself today?”
“I… But look at all the wood which is here. The land is for use. Other trees will grow here eventually. I don’t see—”
“Will other trees grow?”
She hesitated, and he pressed forward. “The forest I seek is near here, and it is overcrowded. There are bushes and trees there that are in competition, and some will not live. Some are already dead. It is there I will find what I need to make the arrows. If I take from here, I will hurt the land.”
“But…I thought you needed to arrive at the trading post in a timely manner.”
“I do.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Well?”
“And because I hurry, this would justify stealing from my grandchildren?”
Marietta didn’t answer. This was the first time this argument had ever been proposed to her.
“Hiya,” he said, when she remained subdued. “I cannot take what I need from these young trees and bushes. We will go to the forest I mentioned. The way is not far.”
Marietta frowned. “But, Grey Coyote, I protest this. It’s senseless. You have a duty. I have a duty. Between us, we have so little time. Please consider fashioning your arrows here, while I continue to make food. Besides, we’re only talking about a tree.”
“Ahhhh.” He elongated the sound. “And is the spirit of the tree less than that of a man?”
“Of course it is.”
“Is it?” he asked. “Who says it is? You? Man? Did you ask the tree if it thinks its spirit is less than yours?”
She pulled a face. “Ask the tree?”
“Is it not life? Does it not obey all the laws of life? Because it does not speak as we do does not mean it is not alive, or is less a spirit, or that it doesn’t in some way communicate.”
“But—”
“Look around you again.”
She did so, though with some impatience.
He asked, “Do you see that this land is parched?”
“Yes.”
“Yet despite these conditions, these bushes and saplings which you observe here are young and healthy. While they might make good arrows for me, why take their lives when there are others who will die anyway in another forest?”
But Marietta hadn’t given up, and she opened her mouth to speak.
Grey Coyote cut her off. “I must also answer another question before I act. If I use these saplings and bushes now, what will I leave this land? Have I helped the Creator make this earth a better place for others, or am I destroying His creation?”
“But—”
“If I must destroy a life, and I must, then let it be a life which is already dead or dying.”
Marietta squinted up at Grey Coyote. Though only in company with this man for a few days, she was amazed to discover how different was their attitude toward this subject, which bordered, actually, on the mundane. She was also amazed to discover how much she was learning.
“Mr. Coyote—”
He frowned at her, though the look was cushioned with a slight chuckle. “Who is Mr. Coyote?”
She smiled. “Husband.”
“That is better.”
“Husband, if you do this, aren’t you then playing God?”
“Perhaps I am, but there is no justification which can make this right. As the wise men of my tribe have said, none survives alone. While it is necessary to kill for food or shelter, remember that all life has the right of survival. And all life is interdependent.”
Marietta shot the man a twisted smile. No harsh words had been spoken, it was true. Indeed, his voice had been, as usual, soft, calm. Yet he had won his argument all the same.
Apparently, they were to travel to this forest.
She said, “All right. I will go. You mentioned we will need even more preparation for this journey?”
“Hau, hau. Though we have food enough, we should sew another pair of moccasins for you, and extra clothes—clothes that will not tear as yours do, for the manner in which we will be traveling will be rather harsh. Perhaps we should also have an extra robe for you, since the nights are cool. The deerskins we have already will do for this purpose. Tonight, when the moon rises, we will leave.”
She nodded. “Tonight, then. But do you think we have time to make all of these things today?”
“I will help.”
“Even with your help, I think the things you mentioned require much work.”
“They will not be fancy.”
“Still…”
“Come, let us set to doing this.” He pulled one of the deer hides toward him. “But remember,” he cautioned, “if we are ever in camp with others…”
“I know. I know. Women have their chores, men have theirs. I have not forgotten.”
“You learn quickly.” Smiling at her, he bent and lightly touched his lips to hers.
Somewhere on the Western Plains
Was it man, or bear? It growled like a bear when it spoke. It moved like a bear when it walked. It smelled of something rank and offensive. Its body, even its face, was covered in hair. But there were two distinguishing features that gave clue to its origin: It wore clothes, boots, and hat, though its hair was long, lice-infected and unkempt.
At present, it slunk toward a hunter, who, caught up in disengaging a wolf trap, didn’t see or hear the creature. However, after a moment the stench of the beast gave warning.
The hunter stopped still. He sniffed the air. He listened.
“Who goes there?” he called.
There was no answer. Then, like a thunderbolt, the brute struck, the surprise, as well as the beast’s strength, overpowering the slimmer constitution of the hunter.
A gnarly hand jerked up a knife, then down it plunged, into the hunter’s heart, stabbing the man once, then again and again.
It was over in a matter of minutes.
Letting go of the body, the creature kicked the hunter aside and grabbed up the hunter’s wolf pelts. The beast then slung the furs—which were tied onto a ropelike string—over its shoulder.
“Blazing wolfer,” the creature muttered, its speech more growl than human. “Deserved what’cha got. This’n here’s my woods, wolfer. No one hunts here but me. Reckon these is mine. A fine penny they’ll fetch fer me too.”
The beast spit, first on the hunter, then on the ground. The brute snarled as well, and with no concern given to the hunter’s body, to the spirit of the man or to a decent burial, the beast crashed away through the undergrowth, heading toward the closest known trading post.