“Did you find them?” The voice was deep, baritone and masculine.
“No, I didn’t,” the second person, in a tone that was higher-pitched, as well as sweet and feminine, said. “And I almost got caught. She screamed so much, even I became scared.”
A masculine finger reached out to lift the woman’s dainty chin. He smiled. “You have no reason to ever be scared. I am here for you. I will always be here for you, as you are for me.” He kissed her.
“Oh, hold me, darling, just hold me. It was awful, just awful.”
The man took the woman in his arms and pressed her lithe form against the hard contours of his. “I picked up something for you today.” After reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a pair of golden earrings.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “They’re beautiful.”
“But you can’t wear them…not yet. When our job here is finished, there will be more where these came from.”
“Really?” She giggled.
“Yes,” said the man, his voice low and resonant. “Really. And now to the more pleasant aspects of life. My darling, come lie down with me. I must admit I am weary.”
“As I am too,” she said. “How I would like to sleep away these next few days instead of… Oh, well. There is work to be done, I suppose.”
“It’s one of the aspects of your personality I have always loved about you.”
“What?”
“Your dedication. All this would be for nothing, if not for you.”
The woman smiled widely. “Hmmm, I like the sound of that.”
“Yes? What is it?”
She grinned. “Help me out of my things.”
“Ah…with great pleasure, my dear. By the by, where did you find the charming black outfit you were wearing earlier?”
“I have my means,” she replied with a slight titter. “I have my means.”
“You’re a minx. Come here,” he coaxed, and very soon, the woman’s silken skirt hit the floor, followed by a pair of soft pantalettes and linen shirt.
“Ah,” said the man. “You are beautiful.”
She collapsed into a burst of chortles.
Given a choice, this was not the manner in which Red Hawk would have chosen to travel. He was a scout, and scouts commonly traversed enemy territory at night. They also used various means to blend into their environment. So much was this the case that only the well-trained eye could detect the presence of a scout, if at all.
Unfortunately, there was no plan Red Hawk could employ to hide the horses and wagons of Effie’s group, no manner by which to disguise the noise of the wagons, the neighing of the animals nor the dust kicked up by their procession. Moreover because of these wagons—and there were two of them—their party was restricted to using the sunlight hours in which to travel. Thus, the chance of meeting a war party was great.
Luckily for them, because the Crow Indians were friendly toward the whites, Effie’s company would not likely encounter hostilities on this leg of their journey, even though he—a traditional enemy of the Crow—traveled with them. He only hoped the same would hold true once they reached Blackfeet country.
However, scouting was the least of his duties. In addition, there was the trail to blaze, meat to procure, protection and lookouts to be kept. An additional experienced man would have been preferable.
Red Hawk had tried to find such a person. In the few days before setting out on the trail, he had considered seeking out the Crow to determine if there might be a few warriors among them who would be willing to aid the whites.
But he had rejected the idea almost immediately. Since the Blackfeet and the Crow were enemies, he figured he would never be able to trust a Crow warrior with his scalp.
In addition, he had also sought out several of the young men who had flocked to Virginia City. But that, too, had been to no avail.
Unfortunately, there was no one else. This had left him with many tasks to perform, and required a rigorous schedule—to bed early, after posting one of the white men to stand watch. Arising in the middle of the night and setting out on the trail to explore the territory ahead, he watched for signs of enemies—in this way Red Hawk secured safe passage for the next day’s journey.
Then in the very early morning, Red Hawk would return to camp, there to awaken the others, and set them into preparation for their continued trip. Add to this that Red Hawk’s main duty was to provide fresh meat, as well as to lead Effie’s group on the shortest and safest path through Crow country, and one might realize the extent of his responsibilities.
That this cut his hours of sleep to less than a few a night was something he did without thought or complaint. Perhaps when they attained his own country he could let down his guard.
There had been one change, however. While still in Virginia City, two more people had joined their party—a man by the name of John Owens, and his butler, Fieldman. Owens’s wife was to have accompanied him originally but had not felt up to the challenge of travel.
Owens was an elder to the rest of the group, by perhaps twenty-five years. He was also the father of one of the women in the group, the one known as Lesley.
John Owens was also Effie’s father’s best friend, her father’s naapi, as the men of the Blackfeet would say. A middle-aged man, with short, graying, dark hair—at least what was left of it—he sported a predominately gray mustache. In height, he stood a little shorter than Red Hawk, and he carried a great deal of fat around the middle of his belly.
At first Red Hawk hadn’t known what to think of the elder man, for Red Hawk had sensed an air of antagonism about him. Upon further acquaintance, however, Owens had seemed amicable enough, and any doubts Red Hawk had harbored at first seemed to be unwarranted.
Still Red Hawk frowned. It was puzzling, for he tended to trust his instincts, as well as first impressions.
Then there was Owens’s butler, Fieldman. Although Fieldman seemed devoted to Owens, Red Hawk little trusted a man whose living depended on the leave and goodwill of another.
But enough.
The weather on this fine day in Niipiaato’s, or June, the summer month, was pleasant, warm and sunny. It was a condition he had expected, since it had been foretold by the red sun at sunset on the previous day.
“The sun will not lie to you,” he could almost hear his grandfather say, “and if it is red at sunset, the next day will be fair.”
At present, Red Hawk was riding his mustang, a mare, a little distance ahead of the others. His senses were alert for signs of enemies, but not blind to the splendor all around him. The countryside was as fine an example of Mother Earth at her best as he could remember.
Here was a meadow of newly growing green grass. To his right was another sea of green, which was littered with a profusion of flowering dogwood, pink twin flowers and a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. He took careful note of the latter, for it had a medicinal purpose.
After swinging his left leg over his pony’s neck, he jumped down and walked the short distance to the other meadow, where he proceeded to gather up parts of the plant. They might prove useful later, for their medicine was often good for sore throats or swellings.
The scent, as the wind blew its fragrance around him, was clean, balmy and full of the perfume of the grasses and flowers, and he relished it as he drew in a deep breath. Even the smell of balsam wafted through the air, for this part of the prairie was flanked by stands of pine trees.
In the distance from these meadows, and due north, were snow-capped mountains, majestic looking, steep and rugged, though from this angle, they appeared deceptively serene. These would be the mountains that Effie’s party would either skirt or cross, depending on the safety of the various trails. It was his hope to escape the dangerous mountain passes and bypass them entirely.
“It’s like a fairyland, isn’t it?” He recognized Effie’s voice at once. On foot, she stood above him, since he was still hunched over the ground.
“Fairyland?” he queried, gazing up at her.
“A place of mystical beauty. That’s what a fairyland is. I think that when I was younger I fell in love with this country.”
This he could understand. “I, too, love this land…almost as much as I love and respect my…people, my grandfather.”
“Yes. What is it you are collecting?”
“A plant. We call it a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. It is used as a medicine for sore throats. We may have need of it later.”
She nodded. “How many days’ journey are left before us, do you suppose?”
“It will depend on the weather and the trails, and if we are bothered by the Crow tribes or not.”
“Bothered?”
“We are in Crow country, and though they are friendly to whites, they are my traditional enemy. Many of their warriors would covet my scalp, if they see I am here. It would not be a good thing, since we are vulnerable to attack.”
“We are?”
“Aa, we are. Though there are four other men with us, I have not observed that any of them are good shots. Perhaps they fight better in a hand-to-hand fight. I do not know. I can only hope that the fear of the whites and fear of their retaliation will keep the Crow from attacking us.”
“But we never had trouble when I was here with my father, many years ago.”
“As you have already told me.”
“I guess we were lucky back then.”
“Perhaps you were,” he said. “And I pray that luck is with you as much today as in the past.”
“As do I.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “May I help you with that?”
“I would welcome it. You must pick the flower up, stem and all. Do not bother with the roots, for it is the flower and stem I require.”
“All right.” She fell into silence as she worked, but after a moment, she said, “Mr. Hawk, I wish to speak of a delicate matter between us.”
“You may say whatever you please to me.”
Her look was guarded at first, but then she shook her head. “Very well. I have many questions I might ask about you, your life and the Lost Clan, as you well might understand. But first there is another matter that sits heavily on my mind.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Truth be told,” she continued, “I never did answer your question as to marriage, and you have never inquired after it. Have you changed your mind?”
Her question, as well as the subject itself, was indeed delicate. It also had the effect of knocking the breath from him, but he kept the reaction to himself.
“I do not change my mind,” he said, dismayed to hear that his voice was unsteady. “I simply try to give you space to consider it, as well as some time away from me so as to decide the matter for yourself.” He paused. “Did you think I might have changed? That I would take back my offer?”
“Yes.” Her glance skimmed off of his. “You have been…distant from me since we started this journey.”
“I have much on my mind—it is my duty to lead and to protect us.” Again, he hesitated, then, “Did you have an answer for me?” He didn’t look at her. He dared not.
“Yes.” She reached out to touch his hand. “I…I am afraid…that I cannot marry you.”
He nodded without looking at her. It was as he had expected.
But then she added, “Now…”
“Now?”
“I need to find out more about you, about what you said about the Lost Clan, before I can… I was so startled by what you said,” she continued hurriedly, “and you left so quickly after, that I haven’t known what to think. So as you see, I have many questions.”
“Aa, I have had much to consider. But I am here now. If you have other things that trouble your thoughts, feel free to question me.”
She didn’t respond right away. In truth, she seemed to be carefully choosing her words, as now and again she sent him a tentative look.
Gazing at her now, with her fiery hair as well as her dress blowing softly about her, she presented such a beautiful picture, it was almost more than he could do to keep himself from staring at her like a lovesick buffalo calf. Though she was on her knees picking several flowers, she now and again frowned at him, and he felt urged to smooth out those two wrinkles between her brows.
“Very well,” she acknowledged, sitting back. “My first question is about the Lost Clan.”
He nodded. “I thought you might have questions for me about that.”
“Yes. Well, what I’ve been trying to understand, and what I can’t quite comprehend is this: You said that you are of the Lost Clan?”
“Aa.”
“But how can this be so? They are a clan of legend, are they not?”
“’Tis so.”
Her frown grew deeper. “I still don’t understand. I am here to dig for evidence that they did at one time exist…but in the past. To say you are of that tribe would infer they are in the present, and not in the past…” Her voice trailed away.
He hesitated and considered her question solemnly. “I understand your confusion, and you are correct, the Lost Clan is a clan of legend. But it is also a clan the Creator blessed with a chance to end the curse.”
“Yes. That’s right. I had almost forgotten that part of the legend. Once a generation, a boy is chosen—”
“To take on real form,” he continued for her, “and to go out into the world in an attempt to end the curse for the Clan.”
“Real form? Then what you’re saying is that you were once entrapped in the mist?”
“Aa.”
“Excuse me, but I find that a bit hard to believe.”
He shrugged, looking away from her, and glanced back toward the ground. It was as he had thought. The truth was too bizarre to be accepted.
She continued to speak, however. “So what you are saying is that you are one of those boys who was chosen to try to end the curse?”
He grimaced. “Aa, it is so.”
“Hmmm…”
“And yet, no, I am not truly a chosen one.”
She shook her head. “Now I’m really confused.”
“Let me explain. The elders did not wish to choose me. It is as uncomplicated as that.”
“But if they didn’t want to—”
“They had no one else from whom to pick. The rest of the boys from my tribal band were injured.”
“Oh.”
“That day when we met, I was coming from the council that named me as champion.”
“Were you? How exciting. You must have been delighted.”
“No,” he said flatly. “Though I had long wished to be champion, knowing I was picked only because there was no one else was not the way in which I had dreamed of becoming our tribe’s defender.”
He noted that whether she believed him or not, she at least bestowed upon him a sympathetic look, and said, “I’m sorry.”
“You do not need to be. Regardless of how it was done, I am still the one who must break the curse for my people or live with the knowledge of my failure. I take that obligation seriously, if for no other reason than to make my grandfather proud.”
“And so you should. That is very commendable. I notice you speak of your grandfather often. You must love him dearly.”
“Aa, it is so. He adopted me when I was so young that I do not remember it.”
“Adopted?”
“Aa, though I am of Blackfoot descent, the Lost Clan is not my tribe of birth. My parents, who were visiting the Clan at the time when the trouble began, were killed by the Thunderer. I would have been left homeless, were it not for Grandfather.”
“Your parents were killed by the Thunderer?”
“Aa, aa. In my youth, I often dreamed of revenging myself on the Thunder Being or the Thunderbird, as he is sometimes known, because I blamed him for all my troubles. But I have since grown up, and I have put those desires of vengeance away from me…or at least I have tried to. Now I only seek to free my people, my grandfather.”
“I see.” She drew her hand over the ground, as though trying to decide which flower to pick next. “But tell me, if all you say is so, why are you here with me now? Why aren’t you out somewhere trying to break the curse?”
“Because,” he said without even hesitating, “I am out somewhere trying to break the curse.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are somehow connected with the Clan.”
“Oh, am I?” She brightened suddenly. “I think I’m beginning to understand what this is all about. It’s the artifacts, isn’t it? Somehow, these artifacts I carry, and those I search for, are important to you. Am I right?” She looked to him hopefully.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t and remain true to his vision, for a vision, if told to anyone other than a medicine man, was to render the prophecy powerless.
She gazed away from him, and all the while the reddish strands of hair that framed her face fluttered prettily in the wind. He wished he could take her in his arms, if only to make her believe him. But he knew if he wanted her to trust him, to really trust him, he dare not.
At last, she said, “I don’t know what to think, Mr. Hawk. Your story is fantastic. Nevertheless, my father certainly believes in the legend, which is the only reason why I am here. However, I have to admit that not only you, but this entire trip, is incredible, more like fantasy than real life. Perhaps if we lived in a more mystical place and time, I might be more inclined to believe these stories. At present it is difficult.”
“Mystical? What do you mean by this word?”
She arched a brow at him. “Mystical means something to do with those things that are not necessarily of the flesh—those things of mystery, of magic perhaps.”
“Haiya, but there is mystery all around us.”
“Is there, now?”
“’Tis so.” Sitting back on his haunches, he motioned to the environment that surrounded them. “Have you never wished for something, and it came true? Never seen the birth of a colt? Never witnessed the Creator’s hand in every blade of grass that grows? Is it so unusual that the Clan is cursed? After all, there is a price to pay for all one’s ill deeds. Grandfather told me before I left the Clan, no one can escape the consequences of his own acts, for life is an endless circle, and what one forces another to experience, one will, himself, be made to endure. The Clan killed the children of the Thunder god, and now they pay the price for having done so.”
She exhaled. “I think that whether I believe you or not, your grandfather was a wise man.”
“Aa, he was, he is. I have tried to remember those words, for the urge for revenge still festers within my heart.”
“Truly?”
“Aa. I am a warrior. I would risk a warrior’s death to avenge my parents. But I cannot. I must not. I am on a quest—I can never lose sight of that. Grandfather, my entire Clan, depends on me.”
“It is indeed a hefty responsibility that you carry.” She paused, then sat forward, so she might look behind her. “Mr. Hawk, listen. Do you hear them? The wagons? They are not far behind me, and I would like more time to speak with you earnestly about one or two other things…”
“Other things?”
“Yes. More about the Lost Clan—I still have questions—also, I feel I should tell you that I think someone could be following us. I’m not certain, for I have seen only shadows, but I fear we might indeed have a straggler in our midst.”
“Humph!” Red Hawk considered her words somberly. “I have not been scouting to our rear. Perhaps that has been an error.”
“Perhaps. I will leave it to you to determine. But again, I would like a moment more of your time—away from the others.”
“Aa,” he said, then suggested, “we could talk again while the others take their noonday nap.”
“We could, or maybe we might have our conversation tonight? Once the others are asleep?”
“It could be arranged.”
“Very well, then. I look forward to seeing you tonight. Thank you for your time.”
They both stood then. She turned toward him and dazzled him with a radiant smile. He took hold of her hand, and as awareness of her swept through him, he wished to never let her go, to never let this moment slip away.
But time has a way of plodding forward, and no man can hold it back. Eventually, she pulled her hand away. Before she left, she brought forward from a hand she’d been hiding behind her back the bouquet of flowers she had picked. “My gift to you.”
It was a simple overture. Still, he hardly knew how to react. As he watched the sun dance off the unusual color of her hair, it came to him how utterly beautiful she was. The freckles on her face had become more pronounced under the steady influence of the sun, and after raising his fingers toward her, he touched each golden fleck on her face, one by one.
It was almost as an afterthought that he accepted her gift, though as he grasped hold of the flowers, his fingers caressed her palm, stroking her sensitive skin.
Tentatively, she raised her gaze to his. Her lips parted, their wetness engaging, inviting. Unable to help himself, he accepted what he hoped was an invitation, and he bent to press his lips to hers, gently, adoringly.
Desire shot through him. Raising his head only slightly, he brought up a hand to smooth over her cheek, moving down to her neck, her shoulders, pulling her in closer to him.
He said, “Kitsikakomimmo,” then he kissed her again.
“What does that mean?” she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps.
“I will tell you tonight.”
“Do you promise?”
“Aa,” he murmured. “I promise.”
Her eyes were closed, and bending, he smoothed his cheek against hers, confiding in her ear, “I have something for you too.”
“Oh?”
“Keep your eyes closed, and give me your hand.”
She complied.
Reaching up to the back of his head, he unfastened an eagle feather suspended from his hair, drew it off and urged it into her hand.
“Open your eyes.”
She did so, and seeing the gift, she smiled up at him.
“’Tis from a golden eagle,” he said. “For you are like that bird to me. Proud, protective, majestic. Kitsikakomimmo.”
“Kitsikakomimmo,” she repeated after him, and listening to her speak the words, even though he knew she did not grasp their meaning, had his insides tied in knots.
He swallowed hard. “I, too, hear the sounds of the wagons, and they are close. Soon they will be in view, as we will be to them. We will finish our talk tonight.”
“Yes. Tonight.” She stepped back, out of his arms, and he immediately felt bereft. “Thank you for the feather.”
He nodded, then watched as she turned and walked away. Soon, as she stepped toward the wagons, she faded from sight. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but think, Oh, that she had said yes.