Chapter Three

They rode nonstop for hours. Blind Deer wove her fingers in the mane of her pony, trying to stave off the pain and nausea. Her arm throbbed continually, and now as the sun dipped lower, her resolve faded along with the comforting light.

Although chilled and exhausted, she was grateful to be rid of the English dogs—or had she only traded one keeper for another? The younger of these two strangers had given her free choice to join them—free choice—a precious gift. She in no way felt obliged to travel with these strangers. She belonged to no man. But it seemed a better excuse then admitting that living rough these last few weeks had taken an unexpected toll on her body and spirit.

So far, these two men had not mistreated her. But they looked half starved. They were either bad at hunting or had wintered in the high country where food was scarce. Based on the many hides they carried, the latter seemed reasonable. Only strong men survived the winter, and you could never trust a fat mountain man.

She glanced around the gathering gloom. Many things had changed since she lived in the shadow of these mountains. As she traveled with Lord Seton and his brigade, she noticed forts made of logs now stood where before only trees and rock gave testament to life. And there were paths and traces cut into the earth by people and wagons, blotting out the trails worn into existence by the animals roaming wild on the land.

She had been away many years. Was she too late in returning to find her people? What if she had become a dim recollection to those she remembered so vividly? What if they were all dead, wiped out by the invaders to her land or an enemy tribe?

Regardless, better to wander free seeking something which no longer existed, rather than to suffer the certainty of the boarding school and the dirty smoke-filled city.

She would rather die than return to St. Louis.

****

As they wended through the forest, thick and deep, her pony began to lag behind, and the image of the trappers transformed into a soft blur. Blind Deer sighed, letting the old familiar sadness replace her newly acquired concerns.

Her eyesight, poor since birth, had grown no stronger. Thankfully, she could still read and sew, but she could not clearly see all of her surroundings. This was her greatest weakness, and her most highly guarded secret. A secret never to be revealed to her enemies.

Urging her tired pony into a trot, she tried to catch up.

They broke through the trees into a small clearing, the land gently rising to the north. A river curved to the south—the water clear and not too swift. A good place to make camp. Apparently, McCauley thought so too.

“I reckon this will do for tonight,” he announced, glancing around.

“Too late to go any farther,” Tucket agreed, “especially if we’re hopin’ to put fresh meat in the pot for supper.”

Both men slid from their mules. They hobbled the animals in a grove of lodgepole pine and unloaded the burdens they carried. The snow remained in the shadows offering moisture, and a shimmer of grass promised feed.

Blind Deer dismounted, removed the parfleche bags and bridle from her pony, and turned the little mare loose. In payment for finding trails and speaking to the Crow Indians they had come across, Lord Seton had gifted her with the animal. Over the weeks, she and the pony had grown close. It would not stray from her or the protection of the larger animals.

Lord Seton had been surprised at her choice in horseflesh. The seller warned the animal was foul-tempered and un-ridable, therefore the price was cheap. But she had reassured both men this cayuse pony was the one she wanted. Her people were known for the splendid horses they kept, and for their kinship with them. This animal had obviously been mistreated and misunderstood—an all too familiar feeling. They had an instant connection.

Kade sauntered over, rifle in hand. “Will you be all right on your own while we’re off hunting?”

She found irony in his concern. Since leaving the boarding school, she hadn’t suffered any true injuries until he’d shot her. Now he seemed to want to protect her. “Yes. I will make a fire in anticipation of your success.”

“I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to point out you should be resting your arm rather than hauling wood?”

She remained silent.

He gave a snort of amusement. “Didn’t think so.” Turning, he set off into the woods with the strange dog and Tucket.

Fetching a sturdy rope from her cache of accoutrements, she set out on her own excursion. A tangle of brush and branches downed by winter winds caught her attention. Glad it was not far from camp, she laid a loop of hemp on the ground and then dragged pieces of wood across the rope. Bringing the free ends of rope over the stack and through the loop, she cinched the wood into a tight bundle and hefted it onto her good shoulder.

After unloading the wood at the campsite, she made three more trips. It would be cold here tonight.

Optimistic for their successful hunt, she fashioned a ring of stones, and as her hands recalled the life she once lived, she took flint and steel and created the miracle of a tiny spark. When the char cloth caught, she placed the ember in the tinder bundle, and blew and blew. It burst into flame—always a wonderful surprise, and she gasped in delight and carefully set the fireball atop the pine needles. Soon a hearty blaze devoured the sticks of wood she placed on top.

The sun slipped behind the far ridge, and the clouds in the sky turned pink as summer salmon. But as darkness crept near, the temperature fell. Blind Deer slipped into her woolen capote, threw another log on the fire, and sat listening for the return of the men. She didn’t have long to wait. Laughing and joking, Kade and Tucket swaggered back into camp, smiles upon their faces, the game bags laden.

She reached for the catch, but neither man allowed her to help. This seemed odd to her. Cleaning and preparing the meal was women’s work, as was hauling water. But they took no notice as they happily performed the chore on the three plump game birds and two rabbits—a feast for so short a time spent hunting.

Never one to sit idle, she went in search of green sticks to use as skewers, and to also gather the wild onions she had seen in the forest while hauling wood.

By the time she returned, the rabbit pelts had been salted, rolled up, and set aside, and Tucket had wrangled a large flat stone into an upright position on the north side of the fire-pit to block the wind and increase the heat. They accepted the sticks she offered, and as they ran the thin ends through the meat, she rubbed the onions on the food. This met with nods of approval.

Then they hunkered down around the circle of stones, and as Mankind had done for one thousand years, they waited for their dinner to cook.

“Nice fire,” Tucket put in.

“Couldn’t be better,” Kade agreed.

Blind Deer did not respond to their compliment. As of late, she had no practice in having her efforts appreciated. She had learned not to care what others thought of her, or at least she had learned not to show it if she did.

“I got a dry needs tending.” Tucket got up and rummaged through his belongings. When he sank back down to the ground, he held a little brown jug. Uncorking it, he laid it back upon his bent arm, mountain man style, and raising his elbow directed a good sip into his waiting mouth. His eyes grew wide, and he exhaled as if a fire had been kindled in his stomach.

The jug must contain hard liquor. Her heart raced, and her hand settled over the hilt of her knife. On her few trips to town in St. Louis, she had seen white men ply the local Indians with drink, and she had seen her brothers become children performing antics unbecoming a human being. Many white men also acted the fool under the same circumstances. What would happen here she wondered?

Tucket passed the jug to Kade. After a sampling, the cork went back in place, and both men gave a sigh of contentment and studied the sky.

“Looks to be a clear evening,” Tucket commented, “and most likely a cold one.”

“Two dog night at least. What a shame we only got Maggie.” At the sound of her name, the dog gave a whine and a yawn, and thumped her tail on the ground.

Blind Deer added wood to the fire and snuggled deeper into her blanket coat. She wasn’t sure what to make of the dog. When she’d first laid eyes on Maggie, she figured she had died, and the Great Coyote had come to take her to the next realm.

From the stories she’d heard as a child, Coyote had prepared the earth for her people, destroying the monsters and creating the rivers. He also enjoyed playing tricks. Other than having those odd blue eyes, this large dog looked very much like the image she carried in her mind of the sacred beast. The mythical animal was big medicine to her people—for good, as well as in times of trouble. The dog stared at her as if longing to speak while harboring thoughts about her as well. A chill raced through her body.

Finished eating, their spirits restored, drowsy musings quickly followed. Before sleep claimed them completely, they got up to check the animals one more time. Then after a final trip to the woods, they each sought their own space by the fire—curled in their blanket, backs to the wind.

The two men quickly drifted off to sleep, their breathing deep and slow—longrifles at their side. The oblivion Blind Deer sought did not come. The short walk in the woods had revived her senses and set her arm to aching.

She should have cleaned the wound and rinsed out the bandage in the stream. Now it was too dark, and she was too weary, and the fire felt too good. Earlier in the evening she had slipped a handful of club moss and crushed buckhorn leaves under the wrappings to draw out any poison. Good enough until tomorrow.

Squinting up at the night sky, Blind Deer studied the swatch of brightness blurred across the heavens. She saw no twinkling points of light, nor the outline of the animals the elders spoke of in tribal stories. And she saw not the smiling face in Saka’am, the moon. This saddened her most of all, for she loved the moon, a spirit-face filled with the knowledge of many mysteries.

Knife in hand, Blind Deer closed her eyes. What must it be like to see such wonders?

****

The next morning, they left the lodgepole pine behind, and relaxed in the saddle, Kade led them down a gentle slope dotted with aspen. Even in the high country, several white-barked trees were already turning. In a few months, when the blaze of orange and gold took hold, the small valley would appear to be on fire.

After several hours, the surrounding area began to look more familiar to him, and anticipation bolstered Kade’s mood. Without prompting, the mules picked up the pace, as if they too sensed they’d soon be within braying distance of the cabin.

Allowing only one respite to relieve themselves and fill their bellies with cold meat and hardtack, the day seemed long. Blind Deer appeared tired, but she never complained—no big surprise there. Trying to read her mood was tougher than tracking a mountain lion on bare rock. But even a painter was more predictable. Was she stubborn, prideful, or foolish? He supposed like everybody else she was a bit of all three, and right now stubborn had the best foothold.

What was she doin’ out here on her own anyway? If she stuck around long enough maybe he’d find out—but he wouldn’t bet mule and beaver on the outcome.

Besides, more important notions were jumping around in his mind—would they make good time getting to rendezvous, and would they get a fair price for the hides? When you were on your own hook, it could be unreliable doin’s. And what about the trade goods from back East? Would they be higher priced than last year, or worse yet, not be there at all?

In ’35 whiskey went for three dollars a pint, and beaver three or four dollars a pound. It didn’t take a banker to figure the cost of wettin’ a dry was becoming astronomical. And then there were the regular supplies they needed—blankets, fish hooks, flour, coffee, and sugar. A new shirt would be nice, especially since he’d cut a chunk out of his present one to fashion a bandage for Blind Deer.

Making a living off the land seemed harder and harder. They’d been fortunate this past season to come across a forgotten valley not yet trapped out. Who could say what next year would bring. The Hudson’s Bay Company had expanded their territory to where a family of beaver was hardly left alive to carry on. The only direction left unexplored was Blackfoot land, and folks who ventured there rarely came back.

When they reached a rise, he took a moment and glanced back at the string of animals following in his wake. He grinned at his partner. Tucket sat his horse as if he’d been born there, quite an achievement for an Easterner who once plied his trade as a whaler. The man was like one of them chameleons. He managed to fit in wherever he found himself.

Loose and easy, shoulders slumped, his friend appeared the same as when he sat a chair by the fire. And while he might seem overly comfortable, Kade knew the man’s rifle was at the ready and his eyes were always watching for sign—human or critter.

They sure had shared some shinin’ times together, and Tucket was as dear to him as ever a father could be. The man knew things about the world that set a body’s mind to wondering and puzzling. And he sure made for good company during the winter doldrums.

Kade’s gaze slid farther down the line of mules and horses, coming to rest on Blind Deer who insisted on riding at the rear. She ignored him. In fact, she often seemed in a world of her own making—gazing inward rather than out.

She sure was the last thing he’d expected to come across in the middle of a skirmish. Almost like she materialized out of nowhere—like a sprite or a faerie in the stories his Scottish Gran used to tell. Now there were some fanciful thoughts from long ago. Abruptly he turned around and faced forward.

Having Blind Deer around put unexpected ideas in his head, like the uncommon consideration of having a woman to call his own. In the past he’d settled for finding a willing female at rendezvous each year. One who was happy with the foofaraw and trinkets he bought for her. One who would not be insulted when the following winter he’d forget her name and face and remembered only the warmth and the pleasure they’d shared.

What would it be like to have a wintertime love? With a shake of his head, Kade dislodged the outlandish notion and concentrated on the trail, and then a great sadness struck him.

This wild land had come to feel like home, and it might sound foolish, but he believed a body could love a place like a person. After adventuring through these stony mountains for over a decade, the formidable cold peaks and comforting warm valleys were familiar—not always kind, but always there.

Now others came. Some men wanted to own the mountains. There was a heap of difference between kinship and ownership. He gazed up at the jagged white peaks and knew one heartening thing for certain. These monuments, constructed by the hand of God, would be here long after he and Tucket had gone under.

****

When the cabin came into view, Kade’s chest tightened, and a joyfulness filled him to overflowing. He reined in his mule and just sat taking in the sight. He hadn’t seen their off-season stomping grounds for nearly six months. The windows were still securely shuttered, and the old roof appeared only a little worse for wear for having weathered yet another winter.

“Things look hopeful.” Tucket eased his mule up alongside Kade’s. “Even the pitch of the porch don’t seem much more precarious than I remember.”

“Some of the chinking is missing on the windward side.”

“That’s easy enough to repair. We’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”

Kade nodded and fell silent. He and Tucket had built this safe-haven. Well, actually, Tucket had done most of the work. Back then, he himself had been a gangly kid with no idea of how to proceed with much of anything, let alone with how to build a cabin. But Tucket had been patient, and they had accomplished the task. And they’d been doing that ever since, the two of them together, accomplishing the task, no matter how difficult.

He wondered if it might be their last year together. Tucket had been making noise about giving up fur trading. Of course, the old man issued the same idle threat every year following the hardships of winter, but he’d sounded serious this time.

Change was in the wind. Right now, it had no name, but it was an unsettling feeling. Just like mountain man luck, there was mountain man intuition, and good or bad, something was comin’.

They rode on to the dwelling, dismounted, and led their animals to the corral. The enclosure was ringed on three sides by sheer rock and closed off on the fourth by several sturdy cut pines run horizontally through the chinked upright posts.

“Make sure them rails be good and secure,” Tucket instructed. “Better to spend a minute or two now instead of counting tracks come morning.”

Kade smiled and nodded. Tucket was always reminding him to do what he already knew needed doin’, but it was good to have someone worry over you—and to have someone to worry over.

He slid the poles into place and lashed them down as Tucket forced open the unwilling cabin door and disappeared inside.

Suddenly, a heap of tangled brush sailed out through the portal. Next came a whoopin’ and a hollerin’ sound, followed by Tucket, hat in hand, as he gingerly herded along a family of ’possums.

“You ugly little varmints. Step lively, now.” His partner followed them as they scurried away. “You’re lucky my panniers are full and your hides be too puny to bother with.”

Kade let loose with a hearty laugh and went about unloading supplies.

****

Blind Deer stood to one side, waiting for orders as to what to do. When none came, she took it upon herself to once again gather wood. You could never have too much firewood.

As she worked, she watched Tucket and Kade. They went about their chores as if they had shared many seasons together, anticipating one another’s moves and needs. Once she had known similar feelings, but now she refused to need anything or anyone. It was safer. No one could control or own you when you held nothing dear.

She also watched the coyote/dog. The way white people treated dogs seemed odd to her. They gave them human names and let them live in the house. They talked to them as friends, yet enslaved them with collars and leashes. Some Indian tribes ate dogs to survive—and some wealthy white women dressed little dogs in clothes and jewels. Again, the two worlds she traveled clashed head on.

Soon a good supply of wood waited outside by the cabin door and inside by the hearth. With the shutters open and opossums gone, their leavings tidied up, the room felt fresh and orderly. There were curtains on the un-glassed windows, clean woolen blankets on the two beds, and a red oilcloth on the lopsided table. How curious that these trappers would bother with such domestic touches. Obviously, this was a home, not just a place to be.

Intending to haul water, she stood in the yard holding two buckets. Kade passed by heading in the other direction, his arms loaded with the last of the goods from the mules.

“There is a creek nearby?”

“Yes. To the west about twenty yards or so. If you wait a minute, I’ll go with you.”

“Do not concern yourself, McCauley. I will not be in your way or expect you to do woman’s work.”

Her arm throbbed, but she refused to let it show. If she became a burden, they might turn her out before she recovered enough to endure living on her own again.

“I wasn’t worried about your being in the way, Blind Deer. I was worried about you hurting yourself. You sure do take offense at the least provocation.”

“I have learned to expect the worst at the least provocation—and I am rarely disappointed.”

She followed the route Kade indicated. Why was he being kind to her? Such sentiment did not come without a price, and she wondered what he might want from her. Stumbling over a tree root, she rued her poor vision and hoped he wasn’t watching.

McCauley made her worry over useless things like whether or not her face was clean, or if her conversation was pleasing to his ear. She had never felt this way around a man—not with her brothers, or their friends, or the young warrior to whom she was betrothed. Of course, back then she had been very young too, and in love with her pony as she tried hard to be one of the boys.

She quickened her step, seeking the seclusion of the trees up ahead. At the sound of the gurgling stream, she paused and stood motionless. Water was a place where all creatures gathered. Surprising a bear or wolf as they quenched their evening thirst could prove fatal—to surprise a human could be worse. Assured no danger awaited, she continued to the water’s edge.

After submerging the buckets to soak and expand the dry wooden slats, she eased down upon a flat rock and loosened the leather pouch from her tack belt. Her precious bundle contained native herbs and white man’s medicine. Both held much power, and in the wilderness such knowledge could mean the difference between going on and going under.

With the sleeve of her buckskin dress thrown back over her shoulder, she untied the thong holding the bandage. A sharp pain knifed through her arm. This time she could not stifle her groan.

Scooping up handfuls of freezing cold water, she bathed the shoulder, loosening the last of the stuck-on fabric. Then she rinsed the cloth and allowed it to dry, to be reused another day.

The numbing cold turned to fire as she doused the wound with alcohol from the small vial Sir Reginald had given her for medicinal use during their travels. Lightheaded, she swayed unsteadily and leaned forward, nausea gripping her stomach.

When the sickness passed, she sprinkled powdered willow bark and club moss upon a dry piece of calico stored in her medicine pouch. The flesh continued to burn as she wrapped and tied the bandage into place, and although the wound appeared jagged, the healthy red blood seeping out was a good sign. It should heal fully. One more scar upon her body to rival those etched upon her heart and soul. Reassembling her medicine pouch, she gained her feet.

A branch snapped in the woods. Startled, she turned toward the sound and reached for her knife—the elk-antler hilt biting into her palm.

A blurry figure approached through the gloaming. Too late to run, she unsheathed the Green River blade and stood ready to fight.

The intruder was almost on top of her.

“I came to help fetch back the water.” Kade stopped short, warily eying the knife held steadfast between them. “I thought you saw me coming. Otherwise I’d have called out. You were looking right at me.”

Your weakness is the weapon of your enemy.

“I was busy tending my wound and did not hear you.”

Kade gave her a curious look before retrieving and refilling both buckets with fresh water. Setting one at her feet, he hefted the other, and took off for the cabin. She sheathed her knife, grabbed her medicine bag, and snared the other wooden handle.

She wished to speak, but what would be of interest to this man? Nothing came to mind, so they walked in silence. Blind Deer had never found quietude so disturbing. Oddly, while the silence seemed troubling, Kade’s nearness felt reassuring.

Lengthening her stride to match his, she risked a sideways glance his way. He walked tall and proud, yet with an easy gait, and his long brown hair, tied back with a thong, showed red streaks of fire whenever it was struck by the sun’s rays. His beard, worn short, was of a darker hue.

Catching her staring at him, Kade smiled. The action reached all the way to his eyes, kindling a spark in the rich dark-blue color.

She quickly glanced away, refusing to look again until they reached the cabin.

Without thinking, she began to prepare supper, boiling the potatoes stored at the cabin, and panfrying the duck Tucket had shot. This time her efforts met with no resistance. Right up until the last glimmer of daylight, the men worked at repairing a corner of the roof, and at patching the hole in the wall where the possums had gained entrance. Now they both seemed done in.

At a rustling noise Blind Deer peeked over her shoulder. The older trapper rummaged about in a trunk wedged between the two beds. A heartbeat later she jumped as a screeching sound filled the air. After adjusting the fiddle with great care, Kade’s partner managed to coax a less excruciating sound from the instrument.

Kade lit a candle lantern, and Tucket ran through his repertoire, and she could not help but enjoy the musical interlude.

Sitting by the door, Kade tipped his chair back against the wall, then he reached down to scratch the big dog lying at his side. “Where do you hale from, Blind Deer?”

Coming at her out of the blue, the question took her by surprise. The Bitterroot Valley had been her home, but she had yet to make it back there in her current travels. Besides, why should he care?

“Where I am from depends upon whom you ask.” At her evasive answer, Kade raised a brow. Regretting her sharp words, she continued. “Having a white mother and an Indian father, the Salish say I am from the circle that overlaps. They think I am honored to walk in two worlds. The Missionaries say I belong nowhere, and I corrupt both worlds.”

“And what do you say?”

She hesitated, mulling over her answer. Here was a question no one had bothered to ask her before. “I am just me. And for now, I am where I belong.”

“Or maybe you’re a world unto yourself.” Kade tipped his chair forward, and the front legs thumped back down onto the floor.

Did he laugh at her? His expression was serious, and kindness lived in his eyes.

Kade McCauley was vastly different from most dogface white men she’d met.

****

Kade decided not to ask any more questions, and when supper ended, he helped Blind Deer clean up the dishes and utensils. As she banked the coals in the fireplace, he followed her movements with what he hoped was an unobtrusive gaze. He couldn’t help but be transfixed at seeing a woman in their little cabin tending to such chores.

“You can have my bed,” he offered when she returned from visiting the trees.

“Or mine,” Tucket quickly put in.

“I will be fine by the hearth.” Mouth set in a firm line, she sat down to take off her moccasins.

Kade opened his mouth, not to argue, as he knew that would be for naught, but to warn her. Maggie usually slept in that spot. Before he could utter a word, she held up her hand indicating there was to be no further discussion. He took the hint, curious as to how this was about to play out.

Blind Deer diligently made a nest with the hides and blankets he’d offered her, and when everyone seemed settle in for the night Kade blew out the candle lantern. A few moments later, Maggie padded across the room, her toenails clicking on the floorboards as she headed for her usual place to bed down. Discovering the space occupied, the dog let out a menacing snarl.

Unable to suppress a smile, Kade waited in the dark for Blind Deer to call for help, or for her to come running to his side.

Instead he heard an even more ominous growl as Blind Deer defended her territory. That gal had a mind of her own, and the plumb crazy courage to back it up. With a whine, one exceptionally pitiful, Maggie turned tail and moved to a new spot—farther from the hearth, and closer to the foot of Kade’s bed.