Chapter Four

Free grass, no income tax, no county tax, only a small state tax, no feed bills, small losses, open range from the reservation north to the state line…

—Will S. Hughes, Rancher in the early to late 1890s

 

The evening was not going well. So much for the Indian agent’s influence over these people—an empty boast. Truth be told, the chiefs seemed to have little interest in speaking with Kali on any subject, let alone on the matter of her work. Even her father was having little to no influence.

It wasn’t that the Indians were impolite. Not by word or manner had any one of them made her feel slighted or even unwelcome. No, it was more a matter that they were simply not interested. Alas, these Indians chiefs were keeping to themselves, so much so that Kali was beginning to fear the evening might end before she accomplished her purpose. And then what would she do? She would need some other means, some other reason to visit them, which of course she could invent. But it would set her schedule back considerably.

Grimly, her gaze skimmed the figures of each of the chiefs until, with a start, she realized that one of them was returning her scrutiny. It was he. Darn! Why did he look at her as though he wished her off the planet?

It was a shame the man was so antagonistic toward her. Particularly since she would have liked to talk with him, if only to reaffirm that he was, indeed, the same person she had seen on the mountain. It would make her feel better somehow—realizing that there was a logical explanation for what she had seen, what she had experienced. Turning her head away from him so that she might appear disinterested, she studied him from out of the corner of her eye.

He was tall, she would have to give him that, for he was probably a good seven or eight inches taller than she was. Broad-shouldered, muscular, he was a big-boned man, yet fashionably slender. Unlike the other chiefs, however, this man wore no headdress, though he had affixed a single feather at the back of his head.

Soaring Eagle. This was the name she had overheard the agent use to address him. Briefly she wondered how he had attained the name, having read somewhere that Indian names meant something. If he ever spoke to her—which might never happen—she would have to ask him about it.

He wore his hair strangely, she noted. Forming the length of it into three long braids, one at each side of his head and one in back, while his bangs were pulled up and away from his face. This style appeared to be a Blackfeet fashion, she thought, for she had not witnessed it in any of the other tribes she and her father had thus far visited.

More curious still was the ornamentation that he wore. On each side of his face fell a single strand of blue and white beads, with a shell placed at the top and bottom of the strand. There was a shell earring hanging from each lobe of his ears and around his neck was a beaded blue-and-silver choker with a lone, large, pink shell placed in the center. The effect of these adornments was quite fierce.

His shirt and leggings were of white buckskin, and upon both were intricate geometric designs. A single red and white flower had been beaded into a circle at the center of his shirt, which covered a broad chest. Hanging from each of his sleeves were long strips of fringe, repeated at the bottom of his shirt, alternately hiding, then exposing the top of the man’s breechcloth. On his feet were black moccasins, though they, too, were beaded in the same colors and design as the rest.

His cheekbones were high, his nose straight, his lips full and sensual. Kali gulped. Where had that thought come from?

Straight, black eyebrows sat above dark eyes that, when he wasn’t appearing hostile, looked out upon the world with what appeared to be a wisdom far beyond his age, which she guessed to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

“How are you getting along, Miss Wallace?”

Startled, Kali turned toward the feminine voice and, taking a moment to compose herself, smiled. “Oh, I’m doing well, Mrs. Black. Simply splendid, really. This is a wonderful party.”

The other woman leaned toward Kali, whispering, “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“The young Indian man you were staring at.”

Kali snorted. “I wasn’t staring—”

“Weren’t you?”

Kali raised an eyebrow. “There is a saying, I think, that is most apt, if one were to discuss that young man”—she gave him a brief, rather antagonistic nod—“and that is, ‘Handsome is as handsome does’.”

Mrs. Black cackled loudly. “Oh, but I would have to agree with you,” she said. “I will have to remember the way you said that, and if I might, I would venture to tell you how glad I am to know that you are appreciating the natives for what they are. So many of your kind come out here with ridiculous ideas of romanticism. Why, I’ve even met a few artists who insisted on capturing the Indians’ likeness in a way that makes them appear proud, even noble…as though they weren’t mere savages.”

“Oh? Really?” Kali frowned.

“Why, yes.”

Kali raised an eyebrow. How Mrs. Black managed to look wise yet stealthy, all at the same time, she might never know.

But the woman was continuing, “I’m so glad to find a champion in you, dear girl. And here I was so wrong about you, for I had truly considered that you and your father, like the others, had come to our post to immortalize them… But one never knows, does one?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Now, mark my words. There is no good to be found in these heathens, even among their very best. I would know, too. None of them can be trusted.” The woman opened her fan, brought it up to cover the lower part of her face and said conspiratorially, “I have learned to my detriment that an Indian would sooner give you his word and break it tomorrow. And he’ll do this without the least hesitation or conscience.”

Kali, taken aback, stared hard at this woman, who was engaged in the height of carping gossip. She grimaced.

This was the Indian agent’s wife? How, she wondered, could a man represent a people to the best of his ability when his wife held such negative opinions?

Perhaps he and Mrs. Black rarely talked? No, that was too fanciful a thought.

Shame, she thought. These people deserved better than this—at the very least, real justice. Mustering up her voice, she said, “You speak about the Indians as though they were alike, one to the other. I was only referring to that one man.”

“Ah,” said Mrs. Black. “But the characteristics that you see in that one probably apply to them all, don’t you see? Savages, the lot of them. And I would know.”

This last was said so irresponsibly, Kali found herself staring at the woman as though she had taken leave of her senses. Didn’t the woman know that by her chatter, she cast a rather dim reflection on her husband?

Hoping to change the subject, Kali said, “Tell me, do the Indians usually dress as beautifully as this for most gatherings?”

“Oh yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Black. “These are their best clothes. And I suppose the costumes are pretty in their own way, though horribly unstylish. Mind you, what you see here tonight is very different from what you’ll discover on the reservation once we take you there. Why, this is my husband’s second post at an Indian reservation. Our first was in South Dakota.” The woman cleared her throat. “And do you know, my dear, in all that time, there’s one thing that I’ve learned about the Indians.”

“Oh?” Kali ventured cautiously, looking about the room for a possible escape. “If you’ll please excuse me—”

“The Indians only dress in their best when forced to do so.” Mrs. Black grabbed hold of Kali’s wrist and frowned before muttering, “Most of them are beggars or drunks or lazy no-goods who grub around in filth and dirt all day long.”

Kali couldn’t have been more startled by these words if Mrs. Black had suddenly stripped off her outer garments and danced about the room. Kali shook off the woman’s hold, wondering again how an agent could justly represent his charges when his wife so clearly hated them.

Bu it wasn’t until the woman added, “Heathens,” with a such derisive sneer that Kali couldn’t help but reply. “The Indians are hardly heathens, Mrs. Black. As I understand it, they are quite religious in their own way and practice their devotion to their religion daily…quite different from some of our own, wouldn’t you say, who only deign to remember the holy teachings one day of the week?”

Mrs. Black sent Kali a derisive look. “Oh, so you are one of those sorts, after all, are you?”

“And what sort is that, Mrs. Black?”

But the woman didn’t answer the question, stating instead, “And here I was, thinking you were different from the usual idealist who comes here. Indian lovers, the lot of you.”

Mrs. Black spat out the word “Indian” so nastily and looked so righteously contorted that Kali thought the woman might be suffering from a bad case of “ants in the drawers.” The thought caused Kali a brief moment of humor, though she was careful to hide it. Problem was, Kali would have liked to laugh outright. As a guest in this house, however, good manners forbade her such an outlet. In the end, Kali observed straight-faced, “I would have thought that, seeing as your husband is the person who is supposed to keep the best interests of these Indians in the forefront, you should qualify yourself as an ‘Indian lover’ and be proud of it.”

“Proud?” Mrs. Black’s face turned so red, she looked as though she might burst a blood vessel. “Never would I advocate for them. Leave it to you Easterners—”

“I have traveled extensively.”

“Then you should know better.” Mrs. Black stiffened her spine, then chortled. “Have you ever seen their ceremonies?”

“No, I haven’t,” answered Kali, “but I would like to. It’s why I’m—”

“Huh! Then you don’t know what you’re talking about. You Easterners like to idealize—”

“A good quality.”

“But then,” the woman continued as though Kali hadn’t spoken, “you don’t have to live with the Indians as I do. You’ll see soon enough. Like the rest of us, you’ll come to know that the Indians are nothing more than the spawn of the devil.”

Kali sighed. Always, she thought, there were prejudices. It didn’t matter if she was in South America, South Africa or India, always it seemed that there were those who had to control others, who couldn’t allow another to have a different viewpoint from their own. Glancing around the room, hoping to discover a reason to leave, she commented, “Really, Mrs. Black, you shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

“Gossip? You’ll see that I speak the truth. I’ve heard an awful lot of strange tales.”

Kali tried to control herself. She shouldn’t say anything. She should let it go. After all, she had come to Montana on a mission of peace. Be diplomatic.

But in the end, she couldn’t help asking, “Have you ever seen the Indians doing something…devilish?”

Mrs. Black crossed her arms, her lips thinning. “Don’t need to. You romantic visionaries are all the same. Wait until you’ve been here a month.” The woman wagged her finger in front of Kali’s face. “Mark my words. You’ll see what I mean.”

Kali shook her head, bestowing upon the woman a sad smile. “Pity.”

“Pity?”

“Yes. I think it’s a shame the Indians have, as someone who is supposed to try to understand them, a man whose wife believes as you do. For I’m certain you influence your husband’s opinions, which might cause him to make mistakes in his work, don’t you think?”

Mrs. Black frowned, opening her mouth to speak, but no words formed on her lips.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my studies of the native peoples of the earth,” continued Kali calmly, “it’s that there are always two sides to a story. One should hear both sides of a debate before drawing an opinion on it. In any event, a person—especially someone in your position—should perhaps learn to be more tolerant toward those whose interests are, after all, paying your husband’s commission, and are probably funding this party. Perhaps I should thank the Indians for you.”

As she spoke, Kali noted that Mrs. Black’s flushed face was contorted with so much anger, it had turned a deep crimson—which was a shame, for she could have been pretty were it not for the ugliness within her.

“Well,” Mrs. Black said. “I can clearly see that you are a lost cause.”

Kali sighed and looked away. “Perhaps I am, Mrs. Black. But if I am, it’s something that I think I’m pleased with.”

Mrs. Black drew her fan forward and snapped it open, hiding her face behind it. “Just you wait,” she reiterated. “Just wait.”

Sighing, Kali turned away.

 

 

The evening breeze was cool and soft upon her face, stirring the tiny strands of hair that had escaped her coiffure. Kali drew her black lace shawl around her shoulders and inhaled a deep breath, sniffing at the smoke-scented air. Smoke from the woodburning stove inside, Kali reckoned.

The evening was almost over, she thought. And it had not gone well. Perhaps, if she were a little more honest, she might admit that it had been a disaster. Not only had she alienated the agent’s wife, she had failed to make any inroads into the Indians’ confidence. And without that confidence, there would be no ceremonies to attend, no pictures to take and certainly no chance to learn a little bit more about these people.

But, she told herself, she wasn’t fully to blame. Her father had been there too, as well as the Indian agent.

Perhaps she and her father shouldn’t have pinned so much hope on this one evening. Or maybe if the Indian agent hadn’t painted such a glowing account of his ability to influence these people, she and her father might have been more prepared.

Perhaps.

Of course it wasn’t over. She would try again tomorrow. But how? She needed to think.

That was why, a few moments ago, she had excused herself, retreating to the veranda, quite alone. Feeling more than a little defeated, Kali slumped her shoulders, glancing down at the dirt, bits of long grass and rocks that littered the ground.

“You should go back to where you came from,” uttered a baritone, strangely accented voice, which came from somewhere behind her.

Startled, Kali spun around. It was he, the hateful one. She said, “You. Y-you speak English.”

“Aa,” he said. “And yes, I speak English.”

Kali frowned, turning away from him so that he couldn’t witness the defeat which she supposed was easily read in her demeanor. She said, “Why is it that you speak English when none of the others do?”

“Some of us know this language.”

“Really? Then why the half-breed interpreter tonight?”

“Most of my people do not speak English well and do not always understand all that is said to them. The interpreter is to ensure that no mistakes are made.”

“Ah. And you? Why do you speak the language so well?”

He shrugged. “I am an exception because I was sent away to a white man’s school.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Do you?”

It was a question not meant to be answered, and Kali held her tongue. Silence fell between them, causing her to adjust her position, to glance over her shoulder. As though in response to the movement, he reiterated, “You are not wanted here. I mean what I said. You should go home.”

“Why?”

A long pause followed her question before he at last met it with one of his own. “Why what? Why do I want you to go home?”

“No. Why do you hate me?”

He took a step toward the edge of the porch, leaning a fringe-covered sleeve on the post. “Did I say that?”

“No,” replied Kali, turning to the side to face him. “Not in so many words. But then this is the first time we have spoken…th-though we have seen one another before…”

“Humph!”

“Why do you hate me?” she repeated.

“Why should I not?”

“Because…” she said, turning her face so that she could stare out into the night, instead of at him. “Because you don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Do you?”

“You are a foreigner, a stranger to our land.”

“Oh, I see. I’m unlike you,” she said sarcastically. “And that makes all the difference in the world, does it?”

He didn’t react to her words by way of facial expression or motion. After a time, however, he did observe, “The Indian has gained little advantage from other races, particularly this one that surrounds him.”

Kali spun around on the ball of her foot, facing him. “Is that so?”

He appeared momentarily surprised by the swiftness of her antics, though he was quick to hide it.

“Well,” said Kali, hands on hips, leaning forward, “if you will kindly gaze around you, you might find a few things that you can’t do without that were given to you by ‘other races’.”

“Humph!” His eyes became guarded.

“Like the horse, for instance. Like the beads on your clothes, like the guns you carry, like the flint you probably store in your pouch.”

“Small things.”

“But small things that make life a little easier.”

“Ah, this is true. This is the first wise thing you have said since we have begun our talk. For the Indian did lose his country for want of flint and tiny beads. Hardly a fair exchange.”

“You have not lost your country.”

“Think you not?”

Kali didn’t know how to respond to that question. And so she didn’t do or say anything. Indeed, she turned her back on him, stepping along the railing of the veranda, where she proceeded to gaze out into the night.

So much for charming her way into this society’s trust.

“If I were to be truthful,” came the baritone voice from directly behind her, “I would have to admit that I do not hate you…very much…”

Still, Kali didn’t turn around. “Well, that’s fine, just fine, isn’t it?” she said in defeat. “I suppose you can go away now, knowing you’ve done your best to discourage me.”

Silence. Then, just as Kali had begun to think he had left, he said, “Why would I want to discourage you?”

Kali glanced over her shoulder. “Why would you not want to, feeling about me as you do?”

“Perhaps,” he said, “I am here merely to look at you.”

“Look at me?”

“Aa,” he said. “You are a stunning sight for the eyes.”

Kali watched from over her shoulder as a grin split across his face. Amazing, she thought, what a simple smile could do to a person.

But it was her turn to utter, “Humph!” And with a flip of her head, she turned her face away from him. Silence. But something within nagged at her to keep talking, and she found herself asking, “Don’t you see many redheads out this way?”

“Very few—and hardly ever on a woman.”

“Perhaps,” she said, still with her back to him, “if I wanted to get your chiefs’ attention, then I might make myself into a floor show. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I do not know what this ‘floor show’ is.”

“Never mind,” she said. “It was a nasty thing for me to say.”

“Nasty?”

“Yes it was, and I’m sorry.”

Again her words were met with a stony silence, one that seemed to stretch on and on. He must have left, she decided. She hadn’t heard him leave, but it must be so.

After several more moments, quietly wondering where he had gone, she spun around, taking a step forward. But as she did so, she slammed into something very solid, very warm and very male…

The contact might have caused her to fall, but he caught her by her forearms, steadying her. However, his touch set off a flicker of something akin to an emotional flood, which proceeded to wash through her. That, plus the feeling that her knees might collapse at any time, threatened her composure.

What in heaven was happening to her?

“Oh, ah…thank you,” she said, at the same time taking a firm mental hold on herself. She shook off his grip and stepped a pace away, aware that, for some reason, the sooner she retreated from all that muscle and brawn, the better. “I’m sorry. I thought you had left.”

“I am here.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I can see that.” And more, she added to herself as she became aware that there was something wrong with the man. Why, he looked utterly perturbed. And he frowned down at her. Now what?

She took another hasty step backward, pulling at her gloves at the same time to straighten them. “What have I done now to earn your disapproval?”

His frown deepened. “You have done nothing.”

“Oh, really?” Her tone was sardonic.

“It is only that I have never heard a white person apologize to an Indian.”

“Oh, come now.”

“Believe what you will. I have never heard it.”

“Why, I apologized to you earlier this evening.”

“But you were not sincere.”

“I was very sincere.”

He grinned again, causing the heaviness in his expression to lighten. And the good Lord help her, the effect on the man was incredible. Suddenly he looked younger, more vulnerable perhaps. Kali tried to swallow down her reaction, tried to minimize the involuntary action of her heart.

Drat! She was going to get nowhere with these people if she swooned both physically and emotionally every time a handsome Indian man smiled at her.

But he had more to say, and he continued, “You apologized to me tonight so that the other chiefs would talk to you. It was inspired by self-interest, not by sincerity.”

“I…I…” It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but she couldn’t. Truth was, that exact thought had gone through her mind.

She sighed. “I supposed that’s partially true.”

“Partially?”

“The other part of it is that when I am in a society that is strange to me, I always try to observe proper manners. It did occur to me that I had perhaps done something I shouldn’t.”

“But that only occurred to you because I was angry with you.”

“Why, I—I…” Kali felt like a small child caught in a lie. Praise be, but that was exactly what had happened. She looked down at the ground, a smile pulling at her lips. After a while, she said, “Yes, yes, that’s true.”

“That is that, then.”

She nodded. “It is.”

“Perhaps,” he said after a while, “if I am to be honest with you as well, I would tell you that I, too, have done you an injustice.”

“No… What?” Again, her tone was that of complete sarcasm. But when she glanced up at him, she was met by a look that was pure intensity. He was serious.

“Your action on the mountaintop needs no repentance,” he said. “You should know that you did not interrupt me when I was sitting there.”

“Then it was you that I saw up there.”

He nodded. “It was. Why were you there?”

She ever so slightly relaxed and backed up to the veranda’s railing before answering, saying, “My father and I are here to take photographs of your people, your homeland. Our guide thought we should see the morning from atop Chief Mountain.”

“Aa, your guide was right. And did you like what you saw? Was it worth the effort of the climb to get there?”

“It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.”

He hadn’t been looking at her directly as she spoke. He did so now, his glance skimming over the length of her, up and down. But he said nothing.

After a moment, Kali remarked, “You were singing that night.”

He nodded. “Aa, I was singing.”

“The song was beautiful. In truth, I have been uncertain if you were real or if I had merely dreamed you…and the song.”

He frowned at her. “That is a strange thing for a white woman to say.”

“Why?” Kali blinked. His emphasis on the word “white” left no doubt as to his opinion of her race. But she said, nevertheless, “What does being white have to do with it?”

“A great deal, I think.”

She gave him a somber look. “How can you look so wise and yet not know that it’s a sign of weakness to generalize about an entire race of people?”

He arched a brow. “How can you come here to my country and not know what is going on between my people and those who surround us?”

Touché.

“All right,” she said at last. “You made your point. But please, let me ask you again why it is so strange that I was uncertain if you were real or a figment of my imagination.”

He took his time answering, taking a step around her and away from her before answering. “Because,” he said at last, “white people don’t have dreams.”

“I beg your pardon…”

“No visions, no spirituality. Only the physical side of life is viewed as real by the whites—as though it weren’t made up of little bits of themselves.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

She sucked in her breath. “All right. Fine. I am what I am. But I do have dreams, and I do believe that your people have visions.” Which are probably a by-product of their own fears, she added silently.

“Empty words.”

“Oh,” she uttered. “You are impossible. Whether I am white or red or yellow or…or even blue means nothing, except to bind us all to certain mores and customs. A race is made up individuals, and you, sir, know nothing about me.”

“I disagree.”

“Is that so? Then you know everything about me, I suppose?”

“I know enough.” He sent her a grin that was half-sarcastic, half-charming. Then he said, “I disagree that race is unimportant. Do you think it means nothing to the Indian agent who tries to control my people, who tries to order every aspect of our lives? Or to the cattle ranchers who surround us and who covet our land?”

“Whoa, you go too fast,” she interrupted. “The Indian agent is trying to do the best job he can for you.”

“Is he?”

Wasn’t he? The conversation with Mrs. Black came clearly to mind. Was there more going on here than what met the eye?

Perhaps she should have asked the question aloud. But Kali, not one to admit defeat in any argument, couldn’t help asking instead, “What are you talking about, ranchers who covet your land? You live on a reservation—land given to you by the government. It’s yours.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Perhaps if you wish to see what is happening to my people, you will look at what is going on here with eyes that are not clouded with prejudice.”

“Clouded with prejudice? Me? What about you? You’re the one bringing up race and color and distinction.”

“And so would you if you could see what is happening here.”

“How can I see when I have only arrived here?”

He remained silent.

“Look,” Kali said, her tone cajoling. “It’s a well-known fact that these reservations have been put aside for your exclusive use. It was part of treaty arrangements, I believe, wasn’t it?”

“You know it so well, then?”

Kali faltered. “Well, it’s what I’ve been told.”

“Aa. And of course you believe everything that you hear.”

“No, but—”

He spun away from her. And Kali instinctively grabbed hold of his sleeve before he could take a single step. It was an ill-mannered thing to do. Still, the action did produce the desired effect: he stopped. However, with an eyebrow slightly cocked, he surveyed her hand as it lay upon him as though it were as slimy as a serpent’s skin. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

“Please,” Kali said. “Don’t leave. Please talk to me.”

“Why should I?”

“B-because I don’t mean you or your people harm. Because I’m here to do a job—a good job—one that should benefit your people. I am sincere in this. But if no one will talk to me or tell me what is going on here, I won’t be able to represent your people in a light that is perhaps truthful.”

His glance narrowed slightly. Then he settled his gaze on her, the intensity of it boring into her. As hard as it was to do, she met that stare one on one, him against her, until soon, as softly as possible, almost mouthing the words, she uttered, “Please. I will do almost anything if you will only talk to me…”