Chapter Nine

A recent squall had flooded the Montana region with hot air, causing Carolyn to feel as though her simple chambray skirt and white bodice more resembled a suit of sweltering wool rather than that of washed cotton. Luckily, her wide-brimmed bonnet was made of white muslin and trimmed in eyelet so that it reflected the sun. At least her head and neck were spared the direct light, if not the heat. Even her paisley shawl, which she had let fall to her elbows, had, only moments ago, felt like lead around her shoulders.

Still, as she made her way to the fort’s main gate on this bright day in June, her steps felt light upon this earth; lighter than they had been in days.

And why not? She had a plan.

As Carolyn paced through the gate’s wooden pillars, moving on into the Indian camp, she brought back to mind an image of Lone Arrow as he had appeared to her last night. Her breath caught.

Darn the man. No doubt about it; he was handsome, perhaps a little too handsome. And it was very probable that women surrounded him night and day. Maybe this would account for his rejection of her.

Perhaps.

But as though the thought itself had power, embarrassment consumed her, and she wondered if she might ever have the nerve to look Lone Arrow in the eye again. Drat the man. Why wouldn’t he help her?

She knew the answer to that, of course. She realized that he considered the cave sacred; probably thought that hers was an impure cause. And of course there was the most obvious reason for his lack of cooperation: he did not trust her.

Not that she had given him any reason to do so. What would he do, what would he think of her, when he discovered that she had actually stolen an artifact from the cave?

Well, hopefully, he would never know.

Carolyn squared her shoulders, determined to set these considerations aside, at least for the time being. It was a beautiful, bright day—and she had hope.

Having browsed about the Indian encampment these past few days, Carolyn knew where she would find Pretty Moon’s lodge, and she made her way there now, traversing the Crow encampment, the smell of campfires heavy upon her nostrils. How colorful were these Indian dwellings, Carolyn thought, as she sped past them.

It wasn’t long before Carolyn found the young woman whom she sought. There she was, on hands and knees, at work outside her tepee. Good.

Briefly, Carolyn studied the scene before her. Funny, how the young woman looked small in comparison to the lodge. Who would have thought an Indian dwelling would be so large? Standing perhaps twenty feet tall?

But the attraction of Pretty Moon’s lodge was more than its size, Carolyn realized. The skins on it had been bleached until it looked as white as linen. It had been painted with designs of bright blue, red, and yellow; and pictographs of war scenes, animals, and row after row of multicolored porcupine quills adorned it.

In truth, the scene before her was so peaceful, so full of harmony, that for a moment Carolyn’s most urgent purpose faded beneath its beauty. Of course, adding to that inducement were the delightful sounds of children playing, as well as the quiet talk of the women and low hum of the old men, who were perhaps regaling the young with stories of their past.

But too soon, Carolyn remembered who she was, where she was and why she had come. She smiled.

“Ka-hee.” Carolyn said the Crow word, which when translated, meant hello.

Pretty Moon glanced up, and seeing her visitor, broke into a wide smile. She responded to Carolyn with her own, “Ka-hee.” Then she sat back on her haunches, while Carolyn squatted down beside her.

Resolutely, Carolyn took a deep breath and came directly to the point. Grasping hold of her locket, she undid its clasp, letting the jewelry slide into her hand. Next, so that there would be no misunderstanding, she offered it to Pretty Moon.

It was only when this was done that Carolyn said, with words and with signs, “I have changed my mind about this necklace, Pretty Moon, and have decided that I would like to trade. Very much,” she added.

Pretty Moon’s first reaction seemed to be one of shock, although that look was quickly replaced with a gaze of fascination. Shyly, she glanced first at Carolyn, and then at the necklace.

Carolyn sensed the other woman’s pleasure, watched as the young lady struggled to contain her enthrallment. At last, Pretty Moon said and signed, “Have…many things…trade.” Her eyes sparkled with warmth. Then, advancing another timid look up at Carolyn, Pretty Moon added, “Would…white woman…like…see what…this one…has?”

Carolyn was more than prepared for this inquiry, but instead of answering Pretty Moon’s question directly, she asked one of her own, “Do you have any horses that you could trade?”

Pretty Moon nodded.

“Would you trade a horse, and perhaps a mule for the locket?”

Pretty Moon frowned. Without speaking, she signed, “Why do you want the horse? And a mule?”

As it had been the previous evening with Lone Arrow, Carolyn found that she was without adequate means to express herself. So great had been Pretty Moon’s captivation, that Carolyn had not anticipated the need to explain her intentions.

For a moment Carolyn looked away from the locket, and from Pretty Moon. At length, however, gaining her thoughts, she said, with words and with sign, “I need to travel east, into the Bighorn Mountains. There is something there that awaits my return. I have no horse of my own, and do not think I can make it there afoot.”

Pretty Moon bobbed her head, then still without speaking, she signed, “My people live there, and I know it well.”

Carolyn nodded.

To which Pretty Moon made another series of gestures, “Will the soldiers accompany you there?”

Carolyn shook her head.

“Then my husband and I will go with you,” signed Pretty Moon.

“No,” the word was out of Carolyn’s mouth before she could stop it, and she watched as a frown crossed Pretty Moon’s countenance. Carolyn added, “How kind of you to offer, but you needn’t go out of your way. The horse and the mule will be enough.”

In truth, Carolyn did not want the company. Not from her would these people learn of the cave, if they didn’t already know of it. So she had promised Lone Arrow.

Pretty Moon, however, seemed to have other ideas and persisted, asking with signs, “Do you know the way?”

Carolyn hesitated. Should she tell the truth?

Carefully, she shook her head.

“Then you will need us,” affirmed Pretty Moon. “The white people in the fort, the soldiers, would never excuse us if we were to trade a horse to you and let you go that way alone. We would be blamed if anything happened to you.”

“But I would ensure that the soldiers understood,” Carolyn signed.

Pretty Moon merely smiled, signing, “No, it is no trouble, and my heart would be happy to accompany you.” She pointed to herself. “Pretty Moon and her husband are good friends to the white man. We will not let you become lost.”

“But…”

“It is good that we go with you,” continued Pretty Moon. “You deserve more than a horse and a mule for a necklace like this. Besides, my husband and I would be honored to accompany you. Good friends, are Pretty Moon and her husband, to the white man.”

Carolyn cast the girl an uncertain look. This was not going well. She said, as firmly as possible, “No, I could not possibly put you to the trouble. I will find the way myself.”

Pretty Moon merely shrugged, and signed once more, “It is no trouble. We have been anxious to be away from the white man’s fort for many passages of the sun, but our chief has kept us here in order that we show our friendship to the white man. But now we have reason to go. When do you want to leave?”

Carolyn sighed, then brightened as an idea crossed her mind. She signed, “I wish to leave here without delay, this afternoon.” Perhaps the speed with which she meant to travel would put the other woman off. As if to instill this fact upon the Indian woman, Carolyn pressed the locket into Pretty Moon’s hands. “So of course I will understand if that is too soon—”

“It-chik,” said Pretty Moon with a firm hand motion out and away from her chest—the sign for the word “good.” She continued in sign: “Pretty Moon can be ready to go before the sun is high in the sky. It is always a good time to be on the move.”

“But—”

Pretty Moon laughed. “I will tell my mother at once. She will be excited that we are being given the chance to leave.”

Luckily, another thought occurred to Carolyn, and she signed, “Won’t you need to ask your husband if he wishes to go?”

Pretty Moon laughed, making a gesture which said, “It is nothing. He will do as I ask. Have you not yet learned how to manage a man?”

Carolyn gave Pretty Moon a blank stare, as though to say, Is there such a thing?

To which Pretty Moon added with gestures, “You are not yet married, are you?”

“Baa-lee-táa, no,” Carolyn answered in the Crow tongue, using one of the few words that she knew.

To which Pretty Moon giggled, and signed, “Watch me carefully when I am with my husband, and you shall see how it is done.”

Carolyn found herself unable to keep from gawking at the young girl, wondering if she had missed something in their exchange. However, she found that she was barely able to keep herself from smiling. Now, that would be a valuable piece of information.

Nonetheless, as though to keep their conversation on firm footing, Carolyn asked, “Will you show me the horse and the mule?”

“Certainly,” signed Pretty Moon, adding, “I will also come with you to help you pack.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.”

Pretty Moon sent Carolyn a surprised glance, before saying, “White woman…does not like…Pretty Moon?”

“Of course I like you.”

“Yet,” the young lady signed, “I would be scolded by my mother and others if I did not help the white woman to pack.”

“You would?”

The young lady nodded. “I would be called lazy and unworthy to be your friend.”

Carolyn sighed. She did not want to do this; she did not want the company.

Or did she? In some ways, the idea did have merit.

Pretty Moon and her husband would add companionship on a trek that was already difficult. Their presence would also make Carolyn’s task so much easier, and so much more pleasant, their company ensuring that at the very least, she would not get lost. Also, with Pretty Moon’s husband along, the two women would be ensured a constant supply of food.

There would be only one problem, Carolyn figured. Once they arrived at the mountains, she would have to invent a reason which would demand her departure from these two; some reason why Pretty Moon and her husband would feel obligated to leave her there, alone.

Was there such a cause?

Well, she would have many weeks in which to ponder it, she decided. For Carolyn had given her word, and she would never—not ever willingly—betray Lone Arrow’s confidence.

Never.

And so upon this hopeful note, Carolyn and Pretty Moon made their plans.

 

“Where is the white woman going?”

The question had been made by a masculine voice, one that Carolyn recognized only too well. The inquiry had also been addressed to her, in all likelihood—not to Pretty Moon—since the words had been spoken in English.

Lone Arrow had to be standing directly behind her, Carolyn decided. With a grimace, she finished tying a blanket onto the mule in front of her, and even as she did so, she straightened her back, as though preparing herself for battle.

Because Lone Arrow would not be pleased.

She sighed. Could he stop her?

She supposed that he might try. But she knew she would fight him.

Before she turned to confront him, however, Carolyn gazed at Pretty Moon, the woman standing directly in her line of vision; there, next to the pony, her back to Carolyn. Both she and Pretty Moon had led the pony and the mule to Carolyn’s quarters, tying them in front of her building, that they might load them.

Perhaps that had been a mistake.

Nevertheless, Carolyn could not help but wonder: when it came down to it, would Pretty Moon side with Lone Arrow? Or would she take Carolyn’s part, helping Carolyn to persuade this man to their way of thinking?

Carolyn gazed up briefly toward the heavens, as though seeking divine intervention. But when inspiration failed to strike, she nervously cast a glance over her shoulder.

Oh, dear, there he was. And as she espied him, a short gasp escaped from her throat. Goodness!

If she had thought this man handsome last night, she had been deceived; deceived by that blanket Lone Arrow had worn. This man was magnificent, purely and truly.

At present, the trade blanket had been discarded. All the man wore now were breechcloth, leggings, moccasins, plus, she admitted, a great deal of jewelry.

But if one might have considered that the adornments would add a touch of femininity to this man’s demeanor, he would have been greatly mistaken. The finery did not detract from Lone Arrow’s masculinity—not in the least. Somehow, the jewelry added to it.

Nonetheless, she took a minute to appreciate the sight of him. His shoulders were broad, she noted, well formed and practically boasting of their ability to hold her.

She scowled at that thought.

Around his neck he wore a beautiful, if common, Crow ornament: a loop necklace, made with strings of shells and beads. The embellishment hung down the front of Lone Arrow’s chest with row after row of quarter circles, one tier falling down after the other—the full effect of it not completely covering his ample, and naked, male breast.

Also, she observed, at the side of his waist were six to eight feathered ends of arrows, which he must surely be carrying in a bow and quiver case stretched across his back. Over one shoulder he had suspended his bow, while in his hand, he wielded a gun. In truth, these weapons did a great deal to affirm her conviction that this man was dangerous.

But the most distinguishable thing about this man, Carolyn was quick to notice once again, was his hair. As with most Crow men, his dark mane usually hung long in length well below his hips. He had at this moment, however, tied two braids at each side of his face, each braid strung with “Crow bows,” a type of shell ornament which resembled an hourglass. And on one side of his face, nestled there along with the Crow bows, was a single eagle feather, which was at present fluttering in the wind.

As she turned slowly toward him, she brought her gaze up to stare into his eyes, noticing that his hair had been cropped short in front; the hair there pulled up and away from his forehead.

Truly, she admitted to herself, he looked splendid, and Carolyn was certain that her heart skipped a beat or two. Perhaps that explained her breathlessness.

He did not say a word to her, however. It was as though he merely awaited her answer to his question.

Well, he would have a long wait, she decided, for she had no intention of telling him anything.

Hoping to disconcert him, she mumbled in a voice barely audible, “I thought you left last night.”

He raised an eyebrow. Obviously, he had heard her, and he asked, “And what would make you think that?”

No sooner had the question been asked than a soldier passed by them. The young man raised his hat to Carolyn, adding a softly spoken, “Mornin’ Miss,” to the greeting.

To Lone Arrow, however, the soldier sent a frown, while he ignored Pretty Moon completely.

“Good morning, soldier,” Carolyn responded calmly enough, even though another uncertainty embraced her. Should she explain Lone Arrow’s presence to the man? Hadn’t Lone Arrow intimated that, as far as the Indians were concerned, only a fool would speak to a white woman?

“Pretty Moon,” she called over her shoulder, and with signs, she asked, “Could you come here to my side for a moment?”

The other woman was quick to respond, and as soon as Pretty Moon had planted herself beside her, Carolyn said and signed, “Would you be so kind as to explain to this man”—she pointed to Lone Arrow—“that we are going on a trip.” It was no question.

Before answering, however, Pretty Moon, seeming confused, contemplated first Lone Arrow and then Carolyn. And it was several moments before Pretty Moon at last spoke a few words in the Crow language, to which Lone Arrow muttered a mere, “Humph!”

A long discussion between the two followed thereafter, but Carolyn was only able to keep up with it in brief, since both were using very few precious signs.

“So.” Carolyn heard the English word and glanced up to catch Lone Arrow frowning at her. “The white woman has decided to go into the mountains on her own.”

Carolyn lifted her chin. It would appear that the attack had taken a more personal turn. She said, injecting what she hoped was a note of boredom into her voice, “I told you it was important.”

But if he noticed her attempt at bravado, it did her little good. His stare at her seared into her own, and Carolyn had difficulty simply training her gaze to meet his.

At last, however, he uttered, “We will see.”

“Yes,” she said just as certainly, “we will see.”

“If…”

“If?”

He nodded. “If Pretty Moon will be so eager to help you when her husband disapproves.”

Carolyn winced, and despite the impression that she should not try to persuade him to explain, she found herself inquiring, “Why would her husband disapprove?”

“Because he is my friend, that is why. And because I will tell him what you intend to do.”

“Oh,” her lips rounded on the word, and Carolyn wondered if her face fell. Drat, the man. He held the upper hand.

Still, straightening her shoulders, she shook her head at him. “Fine,” she responded, “tell her husband what you want. I am going to the mountains with or without you—or Pretty Moon.” Darn him. She turned her back on him.

“And do you know your way to the mountains?”

His voice came from a distance much too close to her. Carolyn fretted, not so much for herself but for him. Would there be trouble because he was speaking to her?

And why should she care?

“Do you?” he prodded. “Do you know your way there?” His voice was closer even still.

“You know that I don’t.”

“Then the white woman should go home, as I told her to do last night.”

Carolyn gritted her teeth. She was fast becoming tired of hearing this from him. She said simply, “No.”

She could perceive the heat of his glance, there along the nerve endings on her back. She said no more to him, however, nor did he utter a word.

Instead, he turned away. She wasn’t sure how she knew he had done so, since she did not hear a single sound to indicate motion. But she knew he had left. Perhaps she should say that she felt it; felt the release of pressure, there upon her being.

Carolyn sighed in resignation. Swiftly, she glanced toward Pretty Moon, espying on the other woman’s countenance what must have been determination.

Too bad, Carolyn thought. She would have enjoyed the other woman’s company on this trek.

Well, enough. That was that.

As Carolyn smiled at Pretty Moon, she tried to disguise her own disturbing thoughts, and she signed, “Your help has been appreciated. You have taken pity on me, and I’m sorry that in the end, you had to stay behind.”

Pretty Moon’s eyes grew round. And she uttered, “This one,” she pointed to herself, “stay…behind?”

Carolyn shook her head. “Yes, you’ll need to remain here now, since your husband will most likely object to your going with me.”

Pretty Moon frowned. She signed, “It is true that my husband’s friend Lone Arrow will tell him about us. It is true that my husband’s friend Lone Arrow will try to persuade my husband against what we do. Because of this, my husband will try to sway the opinion of his wife against the white woman. And all this, because of the words of his friend Lone Arrow.”

Carolyn nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

But Pretty Moon grinned. “Still,” the young woman signed, “does the white woman think that these things would make a difference to Pretty Moon?”

At the question, Carolyn was taken slightly aback, and she asked, “Doesn’t it?” only remembering belatedly to add the signs.

Pretty Moon’s eyes twinkled. “If Pretty Moon stopped doing the things that bring her pleasure simply because her husband disapproved,” she signed, “she would have no pride. You must learn that it is the woman who determines the happiness of her home, and it is Pretty Moon who is master of her lodge, not slave to her husband.”

Really? Carolyn was at once fascinated. How many of Carolyn’s contemporaries could say such a thing?

Pretty Moon, however, was not finished, and she asked, “Do you not know this?”

Carolyn shook her head.

“It is as the old ones say. The white women are slaves to their men. But not you. You watch Pretty Moon. I will show you how to manage a man.” She completed the signs and then said in English, “You…watch.”

Carolyn could not help but smile at the young woman. “Then…are you telling me…that you will still go with me?”

Pretty Moon nodded, saying only, “Humph!”

“And we’ll leave as we planned?”

Pretty Moon made a rather distinct, and perhaps indecent, gesture in the direction where Lone Arrow had retreated. She signed, “If our men object, they can try to find us, but by then, we should be well on our way.”

Our men? It was in Carolyn’s mind to correct Pretty Moon’s impression about Carolyn’s own relationship with Lone Arrow. But she thought better of it. After all, might she not have misread those signs?

Still, as Carolyn gazed at the young woman before her—with an expression that might have been part inquiry, part awe—she began to realize that she had made a friend. And she was pleased to note that the knowledge gave her great comfort.

Pretty Moon signed, “We leave tonight, as soon as our men sleep. When I send you the signal, you are to come to me in the Indian camp. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Carolyn confirmed, and as she observed Pretty Moon’s expression, she could not help it. Carolyn grinned, the gesture turning easily and swiftly into a deep, spontaneous laugh.