Chapter Eighteen

Carolyn and Pretty Moon sat together in a meadow beside a pine-covered mountain and watched Lone Arrow and Big Elk disappear into the forest.

Glancing toward the place where she had last seen them, Carolyn wondered what the two men were doing. She hated to ask, particularly since Pretty Moon did not volunteer the information. However, after a time, Carolyn questioned, “Do you have an idea what’s going on? Why we have stopped here?”

Pretty Moon contemplated her seriously for a moment, causing Carolyn to wonder if she had committed some Indian faux pas with her simple question. But soon, Pretty Moon grinned. She said, “Our men…find…war lodge.”

Our men? Carolyn grimaced. Was he still her man? Aloud she asked, “War lodge?”

Pretty Moon inclined her head. “In…forest.” She pointed, then using sign language and speaking in Crow at the same time, she said, “We must be close to a war trail, for this is where our tribe, and even our enemies, build these kinds of lodges.”

Carolyn, while she did not understand the foreign words, certainly grasped the meaning of the signs. In response, she gestured, while she spoke in English, “Are we in danger?”

“Our men go…see. You…not…worry. If…enemy here in…Absarokee country, they…find,” Pretty Moon signed, as she spoke the English words. “Your husband…good…wolf.”

“Wolf?”

“Éeh, yes. White man…call it…scout, I think.”

A good scout. Was he? Carolyn frowned. There was so much about Lone Arrow that she did not know.

She should also correct Pretty Moon, Carolyn thought. She should tell her that neither she nor Lone Arrow were married, at least not to each other at this present moment.

No, that was not right.

Perhaps she should simply say that she and Lone Arrow were uncertain as to the exact nature of their relationship. There, that was a little truer.

But, as these things sometimes do, the moment when she might have confessed, passed. Carolyn remained silent.

After a while, she asked, “What is a war lodge?”

“It is lodge,” said Pretty Moon in English, “warriors build…when…on warpath.”

“Really?”

Pretty Moon nodded.

“Will we be able to see it today?”

“If…there is…no enemy.” Then, in sign, “Because we are in the mountains, these war lodges stand in the deep forest. It hides them better.”

“I see,” Carolyn said.

Pretty Moon inclined her head, then continued in sign, “War lodges are built close to a war trail, also, and this is not good. We are not prepared to meet an enemy.”

Carolyn pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes, before she ventured, “We aren’t?” Hadn’t she seen both men carrying weapons? Very deadly looking weapons?

“Baa-lee-táa, no,” said Pretty Moon, switching to gestures. “There are only four of us, and, as you know, two of us, women. If an enemy war party were too big, we would be overpowered.”

“Oh,” said Carolyn.

“That is why,” continued Pretty Moon in sign, “our men are being cautious, why we are traveling so slowly.”

Perhaps it was foolish to mention it, but Carolyn could not resist saying, “We are going slowly?”

Pretty Moon grinned, then nodded. “For…Indians.”

“Oh!” said Carolyn, and she might have stated even more, but at that moment, Lone Arrow and Big Elk returned.

Speaking in Crow, and ignoring Carolyn completely, the men addressed Pretty Moon. Carolyn, meantime, glared at him.

All right, so they’d had an argument. That did not give him the right to ignore her, did it?

Perhaps it did.

Carolyn looked away from the three of them, but her eye kept being drawn back to him. And secretly, she studied him.

Drat! Why did he have to look so attractive?

His hair was once more caught in a braid at each side of his face. Each plait was tied with rawhide, she noted, to keep it in place, while an eagle feather dangled from one of those braids. And at the back of his head, Lone Arrow had positioned two more feathers, which stuck straight up. It was a stunning effect, particularly since Carolyn knew the feathers meant that he had counted coup, and at such a young age.

Look away, she scolded herself. She should take no undue notice of him.

Still, she could not resist the opportunity to study him unobserved, to compare him to Big Elk.

While both men were tall and slim, Big Elk’s face looked perhaps a little more foreign. Rounder or broader, maybe. Of course it was only her opinion, but Big Elk was not nearly as handsome as her own man.

Her own?

Carolyn sighed. It never ceased to amaze her how, no matter her frustration with the man, she was drawn to him.

Dark, midnight black eyes; long, aquiline nose; high cheekbones, full lips. His features were striking, but in her opinion, his good looks were threatened by his intense pride.

How, she wondered, had Lone Arrow become so self-assured? And at such a young age? If he had been no more than sixteen when she had first known him, then he was only twenty-four or twenty-five now.

She shook her head. While Lone Arrow might look that young, he certainly did not act it. No, by the way he held himself, by his attitude and the wisdom with which he spoke, one might have thought he had lived an entire century.

She sighed, and while her gaze skimmed lower, to his chest, she wondered why he hadn’t married—that is, until she had proposed it. He would have certainly made a good prospect for some young woman.

That thought was anything but pleasant, for Carolyn was not so naive that she believed there had been no women in his life. In truth, both he and Pretty Moon had intimated as much.

Carolyn glanced away from him, but within moments, without consciously deciding to do so, she found her awareness drifting back to him. His chest wasn’t overly large, she decided, but even beneath his shirt, she could see that he was solid, strong and muscular.

He would have to be, she realized. To have counted coup on an enemy at such a youthful age would have required great physical strength.

She fidgeted and looked down, pretending interest in her hands, yet all the while, continuing to observe him. Around his neck he wore a beaded choker, as well as a large pink shell-necklace, held there with a piece of buckskin. Ever present, too, was a series of shell beads, strung in half circles, each strand longer than previous.

Shirt, leggings, breechcloth and moccasins completed Lone Arrow’s dress. Across the top of one of his arms was his bow, while in his hand he held a .52 caliber Sharps Carbine. And around his waist was his ever present bullet belt.

He looked to be exactly what he was: a warrior, dangerous and threatening.

He shifted position and her gaze was caught and held by the edge of his shirt where it met his leggings. Good Lord, his shirt did not completely cover his thigh. Rocking back onto her knees, Carolyn was treated to the seductive sight of the rounded image of bare buttock. Unwillingly, a rush of awareness raced across her nerves.

Darn him! How dare he look so good.

Worse, as though he were aware of the effect he was having upon her, he glanced at her. But he did not smile. Instead he approached her and, without pause, came down, to his haunches beside her. However, she scooted slightly away.

“We need to replenish our food stores,” he said. “It is what we are telling Pretty Moon. To the north of us, is a good buffalo range. But it will take us many days out of our way to reach it.”

Many days? Did she have that much time to waste?

She asked, “Do we go there now?”

“Baa-lee-táa, no,” said Lone Arrow. “Big Elk has killed a deer. It is not the meat of choice, but it will get us through these next few days. But this meat, though it is not buffalo, will need to be smoked and made into iaxshe.”

“Iaxshe? What’s that?”

“Pemmican, I think the whites call it. Pretty Moon will show you what to do.”

“But—”

“Your help is needed to do this quickly,” he went on to say. “My friend and I have found a war lodge we can use. If we smoke the meat inside it, it will not alert any enemies that there is someone in the vicinity.”

“But—”

“We cannot stay long at this place. To do so is to court disaster. War lodges are built on the trails of our enemies. Therefore, you must work quickly.”

“But—”

“Remember that I told you that a woman’s work is often hard and long? Your help is needed.”

“But—” Carolyn stopped herself, thinking she might be interrupted again. When Lone Arrow remained silent, however, she said, “But I have no knife with which to work.”

“Ho!” he said, as he untied a buckskin sheath from around his waist and offered it to her. Tentatively, she reached up to take it, but he held it back from her.

He said, “This, too, was made by my búua-lí-ché.”

Carolyn pulled back her hand, while she inspected the sheath gingerly, noting for the first time that the bead work on it matched the paintings on Lone Arrow’s robe.

Realizing this, a multitude of emotions converged upon her—jealousy, fear, hostility. She was more than aware of these. However, there was also within her, if she were to be truthful, a bit of thankfulness. Particularly since she realized that she might at last have a weapon.

Lone Arrow reached out for her hand, taking it into his own. And in truth, so caught up had she been in her thoughts, she was momentarily startled by the contact.

It lasted but a moment, however, for Lone Arrow did not simply hold her hand. Taking her fingers, he placed them one by one on the sheath as he said to her, “Know that my búua-lí-ché is no longer my girlfriend. I tell you true that she is now married to someone else. But these things she gave me are mine—and I give them to you now for your use.”

Spreading his fingers over her own, he said, “Do not fear these things. They are but objects of beauty. They do not, and have never represented what is in my heart. If it will help to heal the wound between us, know that when I return home, I will burn these things if it pleases you.”

“You would?” She swallowed, hard.

“Éeh,” he said. Then dropping the volume of his voice to a whisper, he said, “When we came together in marriage, you did not know our customs. I did not know yours. Perhaps we should start again. Maybe I should have done as you first suggested and merely sought out the use of your body.”

With these words, Carolyn sat as though stunned to silence. But he was continuing, “No one from my tribe would have thought less of you for this thing. If you wish it, we could take back our vows of marriage, as though they never happened, and say that we have had only a romance—that is all. This thing that I suggest to you is allowed by my people. Maybe,” he said as he brought his face closer to her, “if we are lucky, we could still have that romance.”

She stared at him for some moments, feeling as though she were being slowly mesmerized by his nearness. However, after a time, she said, “Lone Arrow, I—”

“Do not give me your answer now. Think on it. As the wise men say, and as I have said to you, ‘ponder over these things before you act.’”

Carolyn nodded, but otherwise remained silent.

And Lone Arrow stared at her for several more moments, as though with a look alone, he might instill her with courage. But at last he treated her to a brief nod, and rose up onto his feet. Before he left, however, he said, “Pretty Moon will show you what to do.”

And with that, he and Big Elk left forthwith, abandoning the two women to themselves.

 

A fire had been built in the middle of the war lodge. Over it the women had constructed frames of willow branches, bent so that they curved directly over the fire. On this framework hung many slices of meat.

At present, Carolyn dug her knife into the last few pieces of venison, cutting them into strips. Soon, she would place these, too, atop the wooden structure.

Though she had been working for many hours without rest, Carolyn felt perfectly happy. It was not as if the work was difficult, and no one pressed her. In truth, both Pretty Moon and the men seemed glad for anything she was able to contribute. Plus, she had taken a position next to the fire, which meant she was able to keep warm. And this, because of their high altitude, was a blessing.

A war lodge was an odd structure, Carolyn thought, as she bent over her task. Made from windfalls of timber, the framework of the structure was composed of perhaps four sturdy tree trunks locked together, though these were not tied at the top. Added to this, heavier pieces of timber—about twelve feet in length—were propped up against the four main trunks. It made for a very sturdy structure.

The outside of the lodge was then covered with bark, long pieces of it fitted so closely together that there was not even a crack that would let in rain or snow.

However the structure had a lighting problem, Carolyn was quick to discern. With the single exception of the very top of the lodge—the spot where the poles met—there was no light, except for the fire, of course.

But Carolyn had to admit that even the dimness of the war lodge had caused little problem. Eventually she had discovered that one’s eyes adjusted.

On the inside of the lodge, and strewn throughout it, were boughs of dry pine, a reminder that the lodge had once housed other occupants. Although in this particular lodge, someone had left a bearskin.

Pretty Moon seemed disinterested in it, but Carolyn had taken to using it as a rug.

The other strange thing about the lodge was the entryway, Carolyn observed. Constructed as it was, there was only one entrance, which was a triangular opening in the lodge itself. Extended out from this opening, for perhaps ten feet, were several smaller pieces of timber, placed in such a way as to form a crawl space, which was about four feet high. Built of smaller but heavier timber, it required a person to stoop or crawl into the lodge.

While Carolyn understood that these lodges were constructed in this way as a point of safety, it was, nonetheless, a hindrance. Getting into it and out of it could be quite a nuisance.

Carolyn was nudged from her thoughts when Pretty Moon caught her gaze and said, “Fire…need…more wood…soon.”

Carolyn sent a grin to her friend. “Yes,” she said, “I can see that. I’ll get it. You stay here.”

Pretty Moon smiled and nodded.

Standing—for the lodge was tall enough that one could do so easily—Carolyn stepped to the entrance where she came down onto her haunches.

“Is there anything else you need before I leave to get the wood?” Carolyn called over her shoulder.

Pretty Moon wrinkled her brow for a moment, then said, “Pine branches…for bed.”

Carolyn knew exactly what Pretty Moon wanted and why. Ever since their party had come into fir-tree country, they made their bed each night upon pine boughs, sometimes softened and made even more fragrant with sweet sage. It made for a comfortable bed.

But these boughs which had been left inside this lodge were dry and old. She and Pretty Moon needed new ones. Fresh ones.

“Will we be sleeping here tonight?” Carolyn asked.

“Éeh,” Pretty Moon nodded. “We,” she pointed to herself and Carolyn, “will. Our men…stand guard…through night…we…make iaxshe.”

This was news, and Carolyn asked, “Lone Arrow and Big Elk will be on watch the entire night?”

Pretty Moon nodded. “We…in country…dangerous. On war trail…not safe to…sleep.”

“Then why do we stay here?”

“We need…ah, oo-ssha…food. Not safe to make iaxshe…in open.”

“Oh, I see,” said Carolyn. “Then I will get as much wood as I can. Enough to see us through the night.”

Pretty Moon nodded once more. “Not…baa-chiia…ah, pine. No good…fire…makes…sparks.”

“But that’s about the only kind of wood that there is here.”

Pretty Moon shook her head. “Find other.”

Find other?

“I’ll try,” Carolyn said, realizing that her task might be a little more difficult than she had at first anticipated. Then she crawled through the entrance, which was really no more than a very long passageway.

As she moved past row after row of slanted logs, Carolyn discovered that she was glad to be taking her leave from the lodge, if only for a few moments. Particularly since, for the past several hours she and Pretty Moon had been doing nothing but preparing the venison.

At last, she came to the end of the entrance, stood up, and, raising her hands over her head, stretched. Ah, that felt good. She sighed.

Smiling and placing her hands on her hips, Carolyn gazed with awe toward the western sky, which was throwing multitudes of pinks and reds, oranges and golds over an otherwise green and brown landscape. It was a dazzling sight, especially after being confined to the dark lodge.

Funny how the browns and beiges were so easily transformed into pinkish, reddish, even gold colors. Every tree trunk, every blade of dry grass, even the earth itself had converted in color. It was as though nature herself were an artist.

Enough, she cautioned herself as she inhaled deeply. She had come here with a purpose.

“Wood for the fire,” Carolyn mumbled to herself as she stared at the ground.

Gee, but this was not going to be easy. There was nothing here but pine and fir branches. Where was she to get another type of wood? Where, she wondered, had the men found those willow branches?

Perhaps, she thought, she needed to find the men first, then the wood. Where would Lone Arrow and Big Elk be?

She considered reentering the lodge and asking Pretty Moon about it, assuming that the young woman would know. But Carolyn decided against it. It was simply too difficult crawling into and out of that thing.

Maybe if she ventured a little farther afield, the men might find her. Carolyn cast her gaze upward and sniffed at the fragrant, pine-scented air. It was incredible here. Beautiful. Who would guess, she wondered, that there might be danger in the air?

And so it was upon this last thought that Carolyn ventured forth, seeking out the men.