Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
“Did you find them?” The voice was deep, baritone and masculine.
“No, I didn’t,” the second person, in a tone that was higher-pitched, as well as sweet and feminine, said. “And I almost got caught. She screamed so much, even I became scared.”
A masculine finger reached out to lift the woman’s dainty chin. He smiled. “You have no reason to ever be scared. I am here for you. I will always be here for you, as you are for me.” He kissed her.
“Oh, hold me, darling, just hold me. It was awful, just awful.”
The man took the woman in his arms and pressed her lithe form against the hard contours of his. “I picked up something for you today.” After reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a pair of golden earrings.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “They’re beautiful.”
“But you can’t wear them…not yet. When our job here is finished, there will be more where these came from.”
“Really?” She giggled.
“Yes,” said the man, his voice low and resonant. “Really. And now to the more pleasant aspects of life. My darling, come lie down with me. I must admit I am weary.”
“As I am too,” she said. “How I would like to sleep away these next few days instead of… Oh, well. There is work to be done, I suppose.”
“It’s one of the aspects of your personality I have always loved about you.”
“What?”
“Your dedication. All this would be for nothing, if not for you.”
The woman smiled widely. “Hmmm, I like the sound of these words.”
“Yes? What is it?”
She grinned. “Help me out of my things.”
“Ah…with great pleasure, my dear. By the by, where did you find the charming black outfit you were wearing earlier?”
“I have my means,” she replied with a slight titter. “I have my means.”
“You’re a minx. Come here,” he coaxed, and very soon, the woman’s silken skirt hit the floor, followed by a pair of soft pantalettes and linen shirt.
“Ah,” said the man. “You are beautiful.”
She collapsed into a burst of chortles.
Given a choice, this was not the manner in which Red Hawk would have chosen to travel.
He was a scout, and scouts commonly traversed enemy territory at night.
They also used various means to blend into their environment.
So much was this the case that only the well-trained eye could detect the presence of a scout, if at all.
Unfortunately, there was no plan Red Hawk could employ to hide the horses and wagons of Effie’s group, no manner by which to disguise the noise of the wagons, the neighing of the animals nor the dust kicked up by their procession.
Moreover because of these wagons—and there were two of them—their party was restricted to using the sunlight hours in which to travel.
Thus, the chance of meeting a war party was great.
Luckily for them, because the Crow Indians were friendly toward the whites, Effie’s company would not likely encounter hostilities on this leg of their journey, even though he—a traditional enemy of the Crow—traveled with them.
He only hoped the same would hold true once they reached Blackfeet country.
However, scouting was the least of his duties. In addition, there was the trail to blaze, meat to procure, protection and lookouts to be kept. An additional experienced man would have been preferable.
Red Hawk had tried to find such a person. In the few days before setting out on the trail, he had considered seeking out the Crow to determine if there might be a few warriors among them who would be willing to aid the whites.
But he had rejected the idea almost immediately. Since the Blackfeet and the Crow were enemies, he figured he would never be able to trust a Crow warrior with his scalp.
In addition, he had also sought out several of the young men who had flocked to Virginia City. But that, too, had been to no avail.
Unfortunately, there was no one else. This had left him with many tasks to perform, and required a rigorous schedule—to bed early, after posting one of the white men to stand watch.
Arising in the middle of the night and setting out on the trail to explore the territory ahead, he watched for signs of enemies—in this way Red Hawk secured safe passage for the next day’s journey.
Then in the very early morning, Red Hawk would return to camp, there to awaken the others, and set them into preparation for their continued trip.
Add to this that Red Hawk’s main duty was to provide fresh meat, as well as to lead Effie’s group on the shortest and safest path through Crow country, and one might realize the extent of his responsibilities.
That this cut his hours of sleep to less than a few each night was accomplished without thought of complaint. Perhaps when they attained his own country he could let down his guard.
There had been one change, however. While still in Virginia City, two more people had joined their party—a man by the name of John Owens, and his butler, Fieldman. Owens’s wife was to have accompanied him originally but had not felt up to the challenge of travel.
Owens was an elder to the rest of the group, by perhaps twenty-five years. He was also the father of one of the women in the group, the one known as Lesley.
John Owens was also Effie’s father’s best friend, her father’s naapi, as the men of the Blackfeet would say.
A middle-aged man, with short, graying, dark hair—at least what was left of it—he sported a predominately gray mustache.
In height, he stood a little shorter than Red Hawk, and he carried a great deal of fat around the middle of his belly.
At first Red Hawk hadn’t known what to think of the elder man, for Red Hawk had sensed an air of antagonism about the man. Upon further acquaintance, however, Owens had seemed amicable enough, and any doubts Red Hawk had harbored at first seemed to be unwarranted.
Still Red Hawk frowned. It was puzzling, for he tended to trust his instincts, as well as first impressions.
Then there was Owens’s butler, Fieldman. Although Fieldman seemed devoted to Owens, Red Hawk little trusted a man whose living depended on the leave and goodwill of another.
But enough.
The weather on this fine day in Niipiaato’s, or June, the summer month, was pleasant, warm and sunny. It was a condition he had expected, since it had been foretold by the red sun at sunset on the previous day.
“The sun will not lie to you,” he could almost hear his grandfather say, “and if it is red at sunset, the next day will be fair.”
At present, Red Hawk was riding his mustang, a mare, a little distance ahead of the others. His senses were alert for signs of enemies, but not blind to the splendor all around him. The countryside was as fine an example of Mother Earth at her best as he could remember.
Here was a meadow of newly growing green grass. To his right was another sea of green, which was littered with a profusion of flowering dogwood, pink twin flowers and a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. He took careful note of the latter, for it had a medicinal purpose.
After swinging his left leg over his pony’s neck, he jumped down and walked the short distance to the other meadow, where he proceeded to gather up parts of the plant. They might prove useful later, for their medicine was often good for sore throats or swellings.
The scent, as the wind blew its fragrance around him, was clean, balmy and full of the perfume of the grasses and flowers, and he relished it as he drew in a deep breath. Even the smell of balsam wafted through the air, for this part of the prairie was flanked by stands of pine trees.
In the distance from these meadows, and due north, were snow-capped mountains, majestic looking, steep and rugged, though from this angle, they appeared deceptively serene.
These would be the mountains that Effie’s party would either skirt or cross, depending on the safety of the various trails.
It was his hope to escape the dangerous mountain passes and bypass them entirely.
“It’s like a fairyland, isn’t it?” He recognized Effie’s voice at once. On foot, she stood above him, since he was still hunched over the ground.
“Fairyland?” he queried, gazing up at her.
“A place of mystical beauty. That’s what a fairyland is. I think that when I was younger I fell in love with this country.”
This he could understand. “I, too, love this land…almost as much as I love and respect my…people, my grandfather.”
“Yes. What is it you are collecting?”
“A plant. We call it a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. It is used as a medicine for sore throats. We may have need of it later.”
She nodded. “How many days’ journey are left before us, do you suppose?”
“It will depend on the weather and the trails, and if we are bothered by the Crow tribes or not.”
“Bothered?”
“We are in Crow country, and though they are friendly to whites, they are my traditional enemy. Many of their warriors would covet my scalp, if they see I am here. This would not be good, since we are vulnerable to attack.”
“We are?”
“Aa, we are. Though there are four other men with us, I have not observed that any of them are good shots. Perhaps they fight better in hand-to-hand combat. I do not know. I can only hope that the fear of the whites and fear of their retaliation will keep the Crow from attacking us.”
“But we never had trouble when I was here with my father, many years ago.”
“As you have already told me.”
“I guess we were lucky back then.”
“Perhaps you were,” he said. “And I pray that luck is with you as much today as it was in the past.”
“As do I.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “May I help you pick these flowers?”
“I would welcome it. You must grab hold of the flower, stem and all. Do not bother with the roots, for it is the flower and stem I require.”
“All right.” She fell into silence as she worked, but after a moment, she said, “Mr. Hawk, I wish to speak of a delicate matter between us.”
“You may say whatever you please to me.”