Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
“This is a book of record,” said Marietta. “One hundred pounds of beaver pelts at three dollars a pound, two hundred pounds of buffalo robes. It’s a journal of their day-to-day business.”
Grey Coyote nodded. “But is there anything special about what was written three days ago?”
“I don’t know. Here, let me flip to the right page.” She turned to the last entry—not a pretty sight. There was dried blood on the paper, and Marietta made a slight face. “Do you know why these men were killed?”
“I do not,” said Grey Coyote. “I am trying to determine the reason.”
Marietta swallowed hard. “It’s not the last entry that is important, but what is written on its adjoining page—here.” She pointed. “The man was dying as he wrote this. You can see it from the style of his penmanship.”
“Hau, yes, this I know. But what does it say?”
“‘The beast,’” he writes, “‘brought in wolf pelts to trade, got drunk.’” Marietta stared up at Grey Coyote.
“He then writes that he and his partner drugged the man because they were afraid of him. The beast awoke; he was insane.” She pointed to the writing.
“They shot at him, but like a bear, the beast could not be killed. The two partners holed up in the back of their house, hoping the beast would go away, but he didn’t.
These words are what he wrote before the beast burst in on him.
But look, his last entry is a description of this thing he calls the beast: ‘Half man, half animal. Long, dark straggly hair. Black beard, mustache. A big man, more bear than human.’”
“Humph!” said Grey Coyote. “This is familiar.”
“Familiar? About the beast?”
“Hau, hau. Please read it again.”
“‘Long, dark straggly hair. Black beard…’”
Grey Coyote heard no more. It was he, the man Grey Coyote sought. And he was only three days away. At last, Grey Coyote was on the right path.
Glancing up, Grey Coyote observed that, in the west, storm clouds were accumulating fast. It was hardly surprising. Nor did it astonish him that above him came a rumble of thunder. Indeed, such phenomena were a part of his namesake. These were signs, mere signs.
The chance to end this curse was near.
Fort Pierre was designed in a square, with a garden at its southwest section.
Much more fortified than the Acme Trading Post, Fort Pierre’s main building was surrounded by pickets of large logs which were taller than the fort itself.
Bastions jutted out from the fort’s northeast and southwest corners, causing Marietta to wonder if there were a reason for such defense.
Was this western land really so dangerous?
Regardless, in her view of it, the fort represented civilization. But instead of the enthusiasm this thought should have brought, a sense of loss swept over her. Strange.
She, Yellow Swan and Grey Coyote were at present lying on a cliff, overlooking a scene that stretched out over a level expanse of dry, brown prairie. They had traveled here through the night, having burned the Acme/LaPrenier trading post to the ground as a burial ceremony.
They had then set their trail to intersect with the beast, following his tracks…to this place.
Interestingly, Fort Pierre sat amongst a great deal of beauty.
Perhaps two hundred or more graceful Indian lodges were pitched in the fort’s vicinity, their aesthetic, conical shapes adorning the landscape.
Close to the fort flowed the Missouri River, its muddy currents rushing by at a fast pace, like whirling drifts of coffee-colored water.
Hills rose on the western side of the fort, and in the far distance were the hazy, dark shapes of even taller mountains.
Marietta frowned. This, of course, was her chance. There swirled the Missouri River, so near she could almost reach out and touch it. There lay her ticket to St. Louis. Indeed, at this place she could hire a guide, then follow the river all the way back to St. Louis.
But she was not the same person she had been only a week ago. There were other people, other duties to consider now.
Could she leave Grey Coyote? Could she do it when his destiny seemed so close at hand? Moreover, hadn’t his vision, and hers, expressed that she should follow him?
But what about England? What about Rosemead, the family estate? Didn’t she have her own dream to follow?
After all, if she did not appear in the solicitor’s office in a timely manner…
Before her adventures with Grey Coyote, Marietta had been fairly certain of what her future might hold were she to survive the journey. And it had been a happy prospect. Could she really disregard it so easily?
However, all was not as it was, even two weeks ago. What if she did leave and Grey Coyote didn’t end the spell that haunted him? What if it were to be all because of her? What then? Would her decision to go be a source of distress to her for the rest of her life? For the rest of his life?
Most likely it would be. Yet her hopes, her dreams, her duty to her family could not be easily disregarded… Truly, Marietta stood divided.
Grey Coyote, who reposed on his stomach between Marietta and Yellow Swan, was happily unaware of Marietta’s thoughts and had begun to speak.
“The Indian camps here—those that are raised around this fort—are of the Teton and Yankton Lakota. And though these tribes are cousins of the Assiniboine, we are at war with them.”
Marietta tossed him a quick glance. “Does this mean it will be difficult to approach the fort?”
“Difficult, it will be,” he acknowledged. “But not impossible.” Carefully, he turned over and stared up into the sky. “I may find myself dressing in the fashion of the Lakota.”
“Dressing like the Lakota?”
“A scout,” Grey Coyote said, seeming amused, “must affect many different disguises.”
“Ahhh.” Marietta beamed at him. “This is a very good idea.” Glancing down at herself, she frowned. “But we have a problem, Mr. Coyote. Beneath the mud and grass that I have been forced to wear, I am practically naked.”
“I know.” A half smile pulled at his lips. “Your lack of dress has been of much inspiration to me.”
She shook her head at him. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t approach the fort or the Indian encampment like this.”
“Hau, this I understand, and it is too bad that your manner of dress—or rather undress—will have to change. But, alas, it has to be. Therefore, I think we will pause here while we bathe and change clothing.”
“Ah, how I would love to get rid of this mud and clay. But there is still a problem.” She pointed to herself. “I don’t have any other clothes. I didn’t save so much as a simple chemise.”
“Hokahe,” said Grey Coyote. “Have I not taught you to observe better than this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you not noticed how greatly this parfleche bulges?” He indicated the bag strapped around his shoulder.
“No, I have not, and I… You don’t mean you…”
He nodded. “I have brought your dress with me.”
“You have? Oh, my! This is wonderful.” Her enthusiasm, however, died quickly. “Still it’s not good. Remember? You cut my clothing off me.”
“And can you not repair it?”
“Oh, yes, yes, of course I can. But is there time? And do we have the materials I will need to sew it together?”
“We will take the time. And we have sinew for sewing. Perhaps you could see what you can do to it today. We can rest here while you make the repairs. Then tonight we will find a deserted stream and wash this mud from our bodies so we might clothe ourselves appropriately. Once done, we may then approach the fort in the early dawn of tomorrow morning.”
She nodded. “I like the sound of this. It is a good plan.”
“Hau, I had hoped you would like it. Come, let us make a shelter so we might complete our work without worry.”
Grey Coyote turned over again, back onto his stomach, and coaxing the women to follow him, they scooted down from their overlook.
The sun hadn’t yet put in an appearance on this bright, new day, when a party of three stepped toward the fort’s gate. Two of the group were Indian, a man and woman. The third was a white woman.
Perhaps it was because of this woman that the three presented such an unusual sight. Maybe, too, it was their “new” clothes which seemed to cause speculation.
Somewhere, somehow during the night, Grey Coyote had managed to count coup on some Lakota clothing, as well as a few trinkets from the surrounding Indian camp.
It was a good masquerade they had affected, for Grey Coyote had not only donned the clothes of the Lakota, he had parted his hair down the middle so as to reflect the appearance of the Lakota tribe in every way possible. Yellow Swan had done much the same.
Thus, the three of them had walked safely through the Indian encampment toward the fort. There had been curious stares, yes, but they had arrived at the gate with impunity.
“Who goes there?” called the gatekeeper after they had asked for admittance.
“You must answer for us,” whispered Grey Coyote.
Nodding, Marietta at once called out, “I am Maria Marietta Welsford, an English lady. I have arrived here with the two Indians you see beside me. They have guarded me and protected me as we traversed over the prairie, and they have brought me here.”
“Yer a white woman?”
Marietta answered, “Have you no eyes, man?”
“What’cha waiting fer?” came another male voice from over the wall. “Are ye blind? Open the gate.”
“But a white woman? Here? It’s hard ta—”
“I was traveling with a party from Europe,” Marietta interrupted, “but I became lost from them. These Indians found me and have brought me here safely.”
No reply followed this. The gate, however, slowly swung open, and after a few moments of hesitation, Marietta stepped into the inner sanctum of the place called Fort Pierre, followed first by Grey Coyote, and then by Yellow Swan.