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But, during all of this, neither he nor the girl stopped singing.

They sang on and on as though they were both unwilling to end either the song or their closeness to one another which had been spurred on by the strange melody.

He could only wonder again how, four years ago, he could have missed how deeply he was connected to this girl, grown now into a desirable woman.

Looking into her eyes, he saw she, too, was crying. But, like him, it was not a sadness of heart. Indeed not. It was a gladness, a coming together again, only this time First Rider recognized his heart's connection to her.

As he knelt in front of her, he wondered at himself. His body was telling him this young woman was the object of his desire, yet his heart reminded him she was, and had always been, more than a special and dear friend.

He simply hadn't recognized it.

She would make me a fine wife.

The thought seemed to materialize from the very air around him, as though the spirits were talking to him in the only way he could understand. Was it true? Did he wish to take this woman as his wife?

áa, yes, he did.

But, he knew there were problems because the white man's religion was not like his own.

For one, he knew the God of the white people did not allow a man to take more than one wife, and allowed him to have only that one wife for all his life.

Did this mean their God forbade a man like him, having been once married, to ever marry again?

Even though his first wife might no longer be alive?

Also, how did these rules apply to her? She was married too, and though her union was to a man who abused her and who didn't recognize the treasure he had in her, would her God forbid her to marry again because she, like a man, was only allowed to have one husband for all her life?

Amongst the Blackfeet, marriages were usually happy affairs.

But, now and again a woman could be the object of a man's impassioned tirades, and when she had been known to have suffered physically because of it, a woman could leave her husband, although she would have to beg her relatives to take her in and help to clothe and feed her.

Although many a Pikuni warrior was known to despise the kind of man who could not control his temper, it was still the custom amongst the Pikuni to let the woman decide whether to stay with the contemptuous man or to leave him.

But, if she were to leave her husband, the man would be forever shamed, ruining his future, because no other woman would ever wish to marry him.

However, for the woman there was also a penalty: she would be considered to still be married to her abuser. Therefore, she would be unable to marry another…ever…unless the man somehow met his end.

These strict rules sometimes caused further conflict and unhappiness, which was one reason why Blackfoot mothers educated their daughters so carefully about boys, men and their desires, and why fathers looked upon a daughter's suitor with a critical eye.

Was it the same in the white man's world? Even if Otahki left her cruel husband, would she still be married to the man?

Or could she—like all Indian women—leave her own people to marry someone from another tribe? Women were taught—for their own safety—that if they were captured, all these rules of marriage were cancelled. Being compliant to an enemy warrior meant the woman would survive.

Which brought on another thought: could he capture her and bring her back to his camp?

Of course he couldn't, and he wouldn't. Both she and her father were friends of his and of many of the Pikuni people.

How then, could he make her his woman?

He didn't know. But, of one detail he was well aware: a marriage between them might be an impossibility.

Yet, despite all this, there was a deed he could accomplish for Otahki. He would give her the pleasure of seeing justice done on this husband by enacting a scout's revenge. Right here and now, he pledged himself to the task.

****

"Have you water in…room?" Turning slightly and looking up, First Rider signed the question to Henrik.

"Aye, I do."

"Bring…to me," First Rider said in English. "Need wash…wounds." He still held Otahki's hand within his own, and, turning back, he placed his other hand over hers. In English, he said, "My heart…glad…be with you again."

"I be glad, too."

"Have herbs…but…not right…kind. Some may…help. Will seek…right…herbs after sun…rises."

She simply nodded.

"We wait," he said, "for water."

She smiled.

"When…happen?"

"Two nights ago," she answered.

"How long…you married?" he asked, unable to keep the question to himself.

"A wee time," she replied.

"How long?" When she didn't answer right away, he asked, "A passage of sun…or many…or a moon?"

"A few moons," she replied.

He nodded, then asked, "He drink…whisky?"

"Aye," she answered simply.

"He take other…poison…white…powder?"

"Aye."

"It the cause," he said. "Not…your fault."

"Thank you," she said, and he noticed her voice shook. She was crying too, but, regardless, she managed to say, "I know. It still be hard."

He nodded.

The door to the room opened, and Henrik, being accompanied by Stands Strong, stepped back into the bedchamber, bringing with him a bucket of water. Said Henrik, "Me own self washed her cuts and bruises…them ones meself could see."

"I…glad," answered First Rider. "Here. Wait.

" He set her hand back onto her knee. Reaching down, he picked up one of his parfleche bags from the floor, and, opening up a small buckskin container, extracted some herbs and a mud, clay-like substance; then, taking up a shell from the same bag, he dipped the shell into the water and then sprinkled the herbs and mud over the water.

Looking up at Henrik, he asked, "Soft skin… for wash…her face?"

"I be gettin' thee one fast, right enough."

First Rider signed, "Good." He had barely laid his hand back upon his knee when Henrik pushed a white man's cloth into his hand.

Taking up the bit of material into his hand, First Rider dipped it into the herb-scented and muddy water, then he proceeded to clean her face and her eye, his touch gentle. "You have…injury…other places on body?"

She simply nodded.

"I look."

"Nay," was her instant response. "They be beneath my clothin', and I will be not takin' off my clothin' when there be four men in this room."

First Rider chuckled a little. "You," he said, "wise. We go…other room." He pointed.

"I will not! Does thou expect me to go in the other room and take off me own clothin'…with thou in there with me? And, alone?"

"Your father come…too."

"No! I be not doin' it!"

He nodded briefly. "I give herbs…to father. He do…for me. I wait."

"I be thinkin', Mr. First Rider, that thou should give the herbs to meself and instruct me and no one else, right enough. I will be not lettin' me own father in there either, when I be without clothin'."

"Give to…you?"

"Aye! Give them to me."

He laughed. But, nonetheless, he put the herbs into her hands, and, helping her to stand up, he took the bucket in hand and informed her, "You…go. I follow. Will…instruct."

First Rider was well aware that she hadn't answered, and so, assuming he had her permission, he stepped behind her and into the adjoining room, leaving the door open.