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Remembering back to the early evening, Liliann recalled her shock when the three men had produced garments from their saddlebags and proceeded to disguise themselves as one of the linger-about-the-fort Indians, the kind of man who had become addicted to the firewater of the white man and who, not being able to be long without a drink, begged a residence at the fort.

She had watched as they'd shaken out what had looked to be white men's clothing from their parfleche bags.

They had then wet the pants and shirts and had pulled them on.

When she'd looked on again, they were each one rolling themselves in the dirt, staining the clothing and wrinkling the attire at the same time.

Seeing it, she had giggled. She couldn't help it; they'd looked like little boys at play.

Once done, however, they had effectively changed their appearance from the clean look of the scout to the dissatisfying look of the homeless. Although she'd felt like laughing aloud, she'd cautioned herself to simply smile, though a chuckle had escaped from her lips once or twice.

First Rider, laughing along with her, had then told her why this was necessary: these hang-around-the-fort Indians were "invisible" to the whites, because, having no respect for them, the whites paid no attention to any Indian they considered to be less than a bum.

So, it was by this simple method that she came to understand a little about how the three of them would fade into the environment while remaining clearly in sight.

She had learned their plan was to take turns standing inside the saloon, where they would be able to watch Ernest and listen to him speaking to the others, perhaps even boasting of his plans.

Liliann was under strict orders from First Rider to remain where she was, hidden by the bushes; vitally important it was that she not move about or make a sound.

And so, realizing the danger First Rider and his friends would be facing—as well as she, herself—she did little more than watch and listen.

Looking outward, she assumed the saloon doubled as both a trading center and a gambling parlor for these men who she supposed were traveling south to the gold fields.

Or, perhaps it was also a jumping-off place for those men who were returning from the fields to spend some time gambling before going on to Fort Benton and then returning home to what these Westerners called the States.

Suddenly, a pain split through her shoulder, traveling downward toward her chest. She almost cried out, but she didn't—she couldn't, being under strict orders to make no sound.

And so, she let out no more than a slight moan, its sound hushed by her hand over her mouth.

Changing her position so she lay flat on her back, she looked up at the stars overhead and, searching out the Big Dipper, realized the time was late. Perhaps it was already early morning.

Settling in to wait, she closed her eyes, her thoughts centered upon First Rider and his delicious kisses. Then, inhaling deeply, she decided it wouldn't hurt to nap a little…but only a tiny few-minutes nap…

****

The tavern was filled with the sickening scent of the smoke from the white man's tobacco, as well as the more common smell of the fire, which First Rider saw was located in one corner of the room. Inhaling deeply, he recognized again the unhealthy odor of whiskey and of unwashed bodies.

Looking down, he beheld little bits of mold on the meat littering the wooden planks of the floor.

Looking up at the shelves in the trading post, he noted the soot covering the trade goods and wondered if the owners of this place even noticed how unattractive those items of trade looked.

But, then, it didn't appear there was much trade occurring here; perhaps all these goods went unused.

There were no women here, and he reckoned this, more than anything else, was the cause of these men acting in such a wild and unruly fashion.

The men here were unshaved, as well as filthy-mouthed, a condition no Pikuni man would tolerate, particularly around his women.

No music filled the tavern either, except for an occasional drunken song from one of the intoxicated men.

He, Stands Strong and Red Fox lingered in the trading room, and as they had anticipated, they went unnoticed. They watched and listened to the games, First Rider, in particular, giving attention to those being played by Stuart.

Because First Rider was watching Stuart closely, he witnessed the man cheat at the card games, even those that continued on into the night. Stuart's behavior here became like a marker of the man's snake-like personality, and First Rider took careful note of it.

As the night wore on, First Rider observed Stuart's reptile-like, condescending and uncaring attitude toward the other men. It seemed to give the man an advantage over the others.

Why did these men tolerate Stuart's superior attitude toward them?

Was it because of the man's clean-shaven appearance?

Was this the reason why the other men seemed unaware of Stuart's criminal intent toward them?

Particularly apparent was Stuart's ready smile, as well as his cultured voice, smooth and pleasantly accented.

These and other attitudes gave away Stuart's true intentions.

At least this was evident to First Rider.

Indeed, there he sat, a weasel in men's clothing, cheating the other men out of what they owned: blankets, coats, shirts, pants, rifles and the ammunition for them, boots, food, tobacco and a good amount of mining equipment, including Golding pans and shovels.

He had even accumulated a stack of gold and silver coins.

As slick as an eel, Stuart sidestepped brawls and even appeared to be a peacemaker.

Yet, First Rider had watched on more than one occasion when Stuart had plied his opponents with whisky, going on to add the white, spirit-stealing powder to their drinks.

And, as Stuart won more and more of the other white men's treasures, it became evident to First Rider that Stuart was looking to soon be moving along.

Perhaps he feared his opponents might become aware of his duplicity.

Silently, with little more than abbreviated signs, First Rider asked his companions for a council in order to discuss what they had seen here and what their next plan of action should be.

Again, using only signs, they all agreed to it.

But, it would be held within their camp, pitched as it was within a naturally clean forest of fragrantly scented pines.

Because their camp was situated some distance away from the common brawls of the Sun River settlement, and since they had constructed their shelters to appear to be a deadfall of leaves within the forested environment, First Rider was fairly confident their council would be held privately.

But, because there could be unseen—and enemy—scouts attached to this tiny settlement, they all three elected to hold the meeting silently…

no talking and no signs; mind-to-mind only.

Even low-pitched voices or movement could carry to an alert scout, whose duty was to gather information and report it back to his chiefs. Often the safety of an entire tribe rested on the scout's sacred word, as well as his alertness and attention to detail.

And so, it was agreed. As soon as they returned to camp, they would counsel together.

As First Rider and the others scooted back across the tall prairie grass and into their hiding place outside the establishment, he looked for his woman, finding her asleep.

He smiled, pleased to know she had been able to rest. Gently, he picked her up from where she lay, his touch light upon her so as not to awaken her.

And, allowing his friends to help him up onto the seat of his pony, he settled her before him, keeping his arms around her.

Then, gently, he nudged his faithful buffalo pony into a walk.