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Northwest Indian Country

Territory of the Blackfeet

The Month of High Water, June 1856

Was this the wind singing over the dry prairie cliffs?

He-stands-strong-against-the-enemy paused and listened. Scouting ahead of his party and intent on saying his morning prayers, he had been in the act of climbing up the steep rock-hardened bluff overlooking the sweeping, spring-green prairie. But now, hearing the distinctive melodic tones of a woman's voice, he halted, listening.

Looking outward at the pinkish sun rising up in the east, he hesitated for a moment to admire its beauty, there where it sat within the gray-, blue- and pink-painted sky. The air here was dry, as usual, though it was slightly cool. As he gazed eastward, listening to the woman's song and admiring the stark beauty of this northern landscape, a feeling of peace fell over him. He smiled, for it was a welcome sensation.

Although the words of her song were in a language he didn't understand, it little mattered. The wind carried the clear notes of the feminine voice to him, and he stood for a moment, transfixed in place. Then, with as little noise as possible, he pushed himself into an indentation in the face of the cliff that shot up from the prairie. Layers of rock jutting outward would cause a man to carefully place a foot when scaling it, but it also provided a means to "disappear," a skill essential to the scout.

He knew this place well, for the Pikuni people had often used this very cliff in the long ago past. The first time he had stood upon this bluff, he had imagined it looked as though the hillside had been cleaved through by a child's gigantic hand rather than the passage of time.

His people called this place a pisskan—a buffalo jump. In the days before the horse, this was one of the many places in Pikuni country where the people had lured a herd of buffalo into falling off a cliff. The event, though filled with danger, was one of the greatest means by which to obtain enough meat for the tribe to last through the long, northern winters.

However, the people rarely used the pisskan now. Those days were now relegated to the long ago past—a period referred to as the "dog days," a time before the horse. But, the memory remained, and even today, when game was scarce, the pisskan could be called into practice and used for the benefit of the people.

Again, the wind whispered to Stands Strong, bringing the lilting quality of the woman's voice to his ears. He didn't move. He couldn't. He didn't even think; it seemed he could do little more than listen.

The song ended, leaving him with the desire to hear more of her lyrical voice. He didn't have to wait long, however, and the pleasant feeling that swept through him when she began another song startled him. That he should be so enraptured by a woman's singing was not a pleasant state of mind for him.

He was here to say his early morning prayers, true, but he and another scout were also performing a scouting duty requested by the chiefs of his tribe. And, because the lives of the Pikuni people depended upon his accurate information and evaluation of the environment, for Stands Strong to become entranced by a woman's voice was against all scouting protocols.

Yet, when she began the next melody, he recognized the sadness in her voice. Sadness—this, he understood. The woman was grieving.

Even though he could not look upon her person because of his current position below her, he knew she was white. Although Indian women often sang as they went about their daily routines, the notes, scale and rhythm of this woman's song were arranged in a way usually foreign to the American Indian's ear. No drum accompanied her singing…only the wind.

But, what is a white woman doing here? Alone upon a deserted windswept bluff?

Although he was acquainted with several white trappers in this, the Blackfoot country, he was only aware of three white women in all the regions of Indian Country. His almost-mother was one of those women; her two friends, who were sisters, were the other white women. All three lived with the Pikuni people and were each one married to an esteemed medicine man.

Was this woman a friend of these other white women? It seemed a reasonable assumption. This was especially so since he could think of no other reason for a white woman to be here alone, standing upon a desolate bluff and singing about the sorrow in her heart.

Is she lost? Is this why she is grieving?

Could she be related to the three white women he knew? Perhaps. Yet, his almost-mother had mentioned nothing of a friend traveling into Blackfoot country. And, she would have spoken of it, if only to ensure the person arrived safely.

Given these facts, it seemed unlikely the woman was distressed because of her inability to find her friends. However, reaching this conclusion brought more questions about her to mind, and because his duty as a scout demanded he investigate any matter which seemed out of the ordinary, scouting rules alone required him to discover what this was all about.

And so, although a sense of empathy demanded he should leave this woman alone to her anguish, he could not. Her being here was too unusual a circumstance. And, if he were wrong and she were actually looking for the three white women who lived amongst the Pikuni, he could take her there upon completion of his scouting obligation.

Yet, he was also aware of another reason to learn more about this woman: within him burned an urge to look upon this feminine person who sang with so much beauty in her voice. But, how was he to make his presence known without frightening her?

There was not a way to continue his climb to the top of the ledge without making noise. And, this alone would surely startle her. Yet, he had to do it.

Quietly, as soundlessly as possible, he stood away from the rock face which, up until now, had hid him. He looked upward toward the flat ledge.

Because she stood so closely to the edge of the precipice, he could see no more than the bottom of her dark-blue dress. But, the color of her clothing was of no importance to him since it told him nothing about her nor why she was here. He would have to announce himself in a manner that would least frighten her, and, if possible, he would talk to her since it was the only means available to him to discover why she was here.

Negotiating the footholds of the surrounding rocks, he climbed upward until he could at last pull himself up onto the ledge behind her. And, once he was positioned on the ridge, he squatted down behind her.

From this particular angle, Stands Strong could only see the back side of her, and yet he determined from this alone that she looked to be young and, most likely, pretty. Her figure was slight, yet rounded in its girlish splendor. Her dark hair hung loose down her back in waves and curls, and nothing adorned her head, which seemed odd for a white woman. His almost-mother had once related a story of the many hats a "proper woman" was expected to have in her possession.

The color of her hair was a deep, dark brown, almost black. Yet, now and again, as a beam of the early morning sun encompassed her, the dark color appeared reddish where the sun highlighted it.

He sat on the edge of the shelf, unwilling to stand to his full height; he did not wish to shock her, and he was certain his appearance behind her would alarm her. However, knowing she would come to feel his presence eventually, he remained seated, his legs under him as he sat on his heels.

At last, it happened, and he watched her beautiful profile as she gazed over her shoulder. Her scream as she spun around to confront him sounded unusually loud, and he was certain it could be heard by all living creatures in this part of the world. He continued to watch as she took a pace backward toward the edge of the ridge.

"Careful there," Stands Strong called out in distinct English as he stood up. But, he took no action to step forward. "You are close to the edge of this cliff, and I fear if you step farther backwards, you might fall to your death."

She caught her breath, then she gasped out, "You…you…are Indian!"

He nodded.

She screamed again and brought her hands up to cover her mouth.

In response, he held up both of his hands, this being the Plains sign for "I have no weapons and my intentions are to parley with you."

Again she screamed, but this shriek wasn't as loud as her others had been. Then, the two of them did little more than look at one another as each one tried, though perhaps in vain, to determine the true intent of the other.

At length, he said, "If I meant you harm, it would have been done by now, and so fast would I have done it, you would not even know what had happened."

She swallowed hard before saying, "Excuse me, but these words you speak to me do not help your cause about your peaceful intent. And, why are you talking to me in English? I…I thought there were not any Indians in this country who spoke English."

He laughed, but only a little.

"Sir, are you mocking me?"

He shook his head and forced his countenance to appear blank, before saying, "I am not mocking you, and I mean you no insult. It is only that many of my people, the Pikuni, speak English."

"Many?"

"It is so," he responded. "I know of several of my people who know and use this language, and three of them are white women."

"White women? In this country? In your camp? Living with your people? Are they captives?"

He shook his head. "They are not captives. They are there of their own free will and have become part of the Pikuni people. Also, one of those white women is my almost-mother."

"Your almost-mother?"

He nodded, then explained, "She is my almost-mother because, although she took me as her son, we are not of the same blood."

"I…I…" The beautiful woman caught her breath, but remained silent. Whatever she had been about to say was lost to the wind.

He asked, "Are you looking for these three white women? My almost-mother's name in English is Sharon. And, her two friends are sisters, Laylah and Amelia. Is this the reason you are here alone? If so and you are looking for your friends, I will take you to them as soon as I accomplish my mission."

"Your…your mission?"

Fright swept over her facial features, and she took another step backward, prompting him to say, "I fear I might have to rescue you if you move back any farther."

"Oh," was all she said as she looked over her shoulder. "Yes, you are right. I am very close to the edge of this place." She took a few paces forward. "But, sir, you mentioned I am here alone, and this is not true."

Grabbing hold of the rifle slung over his shoulder, Stands Strong bent at the knees, turned around in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle. And, quick though it had been, his gaze was thorough. But, his scan of the environment did not show another human being in the vicinity of this place; he did not even sense the presence of another person, which he would have been able to feel in the spiritual world.

"Sir, forgive me, please. I did not mean to alarm you; it is simply I, and no one else, who is in this place. I have come here as part of a wagon train, and I do not know your friends or your…almost-mother."

He frowned. "You are part of a white man's wagon train? How many white people are with you?"

She looked away. "Yes, to your first question. I am not alone because I am with the wagon train. Indeed, there are many men there."

Turning slightly, he scrutinized his surroundings once more, expanding his reach out into the environment with his mind. But, he detected nothing except the natural order of the prairie world. Glancing back at her, he said, "I do not sense the presence of a white man's wagon train."

"And yet, they are there. I have simply walked a great distance to get to where I am now."

"You walked a vast way, and alone? In the dark hours of the morning? You, a woman?"

She caught her breath and glanced away from him.

"You have much courage to have done this."

"No, sir," she said. "You are wrong. I am not courageous. I am simply troubled, and I walked here to pray. I wished to be away from the wagon train when I spoke to God."

He nodded. Yet, he repeated his observation and said, "I understand what you say, and yet, I disagree with what you have told me about your bravery. What you did took courage."

"Or, perhaps I was too deeply grieved and so gave no notice to what was in the environment around me."

He nodded. "From your song, I have come to understand your heart is burdened. Have you lost someone? A husband, perhaps, or a child?"

She bit her lip before saying, "Sir, I do not have to answer your questions. Know simply that I tell you the truth. I have not come into this country alone."

He nodded. "When you are ready, I will take you back to your people."

He watched as she bit her lip yet again. But, at length she said, "Sir, I fear to tell you this, but I do not wish you to accompany me to the others. It could turn out in a bad way for you. But, also, I am frightened of you."

He didn't acknowledge her in any way. Instead, he simply looked at her quickly before withdrawing his gaze. But, within his glance, quick as it had been, he noticed the element of sadness again within her dark eyes. With this woman's wavy dark hair blowing in the wind and because she was wearing a feminine, flattering blue dress, she looked beautiful almost beyond description.

At last, he said, "A woman like you should not be alone in this country. At this time of year, there are always war parties about, and you could come upon one. If this were to happen, it might not go well for you. It would depend upon the war party's opinion of the white man."

"And yet," she replied, "I have come here on this cliff without incident, until now. Sir, what do you intend doing with me or to me? You say you mean me no harm, yet you are standing in the way of me leaving here, unless, that is, you wish me to jump off this cliff."

"Pisskan."

"Pardon?"

"Pisskan. It means a buffalo jump. In the long ago days before the horse, my people used places like this to lure the buffalo here to jump off this cliff."

She paused, then said, "It is a rather cruel practice, isn't it?"

"Cruel? Is it heartless to use a place like this to obtain enough meat to see the people through the long winters? Without this, the people would starve and die, for the winters are long and dangerous in this part of the country, and sometimes even our best men are lost in the blizzards during the great snows. This makes hunting difficult and food scarce."

"Oh." She looked down. "I am sorry. You are right. I do not know this country well enough to place values on it that are foreign to it."

He nodded and smiled a little.

"Why do you grin, sir?"

"Your words were kindhearted and wise, and I smiled because your kindness brought joy to my heart."

"Joy? To your heart? But, sir, I thought…"

He waited a moment, then encouraged her to explain by asking, "You thought…?"

She looked away from him. "Sir, truly, how can this be so?"

He frowned, then repeated, "How can this be so? Say what you mean."

She turned slightly away from him, her gaze seemingly lost somewhere in the distance. At length, however, she murmured, "I fear to speak further."

"Fear? I understand fear. And yet, if I am to help you, it might be wise to say your thoughts aloud. I believe I am man enough to hear an insult without wishing to harm you, if it is an insult which causes you distress."

"Will you give me your word of honor to do me no harm if I tell you a description of the Indians, one that is commonly told by the men in this country?"

"I can and I do."

She looked down and away, changed her position so she once again faced him, then murmured, "Sir, I…I thought… I have been told Indians are humorless creatures and never take joy in anything but war and torture. I have been told this by those who know about the savage nature of the Indians—that the ideas of kindness and empathy are foreign to an Indian's heart. And, I have been told they treat their women as slaves."

Stands Strong couldn't help himself: he laughed aloud. "Who told you this?"

"The books I've read and the stories told by men and women around a campfire."

As was his tradition, Stands Strong paused a moment before speaking. Then, at length he asked, "Have you never thought to question the character and intent of those who would tell you such stories? Or wonder if the white man perhaps embellishes them? Has the white man never observed that those men who carry these bad tales are, in truth, speaking of themselves?"

"Sir!"

He couldn't help chuckling, though he supposed his frowning at the same time might seem odd to her. But, to correct her further seemed pointless. After a moment, he asked, "Would you sing again before you leave?"

"You heard me singing?"

"I did. It is one of the reasons I am here. I wanted to see the woman with the sad voice."

Once again, she looked away from him, and several moments of silence passed between them before she replied, "Yes, I will sing for you, but my songs are sad this morning. I cannot help it. Indeed, I have come here to pray."

"Then, we share this in common. It is my intention to pray, also. This is why I was climbing up these rocks in this early morning hour."

"Excuse me, sir, but I thought… I have been told… No, I read in a newspaper back East about Indians and praying and…" She hesitated, then continued, saying, "Never mind. It isn't important now. "

He simply smiled at her again. "Is this another 'fact' you learned from the white men who lie?"

She looked down and away from him. Then, quietly, slowly, she began to sing:

Jesu, Deus Filius, Dona eis requiem.

(Jesus, Son of God, Give them rest.)

Pie Jesu Domine, Requiescat in Pace.

(Pious Lord Jesus, May they rest in peace.)

Pie Jesu Domine, Requiescat in Pace.

(Pious Lord Jesus, May they rest in peace.)

Jesu, Deus Filius, Dona eis requiem.

(Jesus, Son of God, Give them rest.)

When she had finished the song, she took a step forward and, looking down, sang, "Amen."

Only the wind answered her prayer as her voice echoed over the prairie.

He didn't speak; neither did she. However, when it became apparent she would not be treating him to another song, he spoke quietly to her and said, "I am of the Pikuni tribe, although I think you might call us the Blackfeet. By birth, however, I am Lakota, or as the white man calls us, the Sioux."

She nodded. "Thank you."

He responded in kind, bobbing his head.

"Sir, I cannot help but ask why, if you truly mean me no harm, have you come here this morning?"

He smiled a little. "This is my country and has been used and taken care of by my people for thousands of years. Would you take offense if I asked you the same question?"

She looked away as she answered, "I meant you no offense, though I realize now it sounded this way. I guess what I meant to say is why have you bothered to come here and speak to me? Truly, you could have continued on your journey without appearing before me." She paused, then, looking up at him in what might have been a speculative manner, she said, "Still, although perhaps you don't wish to answer my question, I wonder why you took the trouble to come here and have words with me."

He answered her honestly and said, "The beauty of your voice captured my attention. And, when I realized you were singing a white man's song, there were other questions I needed answered."

"Other questions?"

"Hau, hau, yes. But, I have already asked them of you. I will repeat them if you wish."

She glanced away from him, presenting him once more with the beauty of her profile. "I… No, it isn't necessary. The morning, however, is becoming late, and I fear I will be missed if I do not return to the wagon train. I must go. I just came here to…"

As she glanced down, Stands Strong couldn't help but see the tear that trickled down over her cheek. He didn't say a word, nor did he move. Instead, he barely breathed, waiting for her to continue.

And, at last she carried on, though her voice was no more than a whisper when she said, "To say goodbye."

He understood, and a feeling of compassion embraced him. His nod at her was almost imperceptible as he quietly murmured, "There is danger for a woman alone on the prairie, and someone should ensure you are able to return to your people unharmed. I would be that someone."

She smiled slightly, though weakly, before she softly said, "Thank you, but no. I…I fear you would scare the others in the wagon train, and there might be trouble."

Stands Strong frowned before asking, "Do I look to you as though I am the kind of man to run from trouble?"

"No, sir. You appear to me to be a man who would defend those he loves to the very end. But, sir, I don't wish to be the cause of any trouble. Please, I beg you to understand why I do not wish you to be with me when I rejoin the others. There are people with me on the wagon train whom I love dearly, and sometimes the innocent get harmed when there is fighting."

He nodded before saying, "Then, I will not take you there, but instead I will watch you from afar to ensure you return there safely."

"I…I thank you, sir. But, it is unnecessary."

"I disagree," he responded. "It is very necessary. A real man must ensure the women in his life are protected. But, ease your mind. You will not see me; they will not see me. Yet, you should know I will be there if there is a threat to you."

He watched as she gulped. Then, without looking up at him, she asked, "Sir, did you tell me this very moment that I am a woman in your life?"

Stands Strong couldn't help but smile a little before answering. But, without pausing too greatly, he said, "Of course you are a woman in my life. Have we not been speaking to one another? And, are you not here alone? No true man would leave you to possible harm when he could keep you safe."

"But, you know nothing about me."

"Does it matter? You are alone; it is not safe here for you. I will watch over you until you return to your own people."

He gazed at her as tears suddenly burst from her eyes to land upon her breast, and his heart beat fiercely in his chest in response. What had happened to this woman to cause her to not even expect a man to defend her?

She said, though her voice broke, "Sir, I am sorry for what I said to you earlier. I was wrong to say what I did."

Stands Strong nodded.

"Sir, I fear it is getting later and later, and I must be going. But, before I go, may I ask your name?"

"Yes, you may ask, but I should not tell it to you because, to my people, when a man says his own name, it is as though he is boasting."

"Oh, I think I understand. And yet, sir, I would like to know it. I promise I shall not think you are bragging. Please, won't you tell me?"

He hesitated, but, after a few moments, said, "I am called Stands Strong. And, what may I call you?"

"Czanna."

"Zaanna?"

"Yes."

"It is a beautiful name given to this woman whom I will always think of as O'tsipohioo Matsowá'p Aakíí."

"Oh my. You said this name so beautifully. Mr. Stands Strong, what does it mean?"

He grinned. "Do you really wish to know?"

"I fear I do."

He took a deep breath, feeling suddenly at a loss. The name would tell her of his admiration for her, and he might embarrass her. But, at last he said, "It means Brings Beauty Woman in the Blackfoot language."

"Thank you. It is a grand name, although I am uncertain I deserve it. But, sir, didn't you say you were Lakota by birth?"

"Hau, hau. I am. "

"Then, could you please say my name in Lakota, also?"

He paused only a moment, then said, "Wi?ya? Gopa Aya."

"Thank you for telling me who you are and for giving me such an exquisite name, although I fear I do not deserve such an excellent description. And, thank you for including me as one of the women in your life. I…I am now ashamed for what I said to you earlier."

He shrugged. "Do not be. How could you have known the truth? Besides, my tongue is not lying to you; there is much danger for you alone in this country. Your actions were good and defensive."

She looked away from him before repeating, "Thank you. I must be going. But, before I go, please tell me, Mr. Stands Strong, is there a reason for your name? I have heard Indian names mean something."

He nodded.

"Will you tell it to me?"

He frowned before answering. In due time, however, he said, "Again, it is not done for a man to say his name because of the fear of boasting, and if I tell you it all, it might seem as if I am, in truth, conceited."

"And yet," she said, "I would very much like to know what caused you to deserve this warrior's name. Won't you please tell me?"

He sighed, but said nonetheless, "It means He-stands-strong-against-the-enemy."

"And, did you do this? Stand strong against an enemy?"

He didn't answer.

"Please, will you tell it to me? You see, I'd like to remember our meeting here today. If you will disclose to me a little about your name, it might perhaps aid me in understanding you a little better so in all the years to come I will always remember the man who came to aid me, even though I still think it isn't necessary. Please?"

When her gaze pleaded with him, he sighed, yet explained, "I was young. My almost-mother and my almost-father were under attack by Cree warriors. When a Cree warrior came forward to kill my almost-mother, I used my child's arrows against him, though they did him little harm. I was only seven winters then."

"What is seven winters?"

"Seven years old," he clarified.

"Thank you, Mr. Stands Strong. No wonder you bear such a strong name. I know it took ignoring your pride to tell me, and I am grateful for your doing this for me. Know this, Mr. Stands Strong, I shall always remember you."

Then she stepped forward as if to skirt around him, but, in doing so, she tripped on the hem of her dress and lost her balance, falling backward.

But, Stands Strong had been anticipating such a move, if only because she stood so close to the edge of the cliff. With a few quick steps toward her, he caught and righted her. And, though he wished to let his hands linger upon her curves for a while longer, he knew it was wrong to do so. And so, without her having to say a word to him, he let her go after ensuring she was again secure on her feet.

"Thank you, Mr. Stands Strong. I am glad you came to me this morning. I have learned something quite important because of our speaking to one another today."

"Important?"

"Indians are people, same as my people. Your ideas about how to live might be different from mine, yet these stories I have heard from the traders and others are either wrong and highly embellished, or are outright lies. I wish you well, Mr. Stands Strong. And, I thank you for presenting yourself to me today. Perhaps there might come a time when we shall meet again."

He simply nodded. "I will always remember the woman who brought beauty to me."

He wasn't certain, but it appeared to him as if his words caused another bout of tears to form in her eyes. Yet, whether she was crying or not, she spun away from him, and he watched after her as she ran over the flat surface of prairie and away from him. And, so quickly did she run, he thought there might be a spirit wind chasing her.

He thought back over their conversation. Indeed, he would have no trouble remembering her. She, with her beauty and her quiet way of speaking, had touched his heart this day.

He waited for a moment before following her. As he had promised, he would keep out of sight, though on this flat treeless prairie, it was difficult to remain unseen, but not impossible.

At least, because he was walking instead of riding his pony, he could hang back until he was a mere dot on the horizon. And, crouching low, he could watch her until he was assured she reached the safety of the wagon train and her own people.

He had not lied to her about the dangers for a lone woman on the prairie at this time of year: war parties often dared to travel during the early morning hours when they least expected to encounter an enemy.

But, although he had not told her, there was another purpose behind following her to the white man's wagon train: there was intelligence he must gather about these white men who dared to come into Pikuni country without permission. Could this be the start of the trouble his almost-father had foreseen and had warned him about?

Stands Strong's almost-father, Strikes Fast, had counselled him before Stands Strong and his friend had left the Pikuni camp on their quest to gather intelligence for the chiefs.

"My almost-son," Strikes Fast had said, "be on your guard as you and your friend, First Rider, travel into the realm of the white man's fort. I see danger there. Discover what it is, yes. But, live to come back and tell us what it is."

Stands Strong had nodded. "I will remember your words. I will also tell my friend your advice so we will be alert to any danger."

Perhaps Stands Strong's conversation with the white woman, Czanna, would aid the Pikuni people by bringing his attention to the wagon train. What were these people doing here?

Regardless, he would watch over her as she returned to her loved ones, and he would also gather as much intelligence as he could, reporting it back to his chiefs.