Page 27

Really, she ought not to be blamed for the mistake. After all, no one had ever told her what would happen to a compass if she were to hold it next to a pistol.

It had been an honest, if time-consuming, error. After Mr. Henrik's departure from them, Czanna had panicked and, after a frenzied search through her clothing, had found her pistol. She had tucked the weapon neatly into the waistline of her skirt, not realizing what would happen to the compass' directions if she held it too closely to her gun.

She, however, knew it now. Problem was, where were they?

Hitching up the two horses to their wagon had proved to be a lesson in humility. Having grown up with stable hands to do the task, neither she nor her brother had ever performed the chore without the aid of another. So, it had taken hours before the horses were properly harnessed to the wagon and ready to go, and even then she was certain their two horses had practically accomplished the chore for her and George. At least, Czanna was aware the two animals thought it was so.

They had, indeed, told her so. Not with words, of course. But, having completed the chore, Czanna had petted first one of the geldings and then the other. It was then when each animal had informed her about the task, certain the chore would not have been accomplished without their assistance.

She had almost laughed but had been able to keep any mirth from showing upon her countenance, afraid the horses would take offense. It was strange, this knack she enjoyed. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't delighted in her gift of gab with animals—horses in particular—though she had never spoken of this to anyone. Indeed, she was certain she would be looked upon as an oddity instead of what she really was: a young aristocratic lady who enjoyed having conversations with horses.

And so, they had begun their journey back to Fort Benton at last. However, no sooner had they started on their trek than the sudden appearance of black clouds had all but blocked out the sun, temporarily obscuring any direction. Worse, a fine rain had begun to fall, creating a fog and shrouding any landmarks which might have helped give her the direction she needed.

By sunset, the clouds had lifted, and at last Czanna could correctly discern the right direction to go. However, any joy she might have felt in the discovery was soon whisked away; she had been traveling due south, and it was the completely wrong way. Instead of bringing her family closer to Fort Benton, she had taken them farther away from it.

"Anyone could have made the same mistake, Czanna," said twelve-year-old Gyorgy, whom they were now calling George. He had reined in his horse so the animal stood next to the wagon.

"I doubt if you would have done the same," answered Czanna. "Sometimes boys seem to have a better sense of direction than we females." She sighed. "Trouble is, we are far off course and evening is fast approaching. We have a little food with us but no water, and I was so hoping our trek might take us to the Missouri River before nightfall, thus preventing our becoming too thirsty. Now all we have for water are the puddles left behind from the rain."

"But, do not despair, Mistress," offered Liliann, who was sitting beside Czanna up front. "We will certainly come to the Missouri River eventually."

"Yes," responded Czanna. "However, I have this day carried us even farther away from Fort Benton and the river. Still, seeing the reason for my mistake, I shall now place my pistol elsewhere than at my waist since I have seen the metal, set next to the compass, influences its direction."

"Czanna," said George with a note of urgency in his voice, "we must stop soon and give our horses a rest. They cannot travel much farther without water."

"Yes, you are right," uttered Czanna. "What I think we shall do is unhitch the horses and hobble them so they may eat their fill of the prairie grass and where they can also take advantage of any puddles of water they might find upon the ground. But, I dare to think we may not find relief for our thirst in those same puddles.

"Then," continued Czanna, "there is the matter of supper. We must eat something. Yet, I fear what food we have in our wagon for supper is not enough. It is a problem I had not anticipated."

"Mistress, are thou saying ye and me might go hungry, as well as thirsty?" asked Liliann.

"Yes," answered Czanna simply. "Forgive me. I fear I did not realize how reliant we had become upon the men in the wagon train who hunted for game each day. And so, we consumed the food we had brought with us without thought, not realizing how dependent we have been upon the hunters. It was silly of me not to know this. But, I didn't. And, to add to matters, I do not possess the skill nor the knowledge of how to hunt to supplement the remaining hard bread we have in our wagon. Do you know how to hunt, George?"

"I know a little about it," replied George. "Our father used to take me duck hunting. If we encounter any ducks or other game, I, at least, know how to aim and shoot."

"Well, I daresay your expertise in the sport is better than mine," said Czanna, wiping her brow and squinting her eyes as she looked east. "Here, since it is becoming dark, let us find a good place to spend the night. At least, because we now know which way to go, we can put some distance behind us tomorrow. There!"—she pointed—"I see a lone tree up ahead. Perhaps we might pull the horses and the wagon in next to it and spend the night there."

"Yes, Mistress, and me own self shall help thee," agreed Liliann.

"Thank you, Liliann," replied Czanna as she picked up the reins and raised her whip. But, remembering how much better the horses seemed to know what to do than she, she set the whip down and instead shouted out, "Ay, ye horses! Move out!"

And, slowly their lone wagon headed toward the lone tree, which stood proudly upon this vast and, except for the mountains outlining the distant horizon, unending prairie.

****

Stands Strong shook his head and grinned as he beheld the solitary wagon heading due south instead of north and east.

White people. Has no one ever taught them how to obtain the correct direction? he thought.

His almost-mother was an exception, but even she sometimes lost her way even when there were many signs in nature to guide her.

Having left the wagon party to fend for itself at the first hint of rain, Stands Strong returned to the narrow valley where he had hobbled Holy Dog, his spotted faithful and fast buffalo-running pony—a Paint. He had then planned to spend the majority of the day hunting buffalo, elk or deer…whatever was plentiful. Luckily, he found a small herd of buffalo at a well-known water hole, and, having killed two fat cows, he had first prayed over the cows, then had skinned the kill and had cut up the meat for easy carrying. Loading it upon his pony, he had set out on foot to find Czanna, her family and the prairie wagon.

It was dusk when he at last tracked down the white man's covered wagon, and, making as much noise as possible to ensure the family knew someone approached, he trod toward the white people, leading his pony which was burdened down with meat.

"Mistress Czanna! An Indian comes!" It was the other woman and not Czanna, who, shouting loudly, scurried fast around the single tree that rose up bravely upon this vast prairie. On the woman's hip sat the baby who jiggled up and down with the woman's movements.

Perhaps he might enlighten these people as to the advantages of carrying a babe upon the back. But, for now there were other worries: the boy and Czanna were rushing toward him. In the boy's arms was a rifle, and even Czanna looked to be armed with a small pistol. Within a single moment, they pointed both rifle and gun at him.

"Come no farther!" shouted the boy, although his voice broke on the words, announcing his age.

"It is I, Stands Strong, who comes to visit. Czanna, I bring your family food and water."

"Stands Strong? Is it truly you? And, did you say you have brought us food?"

"And water," he answered. "Yes, it is I. I saw your problems and determined I should help you and your family."

"Put down your rifle, George. It is all right," said the beautiful woman, Czanna. "I know this man."

"You know him? How is this possible, Sister?"

"I met him this morning while I was praying. His almost-mother is white, which is how he comes to speak English. Welcome, welcome, Mr. Stands Strong," said Czanna as she pushed her pistol into the pocket of her skirt. "George you might safely put away your rifle."

"I will not! I will only stop aiming at him, Sister, when I am assured he is friendly. If this be a trick…"

"He could have harmed me this morning at any time since I forgot to bring my pistol with me. Nothing happened. We simply talked, and he promised me he would guard me from harm as I returned to what I thought was the wagon train. He could even have harmed us now. But, he hasn't. Instead, it does look as if he has brought us food."

"He is a stranger bearing gifts, and I do not trust him," said the youngster. Yet, George pulled his rifle back to hold it crisscrossed over his chest.

Stands Strong recognized the boy's action as a sign of a temporary truce. Without mentioning it, Stands Strong admired the boy. No real man surrendered his only means of defense until he was completely certain there was no danger to be had from a stranger.

"Come," said Stands Strong. "Let us unload this meat and the hides from my pony. We shall have a feast tonight before we are obliged to darken the fire."

With emphasis, George declared, "We will not darken the fire for any reason while you are with us! What? So you can scalp us in our sleep?"

"Would you rather bring a war party upon you?" Stands Strong answered. "The smoke from the fire alone will carry on the wind to any warriors on the trail, and a war party travels only at night in this, my country. Do you wish to fight off men of war instead of one single Indian?"

The boy didn't answer.

"George," said Czanna, "please be polite to our guest. I, for one, will welcome the food and the water he brings, as well as his knowledge of this land. If a war party does come upon us, wouldn't you like to have another man at your side instead of a sister who has never shot at a target, let alone at a man?"

George frowned. However, he didn't utter a word. Instead, he spun around and stamped toward the back of the wagon, his rifle held steadily in his hands.

But, Stands Strong barely noticed, except to glance at the boy with even greater admiration. However, a moment of high regard was all he had to spare; there was work to be done. Bringing his pony to stand next to their fire, Stands Strong began unpacking the meat and the hides.

He asked of Czanna, "Have you sticks to hold the ribs over the fire?"

"I do. I shall fetch them."

As she turned quickly away, Stands Strong watched her for an instant, noticing the movement of her skirt as it swayed to and fro while she walked away from him. Captivated, he gazed at her feminine figure for another moment or two…longer than he knew was right. Her beauty was such that he would dare any man to resist looking at her. And, though his gaze was discreet, he filled his mind with her image, wishing he had the right to look at her as much as he desired, which could—if she were free and unmarried—be a lifetime.

****

The fire and its smoky scent had long ago ceased to be, and the black of night had fallen over the prairie. The moon was only now rising in the east, and the sky looked as if a child had fallen, scattering a million pieces of light onto the "land" above. A little south and west of the wagon, a nighthawk screeched. Glancing up, Stands Strong recognized its long dark wings only because of the horizontal white stripe on each of its wings.

Stands Strong smiled. The nighthawk was a good sign. Were a war party close by, the nighthawk would not be singing as it went about its nightly hunting of moths and insects.

He had seen that the younger woman—a blonde, who appeared to be a girl instead of a fully grown woman—as well as the baby slept inside the prairie wagon, perhaps for protection since the overhead canopy of white sheltered them against the elements. Much like the travois of his own people, the wagon was stuffed full of household items: clothing, food, blankets and other needed equipment.

As Stands Strong sat his nightly watch, leaning back against the trunk of the sturdy, but small prairie tree, he directed a discreet glance at the beautiful white woman, Czanna. There she sat upon her bed of blankets which she had positioned next to the wagon. Placed beside her and lying on the blanket within easy reaching distance was her white man's firearm.

This was good. This was wise and smart.

However, there was one oddity about her and her family he did not understand: none of them changed into sleeping clothes for the night as his almost-mother usually did. But, perhaps it was because he was here, causing Czanna and the rest of the family to be uneasy and on guard.

But, there she sat, the picture of feminine beauty with her long dark hair falling over her shoulders. Its rich color looked black under the dim, yet sparkling lights from the stars. Truly, some of those tiny lights twinkled against her dark tresses, and the effect reminded him of the "wolf road"—the Milky Way. The beauty of her hair was exquisite, and his glance remained upon her, though he knew he should look away.

He didn't, however, look away. Instead, he warmed to his subject. Although he knew she wore the same dark-blue dress from earlier in the day, he could not distinguish its exact color now because the lighting was too shadowy and dim.

Still, her choice of dress did not hide the curves of her figure from his perusal, and he appreciated every rounded hill and valley within her silhouette. And, though his gaze at her was not hidden and might have been detectable to another, he didn't care at present, and he watched her as she sat still, her gaze not upon him but out into the night where all four horses were grazing—her own three mounts and his own pony.

"Mr. Stands Strong?" It was the voice of the boy. "May I sit with you?"

Stands Strong nodded and padded a place next to him.

"Will you be on watch through the entire night?" asked the youth.

"I shall," replied Stands Strong.

"But, if this be so, and if you intend leading us back to Fort Benton, do you not need some sleep?"

"I will obtain the rest I need once we reach the fort and I have ensured you are all safe," answered Stands Strong.

"But, how will you be able to remain alert if you do not get some sleep now? And, without enough rest, you might doze off even while in the saddle. What will become of us then?"

Stands Strong grinned a little as he gazed at the boy. He took his time answering—as a man should—but at last he said, "A man who must guard women and children does not doze off nor does he wrap his sleeping robes around him until any danger is passed. A man is expected to endure through the urge to sleep. It is his duty to those he loves."

"But, you don't love us."

Stands Strong shrugged.

"That's true, isn't it?"

Again, Stands Strong said nothing; he merely lifted his shoulders.

"So, if you don't love us and we are not your family, why have you decided to help us?"

Stands Strong paused for a moment in thought. Because of his almost-mother's teachings, he was well aware of what were the white man's ideas of love and family. He was also cognizant of another fact: the white man held little regard for his Pikuni people's custom of extending their family to include others unrelated by blood.

At length, however, he said, "After talking with your sister this morning, I took her pain upon my shoulders, and, in doing so, came to regard her as one of the women in my life. I told her this, which is the same as a vow. And, since I have decided to make her one of the women in my life, I must protect her and her family…you."

"But," said the boy, "she is not really a woman in your life. That's all made up."

Stands Strong shrugged. Yet, realizing he needed to help the boy to understand, he said, "My almost-mother is white, and I hold her here"—he pointed to his chest—"within my heart. Perhaps this is why I could feel your sister's pain and decided to take on her sorrow as my own. By doing so, I extended my strength to help her. Besides, a man is expected to defend and help women and children. It is his duty."

"His duty? Why?"

"Because women and children are innocent in the wars of their men. And so, they need protection against enemies who would seek to bring war to them. A woman's gifts are many, and a man without a woman is an object of pity. Never forget, without women, there would be no race. áa, a real man protects his women and his children…you."

"I am not a child!"

"Saa, you are not. When I said 'you', I meant all of you…your family. Though you are not yet a man in strength, you must now put away your childhood dreams and become a real man. No longer may games take your fancy. Instead, your attention must go to the environment so you can protect your sister and the other girls. Be aware, there are many dangers for your family on the prairie, and, without the force of the white men's powerful guns, you are all in danger from the war parties who roam the prairie at this time of year."

"Are there really war parties on the prairie? And, do they truly travel at night? Or are you making all this up?"

Stands Strong grinned, but only a little. In due time, he replied, "I tell this to you true; I am not making this up, and war parties are plentiful at this time of year. It is also true about war parties: they usually wait until nightfall to ride through this, my country. This is a common and usual practice amongst our people. However, if there are many men in the war party and all are well-armed, then the warriors might ride out upon the prairie during the day when all eyes can see them. Most men, however, travel only at night when they go to war."

"Oh," said the boy, looking away. "Sir, I…I was wrong to distrust you in the beginning, and I apologize. I see now how it is and that you came here to help us, not betray us."

"There is not the need to apologize, young George. This is what you are called, is it not?"

George nodded. "It is," he said.

"Good. Now, listen well to me when I tell you how greatly I admired your stand against me. It was good and it was right. Nitákkaawa, my friend, what did you know of me? áa, you were right to question my intentions, and you are still right to continue to be leery of me."

"But, I am not suspicious of you now. Is this wrong, then?"

Stands Strong smiled at the lad. "You must trust your heart in these matters. If you have looked into my heart, and, having witnessed what is there, you now feel you might trust me, do not question what it is you sense, because this goes beyond the physical. But, do not trust another man too quickly. Wait, watch and be on your guard always, because a man can hide behind sweet words and many gestures of friendliness that are not meant."

George was quiet for a long while. At last, however, he asked, "Mr. Stands Strong, will you teach me how to survive here? And, also will you help me to learn how to protect my family?"

"áa, I am glad you have asked this of me, and I will agree to do it, but only if you give me your promise about one other matter," said Stands Strong.

"Oh? What is it you wish me to vow?" The youngster pulled away from him and frowned.

"Only this," answered Stands Strong. "You must be patient with yourself in the learning. I am twenty-three snows old, and I have lived in this land all my life. I have been taught about life on the prairie first by my own father and grandfather, and then by my almost-father and my almost-uncles and -cousins. Truly, I have been learning about this world and about the secrets our mother, the earth, holds since I was six winters old. Remember, once you begin this journey, take pride in each new skill you learn."

"Oh, I think I understand. All right. I can do what you ask. Is this all?"

"Almost. There is one more promise I would seek from you before I begin to teach you."

Stands Strong watched as George lifted up one eyebrow and slanted him a wary glance. The look amused him, if only because the young man appeared to be so serious. But, Stands Strong knew he didn't dare laugh. Instead, he calmly stated, "You must vow to me that you will practice every skill I show you, and you must further vow to never give up trying until you have conquered the skill you seek."

"Never?" asked George.

"Never," answered Stands Strong.

"Then, I shall give you my word of honor. I will practice those skills you teach me, and I shall not stop practicing them until I have learned them so well I know I can do them," promised George. "I swear it."