Page 28

Czanna glanced toward the wooden wagon wheel on her left and sighed. There were streaks of mud within its cracks, and she knew the markings should be washed off to ensure the wheel would remain strong and serviceable. Perhaps she would do the task when they reached the Missouri River. But, not tonight; it was a job best done in broad daylight.

Briefly, she looked up at the bed of the wagon and its white covering, listening for any signs of a problem with her young sister. But, there was nothing to be heard, only the sound of the deep breathing from both the babe and her maid, Liliann.

Czanna's gaze traveled then toward the four horses grazing steadily upon the spring-green, prairie grasses. She noted they were all four hobbled and that they were also easily seen by Stands Strong. Briefly, she listened to their quiet horse-talk before gazing away.

Only a few days had passed since she and her family had left Fort Benton, and, during that time, Czanna had taken to sleeping in the open unless there was bad weather. However, she always made her bed next to the wagon, and as she slept she kept her pistol primed and ready to shoot, if the need were to arise. It had become a habit to keep her gun with her as she slept, and this was especially true now, since Mr. Henrik was no longer with them.

Mr. Henrik. Where was he? Would he really come back to them soon? Or would he be confronted with problems she could not even conceive of? And, if there were problems—serious ones—would they be of the kind that could result in injury to him or even cause his death?

She gasped at the thought and determined to not think of it again. Instead, she would pray for Mr. Henrik's safe return, and she did so now, bowing her head and asking the Lord to keep Mr. Henrik safe.

Opening her eyes, she looked straight ahead but could only see shadowy images of her brother and Mr. Stands Strong. Oddly, they appeared to be deep in conversation.

Looking away from them, she stared out onto the prairie, it appearing endless beneath the starlight overhead. But, she had experienced so many losses within such a short period of time that these seemed to cause the night's beauty to appear a drab sight, bringing on the unpleasant feeling of being alone…and frightened.

How could she not be frightened? Truth was, she felt haunted by her worries, her most problematic anxiety being how to keep her family safe.

Indeed, if considered in the light of how much knowledge she possessed of this country, it was an alarming task Mr. Henrik had left upon her not-so-broad shoulders. At present, not only was she, and she alone, responsible for ensuring her family did not suffer from the elements, but she was also charged with bringing them, one and all, safe and secure, to their cousin in the Glacier Mountains. Once there, she would give her cousin the treasure entrusted to her by her brother. Her cousin would then recognize her and would help her and the rest of her family. But, until then…

Am I strong-willed enough and smart enough to accomplish this?

She had to be. She simply had to be, although if she were to be honest, she would admit to fearing the assignment given her was beyond her. What did she know of this Western world? And, most importantly, what did she know of surviving in it?

Czanna gazed down into her lap, suppressing the inclination to cry. Briefly, she reached up to dry the single tear that had dared to escape her eyes.

If, indeed, Mr. Henrik did not return, it would be her responsibility alone to complete the task her brother had given her, though the mere thought of what would be required of her overwhelmed her. Breathing in on a sigh, she coughed once, but not because of nerves, rather, it was due to the dry air's effect on her throat.

Looking up, she gazed into the night's sky with all its twinkling stars, hoping their glittering light would dispel any doubts of her inability. But, even the beauty displayed in the heavens didn't relieve her mind.

It didn't help, either, when a strong wind blew up behind her, blowing her hair every which way, tickling her face and covering her eyes. Reaching up, she took hold of the whole of her mane and forced it to fall down over her back where its length reached almost to her waist. If only it would stay in place. But, as delicate wisps of her hair blew continuously forward, she gave up trying to tame it and let her mane go wherever it would.

No wonder the Indians commonly wear braids, she thought.

Perhaps she might make use of the American Indian hairstyle, if only to train her locks to stay put. Or maybe she might find a different manner in which to wear a hat—one that would keep her hair from becoming a nuisance.

She sighed. She should try to get some rest. Tomorrow was an important day, and, since being alert was crucial, she had best greet the first rays of the sun with a full night's sleep.

Briefly she lay down, covering herself with a blanket, but it wasn't long before she sat up again. Nervously, she glanced around the campsite; brown dried grass was surrendering in patches to the fresh green of spring. Even the hard ground beneath her was softened by the gentler new grass sprouting up here and there.

How strange was this land. Until reaching the Mississippi River, she had traveled by coach amongst a society not too different from her own. After all, the eastern part of this country was quite civilized, its society and culture extending all the way to the town of St. Louis.

But, there it had all changed, and the trappings of civilization were more and more becoming hard to find. And, for the first time, she had been in the company of Indians.

She had known, of course, that the farther west they were to travel, the more she would see of the native population of this land. What she hadn't realized, however, was the beauty of these people and their attire, complete with tanned buckskin cloth for shirts, dresses, leggings and moccasins.

Equally startling to her was the loveliness of the women in both face and figure, as well as the utter masculinity of the men, their height and size overwhelming to her. She had been surprised and intrigued at first.

Then had come the stories of their ungodly savagery upon the "peaceful" newcomers to this land. She had gasped at the cruelty revealed in these tales. But, was it only this to blame for the negative opinion she had held of the native peoples?

How odd it had been when, recently, those first ideas had faded away, and simply because of meeting and speaking with Stands Strong. For the first time, she had realized there was, indeed, another viewpoint about the native people of this land and about the people coming newly into it.

But, she cautioned herself, she shouldn't be too quick to trust, whether it be the American Indian or the white man, alike. After all, it was no Indian who had betrayed both her and Henrik, and it was no white man who had come to her aid this day.

And yet, despite Stands Strong's offer to help, he was an American Indian, and, having no conception of his culture or what he held to be true, could she, indeed, trust him? Or, would he, as had the scout whom Henrik had hired, betray them in the end?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Certainly, he was the only person in this strange land who had befriended her, even though she hadn't sought his friendship.

Czanna breathed in deeply, fearing sleep would not be found this night. Indeed, now that her stomach was full and her mind was free to think of other problems besides hunger, she revisited the many loving memories of the people she admired most—her father, her mother, her brother and Mr. Henrik, too.

As she began to cry anew, she realized her life was going to change drastically from what she had known so far in this lifetime. Would it be a good change, or would it not? Would she be able to find happiness here? Or would the untamed and dangerous quality of this land eventually wear her down?

Gazing forward, Czanna stared at her brother George, who was still sitting next to Stands Strong. Their obvious camaraderie looked appealing.

Yet, she wouldn't go there. Not only did her younger brother often become cross when she joined into his conversations with others, but he also appeared to be listening intently to whatever Mr. Stands Strong was telling him.

Watching their shadows in the dim light of the stars, she became aware of one simple fact: somehow Stands Strong had won George's cooperation. Perhaps it was because they were all well fed for the first time in days; the fire-roasted buffalo ribs had been so delicious and satisfying, that maybe George had been given no choice but to drop his guard. Although, perhaps George had changed his mind because young men—and George was a young man—found it easier to relate to another male rather than to a female…namely her.

Whatever the cause of the two men conversing, Czanna was happy to not be included in their talk. Or was she?

After all, in addition to the devastating knowledge of the demise of her family, as well as her fear of losing Henrik's support, were her present worries. How was her family to remain alive and safe in this land? And, how was she to ever find her cousin in a land so vast and uncharted?

It was daunting to think of the responsibilities fate had thrown her, nor would her duties change whether or not Henrik remained alive and returned to them. One of these duties was urgent and was now hers and hers alone: she had to find and hire another scout—one who would not betray them and one who would help them to find their cousin who lived in the Glacier Mountains.

But, where was she to find such a scout?

With all this talk of gold—especially in light of Mr. Henrik's recent experience—how was she to know who to trust and who not to? Moreover, because of her own inexperience, would she be thrust into a similar position as Mr. Henrik?

Indeed, her mistake today was only an example of what could be forced upon them unless she quickly learned about this land and its dangers, as well as its rewards—if there were any. She had her own example, certainly, to draw upon to convince herself of her inability to remain alive in this environment. Without Mr. Stands Strong's insistence on putting out the fire after supper, she, George, Liliann and the baby might even now be facing a war party instead of a restful sleep.

But, how could I have possibly known about war parties and what might attract them?

Glancing again at Stands Strong and George, Czanna frowned. Stands Strong possessed skills and familiarity with this environment—skills and familiarity she didn't have—and he had been willing to come to their aid today. Might he possibly extend his goodwill further and help her locate her cousin? If she asked him nicely and offered him enough silver or gold, would he agree to further help them?

True, he had mentioned he was duty bound to complete a mission for his chiefs, but couldn't she be convincing enough to cause him to put his chiefs' requests aside for a little while?

Czanna frowned again. Of all the men she had met so far in this American wilderness, if she were to trust any of them, it would be Stands Strong.

Why? Was it because he had helped her and her family today? Or was it because he had promised to stay with them and lead them all the way to the fort?

Or was it more than any of this? After all, hadn't he told her that he now considered her to be one of his "women"?

Upon this thought came another recently discovered fact about these native peoples: Indian men were allowed to marry more than one woman. Exactly how many "women" did this man have in his life? Was he even now married to several winsome beauties?

Gazing upon him now, Czanna studied him as well as she was able, given the darkness of night. American Indian or not, there was no denying he was a handsome man and one who seemed to be strong enough and manly enough to protect and care for others. Wouldn't these qualities alone attract several young women?

Glancing away from him, a stray thought crossed her mind, and she knew it was most likely true: he was not a man to stray from his woman's side. Therefore, if he were married, her chances of hiring him would be nearly impossible regardless of her offers of gold and silver. Instead, he would complete his mission for his chiefs—whatever it was—and would hurry home. But, as the Lord God was her witness, she would ask for his support anyway. She would at least try.

Arising from the warmth of the blankets and buffalo robe that made up her bed, she paced toward George and Stands Strong, and, bending down near to but outside the invisible circle they made, she sat down on her calf muscles and spread the skirt of her dress out around her.

"When we leave in the morning," Stands Strong was saying to George, "I will show you how to leave a campsite so hidden to the eye it would be almost impossible for a war party to discover the traces of the camp. This is one way to elude an enemy whose numbers are greater than yours."

"You promise you will teach me?" asked George, his young voice breaking over his words.

Stands Strong pointed to himself and said, "This one will show you how it is done."

George smiled. "May I help you to stand watch now?"

"áa, yes, you may," answered Stands Strong. "Your desire to do this is honorable and right, and I would not think to tell you no. "But, consider this for a moment," continued Stands Strong. "There is much to learn and many lives depend upon a man staying alert on the trail, as you have reminded me. I will not relax my guard despite my lack of sleep, and it is because when there are many lives to be defended, a man must then be the man he is supposed to be. Now, though I agree you are man enough, consider this: I am accustomed to the rigors of this land. Are you?"

"I…I… No, I am not, but I would still like to help."

"And, so it will be. But, I still think you should seek your sleeping robes soon, if you agree. Do you?"

"I…I…" Suddenly, George became aware of Czanna at his side and made a face at her, clearly showing his annoyance. Then, in a whining voice, he asked, "Ah, Czanna, why are you here? What do you want?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, George, but I have a question I would like to ask Mr. Stands Strong."

"Can't you ask it later? Or tomorrow?"

Czanna was about to answer her brother when Stands Strong spoke up and said, "Mr. George, you are young and so perhaps do not know what I am about to tell you. I ask you only to listen well to me when I say this: a real man never speaks in the way you have to a woman. But, especially he does not speak in this manner to his sister."

"But, why did she have to come here and spoil it all?" George complained.

"Careful, young warrior," advised Stands Strong.

"Remember, we men are taught to be kind and tolerant toward our women.

Hánnia, without women, there would be no life to continue our tribe, and perhaps no beauty nor meaning to life either, for what man would dress himself well or even train himself to be strong, if not for a woman? A man might fight off intruders or enemies; he might even go to war from time to time, but without a woman, a man's life is meaningless.

The Pikuni have a saying, 'Not found is happiness without woman.' Know this: a real man—one who is able to put away his boyhood prejudice—

speaks kindly to the girls and the women in his life and tribe, and if he cannot do so because of some argument or a differing opinion, he must leave for a while until he knows he can return soon and speak to his woman kindly and without anger."

George looked down. He nodded. But, as though shamed, he didn't say a word.

"Perhaps you are tired, my friend. It has been a day filled with many problems. And, you are young—"

"I am not so young!"

Stands Strong smiled at George. "You speak true. But, I have been hoping to have words with your sister. There is much she and I should discuss. Do you object to seeking your bed while she and I talk to one another?"

"What do you want to talk to my sister for?"

If Stands Strong was at all annoyed by the question, he didn't show it. Instead, he calmly explained, "Your sister is now the eldest member of your family. There are many possible dangers on the prairie at this time of year, and I must discuss them with her. However, if you do not wish to sleep yet this night, you may stay and listen as we talk to one another. But, I ask you to listen only. What I am about to say to her is for her only."

George seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, "Because I am the man of the family now, I will stay. I'd like to know what the dangers are anyway."

Stands Strong nodded. "So be it." Glancing at Czanna, who was sitting toward the outside of the invisible circle he and George made, Stands Strong said to her directly, "As I have just said, I have need to talk to you about the perils the prairie holds at this time of year and what you must instruct the others to do, if you are to survive."

Then he stood up and, with only a few steps, came to sit down in front of her, crossing his legs at his knees.

Glancing forward, Czanna gazed up and across the short distance to look at Stands Strong.

Silently, she gasped.

A gentle half-moon had at last arisen on his left, and beneath its gentle silvery cast, Stands Strong looked handsome almost beyond belief.

At present, he wore his hair in two neat braids, one on each side of his face, but she remembered he also wore one single braid at the back of his head.

Parting his hair slightly to the right, he had attached a white feather to his hair on that particular side, allowing the feather to fall down over the braid.

A long string of silver-colored beads were also attached to his hair in a similar manner as the feather, and the string dropped down beside the feather over the same braid.

He wore round white shell earrings.

And, although she thought the province of earring wearing was strictly feminine, on this man the earrings looked manly and proper.

In addition, a long looping shell-beaded necklace fell down over a white, hide shirt.

While she couldn't see it now, she remembered his shirt ended at about his mid-thigh in an uneven hem, perhaps mimicking the shape of whatever animal it was made from.

Now that she was closer to him, she could clearly see his breechcloth was different from his other clothing; perhaps it being made from another animal than the rest.

But, whatever its material, this masculine piece of clothing was dyed blue and had a white stripe running down its center.

Even his leggings, as he sat before her crossed at the knees, were of a whitish color, though she could see painted symmetrical shapes of blue, yellow and white upon them.

On his feet looked to be a tougher kind of buckskin moccasin, and both moccasins had the same geometrical shapes painted on them in identical hues to the colors on his leggings.

He was tall, even as he sat before her; he was somewhat thinly built, although muscular; and his posture was straight with no slumping shoulders, a condition a little unusual for a man of his height.

His skin color was tan, perhaps only a few shades darker than her own.

His eyes were a very dark color of brown, appearing to be almost black.

His cheekbones were high and prominent, his nose was not long and was aquiline—but only slightly so—while his lips were full and well-shaped for a man.

And, as the moonlight flattered each and every part of Stands Strong's physical demeanor, Czanna wondered why no one who knew anything about this land and these people had warned her about the looks and charisma of these young Indian men.

She had heard many men on the steamship and at Fort Benton describe Indian warriors as ugly fiends, devils, even as Satan, himself.

But, as she had decided earlier this morning and was still inclined to think now: it simply wasn't so.

Swallowing hard, she gazed away from him.

She had to, if only because the raw strength and virility of this man was too much to realize so quickly.

Besides, a woman of the gentry class did not stare at a man.

But, he was speaking, and, looking up, she gave him her full attention as he said, "Before I tell you of the dangers we will face even before the sun first rises, I would hear what it is you have to ask me."

"I…I…" Czanna couldn't quite meet his regard, and so she glanced away from him and gulped, not yet comfortable with her observations of his utter male beauty.

He didn't say a word, however. Instead, when she dared to gaze back at him, he was looking down, appearing to be calmly awaiting whatever it was she had to say.

Because the wind was strong this night and blowing in her direction, his clean manly scent wafted toward her. It was not unpleasant. Indeed, it was the opposite, and something within her stirred to life.

She swallowed as a feeling of complete femininity made her hesitate to speak. Naturally, he being larger and stronger than she, a notion of being his inferior caused her to hesitate. But, this would never do.

Lifting her chin, she reminded herself of who she was, and also who he was. She was of the dominant, aristocratic class in her homeland. Therefore, he was not her equal, regardless of how good-looking or how helpful he might be. In particular, she had every right to employ him, to ask him to leave off his duty to his chiefs and to help her family instead.

Still, she hesitated. But, when he remained aloof and quiet, and it appeared he would calmly wait for her to begin, she murmured, "I… Mr. Stands Strong, I have come here to ask if you might please be our guide into the Glacier Mountains."

He looked up at her and asked, "The Glacier Mountains? Are you speaking of the Backbone-of-the-World Mountains?"

"I…I do not know."

"If you are referring to the mountains farther north and west of here, they are one and the same. The Backbone-of-the-World Mountains is what the Pikuni people call this particular mountain range."

"Oh."

"Where in those mountains would you wish me to take you?"

"I…I don't know exactly."

Glancing up at him, she saw him frown before he asked, "For what purpose are you seeking to go into the Backbone-of-the-World Mountains?"

"I…we…as a family…have a cousin who left our country many years ago and journeyed into the northern reaches of Indian Country. I am told he is a fur trader and that he lives in the Glacier Mountains. This is all I know."

"What is your white cousin called by his own people?"

"Do you mean his name?" she asked.

"I do."

"Oh," she responded. "Tom Johnson is the name he goes by."

"Old Tom Johnson? Long Rifle?" Stands Strong smiled at her. "This man is your cousin?"

"He is, indeed. Do you know him?"

"I do. He is married to a Pikuni woman. And, he often comes to our tribe to trade. I will take you to my people where you will be safe while you wait for him to visit our tribe."

"Will you? I would greatly appreciate this. When do you think he might visit your people?"

"Perhaps by this same time next year. Maybe sooner. Maybe later."

Czanna swallowed. This was not acceptable. After all, she had promised her brother to find their cousin as quickly as she possibly could. It was important, therefore, to not be too ready to agree with what Stands Strong was suggesting. She said, "I have a great need to find my cousin before this next year comes, and this is because I have important news for him. Therefore, I must see him as soon as possible. Please, Mr. Stands Strong, if you would take us to him sooner than this, I would pay you well for your trouble."

"Pay me?"

"Yes," Czanna responded, feeling as though she were on solid ground with this man at last. He was, after all, little more than a servant and, therefore, hers to command. "I am prepared to give you many silver coins if you will only take us to him before next year."

"Silver? Silver coins?"

"Yes, or…do you wish to have gold coins instead?"

Oddly, his look at her appeared to change from curiosity to hostility, all in the space of a few seconds. But, Czanna chose to ignore the warning; she was certain she could convince him to be their guide now, even if he were married and had the need to return home. She was preparing to make another even better offer to him, indeed, when Stands Strong stood up to his feet and stepped back away from her. And, although his voice was not harsh when he asked, "Is it your wish to insult me?" Czanna began to sense all was not well.

What had she said?

She didn't come to her feet, however, to confront him. She could only replay her words in her mind. Somehow, in some way, she had said something wrong.

But, what?

After hesitating a moment, she glanced up at him and replied, "No, sir, I do not mean to insult you.

I have urgent business with my cousin which is why I cannot wait a year or more in your camp hoping he will come there visiting.

I have traveled far from my home to arrive here and to be in a position where I can seek out and speak with my cousin.

A year and many months have I been traveling away from my home with my younger brother and sister with me, and only because it is urgent for us to find our cousin.

This is why am I seeking your aid.

If you doubt my ability to pay you, I will be most happy to show you the coins I carry.

I could give you these in advance, also.

Truly, I am certain I have enough gold to make your time spent with us worthwhile."

She had barely spoken the words when suddenly Stands Strong spun around, turned his back on her and, without another word to her, strode quickly away from their camp.

She watched his retreating figure as he disappeared into the dark of the night.

Even now, she could feel the shock of his sudden departure deepen her already crushing gloom.

It was, perhaps, an understatement to think it had not gone well.

And, it was unpleasant, indeed, when George exploded with laughter.

"Why are you laughing?" Czanna asked. "There is nothing funny about this."

"Sister, isn't it obvious? Didn't you listen to him scolding me?"

"He didn't scold you."

"Yes, he did," said George. "It's only that he spoke so kindly to me, it didn't sound like scolding. He is obviously angry with you. I don't understand why. But, he is angry with you, and, rather than say any unpleasant words to you, he left." Again, George laughed.

"Oh dear," whispered Czanna. "I don't know what to do, and I don't understand what I have said to upset him. But, this I do know: we need him. He is the only man in this vast land whom I feel I can trust with the duty to bring us to our cousin. Oh, what am I to do?"

"I don't know, Czanna."

A black cloud of her own making seemed to hover over Czanna, and she felt like crying. Indeed, her lower lip was trembling, and she could feel the tears at the back of her eyes threaten to fall down her cheeks. It was a bad habit, this breaking into grief when she and her family were in trouble, but what was she to do? Her world and all she had ever known was crumbling down around her.

Gazing at George, she said, "I don't understand this country, George. Truly, I don't understand it at all. And, I fear my not knowing the mores of this people and the dangers of their land could cause us great harm. Forgive me, George, but I do not have the knowledge, nor do I possess the strength, to keep us safe here. Indeed, I fear we need Stands Strong."