“He what?”
“Have ’ee not yet heard of the battle waged here only a few days ago?”
“No, Mr. Mitchell, I have not.”
Mr. Mitchell, who looked and spoke more like a mountain man than a proprietor, ran a hand through his greasy brown hair.
He frowned and said, “Woke us up at daybreak, them Assiniboin varmint did. About six hundred of ’em. Snuck up on ’bout twenty lodges of Blackfeet, the poor folk who had pitched their lodges around the fort fer the night. Them Blackfeet’d stayed up most the night singin’ and dancin’ and drinkin’…mostly drinkin’. Finally they’d gone to sleep around dawn, and that’s when them Cree and Assiniboins attacked, cuttin’ up them Blackfeet tents and firin’ on them women and children.”
Katrina gasped, her hand coming up to grasp at her throat.
“Perhaps such stories should not be related in the presence of so delicate a creature as Miss Wellington,” suggested Prince Maximilian.
“I’s so sorry, miss. As ’ee can tell, we’s not used to gettin’ yer kind of folk up hyar.”
“Think nothing of it, Mr. Mitchell. The women and children, are they all right? Are they still here in the fort?”
“Them Blackfeet take care of their own. They’s already gone.”
“I see. Then, my uncle, is he with them…?”
“Your uncle rode off with several half-breeds, in pursuit of them Assiniboin scoundrels, as I did, too, but my horse’s shot out from beneath me an’ I had to return. They may’ve got your uncle by now.”
Katrina gulped. “The Assiniboins?”
“Yep.”
“Then, do you believe he is dead?”
“Naw, that ole cougar don’t die. He’s probably trading beads an’ whiskey an’ things with ’em right now, if they’s got him.”
Katrina sat up in her seat. “Then someone from here has been sent to rescue him?”
“Naw, that ole critter’ll be back hyar in no time at all. Just ’ee wait and see.”
Katrina stood up all at once, her dress, since she wore no petticoats beneath it, falling down past her ankles. She made quite a picture, here in this far, Northwestern outpost, the genteel lady, having traversed over field and country, and, except for her Indian shawl and lack of petticoats, still looked as though she had stepped out from a Paris fashion plate.
Katrina, however, did not feel in the least like a stylish lady. Nor was she in the mood to wait here in this place. Waiting for what? Something to happen?
“Ye could return to Fort Union, miss, since this country right now is in an uprising.”
“An uprising?”
“Yep, them Blood Injuns—”
“Blood Indians? I thought the trouble you were having was with the Assiniboins.”
“It was, but now them Blood Injuns are here.”
“But you have established this post to trade with the Blackfeet, have you not? And aren’t the Blood Indians Blackfeet?”
“Didn’t say they wasn’t. But they’s always trouble, and not well liked, even by their own people. Caused trouble they did, only a few weeks ago, killin’ the nephew of a Piegan chief.”
“Mr. Mitchell, you have confused me. Aren’t the Piegan also Blackfeet?”
“So they is. But them Blood is a treacherous lot. Kill themselves jest as soon as they’ll kill someone else. And don’t git along with anyone, even themselves. ’Ee best be goin’ on back to Fort Union now. I’ll be tellin’ your uncle for ’ee where ’ee are.”
She stared at Mr. Mitchell. It was all she did, until at last, she spoke, saying only, “We will see, Mr. Mitchell. We will see.”
She sat in her room, sometime later, staring through the holes in the parchment window, out, into the night.
She couldn’t help but wonder: Where was he?
Where was White Eagle?
From the moment she and White Eagle had entered the fort, they had been separated, as she had known it would be. White Eagle had, perhaps, returned to his own people, since there were many Blackfeet encamped here.
But she missed White Eagle, she yearned for him.
In truth, it was even more than that. She didn’t feel
complete
without him.
She would not seek him out, however.
To do so could cause endless trouble. What would these men do to an Indian who had taken a white woman as his own? What would they do to her? Somehow, she didn’t think the reaction of the people here would be congratulatory. Besides, the story Mr. Mitchell had told about the Assiniboin raid upon the Blackfoot camp frightened her, making her hesitate to go too far from the fort.
Also, according to Mr. Mitchell, the Indians here in residence were Blood Indians, and White Eagle, she knew, was Pikuni, or what the white people referred to as Piegan; The two tribes, the Bloods and the Piegans, though related, were not, it would seem, on good terms at the moment.
Where was he? It felt like days since she had last seen him, although, in reality, it had only been several hours.
He wouldn’t have left here without her, would he? Surely not. Not after they had become so close. Not after they had become…united, one to the other…
“Did you tell the white people that you have become my sits-beside-him-woman?”
She jumped. She had been so lost in thought, trying to see out into the night, that she had been oblivious to her environment. She hadn’t been aware of anyone entering her room.
“Oh, White Eagle.” She sprang up, onto her feet, and quickly closed the distance between them, going into his arms. “You frightened me,” she said, her face against his shirt. “Please do not sneak up on me like that.”
“Humph!”
She sighed, snuggling closer to him. “I am very glad to see you. I have been trying to imagine where you had gone.”
“I went to see my people.”
“Your people?”
“Yes, I have relatives who are camped here.”
“You do? But I thought you were Pikuni. And Mr. Mitchell informed me today that the Indians here are Blood Indians and that the Pikuni and Bloods don’t—”
“My relatives are many amongst the Bloods.”
“Are they? How very odd. I was led to understand that the Pikuni and the Bloods don’t like one another, never have, never will and were fighting and—”
“Who told you this?”
“Mr. Mitchell.”
“And who is this Mr. Mitchell?”
“He is the founder of this fort.”
“Haiya,
this is a strange thing for a man to say. This Mr. Mitchell does not tell you true, I believe.”
“He doesn’t?”
White Eagle shook his head. “Amongst all people are the ill-tempered and the troublemakers, in your culture, in mine, but these kinds of people are few. If the white men were to be judged by the traders in this country, the Indian would begin to believe that all white men are a drunken and dishonest sort of man. But we both know that this is not so. At present, there is a feud between two families from the Pikuni and the Blood tribes. That is all. It does not involve a great many people. It does not include my relatives, and I have had a pleasant visit with them.”
“I see,” Katrina said, pondering the implications of this. It was strange, how some take one crude incident, involving few people, and embellish it to make it appear that
all
men are evildoers. She glanced quickly up at White Eagle. “And how did you get in here?”
“Through the door.”
She smiled at him. “I am aware of that; what I meant, however, was how you gained entry to the fort, and to this house?”
“The white man’s lodges are easy to invade. There are many of my people here and few white men. Did you not realize that if the Indian wanted to raid this fort, it would be no difficult feat? Mostly we do not do this because we respect the trade of the white man.” White Eagle paused and, placing a finger under her chin, brought her face up toward his, until she could do nothing more than gaze at him. He asked, “Did you tell the white men about us?”
She shook her head. “No, White Eagle, I was afraid to. I am uncertain what they would do to you…or to me…if they knew that we…that I…”
He jutted out his chin. “Do I look the sort of man to run from trouble? These people will know about us soon enough.” He lowered his hand from her face and, looking away, he sighed. “But, perhaps for now, it is wise that you have not told them about us, since you will need to stay here for a while. Maybe it will be better for you if they do not know.”
“Then, you are not angry with me?”
“Saa,
no. I find little about you to cause that feeling within me. Besides, it is good that the white man shelters you here since I will be gone for many days, maybe even a moon, while I go in search of your uncle.”
“You…are going…away?”
“Aa,
yes.”
“I see…but, don’t you need to ask me if it is all right for you to leave?”
“Do I?”
“I think so. We belong to each other now.”
“All right,” he said. “Do you give me your approval to go and find your uncle and bring him back to you?”
“I suppose so. When do we leave?”
“I am going. You are staying here.”
“What? I don’t believe I can sanction that.”
He grinned. “You will, for I must go. Your uncle is my friend, and if he has been captured by the Assiniboins and Cree, then I must go and rescue him, for I do not trust them.”
“Are you telling me that you are going to war?”
“Aa,
yes.”
“For my uncle?”
“And for my relatives. They seem to have a quarrel with the Cree and Assiniboin.”
She sent a worried glance up at him. “I don’t want you to go. Couldn’t we just wait here for my uncle to return?”
He sighed. “No, I cannot. If it were me out there fighting the Cree and Assiniboins, and your uncle here, would you ask him to wait?”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is.”
“Oh, White Eagle.”
“I have come to spend the night with you before I go.”
“Please, don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Spend the night with you? Is this what you are asking me?”
She sent him a look. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”
He grinned at her, but she didn’t return the gesture. She did not view his going to war as a lighthearted situation, not at all. And so, when she spoke, her voice took on a far more serious note. “Do not risk your life.”
His hands fell from around her and he glanced away, into a far corner of the room. She knew that what she had said had given him pause and, as she watched him for some moments, the two of them, standing there, so close together, a thought came to her: Was this what it would be like to be a warrior’s wife? To watch the one that you love go away and to be left to worry about him? To wonder always what the future held for him? To remain distant from that part of his life?
She barely heard him as he said to her, “I am a warrior. Do not ask me to be less than I am.”
She moaned. “How can I not? I have only just found you, and you are trying already to leave me.”
He sighed. “Come,” he murmured to her, and, clasping her hand, he led her into a corner of the room, where he sat down, bringing her with him, sitting her on his lap. She could barely see him in the darkness, making out only the faint outline of his foreign, male profile, as he continued, “In my tribe, the women urge their men on, knowing that someone must protect them against an enemy. There are sometimes men in a tribe, who, in their own grief and hurt, seek to administer death and destruction upon anyone from another tribe, even those people who are innocent of any crime. I have been raised to protect my family and my tribe from such people. Would you have me watch loved ones killed for no reason, while I stay in my lodge and do nothing? I would not want you to have to dress me in women’s clothing because I lacked courage.” He laughed gently.
“White Eagle…”
“I must do this. Now, I will hear a few more of your thoughts on this matter and let us, then, talk no more about it. I want to spend this night with you. And I wish to have enough of the night left that I might hold you in my arms.”
She felt as though she might likely cry. Even though he held her closely to him, she was beginning to sense that she had already lost him, and she hoped that loss would last only a few days.
She said, “Do you take any white men with you?”
“Saa,
no.”
“Would you?”
“It is doubtful. Though, the white men have a great many rifles, these people oftentimes hinder a person more than they help, since they do not scout well and do not know how to sneak up on an enemy.”
“
Yes
,
I can understand that, but could you, anyway?”
“Could I what?”
“Take some white men with you? At least for their gunpower?”
“The white men have already been on the trail of the enemy, and they have returned without your uncle. I do not believe they will go on the warpath again.”
“They might, if I ask them.”
“Saa,
no. Do not ask them.”