Wolf Shadow’s Promise (3 page)

Alys led their party underneath the falls, out onto the rocks and into the bright sunshine, allowing the two young people to adjust their eyesight to the light before she stated, “I don't know where your people are, but I reckon you'll be able to find them from here.”

The boy looked around him and inhaled a deep breath before glancing back at Alys and staring intently at her.
Then, without any expression on his face whatsoever, he murmured, “What strange manner is this? A white girl who keeps her word?”

Alys stiffened her spine before she responded, “I told you I would.”

He nodded. “So you did, white girl, so you did.”

The young Indian miss at his side didn't seem as devoid of human emotion as her male counterpart, however, and she came up to Alys, hugging her profusely and saying something in a very strange tongue.

The lad translated, “She says something good will come to you.”

Alys nodded, smiling. Then it occurred to her. “She doesn't speak English?”

“
Saa
, no.”

“So she could not even understand the teacher…”

The boy remained silent, though when he gazed down at Alys, he suddenly smiled, the first cheerful emotion Alys had seen on his face. The action made him look younger still, innocent, and oh, so very handsome. Alys gaped at the long dark hair that fell back from his face. The cooling breeze from the falls brought tiny droplets to his tanned skin; his dark eyes, surprisingly full of approval for her, watched her closely. Alys couldn't help herself. Gazing back, she fell instantly under his spell.

Slowly, the boy took a piece of jewelry from around his neck. A round, single white shell dangled from a chain of bleached buckskin. He drew it over Alys's head and settled it around her neck.

“
Soka 'pii
, good.” His right hand signed the meaning of the word in a single gesture. “Looks good on you.”

With the tip of his finger, he tilted her face up toward his. “I will remember you always, young white girl, and what you have done for me and my sister.”

So, thought Alys, the Indian girl was his sister. Pleased
by the realization, she said, pointing to herself, “Alys.”

“Aa-lees,” the young lad rolled her name smoothly over on his tongue.

She pointed to him. “And your name is?”

He shook his head. “A warrior does not repeat his own name. To do so would be dishonorable.”

“But I would like to know…”

She was interrupted by the boy saying something to his sister, again in that strange tongue.

With a quick glance up at Alys, the Indian girl spoke, and, pointing to her brother, said, “
Ki'somm-makoyi
.”

“
Ki'somm-makoyi
,” Alys whispered. “That is your name?”

He nodded.

“What does it mean?”

“I cannot say.”

“Please?”

He took a deep breath, grinned at her slightly, then said, pointing to himself, “This one is called Moon Wolf.”

“Moon Wolf.”

Another nod.

She smiled up at him. “Moon Wolf, I will never forget you.”

He stared into her eyes, his look serious, before he volunteered, “Come with us, young Aa-lees. Come with us and I promise that when we grow older, I will take you for wife and show you great honor for what you have done for us this day.”

Under any other circumstance, Alys might have chuckled, the thought absurd for one so young. Yet there was a somberness to his words that she couldn't discount.

“I cannot,” she replied, her voice sounding strangely adult. “I would bring you more trouble if I went with you. No one in the fort would rest until I was found.”

He inclined his head. “That is true. For a small girl, you
speak with wise tongue. But still,” his chin shot up in the air, “no matter what others would do, I would honor you in this way.”

His words, or perhaps something in his manner, reached out to her, its effect on her profound, and she felt herself responding to the boy, tears of appreciation, maybe even joy, coming to her eyes. She said, “I cannot. My mother would miss me too much.”

He remained silent for many moments before he nodded at last. “So it will be,” he uttered, “but know that, though you choose to stay behind, I will carry your image with me, here,” he held his hand to his heart, “for so long as this one should live.”

Alys stared. These were strong words, a powerful declaration, for a boy not much older than she, and Alys contemplated him in silence for several seconds, afraid to move lest she spoil the moment. Slowly, he brought his hand up to run his fingers over her cheek, his touch gentle; he reached up with one of his fingers to trace the path of her tears, before bringing that same finger to his own cheek. “And now,” he whispered, touching his face with her own tears, “a part of you is a part of me.”

He didn't wait for her to respond. All at once, he turned and fled, disappearing with his sister down the rocks and into the countryside as though they belonged to it.

Alys fingered her cheek for what seemed an eternity, letting the warmth of the sunshine wash over her and dry her face. In the distance she could hear the birds sing, while closer at hand, she could smell the perfumed scent of the grasses and wildflowers. Lightly, the wind ruffled her hair, lifting her spirit gently upward until she felt herself becoming a part of all this, a part of the natural course of things.

She would never forget this, never forget him. She couldn't.

Alys had become, in the space of a moment, infatuated: She had fallen in love. A love that would last her a lifetime, she thought, no matter the state of her youth. And in that instant, she knew she would never be the same.

Fort Benton on the Missouri River
July 1872

I
t was a grand night for a ball. Indian ladies and the few white women present danced round and round with their handsome or not so handsome gentlemen. Kerosene and lard-oil lamps brightened the ballroom, while the strains of the fiddles played out a concertina. The music, which had been taught by ear from father to son for generations, sweetened the otherwise smoky air and lent a lively atmosphere to the place. Conversation and laughter, shouting and giggling, had fallen into a dull hum, barely heard over the music.

The celebration was for Alys, a homecoming, although Alys would never have asked for such a thing. Her mother lay ill at home with what looked to be pneumonia, and Alys wished to be there, not at this party.

But she couldn't very well miss a gala thrown in her
honor. Not without making serious enemies. Besides, her mother had insisted that she come.

Alys glanced down at her gown, a fashionable creation with an underskirt of blue faille and an overdress of the same material in gold. With pearls in her auburn-brown tresses and blue and gold enamel jewelry accenting her attire, Alys looked out of place on the western frontier. The dress, combining the season's three different colors of blue, gold, and white, had been the height of fashion back east. But here at Fort Benton, where her counterparts wore mostly homespun dresses of calico, it lost its effect. In comparison, Alys felt overdressed and uncomfortable.

She had arrived back at the fort only yesterday, having traveled over a month on the steamboat the
Assiniboine
, one of many vessels sailing the Missouri waters between here and St. Louis. Alys had been thrilled to return and to put the long years of eastern schooling behind her.

She remembered a particular conversation she'd had with her mother five years ago. Alys had begged to remain in Montana. But her mother, who would hear none of it, had taken a firm stand and had insisted that Alys be properly educated by people with more on their minds than gold, furs, and cattle. Money had been no object, and the elder Clayton would see her daughter brought up correctly. Perhaps, her mother had also suggested, Alys might even find a young man back east.

But Alys's heart had been lost to the frontier long ago, to the land and the first people who inhabited it. This was her home, rough though it might be, and she could not remember a day passing when she hadn't yearned for her life back in Montana.

Alys wrapped her cashmere paletot, a fashionable cloak, around her shoulders and stepped outside, her blue silk slippers in evidence, but only for a moment. Perhaps, she
thought, she had put in enough of a presence at the party tonight to excuse herself.

As she emerged outside, a certain gentleman, a Lieutenant Warrington, ran after her. He was handsome, young, and, she had come to realize, quite persistent. Taking hold of her sleeve, he placed her gloved hand on his arm.

“You're not leaving already, Miss Clayton, are you?”

“I'm afraid so, Lieutenant.”

“But you can't do that just yet. It's not completely polite, now, is it? Not when every man here, including myself, has been waiting all night to dance with you. You must know that we've all been lovesick since the day you stepped off that steamboat.”

She smiled faintly, then chuckled. “Lieutenant, how you do flatter me.”

“No, ma'am. Just plain speaking. That's all. Now, surely you can't think of disappointing us, can you?”

“I am sorry, but I must,” Alys replied, though she tried to lessen any possible blow from her words by bestowing the man with a kind smile.

However, instead of being discouraged, the lieutenant gave her a big grin, obviously quite heartened. “You really should stay,” he coaxed. “What must I do to convince you?”

Alys scrutinized Lieutenant Warrington's set features. At any other time, she might have allowed herself to be coaxed into doing exactly as this man asked, his gift for persuasion excellent. But she couldn't give in. At least not tonight. And truly, at this moment, her attention could not have been further removed from the party and from these people.

“Thank you kindly, Lieutenant Warrington, you are most generous, indeed. But you must know that I can't stay. My mother lies ill at home, and I cannot allow her to be alone for long.”

“But she's not alone, is she?” he asserted. “Doesn't that half-breed Mary stay with her at night and look after her?”

“Yes, that is true, but—”

“Then you needn't return, after all. Not yet anyway. Stay a little longer.” He glanced away from her, out into the night. “Look around you, Miss Clayton, at the evening, at the multitude of stars up there”—he motioned toward the sky—“and tell me that you haven't missed your home here in Montana.”

Alys grinned and shook her head. The lieutenant could certainly be determined. “Yes,” she replied, “but still…”

The lieutenant picked a bloom from a nearby lilac bush and twirled it delicately under Alys's nose. “It must have been difficult being away for so long.”

Alys nodded. “It was.”

“And how did you find the east?”

“It was most…fashionable.” She inhaled deeply, the fragrances of the night, the delicate blooms, the wildflowers, and the prairie grasses acting like an intoxication.

He chuckled softly. “Ah, it is that. It certainly is fashionable.”

Alys moved a little farther away from him, from the ballroom. Sighing she realized that she'd forgotten how cool and crisp the air was here, how solid the earth felt beneath her feet, how redolent the wind. And above her, as she looked up, a million stars splashed across the sky, twinkling as though they hadn't a care.

Oh, how she had missed this, the howling serenades of the wolves so far away, yet so close; the crisp barking of coyotes, the peculiar song of the crickets. She asked the lieutenant, “Do you yearn for your own home very much?”

“Me? What? Oh, you mean the east?”

“Hmmm,” Alys replied. She might have said more, but she was silenced by the more unpleasant sound of gunshots—off in the distance. Lieutenant Warrington stiffened
and muttered a barely audible curse under his breath.

Uniformed men suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, rushing past them, all cursing a certain personage.

“Damn! It's the Wolf Shadow!” Lieutenant Warrington swore. “Pardon my language, ma'am.”

Alys nodded, unoffended. She had grown up in this town, after all, and had become used to the crudeness of the language. She did ask, however, “The Wolf Shadow?”

“Yes, ma'am. That's what Indians call him.”

“Wolf Shadow? Is that the Indian who has all the townspeople talking?”

“That's him.”

More men, armed civilians, filed past them.

“I heard he's made quite a nuisance of himself here at the fort, this Wolf Shadow.”

“Yes, Miss Clayton, he has.”

“I also heard that no one has been able to trace him, where he comes from, where he goes. Is that correct?”

“Hmmm, maybe…” The lieutenant looked somewhat annoyed.

“Has he hurt anyone?”

“No, not yet anyway, though it's only a matter of time. He hurts us by these constant skirmishes, though.”

“How do you mean?”

“He attacks the bull trains that pass between here and our Canadian allies. He dumps out all our supplies, causing the merchants in town to take more and more of a loss. It's why the military was dispatched here. To put an end to these raids and protect the cattlemen and merchants.”

“Hmmm, I see,” she said, then asked, “What is on these trains that he should attack them?”

The lieutenant drew in a steady, deep breath. “That is the mystery of it all, Miss Clayton. The trains carry no more than trade stocks for the Indians. Food and utensils, beads and blankets.”

“How odd,” she responded. “Why does he strike them, I wonder?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “No one knows.”

She hesitated a moment. “He is Indian, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is.”

“You are certain?”

“We are not sure of anything. But if he isn't Indian, someone has certainly mastered the art of Indian warfare.”

“How…interesting. And there are no tracks, nothing to follow to give an indication as to who he is?”

“Miss Clayton, rest assured, if there were tracks to follow, I would have caught the scoundrel by now.”

“Of course,” she offered, “of course you would.”

He sighed deeply. “I am sorry, Miss Clayton, if I sounded irritated just now, it's only that—”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, Miss Clayton. This villain has been playing havoc with us.” The lieutenant shifted his weight.

“You do have good scouts, don't you, lieutenant?”

He looked momentarily distracted, then without warning, he suddenly turned on her, challenging, “Do I look so incompetent, Miss Clayton, that you ply me with all these questions? Do I appear to you to be the sort of man to let a single criminal pass through my fingers?”

“Of course not,” she was quick to answer, taken somewhat aback by the lieutenant's flare of anger.

He continued, “I have done and am doing all I can to catch this thief.”

“I'm certain that you are.” She sneaked a quick glance at the lieutenant. “But don't your scouts find his tracks? Shouldn't it be easier to find him if they could—”

“He leaves no tracks. And the Indians are afraid of him, think he has some ‘medicine' that will harm them if they betray him…that is, all except for one drunken loafer
who…well, never mind, Miss Clayton, I'm sure I'm boring you.”

“Not in the least,” she smiled, wondering at the same time if the lieutenant realized that it sounded as if this Wolf Shadow was the winner in these little tests of will.

She would have voiced her thoughts aloud, but the lieutenant muttered, “If you would excuse me, Miss Clayton, I have matters to attend to. Although,” he turned to her with a strained smile, “I must admit to a desire to stand here in the moonlight with you all evening. But I am afraid that I am needed out there.”

Alys nodded as she murmured, “Of course.”

“I will call on you tomorrow,” he said, before sauntering away, aggravation clearly marking his gait.

Alys watched the lieutenant's retreating back for several moments and wondered, not about Lieutenant Warrington's behavior but about this man called the Wolf Shadow.

Since returning to Fort Benton, Alys had heard nothing but complaints about this Wolf Shadow who, if the townspeople were to be believed, seemed to have nothing better to do than attack honest merchants and prey upon “innocent” prairie schooners. Already she had heard stories about the man, but, prone to discount gossip, she hadn't given it much consideration…until now.

An Indian attacking the bull trains full of supplies for his own people? How very strange.

Yet, there must be some truth to the rumors…

The lieutenant had just confirmed what Alys had already overheard: that this Shadow was more ghost than human. This was supposed to explain, she assumed, why no one had a defense against him.

Distractedly, Alys gazed off in the distance, the figure of Lieutenant Warrington now no more than a faint speck. More shots were fired; that, along with the flash of light and the sounds of shouting, attested to the struggle.

What did this Wolf Shadow look like? she wondered. Would he be dressed like a warrior? Or was he more half-breed?

And why was he called Wolf Shadow? Why wolf?

She took a step forward, wanting to go there, to be there, to see.

Still, she hesitated. She really shouldn't go closer, she would only be in the way, yet…

She took another step forward and paused. Perhaps she should just go home and see to her mother.

Yet, as the lieutenant had pointed out, her mother had hired Mary, an elderly Indian woman who stayed with her and nursed her. Alys wasn't needed, wouldn't be missed at home, at least not for some time.

Something drew her toward the fight, something…

Without further thought, Alys reached down, picked up the blue faille of her underskirt, and rushed to the scene of the fight, following the lieutenant's trail.

She dashed right up to the perimeters of the struggle, where the noisy din of the gunfire, the smell of gunpowder, and the occasional bursts of light reached out to her long before she could see the action. It was dark, also; much too dark.

Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she strained to see. Nothing, until all at once, she made out the figure of a man running—or was it animal?

There, under the shadowy beams of the moon, she could just make out the silhouette of a man, naked to the waist and…wearing a wolf headdress.

But what an uneven fight this was. The odds were impossible. One lone man and what? A dog? No…it was a wolf that loped alongside him.

How curious.

One man and one wolf against what? Twenty or thirty men?

Wolf Shadow appeared to be the lesser in the matter of firearms, too. Barely a shot came from the rifle he held in his hand.

Yet it didn't seem to matter. He and his canine companion put up an offense that was meticulously planned. The Shadow fought no one unless he had to, the focus of his attention centered on the bull wagons and their cargo. Slashing the merchandise, dumping the contents of jugs on the ground, the man flew from one wagon to the next, fighting off soldiers and bullets with a shield, or with pure dodging, but he attacked few people, his sights set only on the cargo.

How magnificent.

Why such destruction of supplies slated to go to the Indians? If the lieutenant were to be believed—and Alys had no reason to doubt him—the supplies contained nothing more than food and blankets. Was this Wolf Shadow daft?

Perhaps.

Yet, watching him, Alys could do little more than stare…and admire…