White Eagle's Touch (28 page)

“Hmmm.” She snuggled back against him, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. “Have I remembered to tell you today how happy I am?”

“Have you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“If you have said this to me very often this day, I still do not think it would be enough. And I would like to hear it, but there is something else I would enjoy hearing even more from your tongue.”

“Oh,” she said, “and what is that?”

He groaned and grazed his teeth gently against her earlobe. “You know.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, although she did. “Besides, you have to say it first.”

He laughed.
“Kitsik…”

“…akomimmo.”

He grinned.

“I love you, White Eagle.”

“As I do you.”

“I never knew it was possible to feel this way.”

“What way is that?” He began to rub her shoulders. “To love?”

She nodded.

“I, too, have not known a love like this.”

“Oh, White Eagle, what are we going to do? As much as I am doing my best to learn all that you teach me, I can’t help feeling that this is…that…”

“It is always difficult to learn something new.”

“Yes, but that’s not what is wrong.” She stared off into the night. “You belong here, and when you are with me, I, too, can feel the love of the land, its magic, its beauty. But when you leave me, I feel confused and alone and…I think we are fooling ourselves. I do not have a place here. I know it, and you know it.”

“I do not
know
this and I have told you before that I do not agree with you on these things.”

“Yes, but White Eagle, I believe this to be true, and no matter how much I try to deceive myself, down deep, within me, is always the knowledge that I am a stranger here.”

He had been massaging her shoulders while she spoke. And now he trailed fleeting, carnal kisses over her neck as he murmured, “I have a different opinion—”

“Yes, I know, but I—”

“Sh-h-h. Let us worry about this tomorrow. For now, I want to hold you near me and remember that you are the woman I have chosen to be my sits-beside-him-wife.”

She smiled. His
sits-beside-him-wife.
Odd, how appealing, how genuinely satisfying, that position sounded to her.

True, this man might not have been her original idea of an eligible husband, but, at present, she could not imagine spending the rest of her life with anyone else but him…not anyone else at all.

“Oh, White Eagle,” she whispered, turning her face toward his, “love me.”

And he smiled as he said, “I will,” and, pulling the buffalo robe over them both, for privacy, he proceeded to do just that.

“Always remember, the eye goes more easily to anything that is moving, and so if one is pursued, hide behind a large rock or tree or bush and crouch down and remain still until the danger has passed.”

Katrina nodded.

“Here, examine this trail again, and tell me what it is that you see.”

Katrina glanced downward. “I see a hoofprint.”

“Indian pony or white?”

“Indian.”

“And how do you know this?”

“There is no shoe. Indian ponies have no shoes.”

“And how many people did the pony carry?”

Katrina looked puzzled. “I can’t tell that from a print.”

“Aa,
yes, you can. Now, observe. Do you see the print of another pony?”

She looked around her. “No.”

“Good, then whomever it was that came through here was not traveling far since there was no pack animal; either this, or this person is attached to a party elsewhere. Is the pony a fully grown horse, or a colt?”

She gazed again at the prints. “A fully grown horse?”

“Aa,
yes, you can see that by the size of the print. Was the pony walking or at a trot?”

Again she guessed. “Walking?”

Again, he nodded. “You can tell this by the spread of the prints. Do you see?” He bent down toward the trail. “There is an imprint of water here on the print, dew.”

He fingered a portion of the dirt that held together as though it had once been wet. “Do you remember how many days ago, we had moisture in the morning?”

She didn’t, and she shook her head, not bothering to guess this time.

“You must always try to recall these things in great detail. Someday your life might depend upon being able to tell how far away is an enemy. Two days ago, we had such a mist in the air. Do you not remember your shoes becoming wet in the morning when you went to the stream?”

She furrowed her brow. She could just barely envision it. Still, she nodded her head.

“Good. That means this person came by here two days ago, in no hurry. Do you see that his pony is walking? Now”—he arose and pointed off in the direction to the north—“do you see the way in which this person travels?”

She nodded.

“It is a single pony, traveling north, with no packhorse and in no haste to get anywhere. This means the person is traveling within his own country, especially since he is taking no pains to cover his trail, and he is going north, probably returning home, his camp not far away; otherwise, he would have a packhorse. You must study the print of a pony when not carrying a man, and what it looks like when it carries a man, and then you will be able to tell if a single person came through here or a couple. In this case, it is a couple, probably Good Dancer and his wife, because they have been scouting ahead of us these last few days, taking no pack animal with them, since they are attached to our party. It means they came through here two days ago in the morning.

It also signifies that there is no danger ahead and we may proceed; otherwise, they would have returned to us by now.”

“You can tell all that from a single print?”

“It is all there to be read. It is so clear, they might as well have left a written record, using the letters and symbols of the white man. If we go further, we will see the two of them dismount at some point, and I will show you how to tell from their moccasin prints that they are Pikuni, or as you know them, Blackfeet. When one sees moccasin prints, then one can even more easily decide who it is that has left this trail, since all tribes make their moccasins in different ways.”

Katrina glanced with renewed respect toward White Eagle. Here was a specialized branch of knowledge, a very important bit of wisdom, if one wished to survive on the prairie, and yet, until this journey, she’d never known it existed.

She glanced around her. For these past few days, as she and White Eagle traveled over endless fields of dried, brown grasses and through green valleys which skirted the streams, he constantly took the opportunity to tutor her on the finer points of prairie survival. He would point out trails, remarking on the different scents in the air and what they meant; he would have her follow tracks of animals, educating her on what kind of animal left the trail; he would show her how to tell the signs of dangerous creatures, and how to track for food, those critters which were not so threatening.

Sometimes they rode on his pony, but more often, she led the animal by his buckskin reins while they walked, the pony carrying their camping goods and White Eagle striding out in front.

The days were warm and fragrant, the nights cool, and they camped beneath brilliant skies, illuminated by stars the likes of which she had never seen anywhere else.

White Eagle had pointed out the Big Dipper, or the constellation the Blackfeet called the Seven Brothers, and shown her how one could tell the time of night by the position of the “brothers.”

And then morning would come again and the two lovers would stroll over numerous bluffs and plateaus, hills and gullies, each landscape strewn with wildflowers of blue and white lupines, or golden sunflowers or the wild, pink rose, and always White Eagle would comment upon what season of the year one could expect to see what sort of flower, what food would be available at the time when those flowers bloomed, and where that food might likely be found.

She had never learned so much; nor had she ever found so much pleasure doing it.

Always, each day, they had loved, sometimes during the day, but more especially in the evening.

In truth, Katrina could never remember being so happy, nor feeling so much at peace with herself, with nature.

She heard a humming sound ahead of her and, coming back to the present, she glanced toward White Eagle.

He led their party, as he must, he had explained, in the event that they met with trouble and, as he paced forward, he sang, something else she had noted about him. He sang quite often, especially at night, and sometimes, as they relaxed around a fire, he beat out time with a stick.

She tried to catch some of the words to his song, but she could only hear one distinctly,
nitsikakomimmawa.
What did that mean?

“What are you singing?” she asked.

He ceased walking and turned slightly toward her, although he didn’t look straight at her. He didn’t say a word, either, and it occurred to her that he looked…embarrassed?

“It’s a pretty song,” she encouraged, touching him on the shoulder. “What is it?”

He paused for quite some time, not moving forward, not doing anything, until at last, he said, “It is a love song.”

That had her staring up at him at once, and she repeated, “A love song?”

He nodded.

“Will you tell me what it means?”

He swallowed but remained silent.

“White Eagle?”

He glanced away from her, toward their destination, and began to stride forward, only he moved very slowly. He said, as she followed, “Sometimes, I think, it is easier to be a warrior than it is to be a lover.”

“What? I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I… It was nothing.”

“White Eagle.”

He stopped to look back at her, over his shoulder.

She gazed up steadily at him. “Please, won’t you tell me what it is you are singing? I would very much like to know.”

He gazed away from her, turning his profile toward her. “I feel much for you,” he began, “and I sing this song to you to try to explain how deeply I feel, but it was easier to do it when you did not know.”

She smiled. “Is that really what you were doing?”

He didn’t respond. Shaking his head, he turned away from her and began to pace forward again.

She followed him and tapped him on the shoulder. “I would like to hear what you are saying.”

He didn’t glance back at her, merely continued walking, as he spoke to her, saying, “If I tell you this, you must promise not to say a word to anyone else about this song.”

“Why?”

“Because, unlike the white man, the Indian always has a reason why he sings, and he always sings to something, even if it is only to the wind. But a man also owns a song and not always does he give permission for others to sing it. And so it is with this.”

“I see,” she said. “Would I be able to sing it too?”

“Aa,
yes,” he said, “you would be the only other one who could sing it.”

“Then won’t you tell me what it means and teach me the words and the…melody?”

He stopped pacing all at once and turned around to look at her. Then, he glanced away, before he spoke, “The song tells how I feel about you. In it I promise to love you always and I…” He shot her a quick look. “I tell you how much I enjoy making love to you.”

She gasped, and then she smiled. “You are most certainly correct. No one else must ever learn this song.” She grabbed at his arm and, a note of humor in her voice, she continued, “I will warn you, though, that you must never sing this song to anyone else but me, under punishment of…”

“What?”

“Under punishment of telling everyone in your camp that the big, brave warrior, White Eagle, made up a love song for his sweetheart.”

“That is not so bad, or so unusual.”

“Well, then…” She paused, thinking. “If that is not punishment enough, I have heard that Indian men are not supposed to do some of the things you have been doing for me. Perhaps I could tell the others that White Eagle fixed supper and brought in wood for the fire every evening.”

White Eagle suddenly gave her a half smile. “I guess you are too much for me,” he said. “You leave me no choice but to promise that I will not sing this song for anyone else but you.”

She smiled back at him. “I thought you might see it as I do, at least, if I put it to you in the
right
way. Now, please, won’t you sing the song?”

“Annisa,
all right.” He paused and, turning away from her, he began:

Haiya! Kitsikakomimmokoo.

(You are loved.)

Hannia! Nitsikakomimmawa,

(Really, I love her.)

Haiya! Haiya! Haiya!

Nit-Ikkina-Iksiin-o:k-wa.

(She touched me gently.)

She watched him as he sang. The song was beautiful, he was beautiful, and for some moments Katrina did little more than simply look at him and listen.