"Yes, of course you do. But, please be gentle. I think your attempt to make me sit up did some damage to my spine."
"You're blaming me for this, aren't you? I can't help it if my attempts to aid you are hurting you. I must pick you up."
"Thomas, I'm not blaming you."
"Yes, you are. You're probably thinking this is my fault because of what that stupid Indian said, aren't you? But, it's not my fault."
"Truly, I do not believe you are to blame for this," she countered, biting down on her lower lip. "It is only when you tried to raise me up just now, it created more pain than I have ever known."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
"I honestly don't know. But, I'm afraid something bad might happen to me if you try to move me again. Perhaps I broke a bone in my back when I fell, and moving me will create more harm."
Thomas looked away from her. "If it hurts you to be picked up, and you think you might have broken a bone in your spine, then I will have to get help, Laylah. Otherwise, I could harm you if I try to move you. Do you understand? I don't wish to leave you. Rather, I would like to stay here with you, but I have no option now but to return to the fort and get others to help me. It's not my fault."
"I know this, Thomas. I see the dilemma facing you. But, I agree with you. You must go. Please be quick. The storm is getting worse. "
"Of course I will go there as quickly as I can. Do you think I will not?"
"No, I do not think this at all. But, please do all you can to get back here as soon as you can. Perhaps, before you go, you would leave me all the blankets you brought so I have some protection against the cold and the rain?"
"Yes, I will," he said simply. Standing up, Thomas picked his way out of the coulee and, grabbing the blankets off the packhorse, returned to her. "I'll hurry."
"Yes, please do."
He turned then to retrace his steps to the top of the coulee, and it wasn't until he'd left when she took notice of a fact that bothered her: he had gone away from her without kissing her or even saying goodbye.
He is concerned. That's all. It doesn’t mean he does not love me.
She shut her eyes, breathed in deeply and began to pray.
****
"Tsimá náápiáaii?Where is white woman?" Eagle Heart repeated the question in sign.
He had been waiting for the white man and She-steals-my-breath to arrive back from their adventures on the prairie; he had waited through the early morning and into the afternoon, watching for their return. He was concerned about her well-being and, being concerned, had equipped himself with emergency supplies, fearing the coming blizzard would catch her and her man on the prairie where they might be difficult to find. Even young and healthy men, accustomed to this weather and its sudden storms, sometimes died when unprepared for them.
Yet, what did he see here? Before him was the white man riding into the fort with his packhorse behind him. But, where was the beautiful woman with golden sun in her hair?
Had this man come here without his woman?
What was the meaning of this? No man, white or red, ever left his woman alone on the prairie...and in the beginning stages of a blizzard. Never.
The white man didn't understand his question, and, desperate to make himself understood, Eagle Heart at last used his hands to create an image of a curvy woman in the air, adding a question with body motions and raised eyebrows, questioning where she was. The rain had turned to sleet, then snow, and it was accumulating more quickly than he liked to consider. Worse, the temperature had dropped again. Didn't the white man realize his woman was in real danger if she were still out on the prairie?
But, perhaps She-steals-my-breath was simply lagging too far behind. Was this the reason Eagle Heart didn't see her?
"Tsimá náápiáaii?Where is the white woman?" he asked once again, repeating all the gestures.
The white man finally appeared to understand what was being asked of him and said, "She's still out there. Hurt. Couldn't move her. Not my fault. Have to get help and go back to her."
Eagle Heart nodded. Despite language barriers, he had understood the man's intonation and gestures. "Tsimá?Where?" He repeated the word in gestures.
Somehow, Curly-mustached-man understood what he was being asked and pointed in a general direction. "She's in a coulee." And, he added his own attempts at communicating with signs. "She's hurt bad. Couldn't move her."
Eagle Heart nodded. He understood. He knew the general direction of where she was, for he had seen into Curly-mustached-man's mind.
Luckily, Eagle Heart had already tied emergency supplies onto his packhorse, including robes and food enough for three; he had anticipated problems, knowing Curly-mustached-man had no knowledge or experience with how sudden prairie storms could be. The temperature changes alone could kill a man.
