Perhaps he might enlighten these people as to the advantages of carrying a babe upon the back. But, for now there were other worries: the boy and Czanna were rushing toward him. In the boy's arms was a rifle, and even Czanna looked to be armed with a small pistol. Within a single moment, they pointed both rifle and gun at him.
"Come no farther!" shouted the boy, although his voice broke on the words, announcing his age.
"It is I, Stands Strong, who comes to visit. Czanna, I bring your family food and water."
"Stands Strong? Is it truly you? And, did you say you have brought us food?"
"And water," he answered. "Yes, it is I. I saw your problems and determined I should help you and your family."
"Put down your rifle, George. It is all right," said the beautiful woman, Czanna. "I know this man."
"Youknowhim? How is this possible, Sister?"
"I met him this morning while I was praying. His almost-mother is white, which is how he comes to speak English. Welcome, welcome, Mr. Stands Strong," said Czanna as she pushed her pistol into the pocket of her skirt. "George you might safely put away your rifle."
"I will not! I will only stop aiming at him, Sister, when I am assured he is friendly. If this be a trick…"
"He could have harmed me this morning at any time since I forgot to bring my pistol with me. Nothing happened. We simply talked, and he promised me he would guard me from harm as Ireturned to what I thought was the wagon train. He could even have harmed us now. But, he hasn't. Instead, it does look as if he has brought us food."
"He is a stranger bearing gifts, and I do not trust him," said the youngster. Yet, George pulled his rifle back to hold it crisscrossed over his chest.
Stands Strong recognized the boy's action as a sign of a temporary truce. Without mentioning it, Stands Strong admired the boy. No real man surrendered his only means of defense until he was completely certain there was no danger to be had from a stranger.
"Come," said Stands Strong. "Let us unload this meat and the hides from my pony. We shall have a feast tonight before we are obliged to darken the fire."
With emphasis, George declared, "We will not darken the fire for any reason while you are with us! What? So you can scalp us in our sleep?"
"Would you rather bring a war party upon you?" Stands Strong answered. "The smoke from the fire alone will carry on the wind to any warriors on the trail, and a war party travels only at night in this, my country. Do you wish to fight off men of war instead of one single Indian?"
The boy didn't answer.
"George," said Czanna, "please be polite to our guest. I, for one, will welcome the food and the water he brings, as well as his knowledge of this land. If a war party does come upon us, wouldn't you like to have another man at your side instead of a sister who has never shot at a target, let alone at a man?"
George frowned. However, he didn't utter a word. Instead, he spun around and stamped toward the back of the wagon, his rifle held steadily in his hands.
But, Stands Strong barely noticed, except to glance at the boy with even greater admiration. However, a moment of high regard was all he had to spare; there was work to be done. Bringing hispony to stand next to their fire, Stands Strong began unpacking the meat and the hides.
He asked of Czanna, "Have you sticks to hold the ribs over the fire?"
"I do. I shall fetch them."
As she turned quickly away, Stands Strong watched her for an instant, noticing the movement of her skirt as it swayed to and fro while she walked away from him. Captivated, he gazed at her feminine figure for another moment or two…longer than he knew was right. Her beauty was such that he would dare any man to resist looking at her. And, though his gaze was discreet, he filled his mind with her image, wishing he had the right to look at her as much as he desired, which could—if she were free and unmarried—be a lifetime.
****
The fire and its smoky scent had long ago ceased to be, and the black of night had fallen over the prairie. The moon was only now rising in the east, and the sky looked as if a child had fallen, scattering a million pieces of light onto the "land" above. A little south and west of the wagon, a nighthawk screeched. Glancing up, Stands Strong recognized its long dark wings only because of the horizontal white stripe on each of its wings.
Stands Strong smiled. The nighthawk was a good sign. Were a war party close by, the nighthawk would not be singing as it went about its nightly hunting of moths and insects.
He had seen that the younger woman—a blonde, who appeared to be a girl instead of a fully grown woman—as well as the baby slept inside the prairie wagon, perhaps for protection since the overhead canopy of white sheltered them against the elements. Much like the travois of his own people, the wagon was stuffed full of household items: clothing, food, blankets and other needed equipment.
As Stands Strong sat his nightly watch, leaning back against the trunk of the sturdy, but small prairie tree, he directed a discreetglance at the beautiful white woman, Czanna. There she sat upon her bed of blankets which she had positioned next to the wagon. Placed beside her and lying on the blanket within easy reaching distance was her white man's firearm.
This was good. This was wise and smart.
However, there was one oddity about her and her family he did not understand: none of them changed into sleeping clothes for the night as his almost-mother usually did. But, perhaps it was becausehewas here, causing Czanna and the rest of the family to be uneasy and on guard.
But, there she sat, the picture of feminine beauty with her long dark hair falling over her shoulders. Its rich color looked black under the dim, yet sparkling lights from the stars. Truly, some of those tiny lights twinkled against her dark tresses, and the effect reminded him of the "wolf road"—the Milky Way. The beauty of her hair was exquisite, and his glance remained upon her, though he knew he should look away.
