"I'm sorry to interrupt, George, but I have a question I would like to ask Mr. Stands Strong."
"Can't you ask it later? Or tomorrow?"
Czanna was about to answer her brother when Stands Strong spoke up and said, "Mr. George, you are young and so perhaps do not know what I am about to tell you. I ask you only to listen well to me when I say this: a real man never speaks in the way you haveto a woman. But, especially he does not speak in this manner to hissister."
"But, why did she have to come here and spoil it all?" George complained.
"Careful, young warrior," advised Stands Strong. "Remember, we men are taught to be kind and tolerant toward our women.Hánnia,without women, there would be no life to continue our tribe, and perhaps no beauty nor meaning to life either, for what man would dress himself well or even train himself to be strong, if not for a woman? A man might fight off intruders or enemies; he might even go to war from time to time, but without a woman, a man's life is meaningless. The Pikuni have a saying, 'Not found is happiness without woman.' Know this: a real man—one who is able to put away his boyhood prejudice—speaks kindly to the girls and the women in his life and tribe, and if he cannot do so because of some argument or a differing opinion, he must leave for a while until he knows he can return soon and speak to his woman kindly and without anger."
George looked down. He nodded. But, as though shamed, he didn't say a word.
"Perhaps you are tired, my friend. It has been a day filled with many problems. And, you are young—"
"I am not so young!"
Stands Strong smiled at George. "You speak true. But, I have been hoping to have words with your sister. There is much she and I should discuss. Do you object to seeking your bed while she and I talk to one another?"
"What do you want to talk to my sister for?"
If Stands Strong was at all annoyed by the question, he didn't show it. Instead, he calmly explained, "Your sister is now the eldest member of your family. There are many possible dangers on the prairie at this time of year, and I must discuss them with her. However, if you do not wish to sleep yet this night, you maystay and listen as we talk to one another. But, I ask you to listen only. What I am about to say to her is for her only."
George seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, "BecauseIam the man of the family now, I will stay. I'd like to know what the dangers are anyway."
Stands Strong nodded. "So be it." Glancing at Czanna, who was sitting toward the outside of the invisible circle he and George made, Stands Strong said to her directly, "As I have just said, I have need to talk to you about the perils the prairie holds at this time of year and what you must instruct the others to do, if you are to survive."
Then he stood up and, with only a few steps, came to sit down in front of her, crossing his legs at his knees.
Glancing forward, Czanna gazed up and across the short distance to look at Stands Strong. Silently, she gasped. A gentle half-moon had at last arisen on his left, and beneath its gentle silvery cast, Stands Strong looked handsome almost beyond belief.
At present, he wore his hair in two neat braids, one on each side of his face, but she remembered he also wore one single braid at the back of his head. Parting his hair slightly to the right, he had attached a white feather to his hair on that particular side, allowing the feather to fall down over the braid. A long string of silver-colored beads were also attached to his hair in a similar manner as the feather, and the string dropped down beside the feather over the same braid.
He wore round white shell earrings. And, although she thought the province of earring wearing was strictly feminine, on this man the earrings looked manly and proper. In addition, a long looping shell-beaded necklace fell down over a white, hide shirt. While she couldn't see it now, she remembered his shirt ended at about his mid-thigh in an uneven hem, perhaps mimicking the shape of whatever animal it was made from.
Now that she was closer to him, she could clearly see his breechcloth was different from his other clothing; perhaps it beingmade from another animal than the rest. But, whatever its material, this masculine piece of clothing was dyed blue and had a white stripe running down its center. Even his leggings, as he sat before her crossed at the knees, were of a whitish color, though she could see painted symmetrical shapes of blue, yellow and white upon them. On his feet looked to be a tougher kind of buckskin moccasin, and both moccasins had the same geometrical shapes painted on them in identical hues to the colors on his leggings.
He was tall, even as he sat before her; he was somewhat thinly built, although muscular; and his posture was straight with no slumping shoulders, a condition a little unusual for a man of his height. His skin color was tan, perhaps only a few shades darker than her own. His eyes were a very dark color of brown, appearing to be almost black. His cheekbones were high and prominent, his nose was not long and was aquiline—but only slightly so—while his lips were full and well-shaped for a man.
And, as the moonlight flattered each and every part of Stands Strong's physical demeanor, Czanna wondered why no one who knew anything about this land and these people had warned her about the looks and charisma of these young Indian men. She had heard many men on the steamship and at Fort Benton describe Indian warriors as ugly fiends, devils, even as Satan, himself. But, as she had decided earlier this morning and was still inclined to think now: it simply wasn't so.
Swallowing hard, she gazed away from him. She had to, if only because the raw strength and virility of this man was too much to realize so quickly. Besides, a woman of the gentry class did not stare at a man.
But, he was speaking, and, looking up, she gave him her full attention as he said, "Before I tell you of the dangers we will face even before the sun first rises, I would hear what it is you have to ask me."
"I…I…" Czanna couldn't quite meet his regard, and so she glanced away from him and gulped, not yet comfortable with her observations of his utter male beauty.
He didn't say a word, however. Instead, when she dared to gaze back at him, he was looking down, appearing to be calmly awaiting whatever it was she had to say.
Because the wind was strong this night and blowing in her direction, his clean manly scent wafted toward her. It was not unpleasant. Indeed, it was the opposite, and something within her stirred to life.
She swallowed as a feeling of complete femininity made her hesitate to speak. Naturally, he being larger and stronger than she, a notion of being his inferior caused her to hesitate. But, this would never do.
Lifting her chin, she reminded herself of who she was, and also who he was. She was of the dominant, aristocratic class in her homeland. Therefore, he was not her equal, regardless of how good-looking or how helpful he might be. In particular, she had every right to employ him, to ask him to leave off his duty to his chiefs and to help her family instead.
Still, she hesitated. But, when he remained aloof and quiet, and it appeared he would calmly wait for her to begin, she murmured, "I… Mr. Stands Strong, I have come here to ask if you might please be our guide into the Glacier Mountains."
He looked up at her and asked, "The Glacier Mountains? Are you speaking of the Backbone-of-the-World Mountains?"
"I…I do not know."
