CHAPTER ONE
Northwest Indian Country
Territory of the Blackfeet
The Month of High Water, June 1856
Was this the wind singing over the dry prairie cliffs?
He-stands-strong-against-the-enemy paused and listened. Scouting ahead of his party and intent on saying his morning prayers, he had been in the act of climbing up the steep rock-hardened bluff overlooking the sweeping, spring-green prairie. But now, hearing the distinctive melodic tones of a woman's voice, he halted, listening.
Looking outward at the pinkish sun rising up in the east, he hesitated for a moment to admire its beauty, there where it sat within the gray-, blue- and pink-painted sky. The air here was dry, as usual, though it was slightly cool. As he gazed eastward, listening to the woman's song and admiring the stark beauty of this northern landscape, a feeling of peace fell over him. He smiled, for it was a welcome sensation.
Although the words of her song were in a language he didn't understand, it little mattered. The wind carried the clear notes of the feminine voice to him, and he stood for a moment, transfixed in place. Then, with as little noise as possible, he pushed himself into an indentation in the face of the cliff that shot up from the prairie. Layers of rock jutting outward would cause a man to carefullyplace a foot when scaling it, but it also provided a means to "disappear," a skill essential to the scout.
He knew this place well, for the Pikuni people had often used this very cliff in the long ago past. The first time he had stood upon this bluff, he had imagined it looked as though the hillside had been cleaved through by a child's gigantic hand rather than the passage of time.
His people called this place apisskan—a buffalo jump. In the days before the horse, this was one of the many places in Pikuni country where the people had lured a herd of buffalo into falling off a cliff. The event, though filled with danger, was one of the greatest means by which to obtain enough meat for the tribe to last through the long, northern winters.
However, the people rarely used thepisskannow. Those days were now relegated to the long ago past—a period referred to as the "dog days," a time before the horse. But, the memory remained, and even today, when game was scarce, thepisskancould be called into practice and used for the benefit of the people.
Again, the wind whispered to Stands Strong, bringing the lilting quality of the woman's voice to his ears. He didn't move. He couldn't. He didn't even think; it seemed he could do little more than listen.
The song ended, leaving him with the desire to hear more of her lyrical voice. He didn't have to wait long, however, and the pleasant feeling that swept through him when she began another song startled him. That he should be so enraptured by a woman's singing was not a pleasant state of mind for him.
He was here to say his early morning prayers, true, but he and another scout were also performing a scouting duty requested by the chiefs of his tribe. And, because the lives of the Pikuni people depended upon his accurate information and evaluation of the environment, for Stands Strong to become entranced by a woman's voice was against all scouting protocols.
Yet, when she began the next melody, he recognized the sadness in her voice. Sadness—this, he understood. The woman was grieving.
Even though he could not look upon her person because of his current position below her, he knew she was white. Although Indian women often sang as they went about their daily routines, the notes, scale and rhythm of this woman's song were arranged in a way usually foreign to the American Indian's ear. No drum accompanied her singing…only the wind.
But, what is a white woman doing here? Alone upon a deserted windswept bluff?
Although he was acquainted with several white trappers in this, the Blackfoot country, he was only aware of three white women in all the regions of Indian Country. His almost-mother was one of those women; her two friends, who were sisters, were the other white women. All three lived with the Pikuni people and were each one married to an esteemed medicine man.
Was this woman a friend of these other white women? It seemed a reasonable assumption. This was especially so since he could think of no other reason for a white woman to be here alone, standing upon a desolate bluff and singing about the sorrow in her heart.
Is she lost? Is this why she is grieving?
Could she be related to the three white women he knew? Perhaps. Yet, his almost-mother had mentioned nothing of a friend traveling into Blackfoot country. And, she would have spoken of it, if only to ensure the person arrived safely.
Given these facts, it seemed unlikely the woman was distressed because of her inability to find her friends. However, reaching this conclusion brought more questions about her to mind, and because his duty as a scout demanded he investigate any matter which seemed out of the ordinary, scouting rules alone required him to discover what this was all about.
And so, although a sense of empathy demanded he should leave this woman alone to her anguish, he could not. Her being here was too unusual a circumstance. And, if he were wrong and she were actually looking for the three white women who lived amongst the Pikuni, he could take her there upon completion of his scouting obligation.
Yet, he was also aware of another reason to learn more about this woman: within him burned an urge to look upon this feminine person who sang with so much beauty in her voice. But, how was he to make his presence known without frightening her?
There was not a way to continue his climb to the top of the ledge without making noise. And, this alone would surely startle her. Yet, he had to do it.
Quietly, as soundlessly as possible, he stood away from the rock face which, up until now, had hid him. He looked upward toward the flat ledge.
Because she stood so closely to the edge of the precipice, he could see no more than the bottom of her dark-blue dress. But, the color of her clothing was of no importance to him since it told him nothing about her nor why she was here. He would have to announce himself in a manner that would least frighten her, and, if possible, he would talk to her since it was the only means available to him to discover why she was here.
Negotiating the footholds of the surrounding rocks, he climbed upward until he could at last pull himself up onto the ledge behind her. And, once he was positioned on the ridge, he squatted down behind her.
From this particular angle, Stands Strong could only see the back side of her, and yet he determined from this alone that she looked to be young and, most likely, pretty. Her figure was slight, yet rounded in its girlish splendor. Her dark hair hung loose down her back in waves and curls, and nothing adorned her head, which seemed odd for a white woman. His almost-mother hadonce related a story of the many hats a "proper woman" was expected to have in her possession.
The color of her hair was a deep, dark brown, almost black. Yet, now and again, as a beam of the early morning sun encompassed her, the dark color appeared reddish where the sun highlighted it.
