By this time, many of the trees were already turning yellow and orange. Yet, despite their beauty, First Rider was moody. There was a good reason for it. Upon inquiry, First Rider had related much to her about the weather conditions in the mountains and the differences between the snows on the eastern side of the mountains as opposed to the western side of the range.
In the mountains, First Rider had explained, winter was often known to come early, and on the western side of the Backbone-of-the-world Mountains, the snows did not come and go as they did on the eastern side. The warm chinook winds on the eastern or prairie side of the mountains came and went all winter long, melting the snow so it did not accumulate.
But, this weather was not repeated on the western side of the Backbone mountains. On the western side of the range, because there were no warm chinooks, when snow fell, it stayed and when it snowed again, it accumulated, sometimes creating walls of snow eight to twelve feet high. Traveling through such an accumulation was all but impossible for their ponies. Yes, man, himself, could make snowshoes and, thus, travel. But, to leave their ponies was unthinkable because, if the ponies wandered too far and stepped into one of these drifts, they might die there.
And so, if they lingered too long and did not push through the mountains fast enough, they could be caught in one snowstorm after another. They could become stranded, creating a survival, do-or-die situation. It would also require them to wait until the Season -of-the-birds-come-back—spring—before they could travel anywhere.
But, he added, if they left soon and did not linger on the prairie (eastern) side of the Backbone mountains, perhaps this trouble might never come to pass. After all, the trees had only recently begun to change their colors. Surely, the two of them had enough time to journey up and over the entire mountain range.
But, for now, sitting atop her pony on a lonely slope of a mountain, these worries did not concern her. Somehow they would survive. Survive… This was, after all, the reason she had been so insistent on accompanying First Rider. It was not jealousy, as one who did not know her well might assume.
First Rider might have had his own reasons for bringing her with him, but, for her, she was here to ensure he lived. Her dreams had warned her of impending danger, and she had become "Indian" enough in her thinking to know better than to ignore the threat.
Glancing at her dearly beloved companion, she swooned a little. She loved him so much. Indeed, how could she not love this man? He was so handsome. Standing as he was at the edge of a cliff and holding his pony's reins in his hand, his attention was outward, giving her a chance to study him.
Tall, manly and lean with straight shoulders that narrowed down to slim hips, even the capote he now wore didn't detract from his manhood. He carried his gun always in his arms, unless he was riding his pony, at which point, he stored it upon his horse in its grandly and colorfully beaded buckskin case. And, the rifle was always within his easy reach.
Warming to her subject, she noted again how his complexion was a gorgeous color of brownish red and, oh, how she wished her skin tone were the same. And, like all males in his tribe, First Rider wore a great deal of masculine jewelry, from ermine-fur earrings hanging down to and past his shoulders, to a white looping, beaded necklace, one she knew that draped down his chest, though the full effect of it was hidden by his capote.
And, like the others in his tribe, First Rider trimmed the forelock of his hair and pulled it straight up in a pompadour style, while the rest of his hair was very long and consisted of three braids, two in front and one in the back. She smiled, for it was she who braided these for him now—each and every day. She sighed. Indeed, even on the move, First Rider looked well-groomed.
How she had managed to capture this man's love, she didn't know, except that perhaps there was a reason why her infatuation with him as a young girl had become full-blown love: they had touched one another deeply and spiritually when he had saved her father's life.
Of course, she had loved him then. But, now her love for him was more of a woman's abiding and nurturing adoration.
True, she would have to walk away from him if Tsistsaki should return into his life and take her place as his first wife. And, Liliann knew she would have to live apart from them. It would be painful to be so distant from him, but her faith in God did not allow her any other choice.
But, with him or without him, she knew she would never stop loving First Rider. Never.
She slipped down from her pony, and, coming to stand beside him, she took his hand and brought it up to her lips, kissing it. But, he didn't react. Indeed, his gaze and his attention were outward.
"What is it thou sees out there, me own husband?"
He didn't answer.
Looking toward the mountain range, he pointed. "See you there…gap in summit of the Backbone range?"
"I do," she answered.
"It a difficult pass. Must get to it before…rain or snow. If snow comes, cannot go over pass. Three Pikunki men die…going over pass in snow."
"What would we do, then, if it does rain or snow?"
"We wait, but where?"
"I not be knowin'," she answered.
"We not wait in these mountains, even though it Pikuni territory. Mountain tribes made trail we following. Mountain tribes travel it. Mountain tribes our enemy."
"Be this why we have been travelin' at night and sleepin' by day? Because men from other tribes be travelin' the same trail?"
He nodded.
"Be this also why we have been travelin' in the woods beside the trail instead of on it directly? And, be it also why thou hast wiped away any sign of us passin' along the trail?"
"Áa, yes."
"This be why our shelters have been made small and in the bush? And why our ponies have been hobbled deeply in the forest?"
