Swift Hawk sat back, placed his own fingertips together and pretended to study them. Then, glancing up at her coyly, he said, “And yet sometimes, it is three.” He sent her a mock frown. “It is hard for me to understand how you would not know this.”
“I wouldn’t know it, sir, because it simply can’t be.”
Again, he grinned. “Ah, but what if one of these ponies were male and the other female? Do you not know the facts of life, Miss Angelia?”
“The facts of life? I…I…” She stopped. She stared at him for several minutes. Then, shutting her book, she sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell me, Mr. Hawk, how much mathematics do you know?”
“Perhaps I know how to count all two hundred of my ponies that are in my herd.”
“You have two hundred ponies?”
He nodded. “In my herd, in my village.”
“Then you don’t really need me to teach you, do you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Well, if you are so knowledgeable already, why did you agree to our bargain?”
Swift Hawk took his time answering, for in truth, he needed time in which to think. So long did he contemplate his answer, there was not another sound to be heard in their camp but the crackling of the fire, the mumblings of the merchants in the background, the crickets, the locusts and the ever-blowing wind. At last, he said, “Miss Angelia, I agreed to your bargain because you needed my help, and I am here to help you. If you could also aid me in what I must accomplish, I would welcomethat. Indeed, in some manner, I fear that I do need you. Perhaps it is to learn any of the white man’s ways that I do not already grasp. I do not know.”
The angel furrowed her brow. “Oh, yes, your purpose. This is not the first time you have mentioned this to me.”
“Yes, that is true.”
She glared at him. “And…?”
Silence.
“What is this cause that drives you, Mr. Hawk? If I am to help you, don’t you think I should know about your problem?”
He gazed away from her as he once again became lost in his own thoughts. Should he tell her? Should he share with her exactly who he was and what he must accomplish?
Or should he keep his reserve? Watch her? Wait?
After all, even amongst the Cheyenne, there were few who knew his real mission in life, few who understood who he truly was. Most thought he had simply been orphaned by his own tribe at a young age, and that he had been taken in by the Cheyenne to be raised.
Only the Cheyenne medicine man, his friend, Red Fox, and he, himself, knew the truth. Swift Hawk had learned at an early age that the fewer people who knew, the better. For most, including his own people—those who held to the spiritual way of life—did not believe.
No, only those who could help, only those who were in some way concerned or connected with his people, should know of the burden of his responsibility.
Was she the key to unlocking the slavery of his people? Was she really the one who could help him?
It was this uncertainty that kept him silent, that had him uttering, “Sometime, perhaps. Maybe there will be a time in the future when I will tell you why I am here, and the purpose that I bear.”
The angel paused, although she stared straight at him.Over the flickering firelight, their gazes met, held. Some quality, some emotion that he could not at once define, passed between them. Though Swift Hawk felt his response to her to the very depth of his soul, until he was certain, he would remain silent.
At last, she breathed out softly and whispered, “Perhaps you will tell me at some distant time, then, for I must admit that I am curious. Indeed, looking upon you now, I fear that whatever your secret is, it must be something that plagues you greatly.”
Swift Hawk nodded. “That it does, Miss Angel. That it does.” He hesitated, his look at her serious. Planting a smile on his countenance, he changed the subject. “And now I will tell you my understanding of mathematics.”
“Oh, really? This should prove interesting. But please, do lead on…”
Chapter
Ten
Old Antony told us that the cottonwood trees that grew along the river had a spirit that was a bit like a ghost and that Will and I must learn to respect that spirit. The ghost of the cottonwood tree had helped the voyageurs in all of their undertakings. When the Mississippi, swollen by spring rains, carried away part of its bank and a tall tree fell into the current, the spirit of the tree could be heard crying while its roots clung to the soil and its trunk lay down in the water.
