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When Chief Silver Wing returned, they sat down in a cross-legged fashion on the blanket. Echohawk sat stiffly, his hands resting on his knees, watching the elder chief prepare the pipe for smoking. In the red stone bowl he sprinkled tobacco from its pouch—a mixture of tobacco and the dried and pulverized inner bark of the red willow, known to the Indians as kini-kinik, which was like incense, pleasing to the spirits, and useful for attracting their favor.
Echohawk silently admired the chief’s pipe. Though it was a peace pipe, it was embellished with the hair of the Chippewa’s enemy—the Sioux. This hair had been taken from a fallen warrior, then dyed red and woven along with porcupine quills and eagle feathers around the three-foot-long stem of the pipe. Echohawk knew the workmanship was particularly fine and wondered if Nee-kah had decorated the pipe for her husband.
Echohawk’s thoughts would stay away from Mariah for only a short time, and then, as now, his mind would drift back to her and he would be torn with remorse and anger all over again for having loved a woman who proved to be his enemy. He did not see how talking about her to the elder chief was going to change any of his feelings. For fourteen Chippewa sunrises he had awakened with thoughts of her, torn between loving and hating her. How could it be any different today, tomorrow, and many moons to come?
No-din had stolen his heart, and almost his sanity!
Chief Silver Wing could see how Echohawk drifted between being troubled and being angry, then back again to being troubled. He plucked a twig from the ground and leaned it against the hot coal, soon setting it aflame.
Straightening his back, he placed the flame to his tobacco and puffed eagerly on the stem until the smell of burning tobacco filled the evening air with a pleasant sweetness.
He puffed from the pipe for many more breaths, staring at the night shadows thickening in the forest beyond, then pointed the stem north, east, south, and west, and finally toward the sky and the earth, and blew smoke in these six directions.
Silver Wing then passed the pipe on to Echohawk, and he in turn puffed, then pointed it in the same six directions Chief Silver Wing had, before passing it back to the elder chief.
Silver Wing rested the bowl of his pipe on his knee and remained silent a moment longer, not giving way to something so undignified as a smile, but breathing easily.
He then turned to Echohawk, his eyes reflecting his kindness, his warmth for the young chief. “Echohawk, this woman who to the Chippewa is called No-din should not be looked upon with hate or anger,” he said softly. “Remember always that she is the victim of a cruel father. But she is a courageous woman. She fled the life forced on her by a father whose heart is dark. I welcomed her in our village with open arms because I saw much gentleness in her eyes, a reflection of her inner being.” He paused and frowned, contemplating his next words. “Yet you say that she rode with those who ravaged your village. There has to be an explanation which will reveal that her role in the raid was an innocent one.”
“Would you call her innocent if you knew that she fired upon one of my braves?” Echohawk said, seeing it in his mind’s eye as though it were happening now.
Chief Silver Wing leaned forward and placed a hand on Echohawk’s knee. “Sometimes a gun is fired against another because the life of the one who fires the weapon is threatened,” he said reassuringly. He wanted so badly to find the truth behind No-din’s actions, not only to make peace within his own heart about this woman who had become a heroine in his people’s eyes but also to soothe Echohawk. He wanted to end Echohawk’s torment.
Echohawk gazed into the forest, which was now cloaked in darkness, again reliving that day that would forever haunt him. He recalled the hate he had felt for the young lad who had fired upon his brave, yet he now also recalled that his brave had taken aim on a white man—the man that No-din had defended by shooting the brave.
“That was her father!” Echohawk said, his voice shallow.
He turned quick, wide eyes to Chief Silver Wing. “It had to be her father!” he said anxiously. “She shot the brave to . . . to save her father!”
“So you do see, Echohawk,” Chief Silver Wing said, nodding. “She is a woman of much courage and loyalty. Although she held much resentment against her father, she could not let him die. She shot your brave only because her father’s life was in jeopardy.”
Echohawk was alert to Chief Silver Wing’s words, himself beginning to see why No-din had been with the raiders. “Her father forced many things upon No-din,” he hissed. “He cut her hair. He made her wear men’s clothes.”
He again looked quickly at Silver Wing. “She was also forced to ride with her father to witness the spilling of Chippewa blood.”
Silver Wing nodded, his eyes locked with Echohawk’s. “Ay-uh,” he said softly. “That is how I also see it.”
“And she fled from her father soon after,” Echohawk said, his heart thundering within his chest at the thought of being freed of all resentments toward No-din.
“It seems so,” Silver Wing said, again nodding. “And so you see, Echohawk, you have been wrong to condemn No-din within your heart. Her heart has always been in the right place. With us.”
“Ay-uh,” Echohawk said, nodding slowly. “I am seeing it all very clearly now.” His eyes widened as another thought grabbed him. “Her father! He is the one responsible for my people’s sorrow. Do you know him, Silver Wing? Do you know where he makes his residence?”
A warning shot through Silver Wing, who realized that Echohawk was still plotting vengeance whenever he thought about the day of the raid. Silver Wing also felt a deep, burning resentment toward certain white men, yet he had his people’s welfare to consider. Once an open war broke out between the Chippewa and any white man, no matter that the white man might deserve to die, in the end it would be the red man who would suffer.
“I know of him, and where he resides,” Silver Wing said solemnly. “But I think it best if you do not know. Think peaceful thoughts, my son. Too much Chippewa blood has already been spilled on Mother Earth. Do not let your life be guided by hate and the need of revenge. Put your people first, your hunger for vengeance last.”
“The ee-szhee-nee-kah-so-win, name,” Echohawk said flatly. “The location of his dwelling.”
“I will give you what you ask only because I feel honor-bound to share it with you,” Silver Wing said, reaching a hand to Echohawk’s shoulder, clasping his fingers ge
ntly to it. “His name is Victor Temple. He runs a trading post not far from Fort Snelling. I have never dealt with him because he is a wah-yah-szhim, a cheat and a liar. If you insist, I will instruct one of my braves to point out his residence to you. But before I do, promise me that you will only look, not attack.”
“I can promise nothing,” Echohawk said, his voice hard.
Silver Wing’s eyes filled with sadness. “You will be shown the location,” he said, sighing heavily.
“That is good,” Echohawk said, nodding.
