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Mariah clung a moment longer, then eased out of his embrace when she became aware of a lessening of the howling winds and the steadying position of the boat as it moved more smoothly through the water.
She went to the small window and gazed outside through the muck and mire of the glass. She felt much relieved when she saw that the snow was no longer whirling about, so obscuring the atmosphere that objects could not be distinguished at a distance of one hundred yards. It had been one of those tremendous storms called poudries, in which neither the Indians nor white people normally dared to stir abroad and when even the wolves flew to the woods for shelter.
“It’s finally stopped snowing,” she sighed heavily. She turned and gazed eagerly at Echohawk. “We haven’t left the cabin much since we’ve been aboard. I would like to now, before arriving at Saint Louis. Would you go with me, Echohawk, to take one last look?”
“If you can stand the cold,” he said, going to her, taking her hands. “No-din, living with the Chippewa, you will have to learn to accept the cold temperatures of winter better than you did living the life of a white woman. There are always duties for both men and women outside the wigwam. After the lakes are frozen, it is required that all men and women be strong enough to ward off such temperatures, to be able to get wood for warmth and water for drinking. The winter months require more stamina than the summer months.”
“And I won’t disappoint you,” Mariah said, smiling. She eyed the door, then looked up at him again. “Let’s go. Let’s explore.”
She had not encouraged much exploring after boarding the boat. She could not help but see an uneasiness creep into Echohawk’s eyes, even though only moments ago he was trying to convince her of so many things. Earlier, as they had boarded the boat, and the few times they had mingled with the others, she had seen how the other travelers gaped openly at him, then had looked at her with disgust when they recognized that she was with him, a woman whose skin was white.
She understood quite well that to most people it was a forbidden thing—the union of an Indian man and a white woman. She herself had feared ugly comments while traveling the full week to Saint Louis. But she had prepared herself for any and all snide remarks. She would defend her right to be with Echohawk to the end, if necessary.
She would defend Echohawk with her life, if need be!
Echohawk helped Mariah into her bearskin coat and then slipped into his own. Together they stepped out onto the deck. The temperature was not much below the freezing point, but the wind pierced their garments like a knife. The snow had finally stopped, and Mariah went to the rail and peered over the side, seeing that the riverboat was following close to the banks, partially sheltering it from the blast of the wind.
At times during the journey the boat had struggled, grating upon snags, and hanging for two or three hours at a time on sandbars. The weather had now cleared, showing distinctly the broad and turbulent river with its eddies, sandbars, ragged islands, and forest-covered shores.
Mariah had read in her studies that the Mississippi River was constantly changing its course, wearing away its banks on one side while it formed new ones on the other. At present the river was low, and it was almost frightful to see dead and broken trees firmly embedded in the sand, all pointing upstream, ready to impale any riverboat that at high water should pass over them.
Shivering, Mariah looked up at Echohawk. “I’ve seen enough,” she said, laughing softly. “Let us return to our cabin. I plan to place much more wood in the small stove. I am ready to be toasty warm again.”
Echohawk swept an arm around Mariah and led her across the deck past several cabins before reaching their own, the passengers consisting of traders, gamblers, soldiers and their wives from Fort Snelling, and Oregon emigrants and “mountain men.”
Just as they reached their cabin, Mariah and Echohawk were stopped when suddenly a man in a black cape blocked their way as he quickly exited the cabin on their left side. Mariah stiffened when his dark eyes shone with mockery as he glanced from her to Echohawk. He looked like the villains that she had read about in books, his mustache as black as the hair that was partially exposed at the edges of the top hat he was clutching with one hand, a cigar between the fingers of his other.
“What do we have here?” the man said in a snarl, his eyes still roaming over Mariah and then Echohawk. “I’ve seen you once or twice these past several days. A white woman and an Injun. Now, ain’t that an interesting combination?”
Echohawk’s eyes lit with fire, yet he willed himself not to show the anger he was feeling. “Step aside, white man,” he said, his voice smooth and even. “No-din is cold.”
The man’s dark eyes widened and his mustache quivered as he smiled wryly down at Mariah. “No-din?” he said mockingly. “It wasn’t enough that you chose a damn savage as a travelin’ companion, but you let the Injun give you the name of a squaw?” He reached a hand out for Mariah. “Come on. Let me show you the real world.”
Before Echohawk could stop him, the man had jerked Mariah into a cabin filled with laughing, raucous men sitting around a table, cards scattered across the top, along with many coins, and bottles of whiskey.
Frightened, not only for her own safety, but also for Echohawk’s should he do anything to antagonize these men, Mariah did not attempt jerking herself free. She scarcely breathed when Echohawk moved stealthily into the room, illuminated by one lantern, smoke hanging low over the table like billows of fog.
“Men, look what I’ve brought you. A little plaything,” the man said, shoving Mariah further into the room, close to the table. “We have us a little squaw here.” He jerked Mariah’s coat off, revealing her buckskin dress. “She ain’t only travelin’ with an Injun, she has an Injun name and she’s dressed like one.”
The men cocked their eyes up at the man and gave him annoyed stares. “Blackie, goddammit,” one of the gamblers said exasperatedly. “What do you think you’re doin’? Let her go. Do you hear? We don’t want no trouble. We just want to sit here peaceful-like, playin’ poker. The last thing we need is Injun trouble.”
“It’s only one Injun,” Blackie said, turning glaring eyes at Echohawk. He took a step toward Echohawk and stared up at the eyeglasses. “And I can’t figure this one out. He’s wearin’ spectacles.” He laughed throatily as he grabbed the eyeglasses from Echohawk’s nose and dropped them to the floor, crushing them with the heel of his boot. “Now. Should you decide to defend your little whore, I can fight you fair and square, since you don’t have spectacles on to hide behind.”
Goaded beyond human endurance, Echohawk could not hold back his rage any longer. He reached a hand out to Blackie and locked it behind his neck, forcing him quickly to the floor, on his stomach. Echohawk straddled him, and leaned his mouth close to his ear. “Hear me now, white man,” he warned, his voice a low hiss. “You push me too far and you will regret it.”
“All right, all right,” Blackie said, his eyes wild, one cheek pressed hard against the floor. “I apologize. Just let me up. I won’t bother you no more.”
Believing him, Echohawk let his hold on the man grow slack. And just as Echohawk started to rise away from Blackie, Echohawk found himself at the disadvantage and on the floor. A knife was quickly drawn from a sheath at Blackie’s waist and held close to Echohawk’s throat.
“Now who is threatening who?” Blackie said, laughing boisterously.
Her heart pounding, and seeing that the other men were not going to intervene, even though they apparently did not approve of Blackie’s tactics, Mariah knew that she must be the one to make the next move. Eyeing a whiskey bottle on the poker table, she inched her hand toward it. She was surprised that the men allowed even this, for when she picked the bottle up by its slender neck, they did not shout out a warning to Blackie.
Her knees weak with fear that she might cause Blackie to plunge the knife into Echohawk’s flesh, she crept closer to the man, then stopped and said his name—sweetly and seductively.
“Blackie? Why bother with him when you can have me?” Mariah said tauntingly.
Seemingly stunned by her flirting, Blackie forgot his concentration and eased the knife aside as he turned to look up at Mariah. She grabbed this opportunity to bring the whiskey bottle down on his head, the knife in his hand no longer a threat to Echohawk.
