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“Chippewa? Kickapoo, huh?” the man said, kneading his chin. “I ain’t never had no trouble with either tribe.” He nodded toward the barn. “Go ahead. Take the barn for the night. But be on with you tomorrow before I come out to tend to my cows and chickens.”
“We will be gone,” White Wolf said. “Thank you. May the Great Spirit bless you for your kindness to strangers.”
“You don’t have to leave before breakfast, now do you?” the woman blurted out, getting a frown from her husband. “I’ll bring you biscuits and gravy early in the morning. And hot coffee. My conscience wouldn’t rest if I didn’t feed you before you headed out again.”
“Thank you,” Dawnmarie said. “That would be most kind of you. We would be glad to share biscuits and gravy with you in the morning.”
White Wolf and Dawnmarie wheeled their horses around and rode to the barn.
After the horses were turned out to eat in the pasture, and White Wolf had made a bed of straw for his wife, they stretched out together beneath a blanket.
“Violet Eyes, you seem unsettled,” White Wolf said, drawing Dawnmarie closer to him.
“I so miss our children,” she murmured. “Wisconsin is so far away now.”
“Our children are all right,” White Wolf reassured her. “Now go to sleep. You need your rest. I need mine.”
Dawnmarie snuggled closer to her husband, always finding solace in his powerful arms.
Chapter 2
She yet more pure, sweet, straight, and fair,
Than gardens, woods, meads, rivers are.
—ANDREW MARVELL
Fire Thunder sank his heels into his horse’s flanks and sent it into a lope ahead of the longhorn steers. The trail was rough up the mountainside, especially with a large herd of longhorns, their hooves occasionally slipping and sliding on the rocky path.
Determined to keep his people together at all costs, Fire Thunder had chosen to build his village on land that was many miles into the mountains. It was well hidden from those who might try and intrude on his people’s privacy.
His village was strategically located several miles from the United States border, close enough to San Carlos so that it would not be inconvenient for his clan to go there and sell their wares, and to trade with the Mexican people.
Above him on his right, the rimrock glowed like stirred coals in the early morning sunrise.
Somewhere in the pines that spread out on both sides of him, a meadowlark gave the morning its first song.
A chickenlike bird strutted from a thicket, onto a cropped dome. Another bird fluttered in, and soon there were a dozen.
A pair of cowbirds squeaked like rusty hinges.
Then he rode onto a flat stretch of land carpeted with pungent sagebrush giving off a bittersweet scent.
Fire Thunder edged his horse aside to watch the longhorns pass by, quickly now, the pastureland in view. He then rode on, Black Hair beside him on his mustang.
When they reached a shallow creek, the Kickapoo point men gave little crooning yells, encouraging the steers to cross. Their throaty cries were barely audible over the thudding hooves and the splash of the roiled waters as the longhorns dove into the stream.
The longhorns streamed past in a flurry of bobbing backs and tossing horns. Shades of tan predominated in their hides—ranging from a creamy-yellow to a rich chocolate-brown that was so dark, it looked more black than brown
After the longhorns were on dry land again, and moving peacefully along the trail toward the Kickapoo pastures, Fire Thunder and Black Hair broke away from them and rode into their village.
It was just in time for Fire Thunder to discover that the women and children of his village were ready to leave on their burros, to sell the wild chilepiqiquin, chili peppers, they had harvested.
They had also harvested much wild oregano and pennyroyal, which they preferred to sell from door to door, rather than on the town square, since this method always brought them a better price.
Fire Thunder’s eight-year-old deaf-mute sister, Little Sparrow, was among those who were going to the town of San Carlos.
Fire Thunder dismounted and went to her.
