Cutter’s fever escalated through the day. And though he didn’t sink into delirium, he did awaken once, to stare glassy-eyed into the brightness of the late afternoon sun. Holding back tears of frustration and fear, Elizabeth passed a hand over his eyes, closing his lids to protect his pupils from the glare. She couldn’t forget Black Wolf’s sightless stare, couldn’t help comparing...
Not even to eat did she leave Cutter’s side. Black Wolf’s brother hunted for Katie, feeding her, while Elizabeth kept watch. He offered to Elizabeth, but Elizabeth refused.
“Méseestse!” he said, bringing the meat to his lips, showing her what he wanted her to do with it. “He-méseestse!” he repeated, thrusting the charred piece of hare at her once more, ordering her to eat it. “Mâhe'haná!”
Elizabeth watched Katie, who was eating silently, sitting surprisingly close to the Indian. And then she turned again to meet his gaze. He was glowering at her, and given the choice she had—to offend him, or not to—Elizabeth took the meat from his hands. There was something to be thankful for, she thought dismally as she chewed. At least Katie seemed less afraid. They’d actually attempted to communicate, and if Elizabeth hadn’t been so weary and afraid, she might have been amused by their interaction. The Indian seemed bent on coaxing Katie with strange items from his person. Only when he offered her a colorful feather did she relent and come nearer to inspect it.
At least, Colyer hadn’t returned.
And Katie, having endured such a stressful night, the night before, fell asleep even before the sun descended fully. After tucking her into a blanket, the Indian came to sit beside the fire, keeping Elizabeth company in silence, watching her keenly as she kept vigilance over Cutter, and reviving the fire when it threatened to sputter out. In absolute silence they sat together... until late in the night. And still Cutter’s fever remained high, though the scarlet streaks on his leg actually receded.
Growing weary, Elizabeth bent over Cutter, laying her head lightly upon his chest, listening to the erratic beat of his heart. Only a few more hours and there would be light to see by. She had to hold out till then... couldn’t sleep... mustn’t...
“Ne-toneseve-he?”
Blinking when she heard his voice, Elizabeth lifted her chin and met his gaze. “W-What?” she asked, shaking her head in confusion.
“Ne-toneseve-he?” he repeated, pointing at her. He pointed to himself suddenly. “Na-tsesevehe Hestano- vahe,” he said, pounding his chest with a closed fist. “Hestanovahe!” And then he pointed toward Katie’s huddled form. “Kay-tee,” he said, repeating the word he’d heard Elizabeth use to address her. And again to himself. “Hestanovahe!” And then he pointed to Elizabeth. “Ne-toneseve-he?”
She nodded, understanding finally. “Elizabeth,” she revealed. “My name is Elizabeth.”
“E-lis-ah-bet,” he repeated.
Elizabeth nodded, and then glanced down at Cutter. Swallowing the raw ache in her throat, she placed her hand to Cutter’s chest as she again met the Indian’s gaze.
“Ne-toneseve-he,”the Indian whispered, before she could speak. He pointed to Cutter and enunciated slowly. “Ne-toneseve-he. “
Elizabeth had no idea what name he’d given Cutter, but from the solemn way he spoke it, it was obviously one of great respect. She’d thought her tears all used, but another slipped silently from her lashes.
The Indian came closer suddenly. Lifting her golden hair into his hands, he fondled it with awe. “Ta’se Vehone- ma-kaeta,” he whispered. He nodded and lifted her hair for her to see. At the same time, he dug into a pouch, retrieving a shiny golden object from it. A small medallion, which he then contrasted against her hair. “Vehone-ma-kaeta,” he said again.
Elizabeth tried not to appear shocked as she stared at the medallion. Jo had one similar to it—a token of her father’s Catholic upbringing—and she found herself wondering who had owned this one previously. Certainly not the Indian. Vaguely she could see the raised golden image of the Virgin Mary, holding her baby son. Her eyes closed as she whispered a prayer for Cutter. She gulped back a sob, unable to speak for the emotion that assailed her.
Seeing her tears, the Indian restored the medallion into the pouch, and then moved to wipe them away. “Naóotséotse!” he said softly, closing his eyes and cocking his head to one side. When she didn’t immediately comply, he again cocked his head and closed his eyes, laying his head upon his hand. “Naóotséotse, “ he whispered.
He wanted her to sleep, she realized. Still unable to speak, Elizabeth nodded weakly and laid her head down upon Cutter’s chest.
Satisfied, the Indian rose abruptly. “Na-ase,” he said, and turned away, and Elizabeth thought he might intend to leave, because he lifted his canteen, studied it an instant, and then set it back down again with a brief glance her way. She was touched by the gesture. That he would leave her something so precious as his waterskin.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth whispered hoarsely, her throat raw with the salty burn of tears.
The Indian turned to walk away, and she knew intuitively that he was, in fact, leaving her. “Thank you!” she called out a little louder.
He stopped abruptly and turned to look at her, his brows furrowing slightly.
Elizabeth wanted to ask him why he’d come... to beg him not to go... not to leave her and Katie alone. But she knew that it wouldn’t be in his best interest to stay. He would lose his life if someone came upon them. Too many would hate him for his color. He must have known it as well, and determined that the time had come for him to leave. She sensed it in the wariness that had returned to him. Nevertheless, his coming had been a gift that she would never forget, never question, and would always be grateful for, and her mind searched for the Cheyenne word Cutter had taught her to say thank you. “Ne-esh,” she repeated as closely as she remembered.
He raised his brows curiously at her pronunciation of the word; nevertheless, he seemed to understand, because the tiniest smile quirked at his lips as he nodded his farewell. “Ne-sta-va-hose-voomatse,” he enunciated slowly. He glanced briefly at Katie, nodding, and then walked beyond the campfire’s light, into the night. And despite the fact that she couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him, Elizabeth sensed his presence for a long time afterward.
Somewhere, he was watching her.
Grateful for that act of kindness from a stranger, she sank back down over Cutter’s still form, repeating the unintelligible words as a listlessness enveloped her. She concentrated on the beat of Cutter’s heart, the rhythm of his breath. Tears squeezed from her eyes as she closed them. Seeing Cutter’s face, she imagined she heard him call to her, speak to her. Finally she let go, and drifted...
“I failed—miserably!”
“No you didn’t, Lizbeth. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The man was already six feet under when he fell off that horse. I tried to tell you as much... but you wouldn’t listen... There was nothing more you could have done. As my mother’s people would have said, the shadow had long left him, he only breathed—Chrissakes, woman don’t you know how proud of you I am?”
“P-Proud?”
