PROLOGUE
The Trading Room at Fort Union
The Northwest Indian Country
May 1835
"Where can I find A'sitápi?" Gray Falcon asked in the language of gestures, though he spoke the last word in Blackfeet. "Have you seen her? I have come for my buffalo lodge and other possessions; they were left with her before I departed from here several months ago."
"Pardón, Monsieur,only de Americanine or de French do I speaks."
Gray Falcon shook his head, one of the few physical responses understood by all the tribes, as well as by the traders. In response, the trader, Larpenteur, shrugged his shoulders. And, since Gray Falcon had brought no furs to trade, Larpenteur dismissed him by turning his back on him. Then, without a word, Larpenteur stepped to the door of the trading room and was soon gone.
Gray Falcon sighed in response, clearly frustrated. Why had none of these traders learned the language so common to the people who lived on the prairie?
His asking this question brought to mind one of the reasons he had made the long journey to this fort: A'sitápi.Were she here, he would be able to make himself understood.
But, where was she? Had she taken her pony for a ride outside the fort? Perhaps. In truth, were she anywhere within the fort, she would have sought him out by now. The thought made him grimace.
She was more of a pest than a friend. And yet, friend she was. Indeed, she was probably his greatest ally within this fort, although he would have never sought her out deliberately.
Saa,no, she had come to him last winter, invading his home in her quest to find her sister who had been lost in the midst of a blizzard. But, even when she'd learned he couldn't help her, she had refused to leave.
He hadn't known what to do with her. Factually, he shouldn't have been alone with her; she was too young to be anywhere near him. She was also one of the daughters of the fort's Trader and the younger sister ofIkamóso-niistówas-siitámssin,wife of his friend, Eagle Heart.
Hannia, the young girl could have caused trouble for him and for herself, also. Luckily for him, his uncle and auntie had stepped in to act as chaperones.
Yet, over time he had become accustomed to her presence in his life, for she had made herself a frequent guest in his lodge—all too frequent. Perhaps he had become too used to her, causing him to forget she was also the favored daughter of the fort's Trader.
What to do now? He certainly couldn't ask his question of any of the Indians standing here within the trading room. All of them, with only a few exceptions, were enemies of the Blackfeet. He wondered again how any trading post could exist when the only people who could carry on a conversation in sign language were two sisters. And, the eldest sister was now gone from this place, recently married to his friend, Eagle Heart. The youngest,IsstsimmA'sitápi, Annoying-young-person—his name for her in Blackfeet—also known as Amelia McIntosh to the English-speaking traders, had taken her sister's place, since she, like her sister, could talk the gesture language.
Pushing himself away from the trading table, Gray Falcon turned and stepped to the back wall and, settling in, glanced around the room. The trading room was only moderately busy this day, which was unusual for the season of "when the geese come," since this was the best time of year to trade.
Deliberately he struck a leisurely pose, although he was ever alert and awake. And, as any scout must do, he glanced about the room quickly, reacquainting himself with this place, memorizing the differences between how it was now and how it had been several moons ago.
As he leaned back against the wall, he glanced casually at the long counter used for trading, or trading table, as it was known to the Indians. At present, there was a large buffalo hide spread upon it. Off to the side of the table were several beaver pelts, mink, and even raccoon and skunk furs. As always, a large book with many of the white man's papers lay open on the counter.
Many wooden shelves stood against the back wall, and at present, there were stacks of many furs, as well as neatly folded woolen blankets, on those shelves. Gray Falcon had become used to the sight of the mounted moose horns which were placed on both sides of the counter. Today these were displaying many different items of clothing, from belts and hats, to moccasins and a few fur-lined jackets. There were even pots and pans, as well as metal tools for food preparation, hanging from those horns. Looking up, he saw several kegs of whiskey standing upright on the highest shelves, out of easy reach of the Indians.
He knew robes, furs, moccasins, and buckskin clothing could be traded for guns, but no guns were on display. Indeed, guns were never openly exhibited within the trading room. The last time he had been at this post, he had learned from A'sitápi that guns were strictly kept in a locked closet.
Presently, four Blackfoot men—all of them friends and known to Gray Falcon—stepped into the room and trod toward the counter. Laying their stacks of furs on the counter, they waited patiently for Larpenteur to return.
With the addition of his four friends, there were now five Blackfoot men in this room, including himself. Glancing around, he counted eight men from the Crow tribe, four men from the Assiniboine tribe and two from the Gros Ventre. He reckoned these were fairly good odds if there were to be a fight, for a Blackfoot man counted as three men for every one man from another tribe.
But, there would likely be no fights, if only because all the Indians—himself included—had been divested of their weapons upon entering the fort; there were no quivers, no bows nor arrows, no guns nor rifles, no lances. Not even a knife could be seen upon the person of any Indian in this room.
The owner of this place, McKenzie, insisted upon stripping a man's weapons from him before entering the fort. The white traders stated this was a common practice within these trading centers and was done for the Indians' and the company's safety. This rule, however, was for Indians only, because the white men and trappers were always armed.
Realizing there would be nothing more to be learned here, Gray Falcon pushed himself away from the wall and trod silently out of the room. The solidly built entrance gate was open and was only a few steps away. But, before leaving, he took possession of his own weapons, pulling on his quiver full of arrows, picking up his bow and lance, tying on his knife sheath and grabbing hold of his muzzle-loading rifle, shoving it across his shoulders and back.
He was about to step out of the fort when suddenly, from behind, someone jerked him around and punched him in the stomach. The blow knocked him backward, and, after rocking on his feet, he slumped to the ground. Immediately, before he had recovered from the first assault, strong arms jerked him upward and another strike followed, an upper cut to his jaw. The solid punch landed square in his face, and, as he spun around, his nose began to bleed.
Gray Falcon could barely stand, but was still aware enough and quick enough to jerk an arrow from his quiver, setting it against his bow, pulling back the string and pointing it directly at his attacker—his intent clear. He accomplished this so speedily, his attacker stepped back, his face red with fury.
Alarm rocked Gray Falcon's world: this was A'sitápi'sfather. Still, his aim did not falter.
But, why was her father so angry with him? Was it because of the recent fight in the Beartooth Mountains? Surely not. Hadn't they settled their differences honorably?
