CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In order that her hair would not be constantly whipping into her face, Amelia had braided her brownish locks into two neat plaits at the side of her face. Keeping with the Pikuni style, she also wore a choker of polished white shells and beads. Gray Falcon's shirt hung down over her underthings. It was the same shirt he had given her to wear all those days ago when he had demanded she give up her bright—although beautiful—blue dress.
Giving him his due, she realized he was right: it was better to fade into the environment, especially if one were to travel on one's own—and she was definitely traveling on her own. Indeed, no one had dared accompany her. And, this being the case, she wore his shirt.
Her pony, Honey Sugar, was a gray mare borrowed from her sister. The horse was unsaddled except for a blanket thrown over its back, and, keeping with the Pikuni fashion, Amelia did not ride sidesaddle. The pony's reins were mere buckskin ropes braided especially for this purpose, and she held them loosely in her hand since Honey Sugar seemed to know where she was going. However, Amelia broke with tradition when it came to her footwear. On her feet were her own boots, since she had never become accustomed to the fashion of wearing moccasins over a terrain as grassy as the plains. Also, there were prairie dog holes, uneven ground, and rocks over which she would have to tread, were she to walk. No, for her, boots were more comfortable.
It was her second day on the trail. Because it was daylight, she was keeping her path to within the trees lining the feet of the white sand-and-clay cliffs. From the map Laylah had drawn upon the dirt, Amelia knew if she were to continue north through these woods, she would soon discover the Missouri River. And, once she reached the Missouri, her path would be easier.
In truth, she was rather frightened of traveling alone, but she would bear up under it. Ahead of her, she saw a red-headed woodpecker alight upon an old, fallen log. At once he began to peck at the fallen tree, making quite a noise of it. She smiled. It wasn't as if this part of the country were barren. Birds and other life forms abounded here. It was more the case that human life was not as numerous as the birds of the prairie.
Above her came the sounds of the longspur birds, chirping as they flew by and glided in the winds high above her. Looking upward, she couldn't see the birds, yet she was certain they were there, for their song identified them.
As her gaze came back to the earth, she saw a couple of western sparrows sitting lowly in the trees and even resting upon the ground. Their distinctive song—che-che-che-wée-che—brightened an otherwise hot afternoon.
Gray Falcon had once told her the western sparrow spoke the Gros Ventre language, and when she'd asked him why, he had said it was because his song could not be understood, much like the Gros Ventre language.
She smiled. Simply thinking of Gray Falcon brought her pleasure. She only hoped her journey would not be for naught, and that she would become a valuable asset to Gray Falcon.
Reaching forward, she petted Honey Sugar's head, scratching her between the ears. The quarter horse neighed.
"Where are we to sleep tonight, my friend?" asked Amelia, breaking the silence of the trees. "What was that you said? We should, once again, sleep within the wooded glens like we did last night? I think I agree with you, girl."
Suddenly Amelia heard movement within the bushes ahead of her, and, in reaction, she pulled back on the reins. She didn't speak. Instead, she listened.
Honey Sugar nickered.
Reaching down, Amelia petted the animal's neck. She whispered, "What do you think is in those bushes, girl?"
Honey Sugar snorted and shook her head.
"I don't think we should go and see what it is. What if it is a bear or a wolf, or worse, a wolverine?"
"Where ya goin' thar, pretty Injun?" Spoken in coarse English, a man, looking more like a bear than a man, stepped out from behind the bushes. Amelia's stomach dropped.
You were right, my husband. I fear I may be in trouble. I should never have left the camp and our wickiup.
Her hand inched toward the derringer tucked neatly into the folds of her trousers.
"Come har, Jeremy. Look at this 'un. Be she white? Do ya think she be the one we's lookin' fer?"
"Could be."
Amelia pulled the derringer from her trousers, and, using both hands to steady the weapon, she pointed it at the nearest of the men. With a force of will, she kept her voice from shaking as she said, "Go away and no damage will be done to you. I know how to use this weapon, and I am ready to shoot it. Just turn around and go back the way you came."
"Sure, lady, sure. Why, ya dunna need ta scare me." He suddenly whooped and hollered. Then he took a step forward.
Amelia's hand was still shaking, yet she found it within herself to threaten them again, and she called out, "I promise I will shoot you if you come any closer."
The two of them kept taking one step after another in her direction until finally it occurred to her that they were on foot while she was still sitting atop Honey Sugar.
Digging her boots into Honey Sugar's flanks, she shot away from the two assailants. Yet, she wasn't out of danger yet. She had been keeping her path in the trees lining the hills for a good reason: she didn't want to stand out upon the prairie in the light of day.
But, there was great danger in running Honey Sugar through the trees. Some of them were young and were numerous, and so many had low-hanging branches. She could easily be swept off the animal. All it would take is any limb of the tree to be lower than the height of her horse. Bending down until her head was on the level with that of her quarter horse, she briefly said a prayer.
Blast! Blast! Boom!
They were shooting at her? Even knowing she was white?
