Stealing May

Jake’s future lay wide open, much like the rugged landscape that stretched out before him.  Here, there were no walls, no boundaries. 
He had given up everything, left everything behind, but at the same time, he had everything to gain.  His goals, his hopes, all that he had longed for from the time he had been old enough to know what he wanted. 
He knew his father would have been proud.
Jake spread his map out flat across the trunk of a wide tree and ran his finger along the surface.  “We must be right about . . . here,” he said aloud.  “This is where the river turns sharply to the west.”
Hale stepped up behind him and looked over his shoulder. 
“Looks right to me.”
“The land is good out here,” Jake continued.
“It is that,” Hale agreed.
“Still, I think we should keep heading east.  There’s a lake not far from here that would be nice to have on a cattle ranch.”
“What do you think, another day or two away?”
“Sounds about right.” Jake folded the map and tucked it away in his leather saddle bag.  “What do you say we call it a day and make camp here?”
Hale looked around.  They were surrounded by towering evergreens, with a broad river on their right.  A mountain range jutted up along the horizon, and bobwhites could be heard calling back and forth.  He breathed in the cool autumn air.  “Sure enough.  This is a nice place.”
Jake unhitched the horses, leading them into the trees where they could be tied loosely and allowed to graze.  He affectionately ran his hand along the black steed’s shoulder.
“You’ve been working hard, old boy.  You deserve a break.” The horse flicked his ears forward and back as Jake absently rubbed the animal’s soft muzzle.
“Is this too good to be true?”  He asked aloud, smiling to himself.  “Here I am, in wild Wyoming.  Chasing my dreams.”  He laughed.  “You probably think I’m crazy, don’t you?  Dragging you out here with me.”
The years he’d spent living and working in Laramie were finally paying off. Now he was mere miles from where he would have his own homestead, his own ranch.  His own land. 
He watched Hale climb onto the wagon to unload the needed supplies.  The two of them had met almost a year ago, working for the railroad in Laramie.  Hale had shared Jake’s interest in starting a ranch, and had joined him on this foolhardy journey into the wilderness.
Jake was glad enough to have him along.  There was safety in numbers, after all, and two pairs of hands could make quicker work of clearing land and building shelter.  And he was glad for the companionship.
They made short work of setting up camp, and passed the afternoon planning their futures as they sat around a small fire, sipping their coffee.
“Wherever we settle,” Hale began, “we’ll have to make sure there are enough trees in the area for the cabin.  We don’t want to have to haul them in.”
“Right,” Jake agreed.  “And we’ll need plenty for fence railings.  Might help keep wolves away from the cattle.”
Hale nodded.  “Wolves and mountain lions.  But what worries me most is the threat of Indian attacks.”
Jake swallowed the last of his coffee.  “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble there.  As long as we don’t give them any reason for it.”
“Do they need a reason?  They’re Indians.  They’d rather kill us all than have us on their land.”
“You’ve heard too many stories,” Jake asserted.
“Yeah, and too many of them were true.”
Jake decided to let it drop.  Admittedly, the possibility of trouble with Indians had concerned him as well.  He had also heard horrifying tales of settlers and their families being brutally murdered by bands of Indians on the war path.  But he also knew of folks who’d managed to live peacefully alongside native tribes as neighbors, even friends.  Jake held on to a secret hope that he could be one of those people.
Hale wouldn’t understand such a notion, Jake knew.  There was no point in sharing it with him.  He had spent enough time with the man to know that he could be stubborn to a fault.

The wide, nameless river lay before them, churning over large rocks and glinting like glass in the sunlight. 
“This is the shortest route,” Hale pointed out once again. 
“I’m aware of that,” Jake told him.  “But the question I have is, how deep is it?”  He stepped cautiously into the fast-moving body of water, walking on until it almost reached the tops of his boots. 
“Here,” Hale called out to him, handing him a shovel from among their few possessions. 
“Thanks.”  Jake took it, jabbing the spade into the riverbed, gauging its depth.  He found that he could still keep his footing as far out as halfway across, with the water level up to his waist.  He turned back to where Hale would be able to hear him over the sound of the river’s uproar. 
“It’s not too deep!  I think we can cross it!”
Hale nodded.  “I’m coming!”  Hale kept a tight grip on the horses’ reins as he led them into the water.  They pranced nervously, bumping into each other.  Jake watched as his soon-to-be business partner coaxed his animals farther on.  He reached out grab the large black’s halter.  “Come on, boys.  You can do this.”
Hale lost his footing once, and disappeared briefly under the surface, then came up sputtering. 
“All right?”  Jake asked.
“Fine,” he replied, wiping his face.
In the deepest parts, Jake found himself half-walking, half-swimming through the frigid water.  He glanced back continuously to check the level of the water on the wagon, not wanting anything to get swept downstream.
Eventually, they reached the opposite bank, cold and wet, but unharmed, and having lost none of their supplies.  They changed into dry clothing and sat around a blazing fire to warm themselves.
The afternoon had begun to fade into evening when Hale sat up and looked over his shoulder, through the trees.
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“There’s something out there.”
“Could it be a moose?”
Hale grabbed his gun.  “Or a bear.”  He cautiously headed for the open grassland.
Jake snatched up his own rifle and followed him.
The two men stood side by side between the tress, silently observing the scenery laid out before them, listening for any sign of something amiss.
Only the bushes moved, jostled by a gust of wind.
Jake was ready to suggest that it was nothing, that they head back to camp, when two figures emerged into the clearing—a man and a woman.  One glance at their long, dark hair and deer skin clothing told him that they were Indians.  Jake was mesmerized by their appearance—simple yet dignified. 
He felt strangely compelled to walk out and greet them.
Hale called out a warning, snapping Jake back to reality.  “Indians!” 
The man heard him and hurried to arm his longbow, but Hale was ready with his rifle. 
“No! Wait!” The words had hardly escaped Jake’s lips when Hale took aim and fired.  Jake could see, through the cloud of white smoke, the Indian man stagger and fall to the ground.
The woman shouted and ran to him.  She knelt over him, shaking him.  It only took her a moment to realize that he was already dead.  She looked up to see Hale running toward her, with Jake behind him.  She turned and bolted away, through the open field.           
Hale was right on her heels, however, and he soon caught her and grabbed her roughly.  She turned on him, shouting and beating him with her fists.  He wrestled her arms around behind her back and held them tightly even as she continued to struggle. 
Jake reached them, winded.  “What have you done?” He panted. 
“I couldn’t let her get away,” Hale replied, just as breathlessly.  “There may be others close by.  If she got back to them, we’d be in real trouble.”
Jake paused a moment to catch his breath.  “What are you doing out here?” He asked her.
She didn’t answer.  Instead, she spat at Jake’s feet.
Hale lifted his arm to strike her, but Jake stopped him.
“Oh, come on now, leave her be.  No harm done.”
“No harm? They meant to kill us!”
“Well, that may be so, and it may not be.”
“You saw what I saw! The savages attacked us!”
Frustrated, Jake turned away.  “Just bring her back to camp.”
Hale all but dragged the woman along after Jake, who proceeded to roll up his sleeves. 
“What are you doing?” Hale asked him.
Jake nodded his head toward the fallen brave.  “I’m going to bury him.  Before the coyotes get at him.”
Hale looked none too pleased.
“It won’t take long,” Jake challenged.
Hale sighed.  “Fine, then.”  He pulled the rigid woman back to camp.  Jake turned and made his way through the tall grass until he came to where the dead Indian lay face down on the ground. 
Jake stood looking at him a moment.  He had been a young man, and a strong one.  His long black hair had been tied with strips of leather, with eagle feathers attached. 
Jake was sorry he’d been killed.
With a sigh, he pulled his knife from his belt and cut one of the feathers loose.  Glancing back toward camp, he thought that the woman may want to have it.  Not that it would in any way make up for his death.
Sweat was running down the back of Jake’s neck by the time he placed the last rock on the mound covering the Indian’s body.  Wiping the dust from his palms, he stood back a moment in silence before turning away.
Back at camp, he found Hale standing near the wagon, watching the woman closely.  Jake removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.  He looked at Hale, then back at the woman, who cast him a quick, hostile glance before looking away. 
“What do you want to do now?” Hale asked.
Jake scratched the back of his head.  “I think we should get out of here.  Head toward Wheatland.  If—or when—her people realize she’s missing, they’re likely to send out a search party.”
“What should we do with her?” Hale continued, stepping towards Jake.  “Get rid of her?”
Jake looked at him.  “Get rid of her?”
Hale nodded.  “If they do come looking for her, we don’t want them to find her with us.”
“Well, I can agree with that,” Jake replied.
“What, then?”
Jake studied the Indian woman.  She sat only a few feet away, gazing straight ahead, keeping a hard expression on her face.
She was very beautiful.  Jake was certain she’d be missed—and soon, at that.
Hale cleared his throat, and Jake looked up at him.  He thought a moment.  “I say we head out now, and take her with us.  At least a good day’s ride from here.  We’ll be well out of their range if they should come after us.  We can figure out what to do then.”
Hale shook his head.  “I don’t believe this.”
“Well, I’m not going to let you kill her, you know.  We’re already in over our heads since you shot the other one.”
“All of this over some savages.”
Jake turned away, frustrated.  “Just help me break camp.”
They made quick work of gathering their belongings and packing them into the wagon.  Hale looked over his gun, reloading it to replace the fired bullet.  He glanced  around anxiously, as though he almost expected them to be surrounded by hostile Indian warriors. 
Jake could tell that he was getting edgy.  He put his hand on Hale’s shoulder.  “You drive the team,” he suggested.  “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Hale nodded.  “Keep your gun at hand.  We have to be ready in case they attack.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Jake stepped up to the Indian woman and took her firmly by the elbow.  “Come with us,” he said.  “It’s all right.  Trust me.”
She held her head up, refusing to look at him.  He lifted her into the back of the wagon and climbed on after her.
“All set?” Hale asked from his seat at the head of the wagon.
Jake nodded.  “Let’s get out of here.”
Hale turned the horses north. 
Jake kept his eyes on the hills as they traveled toward Wheatland, the nearest established town.  After two long hours of silence, Jake began to relax a little.  He rested his rifle across his knees and sat back.
Looking over at the Indian woman, he noticed that she hadn’t moved at all during the entire ride.
Jake couldn’t help being struck by her wild sort of beauty.  She was slender, with her long, dark hair pulled into a braid.  Her copper skin was flawless, her eyes almost black.
She sat perfectly straight and unmoving. 
Jake searched for something to say to her.  He cleared his throat.  “What tribe are you?  Arapaho, Cheyenne, Kiowa?”
She said nothing.
“What’s your name?”
Still nothing.
“Look, we’re not going to hurt you.  We just want to protect ourselves.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Hale commented, looking back over his shoulder.
“What do you mean?” Jake asked him.
“I’m sure she doesn’t speak English.  Why would she?”
Jake studied her for a moment.  “You’re most likely right.”   
Hale noticed that Jake couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her.  “Don’t let your guard down,” he warned.
“Huh?”
“I mean stay on the lookout!  We’re not out of harm’s way, you know.”
“Right.  Sorry.”


By the time the sky began to show light in the east, Jake was exhausted.  At Hale’s insistence, they had continued riding on all night.  Jake had managed to doze off several times, only to be jolted awake by the rough movement of the wagon.
He leaned forward to stretch his aching back.  “Hale, I need a break,” he moaned. 
“Do you reckon it’s safe enough?”
“It’ll have to be.  My body can’t take another hour of this, and we could both use some rest.  So could the horses.”
Hale had to admit that Jake was right.  He was beyond tired himself.  The trees were few and far between, so they pulled the team alongside some high bushes.  A small trickle of river runoff had carved it’s way through the soil nearby. 
Jake climbed over the side of the wagon and stepped down.  He reached up to give the Indian woman a hand, but she shrugged him off and came down on her own.  Standing next to him, she stared at him defiantly.  Jake suddenly got the feeling that she was the sort of person who would take on an entire army just to prove she could do it.
The short straw went to Jake, meaning Hale would sleep first, while Jake kept watch.  It was just as well.  Jake wasn’t too keen on the idea of leaving Hale alone with the woman, knowing that he’d prefer to just kill her and move on.  Jake was beginning to wonder who needed protecting more—them from her or her from them.
Hale had fallen asleep quickly, and now Jake and the Indian woman sat in silence.  It felt awkward. 
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”  Jake asked, just to hear his own voice, and to express his thoughts aloud.  “I don’t think you’re afraid of anything.”
She glanced in his direction, only for a moment.  What could she be thinking?  Jake wished there was some way he could make her understand him.

Hale eventually woke up and exchanged a few groggy words with Jake.  The two men traded off positions, and Jake moved, somewhat reluctantly, away from the Indian woman to allow Hale to stand guard. 
She watched everything in silence.  With a quick glance, she judged the distance between the men and their rifles.  As Hale moved to sit down, she jumped to her feet and gave him a firm shove, knocking him off balance.  He landed flat on his stomach.
“Hey!”  He shouted.  “Jake!  She’s running!”
Jake whipped around in time to see their captive darting through the trees.  Hale clamored to his feet and ran to grab his rifle before giving chase. 
“Hale!”  Jake called after him.  “Don’t shoot her!  Hale?”  Fearing for the woman’s life, Jake snatched his own rifle and followed him.  Catching up, he watched as she tired and stopped running.  She looked around frantically, breathing hard.  Realizing there was no place to hide, she held up her hands, as if to shield herself from any oncoming bullets.
“E’neoestse,” she cried out.  “Venena’hane!”
Hale marched toward her, and she backed away, her eyes silently pleading for him not to hurt her.  Hale was enraged, however, and blinded to her pleas.  Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her face close to his.
“What are you gonna do now, huh?”  He asked viciously.  “Not so smart after all, are we?”
She shut her eyes tight and tried to push him away, but his grip was firm.
“Let go of her, Hale,” Jake warned.  The situation was out of control, and he knew things could get worse.  Much worse.
He cocked his rifle.  “I said let go of her.”
Hale looked back at him.  “What’s this?  Taking her side now?”
“You know I’m not.  You’re angry, Hale.  You’re not thinking clearly.  Back off.”
Hale wavered, then stepped back.  Jake took the trembling woman by the arm and led her back to the wagon, where Hale tied her wrists together with a length of rope.  “Maybe now you won’t be so quick to run off.”
Jake let out a sigh of frustration.  “I’m starting to feel like we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“What are you talking about?  This was your idea, after all.”
“I just wish you hadn’t shot that man.”
Hale was defensive.  “Well, I had to do something!  I’m sorry about the trouble I got us into.  You know as well as I do there’s nothing we can do to make things right.”
Make things right, Jake thought.  Too much wrong had been done to her kind, it was impossible to make things right.  Now this.  And he was partly to blame for.

Jake and Hale sat close around a small fire, the low flames casting an orange glow across their faces.  The Indian woman sat a few feet away.  She seemed to have lost much of her courage.
Hale jumped at every sound, his mind telling him that any slight noise was an Indian ready to leap out of the darkness to murder them.
“Calm down,” Jake finally told him.  “You’re making me nervous.”
“They could be out there, Jake.  They could be right on top of us!”  His gray eyes betrayed the fear that was consuming him.
Jake gave him a firm stare.  “If that’s the case, neither of us will be any good if we’re too jittery to shoot straight. Calm down.”
Hale ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.
Jake thought he saw the woman looking at him.  Maybe she would want something to eat.           He pulled some meat off of the rabbit they’d cooked and piled it onto his plate. He stood and walked the few steps to where she sat.
“Hungry?” He asked.  She looked at him, then at the dish.  She made no move to accept it. 
“No?”  Jake set the plate on the ground at her feet.  “Well, you’re welcome to it, just the same.”  He backed away, watching her for a moment before taking his seat.
Hale glanced over his shoulder at her, peering out from under the brim of his hat.  He turned back to the map in his hands, straining to see it in the faint light of the camp fire.
Jake watched her as she slowly, almost timidly, reached down to take a piece of the meat, bringing it to her mouth and taking a small bite.  He noticed that she was watching them, studying them.  Her eyes locked on his for a moment.  He smiled a little, hoping she would realize he was trying to tell her that he bore her no ill will.
She looked away sharply.
Jake turned his attention back to Hale and the map.  “What are you doing?”  He asked brusquely.
“Trying to find out how many miles we are from Wheatland.  We’ll be safer when we get near some civilization.”
Jake tossed a branch into the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks.  He jerked to his feet, suddenly agitated.
“Why don’t we just turn her loose?”  He demanded.
“Wait,” Hale replied.  “Look here.  If we just get into these hills, we’ll have the advantage.  We’ll be able to see them coming while they’re still miles away.”
Jake looked down at the map.  Its features were unclear from this distance, but he wasn’t really looking.
“I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.”
Hale looked up at him.  “Well, I for one don’t want to end up dead.”
“I don’t either, but I still think . . .”
“No!”  Hale interrupted.  “We’ve made it this far.  I’m not giving up now.”
Jake realized that he still hadn’t slept.  He told Hale that he needed to rest, that they should discuss it in the morning.  “Do you think you can stay awake to watch her?”
“I can.”
“Promise me you won’t lay a hand on her?”
“What do you take me for?”
“Just give me your word on it.”
Hale was offended.  “I give you my word.”
As tired as he was, Jake found sleep difficult.  He was plagued with worry and guilt.  He lay quietly in the dark, considering the possible outcomes of the situation and weighing  their options.  Nothing seemed to stand out as a favorable course of action.
Eventually, Jake’s eyes fell shut, and opened again, seemingly moments later.  The light that greeted him, however, told him that is was already morning. 
After a lengthy clash of opinions, it was determined that they would continue on toward Wheatland, and Hale would consider releasing the woman when he felt that they were out of danger.
Jake again took his position as guard, letting Hale drive the wagon.  Their travels were uneventful until Jake heard the woman gasp slightly, and saw that her eyes had widened, as though she was alarmed.  He turned to see what could have startled her.
Just over a nearby ridge, a small group of Indians on horseback were riding quickly in their direction.
“Hale!” Jake shouted.  “We’re being followed!”
Hale spun around in his seat.  “Oh, that’s just great!” He turned and slapped the horses’ backs with the reins.  “Haw!” He yelled.  “Come on, then! Get moving faster, you two!”
The horses broke into a run as Hale continued flicking the reins.  Jake fought to keep his seat as the uneven ground jostled the wagon. 
As they charged wildly through the trees, the captive woman settled lower in the wagon to keep from falling. Jake readied his rifle, pushing back the brim of his hat, keeping his eyes on the approaching Indians.  He could hear them whooping and shouting. 
“There are eight of them!” Jake called out.
Hale drove the horses hard.  They crashed through a wide, shallow riverbed and continued on the other side.
Suddenly, Hale pulled the wagon to an abrupt stop and jumped to the ground.  “Get down from there!”  He ordered.  “We can’t outrun them.  We’ll have to fight them off.”
Jake grabbed hold of the woman and dragged her down from the wagon behind himself, pulling her toward a cluster of nearby trees.  Hale started off through the woods ahead of them. 
“Where are you going?” Jake called after him.
“Around the other side of those rocks.  We can get them from two directions that way.”
“Watch yourself!”
“You do the same!”
Jake, still holding tightly to the woman’s arm, looked around quickly.  Spotting a slight rise in the otherwise flat terrain, he moved toward it, kneeling, pulling his hostage to the ground beside him.
Jake’s mind was racing as he took aim.  If these Indians were her people coming to rescue her, how could he shoot them with her sitting right next to him?  She was pulling at the knotted rope with her teeth, but stopped when she realized Jake was watching her.
Jake turned, raised his rifle and sighted on the nearest target.
“Turn back,” He said aloud.  “Please turn back.”
Jake felt a blast of air just above his head, then heard a soft thud.  He only looked back long enough to see an arrow lodged in the tree behind him.
“That was too close!”
He took aim once again.  He heard the report of Hale’s gun and watched as one of the Indian men tumbled from his horse.  Two of the others exchanged a quick glance, then turned and hurried off in the direction of the rifle blast.  Five Indians on horseback were still coming toward him, closing in fast. 
He pulled the trigger, and one of them fell.  Then again.  By the time the second man hit the ground, the rest of them had pulled their horses back, calling out to each other.  They turned and fled.
Jake let out a steadying breath, lowering his rifle.  Looking back toward the Indian woman, his eyes met hers.  She slowly looked away.
“I’m sorry about all of this,” he muttered.
She glanced up at him.  Jake let out a steadying breath.  “Hale!” He called out.  “They’re gone.” 
He didn’t answer.
“Hale?”  Jake stood and looked toward the large rocks.  “Hale!  Where are you?” He hurried across the uneven ground toward the heap of gray stone boulders.  “Hale?”
He rounded the nearest corner and stopped short.
Hale lay sprawled on his back, having been struck by two of their attacker’s arrows.  Jake quickly went to his side and knelt on the ground beside him, shaking him.  “Hale?”
He didn’t move at all.  Jake knew that he was dead.
“Oh, no.  I can’t believe this is happening.”
He leaned his head in hands, disheartened to say the least.
A sound caught his attention, and he turned quickly to look.  The Indian woman stood beside a large rock, watching him.
“You’re still here?”  He asked.  “I thought you’d be gone by now.”
She took a step closer, looking past Jake to where Hale’s body lay on the ground.
Jake shook his head.  “He’s dead.  He’s gone.  They’ve killed him.”  He sighed.  “I guess they had a right to though, didn’t they?  He killed one of yours, after all.”
Sitting back on his heels, Jake removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Buried two men in two days,” he muttered. 
Coming closer still, the woman held out her arms toward him, still bound together with the rope. 
“What is it?”  Jake asked.  He realized that she wanted him to release her.  “Of course.  There’s no point in keeping you tied up now, is there?”
He stood and came toward her, pulling his knife from his belt.  She glanced at the blade and stepped back hesitantly.  Jake stopped, realizing that he must look like a threat to her.  “It’s all right,” he said.  “I’ll cut the rope.”  Remembering that she didn’t understand, he put the knife away.  Holding out his empty hands, he started forward.  “Never mind.  I’ll just untie you.”
She remained perfectly still while Jake worked at loosening the knot.  When he pulled the rope away and tossed it aside, she looked up at him.
“You can go now,” he told her.  Looking back at Hale’s body, he added, “I wish I’d made him let you go.  This never would have happened.”
She glanced over her shoulder, back in the direction they’d come, then silently turned and left.
Removing the Indian arrows from Hale’s body had not been pleasant.  Despite the season’s lingering warmth, Jake felt a chill as he buried his friend in the dry earth.  Returning to the wagon alone, he checked on the condition of his horses, who were skittish, but unscathed.
As it was getting on toward evening, he decided to find a safe place to stay the night.  “Come on, boys.  It’s just you and me now.”

Jake was not overly particular in choosing a suitable campsite.  He stood staring vacantly across the land when movement caught his eye, and he turned to look.  There she was again—the Indian woman, stepping around the trunk of a tree, watching him.
“What are you still doing here?”  He asked.  “Don’t tell me you’re lost.”
Glancing at a fallen tree nearby, she slowly moved over to it and sat. 
“You wouldn’t be lost, though, would you?”  Jake voiced his thoughts.  “You don’t need a map to find your way.”
She watched him in silence.
“Well, you’re just as entitled to be here as I am, I guess.”  Jake kicked at some nearby stones, then bent to clear a level area for a campfire.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman rise to her feet.  He straightened up, watching her.  She stood still, as if she was listening hard for some faraway sound.
“What is it?” Jake wondered aloud.
She looked at him then.
“No fire,” she spoke.
“No fi—wait a minute! You can speak English?”
She nodded slightly.  “I can.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Jake breathed in surprise.  “All this time, you’ve understood every word I’ve said!”
She dipped her head gently.  “I have.”
“Why didn’t you let on?”
“You talk, I listen.”
Jake noticed a glint in her eye, one that hinted at mischief.  He found himself smiling.  He shook his head.  “Well, I can’t say I blame you.  I probably would have done the same.”  He paused then, remembering her first words. 
“Why no fire?”
“They were not my people.”
“The Indians who attacked us?”
“I am Cheyenne.  They were Crow.”
Jake looked around.  “But why would they come after a single wagon?”
“People are hungry,” she replied.  “People are angry.”
Jake nodded.  “Fair enough.  You think they are still in the area?”
“They may be.”
If the Crow were nearby, they would easily see the light of a campfire through the darkness.  “You’re right.  A fire wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Apparently satisfied, she sat down once again.  Despite the circumstances, Jake was glad that he could finally talk with her. 
“Why did you stay?”  He asked her.  “When I untied the rope, you could have gone back.  Why didn’t you?”
She was quiet for a time, thinking.  “Not safe,” she finally answered.
“Do you think you’re safe with me?”
Lifting her chin, she looked at him.  “You will not hurt me.”
“How do you know that?”
“You say so.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He sat down on the log, a few feet away from her.  “Well, I wasn’t lying.  I won’t hurt you.”  He absently rubbed his hands together, still shaken and unable to gather his thoughts.
“Are you hungry?” 
She nodded, and Jake managed to find something they could eat without having to warm it first—beef jerky and hard biscuits.  “How did you learn to speak English?”  He asked, handing her her meager share.
“My people trade with yours.  It is good for us to know your language.”
“What . . . uh, what do you think of us?”
“White man?”
“Well, yes.”
“They are not all same.  Some are good.  Some, we cannot trust.  They lie, they cheat us.”
“What about me?” He asked.  “What do you think of me?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“You can trust me.  I want you to trust me.  I want you to get back safe to your people.  Do you believe what I’m saying?”
She hesitated, taking another bite of her dry food.  “Yes.  I do want to trust you.”
“Good.  The sooner you get back, the better.  I’m as good as dead if your people find us out here together.”
“If they still come.”
Jake frowned.  “I would think they wouldn’t stop looking for you until they found you.”
“That is not always the way, white man.”
“My name is Jake.”
“Jake?”
“That’s right.”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded in recognition.
“What about you?” Jake asked.  “What’s your name?”
Again, she hesitated.  Jake could see that she was thinking, weighing in her mind whether or not to tell him.  Finally, she relented. 
“Ma’evekeso,” she said quietly.
“May . . . ev. . .” Jake stammered.  “I’m sorry, what is it?”
She repeated herself. 
Jake shook his head.  He couldn’t get his tongue around the word.
“It means Red Bird,” she told him. 
“Red Bird,” Jake whispered to himself. 
She heard him and nodded.  She shivered, rubbing her arms to try and warm herself.  Jake noticed that the sky had gone quite dark.  He pulled two blankets from the back of the wagon, holding one out to Red Bird.  “Here.  It’s going to be a cold night.”
“Thank you.”  She wrapped the blanket snugly around her shoulders.  “You do not think bad of the Cheyenne?”
“Well, I’ve never met one in my life . . . until now.” 
“Some white men call us savages, say we are less than animals.”
“You’re not an animal.  I’ve never thought of Indians that way.  I’ve always thought that . . . people tend to form opinions without bothering to find out the truth for themselves.”
“You want the truth?”  She asked.
“I do.”
Her eyes were getting heavy.  Jake knew that she must be extremely tired.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get some sleep?”  He suggested.  She tensed a little.  She seemed to have lost some of her confidence that Jake would do nothing to hurt her.
Realizing this, Jake lay down on his back, gazing up at the black night sky.  He attempted to make himself appear as harmless as possible.
“Are you still cold, Red Bird?”
“Some.”
“So am I.”  He pulled the blanket tighter, but the night air penetrated through.  He cleared his throat.  “I. . . uh, hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but. . . If we lay side by side, we could keep each other warm. Warmer, anyway.”
She frowned. 
“I promise I won’t touch you.”
Jake was sure that she would be against the idea, but he could still see in the gathering dark that she was shivering.  She was not long in deciding that she would rather take a chance on trusting him than spend the night freezing in the harsh cold. 
She slowly rose to her feet, the blanket around her shoulders dragging the ground as she made her way toward him.  She stopped when she came to where he lay, looking up at her. 
Jake turned away from her, onto his side.  He could feel her back brush up against his as she lay next to him. 
“Sleep well, Red Bird.”
She muttered a response.
Jake had to fight the nagging fear that she could easily kill him in his sleep if she wanted to.

Jake awoke early the next morning and almost instantly realized that he was alone.
“Red Bird?”
He felt the ground where she’d been sleeping.  It was cold.  He sat up quickly and looked around.  She was nowhere in sight! 
Jake flung his blanket aside and scrambled to his feet.  How long had she been gone? Had she gotten up in the night, to escape and go back to her people?
Well, there was no reason to stop her.  Jake’s only fear was the possibility of her people’s retaliation, of their wanting Red Bird’s kidnappers to pay for what they’d done.
“Well, that was that,” he thought aloud.  “I guess I’ll just go on, then.”
Just behind him, a twig snapped.  He jumped and quickly turned to look, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife tucked in his belt.
There she stood—Red Bird herself—carrying Jake’s wooden bucket.
“What are you doing?” Jake asked.  “Where were you?”
She frowned at him, gesturing toward the bucket.  “I bring water.”
She walked past Jake into camp, casting a curious glance in his direction.
He watched her as she hefted the bucket to the back of the wagon and scooped out some water in her cupped hands.  She took a drink, then splashed the rest onto her face, drying herself with her sleeves.
“You think I was gone?”  She asked.
Jake shrugged, stepping toward her.  “Well, no one kept you from leaving.”
She stood with one hand on the bucket, one hand at her side. 
“Night too cold for travel,” she finally replied.  She pointed to the bucket.  “You wash now,” she told Jake.  “I make food.”
Jake moved closer.  “But—” he began to protest.
“You are not hungry?”
“No.  I mean, yes.” Jake dipped his head, embarrassed.  He looked up again, smiling.  “I am hungry.”
She nodded.  “Then I will make food.”
She climbed with ease into the back of the wagon and began searching through the meager supplies.
Jake stood watching her.  He found that he was captivated by her—by her appearance as well as by her straightforward manner.  She was a mystery to him, one that he wanted to understand.
Shortly, she returned to the back of the wagon with an armload of cloth sacks.  She looked Jake up and down.
“You did not wash?”
“I . . . No, I was just . . .” He paused, collecting his thoughts.  “Are you sure you want to fix breakfast?  After all, I. . .”
She shook her head slowly.  “You are strange man,” she told him.  “Do not white women make meals?”
Jake smiled sheepishly.  “Sure they do.”
Red Bird stepped to the edge of the wagon and lightly jumped down.  Seeing that she had her arms full, Jake reached out to steady her, his hands closing around her arms.  He held her for a moment—too long.  She looked up at him.
Jake pulled his hands away.  “I’m sorry, I . . .”  He started to turn away, but noticed that a smile tugged at the corner of Red Bird’s mouth, one that she quickly stifled.
She nodded at him before walking away.  Jake stared after her.
She emptied her hands in the middle of camp, leaving the bags in a heap, and went about gathering loose twigs and branches.
“A fire is safe now?”  Jake asked her.
“It is daylight,” she replied without looking at him.  “It is safe.”
She was so matter-of-fact that Jake found it impossible to doubt her.
He watched her as she started the campfire with familiar ease and began preparing their breakfast.  He wondered if she stayed because she might be just as curious about him as he was about her.

Jake wrestled with knowing that the right thing to do would not be letting her go off alone.  He should be there to help her.  He should take her back.  He knew that it could be suicide, facing her tribe after what had happened, but he felt responsible for her safety.  When he finally decided to tell her that he not only wanted her to be safely back with her people, that he also wanted to help her get there, she seemed only mildly surprised.  She asked if he was certain it was something he wanted to do.
“Yes, ma’am, I am certain,” he replied.
She nodded.  “Yes, then.  I let you bring me back.”
Let you bring me . . . He thought.  How ironic.  He would have expected a woman who was faced with the thought of traveling alone through the wilderness would have been grateful, even desperate for his help and protection.  He had a lot to learn about her.
They traveled for several hours, Jake heading back in the direction that he had fled from only days ago.  Strange, how everything had turned around. 
They stopped when came across a rushing stream, kneeling beside it to drink some of the crystal clear mountain runoff.
“What does your father think of white men?”  Jake asked Red Bird.  “What would he think of me? If I tried to bring you back, would he . . . try to kill me?”
“I do not think so.”  She decided to change the subject.  “What of your father?”  She asked.
“He’s gone,” Jake replied.
“How?”
“He was sick.  Typhoid.”
“Was he a good man?”
“Yes, he was.  He was a farmer.  He worked hard. He always wanted the best for all of us.”
“Are you a farmer?”
“Not yet,” Jake said with a smile.  “I left Laramie to find some land to farm, to raise cattle.  Hale. . . Hale and I were going to be business partners.”
“Hale was killed by the Crow?”
Jake nodded. 
“He was your friend?”
“He was.”
Red Bird sat quiet for a moment, thinking.  “He was fearful of us,” she said. 
“Of who?”
“Ho’honaa’e and me.  That is why he shot him.  He wanted to shoot me too.”
“I wouldn’t have let him.”
“You are not afraid?”
“Of you? No.” He laughed shortly.  “I am, however, afraid of your father.”
Red Bird smiled slightly.  “You take me back,” she said.  “I will tell him you are a friend.” 
“Will he believe you?”
“Should he not?”
Jake wanted to ask her if she thought he could be more than a friend, but he didn’t want to scare her away.
“Yes,” he answered at last.  “Your father can believe me.”  He paused, thinking.  “Mayev—” Jake stopped.  He felt foolish, being unable to pronounce her  name.  “Can I call you May?”
“What does it mean?”  She asked.
“May?  Well, it’s . . . a month during the springtime,” he told her.  “It’s when the rain lets up . . . and the trees blossom.”
Her face softened, and she nodded.
“May, tell me about your people.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’d like to know more about you.  How you live, who you are.”
She leaned over the edge of the stream and let her fingers skim the surface of the icy water.
“What can I tell you?”
“Well . . . the man you were with.  The man who was . . . killed.  Who was he?”
She sat up straight, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. 
“Ho’honaa’e,” she replied.  “He was to be my husband.”
Jake           nodded.  He had suspected that their relationship had been something of that sort.  “I’m sorry.”
“He was a good man.”
“Did you love him?”
She hesitated.  “I was growing to love him.”
“Pardon my boldness, but . . . if you didn’t love him, why were you going to marry him?”
“My father.”
“Your father?”
“He say we should marry.”
“No one should be able to tell you who to marry.”
Red Bird became defensive.  “My father is a good man.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake apologized.  “Of course he is.  I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t.”
“He is respected in our tribe.  He knew that Ho’honaa’e would make a good husband.”  She paused.  “Or he would have been a good husband.”
Ho’honaa’e.  Jake remembered the eagle feather that he’d taken from the Cheyenne’s hair before burying him.
“I have something that you might want,” he said, rising to his feet.  “Wait here a moment.”
Jake made his way over to the wagon.  Where had he put the feather?  He ran his hand along the lid of his trunk.  Here? No—he remembered.  It was in the saddlebag.
Jake found it and opened it, pulling out the long feather, which had gotten a bit tattered.  He smoothed it between his fingertips before returning to the stream where Red Bird sat waiting.
“This belonged to . . .”
“Ho’honaa’e?”
“Yes.  He had it in his hair.”
Red Bird reached out slowly and took the feather from Jake’s open hand.  She let the leather strips slide through her fingers.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jake nodded.  He gazed out across the flowing water.  “How can you possibly forgive me for everything I’ve done?”
She shook her head.  “You look out for me.  You tell your friend not to hurt me.”
“Yes, but it’s my fault that you’re so far away from your people.  I’m the one who decided to take you with us.”
“Not your fault Ho’honaa’e died.  I see who shoot him.”
“You’ve suffered a great loss.  I’m terribly sorry.”
“Not only myself.  You lose a friend.”
Jake knew she was right, he had lost a friend.  As much as Hale had been exasperating at times, he still felt an emptiness now that he was gone. 
Red Bird strolled over to where the horses were tied and made a soft clicking sound to get their attention.  They looked up at her, their ears flicking back and forth.  She held out her palms to them, which they muzzled, sniffing.  Stepping closer to the bay, she gently stroked his neck, sliding her hands along his jaw line, slowly caressing his blazed forehead. 
The horse jerked nervously at first, unsure of Red Bird’s attention, but now he stood by calmly.  Jake could hear her talking softly to him.  They seemed to be looking deeply into each other’s eyes as she tied the eagle feather into his mane.
Jake found himself watching her intently.  What secret knowledge she seemed to possess!  Would there never be an end to the mystery surrounding her? He wondered.
Red Bird touched the black’s muzzle before slowly backing away, turning around and coming back toward where Jake worked. 
“You have good animals,” she stated. 
“I do?”
She nodded.  “They have courage.”
Jake smiled.  “That’s good to know.”
They went on again, Jake driving the horses at an even pace until late in the evening.  Having eaten their supper, Red Bird and Jake sat across from one another, close to a cheery, blazing fire. 
Jake found himself keenly aware of his surroundings—the endless field of stars, the smell of the campfire smoke.  He was glad to be in Red Bird’s company. If he had ever wanted to stop time from passing, he did at this moment. 
The unexpected sound of high-pitched coyotes yapping filled the air around them.  Jake peered out into the darkness, his eyes wide.