by birds or blown on the wind. It was a plant that made itself at home quickly.
We heard the footsteps before we saw anyone. Keokotah faded into the darkness, an arrow ready. I drew my knife.
She stepped from the darkness, and she was tall, almost as tall as I, and slender. She stood just for a moment and then she said, 'I am Itchakomi, a Sun of the Natchee.'
'I am Jubal Sackett, a son of Barnabas.'
Chapter Sixteen.
'What,' her tone was cool, 'is a 'Barnabas'?'
'Barnabas Sackett was my father, a man of Shooting Creek, and formerly of England.'
She dismissed me from her attention and turned to Keokotah. 'You are a Kickapoo? What do you here?'
'We look upon mountains,' he said, 'and he brings you word from Ni'kwana.'
She turned to me again as if irritated by the necessity. 'From Ni'kwana? You?'
'We were asked to seek you out and to tell you the Great Sun is failing. He grows weaker.'
'He wishes me to return?'
'That was what he said, but I felt that he wished you to decide for yourself. He spoke first as Ni'kwana, second as a father.'
'He is not my father!'
'I said he spoke as a father. As one who wished you well.' Also, I added, 'you have been followed by a man named Kapata.'
'Kapata?' Her contempt was obvious.
'He intends to wed you,' I spoke cheerfully, 'and become a Sun, perhaps even the Great Sun.'
Her eyes were cold, imperious. 'One does not 'become' a Sun. One is or is not a Sun.'
'I understand that does not matter to him. He has his own ideas. He will marry you and usurp the power.' I shrugged. 'However, it is none of my business. I know nothing of your people or your customs.'
'Obviously!'
She turned her attention to Keokotah. 'You know of this?'
'We met the Ni'kwana. He spoke with us. He spoke most to him.' Keokotah paused. 'We have done what was asked. You may go.'
'Imay go? You dismissme? I shall go where I choose, when I choose.'
'Then please be seated,' I said. She looked at the fire where the chicory bubbled slightly. 'We do not have much, but--'
'It ismayocup entchibil! I smell it from far!' She was no longer imperious but like a very young girl.
'She speaks of the 'dark root,' ' Keokotah said. 'It is one way of speaking what you drink.'
Filling a cup made of bark, I handed it to her. She accepted it, and then a woman came forward and placed a mat upon the ground near the fire. Itchakomi seated herself and sipped the drink. Slowly the others came into the camp and gathered about.
Seating myself opposite her I waited until she had drunk from the cup. 'Kapata is close,' I spoke carefully. 'He has some of your people but more of the Tensa. They seek you.'
'He is nothing.'
'He is a strong, dangerous man.'
'You fear?'
'I? What have I to fear? He seeks you, notme. I shall be gone with Keokotah. You have warriors.'
This I said, but I had seen her warriors. Three of them were old men, well past their prime. They had come for their wisdom, not for their strength or fighting ability. Against the Tensa they would prove a poor match. Some of the younger ones looked able enough, but they were too few. I shifted uneasily. None of this was any affair of mine. I wished only to be away, and Keokotah felt the same.
One of her Indians added fuel to the fire.
'There are also the Conejeros,' I suggested. 'You have seen them?'
'Their feet have left marks on the way we walk. I know them not.'
'They are dangerous men. They are warriors and there are many.'
'You fear?'
Irritated, I said, 'We have met them. Three are dead. Two have gone for others. I suggest you find a place that is safe for the winter. Soon the snows will come. You cannot cross the plains.'
'We have canoes. The water is strong.'
She ignored me, speaking to Keokotah. Yet her eyes strayed to my guns in their ornate scabbards. That she was curious was obvious, but I had no intention of gratifying her curiosity.
She was, I must admit, uncommonly beautiful, and would have graced any gathering, anywhere. She had poise and intelligence and quick wit. I suspected she was not entirely of Natchee blood, judging by her appearance, but that was merely a suspicion.
We had been speaking in Spanish interspersed here and there with an English or Cherokee word, but I soon discovered that her command of English was not small. We had heard of Englishmen as well as Spanish who lived among them, and some of De Soto's men had stayed on with the Natchee, preferring the safety of the Indian villages to the long, doubtful trek that would have awaited them.
Knowing what I did of the Europeans who had lived among the Indians I was not surprised. When De Soto first landed he discovered a man named Juan Ortiz already living among the Indians, and when the French Hugenots living at Charlesfort abandoned their settlement, one young lad, Guillaum Rufin, decided not to trust himself to the frail craft they had constructed and remained with the Indians. Several of the Frenchmen in a later colonizing attempt by Jean Ribaut had escaped a Spanish attack and gone to live with the natives.
'The Tensa and Kapata look for you. The Conejeros are everywhere. To get to the river, find your canoes, and then escape will be very hard.'
'So?'
'Go into the mountains, wait there for a week, then go quickly. They look for you now. If you leave no tracks, they can find none.' I gestured toward the path they had followed to us. 'This goes into the mountains. We will follow it.'
She considered what I had said, and then Keokotah spoke. 'The Ni'kwana trusted him. He thought--'
'We do not know what he thought. Only what he said.' She paused. 'We will do it. For three days we wait.'
She arose and went to where the women had made a bed for her. She lay down and composed herself with a woman lying on each side of her, but each at least ten feet away.
Keokotah looked at me, shrugged, and rolled up in his own blankets. I withdrew the longer sticks from the fire to let it die to coals, and then lay down myself. First I checked my guns. The night was overcast. It was very still. Once a brief flame struggled against the darkness and then faded and died.
When morning came we left quickly, but not until I had gone off some distance to where there was an old campsite. Gathering some of the ancient coals I brought them back to scatter over our fire. Then I lifted handsful of dust and let it drift from my fingers over the fire, carried by the slight breeze. To casual glance our campfire would look months or even years old.
We moved out quickly, going down a slight declivity to the stream that flowed past the hogback mountain we had used for a landmark. There seemed to be an opening through which the stream flowed that would allow access to the mountains.
The stream had cut through the dark rock, and the game path along the stream was narrow. With Keokotah leading the way we climbed a steep hill and came out on top in a lovely valley. We camped where we could watch the entrance and settled down to rest, and to complete work on our buffalo hides. Keokotah and I moved our camp under several large old trees some fifty yards from the camp of the Natchee.
At daybreak I was up and scouting. The hole in which we had taken shelter must have embraced a thousand acres of fertile land, surrounded by rugged hills and cliffs covered with timber, mostly pine. Or so it seemed from where I studied them.
For several hours I scouted about. There were a number of caves, one a death trap. I tried dropping a stone into the darkness and it took some time to hit bottom. It was a place to avoid.
