She was silent and then her eyes lifted to mine. 'Is it important that you have met me?'
'It is to me,' I surprised myself by saying, 'perhaps not to them.'
She turned her eyes away, and then she said, 'I am a Sun.'
'And I am not.'
She shook her head. 'No, I think you must be a Sun, too. Although from another tribe, another place.'
'I could be a Stinkard,' I said, smiling. 'I do not place much faith in names or titles.'
'Do you have Suns in your country?'
'They are called royalty. We have another class as you have, called the nobility, and we also have our Respected Men.'
'And you?'
'In our country we have another class, I believe. They are called 'yeomen,' and my father was one of them. It is said that there were some respected men among my ancestors, too, but my father paid little attention to that. He judged each man by himself and not by his ancestors.'
We each returned to our caves, and on that day we restricted our moving about, fearful the men we had seen might come again, and we wanted to leave no more tracks in the snow. Yet already I was making plans. When another heavy snow came we would move into the higher valley, further back in the hills. We would need heavy snow to cover our tracks. Until then we would enjoy our caves.
There were many deerhides among us, some simply cured, some well tanned. One of the finest I secured from a Natchee. I would have traded, but when he discovered I wished to make a present for Itchakomi he presented me with it.
To draw a map from memory is not easy, yet Sakim had taught me well and I did the best I could, using all the space on the deerhide. Itchakomi was a girl of unusual intelligence, as I had recognized from the first, but when one is teaching one always assumes a certain degree of preknowledge or awareness, and her world was one that embraced only areas with some two or three hundred miles around, and only rumors of much of that.
She had seen the Gulf of Mexico, but knew it only as a vast body of water. Some of her people had once been to Cuba and even to Jamaica. Long ago there had been trade with Yucatan, but that was a misty tradition from a time before the Spanishmen came, which was more than one hundred years before. Ni'kwana had been one of those who had made the last voyage to Yucatan. They had found the Spanish there and had fled.
My father's last crossing of the Atlantic had taken him, if I remembered correctly, sixty-two days. It was difficult for her to imagine such a great body of water. I tried to explain about the many countries, the large cities, the riverboats.
We had food and fuel so there was no need to stir outside the caves. Nor did we wish to attract attention. Always, there was someone on guard. Often I was the one, sometimes Keokotah or one of the Natchee. We saw no movement. A little snow fell, but only a very little. Within the cave, by firelight, I began the drawing of the map.
Long ago, when only a small boy, Sakim had each of us draw this map, and he tried to explain to us the world as he knew it, and the world we should know. Sakim was a Moslem, and Mecca was the center of the Moslem world. To it other Moslems came on pilgrimages from every part of the world bringing with them their knowledge of peoples far away and lands strange to any but themselves.
Only within the past century had Europe become aware of the many lands and beliefs that lay in the farthest corners of the world. It was required of a good Moslem that at least once during his lifetime he make a pilgrimage to Mecca, and they came by the thousands.
Pausing to replenish the dying fire I looked about to discover that everyone slept. Several of the Natchee had begun coming to our cave to sleep, to leave more freedom to Itchakomi and her women.
The night was still, with only an occasional crackle from the fire or a hissing whisper as the flames found dampness.
Why was I doing this? Why was I drawing a map of the world she would never see for an Indian girl who probably had no wish to know of it? Even when the map was finished how could I make her comprehend the vastness of that world out there? Moreover, was it fair to her? She had been the center of her world, but now she would find it pitifully small. Did she want that? Did I want it?
For a moment I thought to cast my map into the flames, but the task itself now engrossed me. I had a desire of my own to complete it. Supposing someday I became the father of a child? Would I not want him or her to know the world in which we lived?
Irritably, I shook my head. Such an idea was foolish. I had no plans for a family, nor plans for a wife. When spring came I was going deeper into the mountains. There was a lot of country out there I wished to see.
Yet I returned to the map, slowly tracing in the Black Sea and the Caspian. Sakim himself had come from a land near the Caspian Sea and had wandered on to Tashkent and Samarkand before going to Bagdad and Aleppo. Finally, I rolled up the map and lay down to sleep.
For a long time I lay awake, my mind alive with ideas. How to make Itchakomi understand my world? How to make her realize her own would never be the same again? If she found a place in the mountains, it would be only a temporary refuge, and one could not hide from change. One must adapt or die.
Already among my own people I had seen it. I had seen them shed the old customs and adapt to the new. I had seen them find ways of doing things never tried before.
When I awakened I was cold, colder than I had ever been before. Crawling from my blanket and buffalo robes I stirred the fire and added fuel, peering from the cave mouth. Nothing moved in a white world. The sky was a dull flat gray and when I looked at the stream it was a shining path of ice.
No one stirred in the cave of Itchakomi. I walked to the opening, the snow crunching under my feet, and stepping inside I stirred their fire also and brought life from the ash-buried coals. When a good blaze was taking the chill from their cave I tiptoed out and went back to my own. Beside the fire I shivered, my face burning, my back chilled. Yet slowly the cave warmed, and I got out my deerskin and began again on the map. My fingers were cold and it was hard to work, but now I was gripped by my task. Yet as I worked, I was bothered by doubts.
What would my revelations mean to her? Would she believe? I knew most Indians doubted the stories told by Europeans, and so might she.
Suppose she did believe? What would it do to her world? Her beliefs? Her personal assurance?
She was a Sun, which among her people meant she was most important. She could walk with pride among her people and the neighboring tribes, respected and looked up to. What would happen when she realized her people were unknown in the wider world and her beliefs unaccepted? I hesitated over my map and put it aside. I added fuel to the fire and stared into the flames.
It might be well to forget my map, to let her live out her days believing what she now did. But would that happen? The French, Spanish, English, and Dutch all claimed land. They would be moving in to settle, and there was no way to prevent that. Better to prepare her for what was to come. She seemed a very intelligent girl, or was I reading something into her because I wished to find it?
That stopped me. Why should I wish it? She meant nothing to me. When the weather broke we would be moving on. Further west for me, and back to her homeland for her.
Still, if she had the map and realized what had happened in other lands she might be better prepared for what would happen here.
I went to the cave's opening and looked out upon the white, empty land before me. Even the trees were lost under the heavy fall of snow. Everything before me was frozen in the icy grip of winter.
We had fuel, and knew where more could be had, and we had meat. We could last out this cold and longer. Then we must hunt again. It would be impossible to escape eastward across the plains. Yet we would have little to fear from the Conejeros now. They would be holed up in their lodges, as any sane Indian would be. Of Kapata I was not so sure.
He was a vengeful man, and he was also a man in a hurry. I did not believe the snow would stop him, or the cold. It might rob his followers of some ambition, but not Kapata himself.
As I stood at the cave's mouth, half shielded by brush and trees, which both provided concealment and helped conserve our heat, I thought of Kapata and tried to decide what his next move might be.
Our tracks had vanished beneath the snow, yet his was a shrewd mind, and he would try to decide where we had gone. Our need for shelter was the same as that of others, and a first consideration was the wind. We must have shelter from the wind. A cliffside then, or a thick grove. We could have built a shelter or found a cave. If a
