of year. Following the small river, we bore off to the south. There was a great valley further west, but beyond our reach at this time of year.
After traveling for a short distance I moved up to break trail, and Itchakomi yielded her place. It was heavy snow, very deep in places, and fortunately, it covered many obstructions we might have had to climb over or go around. We traveled no more than eight miles that first day and found shelter under a huge old spruce tree whose branches swept the top of the snow and were themselves loaded with snow. Close to the trunk the ground was almost bare of snow, as the branches around made a natural shelter and kept out the wind. We built a small fire, and we made our beds of other spruce boughs, she on one side of the fire, I on the other.
She watched me check my guns. 'What are they?' she asked.
'Weapons of fire,' I explained. 'Weapons of thunder. I shall use them rarely.'
'They are beautiful!' she exclaimed, as they were. The Italian gunsmiths were superb artisans. It was not enough merely to make a weapon, but it must have beauty also. These were hand carved and inlaid. Yet it was my bow upon which I relied for hunting.
Our fire scarcely disturbed the cold about us, its heat lost before it reached the lowermost branches of the tree. We huddled close, enjoying the comfort of its looks more than the little heat. We chewed elk jerky and talked but little.
'Tomorrow?' she asked.
'Tomorrow we will be there, and tomorrow we will hunt. We need much meat.'
She knew that as well as I. 'You do not hunt for meat in England?'
'They hunt for sport.'
'But they eat what they kill?'
'Oh, yes! And sometimes meat is distributed among the poor. Those who do not have enough to eat.'
It was very still. Somewhere, far off, a lonely wolf complained to the night. Tomorrow we would descend into a valley no white man had seen, and probably few Indians. One thing had been obvious since leaving the Mississippi--this country was sparsely settled. The various tribes were for the most part small in numbers and widely scattered.
Long after Itchakomi lay asleep, I was awake and thinking. The last thing I wanted was to get involved with a woman. There was time for that later. For the time being I wished only to make our hunt, get what meat we could, and get back to our caves. When spring came Itchakomi would go her way and I mine.
She was a beautiful woman. That was beside the case. I had been thinking too long of wandering this country, being the first white man to see much of it, just to see it all myself for the first time. Fortunately, I told myself, Itchakomi felt the same way. We each had our private concerns. She was easy to talk to for that reason, and she had the same feeling of responsibility toward her people that I did.
At daybreak I was awake quickly. I stirred up the fire and without waiting for her to do so, prepared some food. We talked little. The fire warmed up our small space, but not enough to melt the snow around us.
The long valley that stretched away toward the southeast was scattered with meadows and cut by intervening patches of forest. The meadows were white with snow, the trees drooping under a heavy burden of it.
We went down the mountain in the cold of morning, making no sound in the soft white snow. We did not talk. Our eyes and ears were alert for game.
Almost at once we came upon deer tracks, a lot of them. Four or five deer had moved down the mountain ahead of us. The tracks were fresh, made that morning.
West of us several peaks towered against the sky, and the valley lay open before us. Pausing beside some trees we looked down. Far away, moving in single file, we saw a line of buffalo. As we watched they scattered out, pawing into the snow to get at the grass. Nearer there were several deer.
'Wait,' I spoke softly, as our voices would carry in that still, cold air. 'The buffalo!'
We went on down the valley. This morning, in this valley at least, it was not so cold. We moved down, always keeping a clump of trees between us and the buffalo. When within a few hundred yards we stopped to rest. There was a shallow draw that led along behind the buffalo, and feeding close were a couple of cows.
Scanning the hills around and searching along the clumps of trees I saw no movement. There was no smoke. We seemed to be alone.
After a bit we moved out, and when I was within forty yards of the nearest buffalo I decided to chance it.
The cow was young but of good size. I waited an instant and then loosed my arrow. The cow took a step forward and then stopped, evidently puzzled. My second arrow was ready and I let go. The arrow struck home and the buffalo started forward again and then crumpled. One of the other buffalo lifted a hind hoof to scratch its jaw, looking backward as it did so. A moment later the buffalo was feeding quietly. We moved in, the buffalo moving off a little, and then we went to work, skinning out the animal we had killed.
The other buffalo moved away down the valley. Only the wolves hung about, staying off some distance but drawn by the smell of blood. They sat in the snow watching us, occasionally trotting around and coming nearer, then retreating. They were black, ominous figures against the snow and under a cold gray sky.
It was cold, very cold. We worked steadily, standing up at intervals to look all about us. We had seen no sign of Indians here, but in spring and summer this valley must be a beautiful place.
A little further south a stream emerged from a canyon, flowing down from the high mountains to the west. The stream seemed to flow eastward across the mouth of the canyon, but we were some distance off, although higher.
Itchakomi might be a Sun, but she was also an Indian woman. She worked swiftly and skillfully, wasting no time, no movements. I glanced at the meat. 'It is almost too much,' I said, 'and we have a long way to go.'
The buffalo had stopped and were feeding again not more than two hundred yards away. Just ahead of them was a stand of thick brush and trees. By following down a small watercourse I could slip into that patch and perhaps make another kill.
I took up my bow and looked around at her. 'Will you stay with the meat?'
'I will stay. Have care.'
As I moved toward the wolves they trotted off, and I went past them and down the shallow ravine. It was very still. I plodded steadily on until I reached the grove that began along the shallow watercourse I followed. Working up into the brush, I moved with care to make no sound. The buffalo were finding dried grass beneath the snow, and only an old bull stood guard. I was downwind of him, so he did not catch my scent. Nevertheless, he was uneasy.
Had he smelled the blood of our kill? Or was there something else about I had not seen?
Again I looked all around, my eyes searching close about me, then further out, and then further still. Each area I examined slowly, taking nothing for granted. If there was an enemy out there I wished to know it, but if he was nearby I must see him first. I found nothing.
Several buffalo fed nearby, two of them within thirty or forty yards of the trees that were my cover. Moving through the brush, careful to make no sound, I found an open place among the trees and crossed it. Now I was closer.
The big bull was not looking at me. Something off to my left held his attention. His head was up, his nostrils flared.
My eyes turned, swept the snow fields down the valley, and then stopped.
Several men were coming up along the edge of the woods, but it was a moment before I could pick the individuals out of the background. They were following close along the edge of the trees and may have just emerged from them. Three, four, ... five. Five men, whether Indians or not I could not say, but I was sure they were. The Spanishmen would not be out at this time of year. We needed another buffalo, and their coming would drive the animals away.
Turning, I glanced toward Itchakomi. She was making the meat into packs to be carried and her head was down. She was at least a hundred yards off, still concealed from the men below by the grove of trees that concealed me also. I hissed, but even in that still, cold air the sound was too low to carry. I waved my hand and then my bow, hoping the corner of her eye would catch the movement.
She looked up suddenly, looking at me. I pointed with the bow and she picked up the packs of meat and came toward me.
