always the mountains. The thought brought me no comfort.
Keokotah came to me where I sat beside the stream. 'Caves no good,' he said, 'too much climb. Big hole inside. No good place for sleep.'
The thought of climbing high among the rocky peaks did not appeal and I said so. 'We'll go up the valley,' I said, 'find a place there.'
'I see many tracks. Deer, elk, buffalo, turkey.' After a moment, 'Your buffalo here. He look for you.'
Tired as I was I walked out on the grass beyond the creek. The buffalo was there and I went to it, standing beside it and scratching its ear. 'If you're going to stay with us,' I said, 'I'll put you to work.'
The thought had come suddenly, but the more I thought of it the better I liked it.
A few minutes before dark one of the Natchee killed an elk. We ate well that night, and for once I sat long beside the fire.
Itchakomi came and sat across from me. 'My people say they go home,' she said suddenly. 'Grass come soon. Much water in river. They go home quick.'
If they went, she would go. She would return to their home on the Great River.
For a moment my heart seemed to stop beating. I waited a moment and then said, 'It will not be easy to get past the Conejeros, and Kapata will be waiting.'
She merely looked at me, saying nothing.
My mind struggled with the problem of how they could reach the Great River by way of the Arkansas without being seen. It would need a roundabout route unless ... unless they could reach the river before it emerged from the mountains and ride it all the way down.
'I shall find a way to get you back,' I said.
She arose abruptly and left the fire. I started to speak, but all I saw was her back as she retreated. I sat for a few minutes, puzzled over her abrupt departure.
Women! I'd never understand them.
When I had been sitting there for several minutes Keokotah came to me. 'Look,' I said, 'they wish to go back. They will ride the river down.'
On the clay at the river's edge I made a mark. 'Here is where the river comes from the big canyon. South of there and back in here ... that was our first camp. Now we have crossed to the west and we are in a long valley that's roughly north and south. It seems to me that if we went up the valley we could get to that river in the canyon before it reaches open country. They might slip by during the night.'
He looked at the rough plan I'd drawn and put his finger at the head of the valley we were in. 'What is there? We do not know.'
Of course he was right. And the water through that canyon would be rough. Yet rough water was to be preferred to the Conejeros and Kapata. The more I considered the idea the more logical it seemed.
What was the matter with Itchakomi? She was their leader, and if they were going to return--
I spoke of this to Keokotah. He glanced at me out of those cool black eyes and said, 'Maybe she no wish to go. Maybe she think you try to be rid of her. Maybe she think you think she too much trouble.'
That was ridiculous. She was no trouble at all! Of course, if I had not become involved with them I might now be much further west, and might have had no trouble with the Conejeros, and certainly none with Kapata. But the possibility that she might not wish to return was nonsense.
She was a Sun, a person of importance among her people. She had come west to find a place for her people, and aside from the Conejeros this was a good place. The snow had almost gone from what I thought of as my valley. It was, I guessed, more than twenty miles long and four to five miles wide. There were several streams and the runoff from the mountains, and the valley was sheltered from the worst of the winds.
When morning came we moved north, but when we camped that night on a creek near the edge of the mountains, Keokotah came to me. 'Maybe no good,' he said.
'It's a beautiful valley,' I objected. 'It is higher, and they would have to learn to plant different crops than they are used to, but I think it is a good place.'
'Much trail,' he said, gesturing back the way we had come. 'I find Indian path, very old. Much Indian walk that path. Maybe he no like people here.'
'Conejeros?'
'No Conejeros. I think maybe Ute. Very strong people. Live in mountain valleys. Very strong.'
The place we had found was a good place, and the valley was fertile. As the grass began to turn it green, I could see from the variety of plant life that the soil was rich.
'We will go no further,' I said. 'This is where we will stop.'
The location was one that was easily defended, tucked into a corner of the mountains on the east side of the valley. It was a place well supplied with water.
As soon as we went into camp several of the Natchee left to hunt.
'We must find how far it is to the river,' I said. 'Tomorrow, I think--'
'You stay,' Keokotah said. 'I go.'
There was a yearning in me to see what lay to the north, but it was also necessary that a fort be built, a place we could defend in case of another attack.
A stream emerged from a canyon to flow down into the valley, and at one place the stream fell over some rocks in a small waterfall of about three feet. Nearby were some tumbled boulders at the crest of a small knoll, a flat place atop the knoll surrounded by trees at one side of the canyon but overlooking the valley.
It offered a site for a group of lodges, water from the waterfall, and protection from the boulders and trees. With two of the Natchee men I set to work to build a rough shelter to take care of us while we built a stronger cabin.
The Natchee who had gone hunting returned with two deer and several sage hens. By the time they came into camp a crude shelter for the night had been built and we had dragged several dead trees across gaps among the boulders to make a stronger wall.
Itchakomi was busy and she avoided me. Several times I started to speak, but each time she turned away and went off to some other area, avoiding me, or seeming to. Irritated, I decided if that was the way she wanted it, she mighty well could have it. So I avoided her.
Keokotah would not be back for a day or two, so that other question need not arise.
Yet I slept ill. The night through I turned and tossed, getting no decent sleep at all, and when morning came I took my weapons and went up the canyon behind our fort. It was a fairly deep canyon and led back into the mountains. There was still much snow in the shaded places, and here and there boulders in the stream were icy. When I returned it was dusk and meat was cooking. I went to the fire and chose a piece for myself and sat down near the fire.
Itchakomi was across the fire from me. After a moment, she spoke. 'Keokotah has gone to find a way?'
'He will find a way to the river. The water will be rough and fast, but I believe your people might slip by your enemies, passing them at night.'
'You will go with them?'
'No.' I looked up at her. 'My place is in the mountains, so I will stay. The river is called the Arkansas and some other names as well, but it flows into the Great River. Your people can get home without trouble. Unstwita can lead them. He is a good man.'
She looked at me then, for I had not mentioned her leading them. I avoided her eyes, feeling uncomfortable. Until I had spoken I had not thought of it myself, but why had I not mentioned her? Was it not her place to lead? Would she not lead if she was going back.
'There is always danger,' I said, 'but Unstwita is a good man. He is both wise and brave.'
'It is my place to lead.'
She spoke and I was silent, chewing on a piece of meat. Then I said, 'You will go with them?'
'Do you want me to go?'
There it was, right out in the open. How could I answer that?
'I would miss you,' I said it reluctantly, hesitantly, yet realizing as I spoke that what I said was true. I would miss her, and I would not see her again. That gave me a pang, and I moved sharply at the thought. Then I said, 'But I cannot ask that you stay. You are a Sun.'
There was amusement in her eyes. 'And you are not even a Stinkard.' She paused. 'You are a yeoman. Did a
