York City. The other one I bought in St. Louis. I had a third, a Bible that belonged to my Uncle Zeke, but I lost it when some men broke into our cabin.”
“They destroyed your Bible?”
“And all my other books. It took me a long time to replace them.”
“Any man who would do that to the Word of the Lord should be burned at the stake.” Emala paused. “Your Uncle Zeke, you say? Isn’t he the one who brought you out here? He was goin’ to teach you all there was to know about livin’ in the mountains, but then he went and died on you, right?”
“Uncle Zeke was killed by the Kiowas, yes. Fortunately, a friend of his came along and became my mentor, you might say. Shakespeare McNair.” Nate gazed up the trail. “The point of all this is that I have a Bible to spare. When we reach King Valley, I’ll give it to you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t take your Bible.” Emala was genuinely shocked. She was used to whites treating her pretty much as they treated their cattle. But Nate and Winona had been kind to them from the start. The Kings bought them clothes and weapons, and, wonder of wonders, not only offered to guide them to the Rocky Mountains, but invited them to come live in the same valley.
Emala never imagined white folks could be so nice. She’d noticed that Nate never cussed, which was a miracle in itself. It was her experience that cussing came as natural to men as breathing. Even her Samuel, no matter how much she nagged him, couldn’t control his tongue.
Then there was Winona. Emala had never met an honest-to-goodness Indian woman before. Somehow, Emala got it into her head that all Indians lived for, male and female, was to lift the hair of every white—and black —they came across. But Winona was about the sweetest lady Emala ever met, and about the strongest. No so much physically strong as strong inside. Emala envied her. She would have liked to be as strong, but it just wasn’t in her.
Suddenly Emala became aware Nate was still talking.
“…sitting on the shelf gathering dust. I’d be obliged if you would reconsider.”
“It might take us forever to repay you.”
“Who asked you to? It’s enough that the book will be in the hands of someone who appreciates it.” Nate smiled and reached out and touched her arm, then jabbed his heels and trotted on ahead.
“What a fine man,” Emala murmured.
Not ten seconds later Samuel took his place. “What were you two talkin’ about just now?”
“Why, Husband, you almost sound jealous,” Emala teased.
“Be serious, woman. What is there to be jealous about? Nate’s wife is the prettiest female I ever set eyes on. He’s not about to throw her over for the likes of you.”
Emala’s blood began to boil. “Please, no more compliments. I don’t think I can stand the praise.”
Samuel cocked his head. “Listen to yourself. You’re being silly. All I’m sayin’ is that Nate King is happy with the woman he’s got.”
“How about you?”
“Me? How did I get into this?”
“Are you happy with the woman you’ve got? Sometimes you don’t act like you are.”
Wagging a finger at her, Samuel said, “No, you don’t. You’re not turnin’ this around and blamin’ me for God knows what.”
“I wish you wouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain. When we get to the pearly gates, He’s liable to turn you away.”
“Don’t start on me with your religion.”
“It’s your religion too. Or have you gone and given up on God just as you gave up on our life on the plantation?”
Samuel squirmed as if fit to burst. “If you call wantin’ a new and better life for my family giving up, then yes, I guess I gave up. Maybe you didn’t mind havin’ a yoke around your neck every minute of every day, but I did.”
“You always make it out to be worse than it was.”
“And you always make it out to be better. It’s just plain silly.”
“Well,” Emala said.
They were silent for a space, and then Emala said, “What’s happenin’ to us? We never argued this much before we became runaways.”
“I don’t rightly know,” Samuel admitted. “But it seems as if we can’t hardly talk anymore without fightin’.”
Emala was about to say that despite all their spatting, she still cared for him as deeply as ever, when she became aware that Nate King had stopped and raised an arm to signal them to do the same. “What is it, do you suppose?”
Nate said something to Chickory, who turned and whispered to Randa, who turned and whispered to Emala.
“Mr. King says there are a bunch of Indians yonder, and they might be hostiles.”
“Lordy!” Emala exclaimed in horror. She could practically feel the sharp sting of a knife slitting her throat from ear to ear. “Is there no end?”
Nate King heard her and almost turned to tell her to hush, but she fell quiet. He concentrated on the figures moving about in a clearing ahead. By their features and their scalp locks and how they had fashioned their buckskins, he determined they were Pawnees.
Considered a friendly tribe, the Pawnees were some of the first to venture east of the Mississippi River to visit the land of the white men. They were quick to see that trade with the whites was to their advantage. Years ago, Pawnee chiefs met with President Jefferson. Later on, about twenty of them paid President Monroe a visit and put on a war dance at the White House.
But for all their friendliness, the Pawnees had a dark side. They were known to practice human sacrifice. Young female captives were offered up to the morning star in the belief it brought good fortune.
Other tribes distrusted them, which was not unusual since many tribes were suspicious of one another. But distrust of the Pawnees ran particularly deep. They had a reputation for being bloodthirsty. There was even a Shoshone saying to the effect that a Pawnee would smile as he greeted you while stabbing you in the back.
“Do we go around?” Winona asked. She held her Hawken across her saddle with her thumb on the hammer and her finger on the trigger.
Nate counted nine Pawnees altogether. Since two were warriors and two were women and five were young ones ranging in age from ten about to about twenty, he reckoned it to be two families. They’d erected temporary shelters and were drying buffalo meat and curing hides.
Winona was looking about. “I only see these, but there could be others.”
Nate scanned both sides of the Platte. “I think it’s just them.”
Unlike other plains tribes, the Pawnees did not rely on the buffalo for their existence. They hunted the beasts now and then, but mostly they farmed. They raised squash and maize and beans and other crops.
“Do we go around?” Winona asked again.
Nate shook his head. He doubted the two warriors would do anything with their families there.
“I hope you know what you are doing.”
Nate hoped so, too. The last time he had dealings with the Pawnees, they tried to kill him. He gigged his bay, his Hawken at his side.
A young boy playing with a hoop made of sticks was the first to spot him, and shouted in alarm. Instantly, the two warriors grabbed rifles and moved in front of their wives and children to protect them.
Nate smiled to show he was friendly and called out in English, “We come in peace.” In Shoshone, on the off chance they understood it, he said, “We want to be friends.”
One of the warriors had streaks of gray in his hair and a seamed face that showed as clearly as words that he was a man who had seen and done much in his lifetime. His eyes glinted with intelligence. “We like peace, white man.”
Nate drew rein. Winona did likewise. Then the Worths emerged, and it was all Nate could do not to laugh.
The Pawnees were astounded. Their mouths fell, and the eyes of the young ones nearly bugged out of their
