It was now three days since Cynthia had been captured and they had changed the location of their camp six times. Every night, just before dark, they would move their encampment, then find a place to spend the night. The next morning, just after sunrise, they would move the encampment again. This, Chandeisi explained, was to prevent the white men from discovering were they were. Chandeisi was constantly by Cynthia’s side, for which she was grateful. She had seen Nalyudi looking at her from time to time, and she knew that it was only Chandeisi and Delshay who kept him from claiming her.
After three days, Cynthia felt a need to change clothes, for she was still wearing the same green dress she had on when she was captured. Since she had taken no clothes with her on what she thought would be no more than a couple of hours’ drive into the country, she had nothing to change into, and she feared she was stuck with the situation.
To her surprise and delight, Chandeisi came to the rescue by bringing her a couple of dresses made from deerskin.
“These were the dresses of my wife,” he said as he handed them to her.
“Oh, Chandeisi, thank you,” Cynthia said. She looked at the dresses. “They are beautiful.”
The dresses were wonderfully soft, and prettily decorated with porcupine quills and bright, blue beads. There was nothing to wear under the dresses, and at first Cynthia was keenly aware of that fact, but after a couple more days she quit thinking about it.
Each night, Chandeisi helped Cynthia to make a soft bed of stretched skin and fragrant grasses; then he would leave the wickiup to allow her privacy while she slept. Because they spent so much time together, Cynthia was able to engage him in conversation. She did so for two reasons: because she was genuinely curious, and because she thought that it would be good to have a friend in this situation.
“Where did you go to school?” Cynthia asked.
“I attended the mission school at San Carlos,” Chandeisi answered.
“Have you ever been off the reservation to live among the whites?”
“No, I have never done that. I have spent my whole life with my people—mostly on the reservation.”
“Do you ever wish you could live with white people?” Cynthia asked.
“No, I like living with my own people,” Chandeisi replied. “But there are many things I would like to see.”
“What would you like to see?”
“I have read that in the tall buildings of the big cities, there are little rooms that you can step into, and those rooms will rise, taking you to the top of the building.”
For a moment, Cynthia had to think of what Chandeisi was saying; then she laughed out loud. “You mean elevators,” she said. “Yes, the tall buildings in the big cities do have elevators.”
“And I have read as well that one does not need a candle or a lantern. You can turn a valve and have light, for the gas is piped in.”
“Yes, that is true,” Cynthia answered. “And in some buildings, water is piped in as well.”
“And is there really a device where one person can speak to another over great distances?”
“Oh, yes, it is called a telephone,” Cynthia said.
“Have you seen such marvels?”
“I have them in my home,” Cynthia said. “The gaslights, the running water, and the telephone.”
“I am puzzled,” Chandeisi said.
“What has you puzzled?” Cynthia laughed. “I hope you are not puzzled about how these marvelous things work, because even though I live with them every day, I do not think I can explain the operation to you.”
“No, that is not what puzzles me,” Chandeisi eplied. “It is just that, with so many wonderful things for the white man to see and enjoy, why must he come to our land?”
“Do you think the white man has done nothing good for the Indian?” Cynthia asked.
Chandeisi shook his head. “I can think of no good.”
“What about your education? You have gotten a wonderful education from the white man.”
“The white man taught me how to multiply and divide, but not how to skin a rabbit. I have had to skin a rabbit many times. I have never had to multiply and divide.”
“You said you went to a mission school?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have learned about Christianity. Do you not feel joy from knowing that your soul has been saved?”
“You are talking about the white man’s Jesus God, aren’t you?” Chandeisi asked.
“Yes, I am. Do you believe in Him?”
Chandeisi nodded affirmatively.
“Good, good,” Cynthia said.
“Why is this good?”
“Because, it is very important that you believe in the one way to the true God.”
“There are many paths to the Great Spirit,” Chandeisi said.
