youth. Then he reluctantly said, “I never want to regret letting Don’t Mix court you, Magpie. But even more important—I don’t ever want you to be sorry for that either.”
The camp was on the move early that summer of ’51, travois swaying under the weight of extra winter hides the men were hauling to the white trader’s post standing west of the mouth of the Rose Hip River* on the Elk River. After bartering for some supplies, Pretty On Top’s headmen had decided the village would move southwest toward the low mountains, where they could stay in those cool elevations through the hottest days of the summer, capturing wild horses for breeding and even making a visit to the small cave where monumental slabs of ice kept a water seep cold all summer long. Twice each year the band made this particular pilgrimage to Fort Alexander: once in the early summer, and again late in the fall—trading those furs fleshed, grained, and softened by the women, bartering for days at a time for all that the Apsaluuke people needed as they moved through the seasons, in the footsteps of the same circle they had followed since ancient times on the Missouri River far to the east.
Every evening last spring, when the skies cleared off and the sun had set behind the fiery clouds, Don’t Mix had shown up to play his love songs for Magpie. That first night he had stood right in front of the door, blowing the sweet notes from his flute. But Scratch would not let his daughter go outside the first time he showed up, nor the next two. Not until the fourth night. And then, only with her mother standing nearby, watching the two as Don’t Mix finished his love songs, then stepped close to Magpie to talk in tones so low even Waits-by-the-Water could not hear what the two young lovers were saying to one another. It wasn’t too many more days, she had explained to her husband, before the two young people stood with their foreheads touching, holding one another’s hands, gazing into each other’s eyes as they whispered their sweet entreaties beneath the spring starlight.
Sometimes, Titus found an excuse to slip outside the lodge after dinner as the night sky grew dark, carrying his clay pipe and tobacco pouch with him, finding a patch of nearby shadow beneath an overhanging tree or sometimes nestled back against a neighbor’s lodge—where he could watch and listen as this young man courted his daughter. It still rankled him that both women had convinced him that Don’t Mix was a superb catch for Magpie … because something still troubled him inside about the union. He did not know why he suffered those misgivings, but he believed that if he watched from hiding, he might learn enough either to refuse the young man as a suitor to Magpie or to grudgingly accept the young warrior.
“Can Flea come with me, down to the horses?”
Scratch looked up in surprise at Turns Back. The young man hadn’t made a sound as he came out of the trees behind the spot where the white man sat at the edge of the clearing—a father watching those two young lovers standing near the lodge, both of them wrapped in a single blanket, their foreheads touching as they whispered in low tones.
“Yes,” he said.
Scratch patted the ground beside him. The youngster settled close before his own eyes went to staring directly at the couple. For a long time Titus was aware that Turns Back kept his attention trained on his good friend and Magpie without saying a word to explain why he had come to ask about Flea.
Clearing his throat, Bass said, “Many nights you come to spend time with Rea.”
“Yes,” Turns Back agreed, his eyes landing briefly on the white man before he concentrated again on the couple some distance away, young lovers totally unaware they were watched by a friend and a father. “Flea may be much younger than me, but he is nonetheless a good companion.”
“You like spending time with my son?”
“Yes, he has taught me a lot about horses in the time we have been together.”
He reflected on that, watching how the young man kept looking at the couple. Then Titus asked, “You come no other time to see Flea. Only in the evening.”
“After supper, yes.”
“Now that I think about it, you come to see Flea whenever your friend Don’t Mix is here courting Flea’s sister.”
His eyes slowly came to the white man’s face. “Is that true? I did not realize I came to see my friend when Magpie was talking with Don’t Mix.”
Again he did not immediately speak, but instead watched as the young man’s gaze went back to the couple. Eventually Bass dared to flush out the inner ways of this youngster’s heart, asking, “Are you ever jealous of your friend Don’t Mix?”
“Jealous? Why?”
“Because he has won the heart of Magpie.”
To that point Turns Back had been wearing a mask stoically devoid of emotion. But now his face showed a visible hint of regret. “Has h-he won Magpie’s heart? Is this true?”
“I think so,” Bass said with his own regret. “After all, no other has come to court her.”
“Don’t Mix, he is a handsome man.”
“Is he?” Titus asked. “That’s what the girls think, but is he handsome to his friends as well?”
“Yes, I can see why any girl, and especially someone as pretty as Magpie, would give her heart to such a handsome warrior,” Turns Back explained. “For years now I have seen how the girls look at Don’t Mix.”
“And you’ve wished the girls looked at you the same way?”
“Yes … I mean, I used to wish that,” the youngster said. “But, after some time, I realized that they never would, especially Magpie, because I am not a handsome man the way Don’t Mix is so … so—”
“Pretty?”
Turns Back looked at him. “Yes, he is so handsome he is pretty. I can see why Magpie gave him her heart.”
“But does he have a good heart to give her in return?”
“Yes. You will be his father-in-law. Don’t worry about your daughter. Don’t Mix will take good care of her, and treat her well.”
“But is he the best man for her?” Titus prodded. “Isn’t there another who would treat her far better, love her far more deeply than Don’t Mix ever could?”
“How could that be?” he asked, looking at the white man.
“Because a big part of Don’t Mix’s heart is in love with himself,” Titus explained. “Couldn’t there be someone else who has a very strong heart for my daughter, someone who has never spoken up to her about his feelings … some young man who will love her better than any man ever could … because his love is truly hers alone, and not mixed up with his love for himself?”
“I-I don’t know what you are getting at.”
Titus reached out and laid his old hand on the youngster’s bare knee, saying, “I have always thought that the most important reason why Don’t Mix began courting my daughter is that she is pretty enough for such a handsome warrior to have as his wife. She will look good with him. Everyone will say that they are a handsome couple. He did not ever think that Magpie’s beauty could lie beneath her skin as well. He was never interested in what lay inside my daughter.”
“Perhaps he has not thought to look inside to see how beautiful she is—”
“Tell me what you think about my daughter, Turns Back.” He nudged the warrior, squeezing the youth’s knee paternally. “Better yet, tell me why you never came to court her yourself.”
He turned, stared at the old trapper, and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you want me to say—”
“Say what is in your heart. What you feel about Magpie.”
The young man looked again at the couple, staring a long time before he finally spoke. “I think she is the finest woman any man could marry.”
“Because she is beautiful?”
Turns Back shook his head. “No. Because she is gentle. I have seen her with Jackrabbit, and little Crane. She will make a fine mother to her children.”
“What else do you think about her?”
“I think Don’t Mix is the luckiest man alive.”
That made his heart feel so heavy and sad. Titus felt the hot sting of tears there in the dark as a tall, thin, and weedy youngster emerged from his parents’ lodge and noticed the couple. Flea shook his head in adolescent disgust, then turned and hollered into the darkness.
