Demon's Pass (5 page)

“What kind of fool was your pa, that he would start out like this with no money?”

Elizabeth knew about the money hidden in the wagon. For a moment she thought about telling Talbot, hoping to use it to buy her freedom. But she intuitively knew that it wouldn't help. He would take the money and leave her to the Indians, and it would gain her nothing. This way, she could at least deny him that.

“I knew nothing of my father's business,” she said.

“Business? The old coot didn't have a business.” He pulled a watch from his pocket. “Maybe he planned to sell this.”

“That's my pa's watch!” Elizabeth said. She reached for it, but Talbot pulled it away with one hand while pushing her back with the other.

“It's mine now,” he said. He looked at the Indians, then shook his head. “It was the only thing worth a damn in the whole wagon. You keep the girl, I'll keep this, and we'll go our own way.” He started toward his horse.

“Mr. Talbot!” Elizabeth called to him. “You . . . you aren't going to leave me here with them, are you?”

Talbot swung into his saddle, then looked back at her. “Missy, you done let it be known how you feel about me,” he said. “Don't guess there's much use in tryin' to change your mind on that account. So you stay here with these Injuns. They'll use you till they're tired of you, then, like as not, that blond hair of yours will wind up decoratin' some buck's lodge pole. I reckon then you'll wish you'd been a mite kinder to ole Red Talbot.”

Elizabeth watched Talbot ride away with mixed emotions. On the one hand, it seemed to her that any white man, even someone like Talbot, would be preferable to being left with savages. On the other hand, he was a known evil, and she didn't know how the Indians could be worse.

One of the older Indian women brought her a gourd dripping with water. She held it up, indicating that Elizabeth should take a drink and, because her throat was burning with thirst she took it, then drank eagerly.

“Thank you,” she said, though she didn't know if the woman understood her or not.

Brave Eagle came to her then. “Do you want to eat?” he asked.

Elizabeth shook her head no. She hadn't eaten since early this morning, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to keep any food down, not now, anyway.

“What is going to happen to me?”

“That is for council to decide.”

“Council? What council? When?”

“Tomorrow. Council will meet to decide your fate tomorrow.” Brave Eagle then turned to the old woman who had brought her the water and said something in a language that Elizabeth couldn't understand. The old woman nodded, then reached out for Elizabeth.

“What . . . what does she want?”

“Go with her,” Brave Eagle said.

The old woman led Elizabeth to one of the dozen or so teepees that made up the encampment. She pulled the flap aside and indicated that Elizabeth should go inside. Elizabeth did so and the old woman followed her in. There were skins on the ground and, at the old woman's invitation, Elizabeth sat down on one of them. The old woman sat across from her.

“Do you speak English?” Elizabeth asked.

The old woman gave no response. There wasn't the slightest flicker in her eyes, nor the barest hint of a change of expression on her face.

“What is your name?” Elizabeth asked.

The old woman remained silent.

Elizabeth pointed to herself. “Elizabeth,” she said, mouthing the word slowly.

There was still no response. Finally, the woman got up and left.

Elizabeth was left alone. Now, for the first time, she allowed herself the luxury of crying, weeping not only for the uncertainty of her own future, but for her mother, father, and brother, all of whom were lost forever to her. She cried until she could cry no more, then she sat, very still and very quiet, trying hard to drain herself of all feeling, emotional and physical.

Night came, and the old woman returned just long enough to light a pine knot lantern.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. Again, the old woman remained silent.

Outside, a large campfire was lit and the wavering orange of the campfire's glow joined with the flickering flame from the pine knot to bathe the inside of Elizabeth's teepee in an eerie gold light. She could hear the Indians chanting a strange, discordant, yet hauntingly beautiful melody. The drums pounded incessantly and she listened to their crescendo, trying to reckon the passing of time. Time and space seemed to hang suspended now, and she was having difficulty believing she was actually here. Finally, she lay down on the skins, surprised at what a soft and comfortable bed they made.

 

The flap of the teepee was opened and the morning sun streamed in. It wasn't until then that Elizabeth realized she had even been asleep. It had been a terrifying night, with the pounding drums and savage sounds. Now, with the darkness gone, she felt less afraid, and when she saw that the old woman was carrying something in a bowl, she realized that she was ravenous.

“You eat?” the woman asked, speaking for the first time, holding the bowl toward her. It contained some sort of stew and it smelled very good to her.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. Then, with a shock, she realized the woman had actually spoken. This was the same woman from whom she had been unable to get a response the day before. “You speak English!”

“Yes.”

“But when I tried to talk to you yesterday, you wouldn't say anything.”

“I had nothing to say,” the old woman replied.

“Umm, this is good,” Elizabeth said, chewing a piece of meat. “What is it?”

“Meat,” the old woman said without elaboration.

Elizabeth giggled, her first laugh since being taken prisoner the day before. “Meat, yea, I'll have to remember that,” she said sarcastically. “What is your name?”

“I am called Moon Cow Woman.” Elizabeth looked at Moon Cow Woman and decided that the name fit. She was short, very rotund, and rather moon-faced.

Moon Cow Woman was carrying a bundle and she opened it now to pull out a dress. It was made of soft deerskin and decorated with red and green porcupine quills. Elizabeth, who took pride in her own ability as a seamstress, was able to recognize right away the quality of workmanship in the dress.

“Oh, my, that is beautiful,” Elizabeth said.

“You wear before council,” Moon Cow Woman said.

“Oh, no, I can't take this,” Elizabeth said, pushing it away.

Moon Cow Woman looked hurt. It was the first change of expression Elizabeth had ever seen on her face.

“You not like?”

“No, no, that's not it at all! I think it is a lovely dress,” Elizabeth insisted. “But . . . I can't take it. I have nothing to give you in return.”

Something in Elizabeth's demeanor and tone of voice touched Moon Cow Woman and she warmed to the young captive. “It is a gift,” she said. “You do not need to give anything for it. Wear it before the council and it will move their hearts to vote in any way you wish.”

A spasm of hope flared up in Elizabeth. “You mean, they might set me free?”

Moon Cow Woman realized then that she had instilled false hope in Elizabeth and, again, her eyes reflected sadness.

“No,” she said. “They will not let you go. But, they will listen to you when you say who, among our men, you wish to marry.”

Tears sprang quickly to Elizabeth's eyes. “But I don't want to marry anyone,” she said.

“If you do not marry, you will become a slave.”

“Then I will become a slave.”

Moon Cow Woman shook her head. “No, you do not want that. To be a slave is very bad. You will not eat until all the people and all the animals have eaten. You will be worked until you can no longer stand. And, because any man who wants you can have you, you will be hated by all the women of the village.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said softly. She let out a long sigh. “Well, that doesn't leave me much choice, does it?”

Elizabeth took off her torn dress, then put on the dress Moon Cow Woman had brought her. When she had it on, she turned toward Moon Cow Woman, as if modeling it. Moon Cow Woman smiled, and nodded in appreciation.

“Come,” Moon Cow Woman said. “I will take you to the council.”

When Elizabeth stepped out of the teepee she saw that several men, women, and children, were gathered around a circle of men who were sitting on the ground. The men were smoking a pipe and passing it around. Occasionally, one of them would get up and speak to the others . . . pacing back and forth as he spoke, his voice rising and falling in a strange, syncopated rhythm, his hands waving expressively . . . then he would sit down. Often there would be long moments of absolute silence, but the silence didn't indicate that the meeting had broken up, for they continued to sit in the great circle, passing around the pipe.

Brave Eagle was one of the Indians in the circle. But the Indian who made the greatest impression on Elizabeth was an older man to whom all the others seemed to defer. There was a gentleness in his face that drew Elizabeth's attention toward him.

“Who is that?” Elizabeth asked, pointing toward the old man.

“He is called Two Ponies,” Moon Cow Woman answered. “He is a man of much medicine.”

“Medicine? He is a medicine man? Like a doctor?”

Moon Cow Woman shook her head. “He is what the white-eyes call a chief.”

“A chief,” Elizabeth said. She studied Two Ponies for a moment or two longer and saw that he did seem to be in charge of the council. “All right, if I am given a choice, I will choose him for my husband,” Elizabeth said.

Moon Cow Woman looked at Elizabeth in surprise.

“You will not choose Brave Eagle?”

Elizabeth looked at the Indian who had led the raid on their wagon yesterday. He was taller than most of the Indians, and, she had to admit, a fine-looking man. She had also noticed yesterday that he actually took no part in the attack, but stayed back on his horse, just watching. Still, he had been there.

“No,” she finally said. “I will not choose Brave Eagle.”

“But Brave Eagle is a good hunter,” Moon Cow Woman insisted. “Your teepee would never be without meat if you chose Brave Eagle as your husband. He is also a young man. He would pleasure you as often as you want.”

Elizabeth blushed, then thought it was worth noting that her first emotion was embarrassment, rather than fear. “I don't want to be pleasured by Brave Eagle. I don't want to be pleasured by anyone.”

“You don't want to be pleasured by Two Ponies?”

“No.”

“Then why do you wish Two Ponies for your husband?”

“You tell me that I must choose someone. I choose him because he looks like a kind and good man.”

“Yes,” Moon Cow Woman said. “He is very kind and very good. He is my husband.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Two Ponies is your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Moon Cow Woman, I'm sorry. Here I'm talking about wanting to choose him, and you tell me he is your husband. And . . . and you've even brought me this lovely dress to help sway the council.”

“Two Ponies can have more than one wife,” Moon Cow Woman said. “If you become his wife, you will be my sister. It would please me to have you as my little sister.”

“Captured Woman!” Brave Eagle called out interrupting them. “Come!”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, bracing herself for the ordeal.

“Beaver Pelt will offer the pipe to you,” Moon Cow Woman said. “When he does, you must take it.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Elizabeth said, screwing up her face in an expression of distaste. “I don't think I could smoke it.”

“You must,” Moon Cow Woman said. “Beaver Pelt is the oldest and wisest of the council. He is a shaman. If you do not smoke the pipe when it is offered by a shaman, you offend the people, and the decision will go against you.”

“I . . . I'll try,” Elizabeth said. She walked toward the council then, and at Brave Eagle's invitation, sat down.

The council began with Beaver Pelt, the shaman Moon Cow Woman had mentioned, taking the first puff from the pipe. He took a long draw, then, as he exhaled, he waved his hands through the smoke to bring it back into his face. Afterward, just as Moon Cow Woman had predicted, he passed the pipe directly to Elizabeth.

Beaver Pelt was, perhaps, the oldest man Elizabeth had ever seen. There was scarcely one spot on his face that wasn't filled with lines, yet his eyes were bright and vibrant. Summoning all her courage, she took a puff the same way she had seen the others do, even using her hands to fan the smoke back into her face, then she passed it on. The Indians all grunted in a favorable response to her action.

“Moon Cow Woman,” Two Ponies said, speaking in English. “Come. You will be the ears for Captured Woman. You will tell her what words are spoken by the council. And you will be the tongue of Captured Woman. You will tell the council what words are spoken by Captured Woman.”

Because Moon Cow Woman was to have a function in the council, albeit only as a translator, she, too, was offered a smoke from the council pipe. The pipe was handed to her and she took a puff, then handed it back and took her position beside Elizabeth.

“And now, the council will hear Elk Heart,” Two Ponies said, with Moon Cow Woman translating almost simultaneously to Elizabeth.

Elk Heart came before the council, and Elizabeth recognized him as one of the Indians who had participated in the raid on her father's wagon. Unlike Brave Eagle, Elk Heart had been actively engaged in the killing. He was also the one who had carried the grisly scalps of her parents across his horse.