Heart of the Sandhills (23 page)

It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.

—Psalm 119:71

The man on the travois now had a raging fever. He hadn’t really been behind his eyes for hours, and the leg was worse. Two Moons lifted the blankets and what she saw sickened her. All she could do now was hurry. Faster and faster she went, running until she could no longer stand the burning in her lungs, yet slowing only long enough to catch her breath before running again. She had kept moving all night. She thought they were only another day’s journey from the fort, but she didn’t know if it would matter. The wounded man had been delirious for a while. Now he was silent, his face a gray mask, his breathing shallow.

Two Moons stopped only long enough to let the pony walk.

She was worried about her old mare. She had been surprised when the horse managed to get the wounded man to camp the first time. Asking her to pull him back again might be too much. Some time in the night the pony began to wheeze and gasp for breath. Two Moons made her keep moving, and although she didn’t want to, she prodded the little mare every now and then with a stick when she threatened to stop.

Only when she could no longer force herself to put one foot in front of another did Two Moons rest. She pulled a blanket off the travois and, wrapping herself in it, slept. She would not lie down lest she sleep too soundly. She had had no reason to live for a long time, but now that she had one, she was obsessed. She drove herself and willed the man to live. She prayed to her own spirits and whatever spirits the man believed in to come to her aid.

On the second day she was tugging the mare down a steep incline when the old creature stumbled and went down onto her knees. Two Moons yelled and screamed at the pony, pulling with all her might until the old girl wobbled upright and walked on. But sometime that afternoon, the pony went down first on her knees, then on her side, threatening to spill the travois as she sank down, wheezing and gasping.

Two Moons pounded the pony with her fists and wailed at the wind. When she realized the little mare was dead, she untied the travois poles from atop the pony’s withers. Unloading everything except the man and his book, she braced herself against the poles. Straining everything in her, she managed to pull the travois along, inch by impossible inch, down an incline. She made progress for a while, until they reached another hill. Evening was coming on, and at last Two Moons gave out, completely spent. She sank beside the wounded man, looked down at her scarred arms, and closed her eyes. Then, as the sun set behind the mountain peaks, she lifted her voice in a death wail.

“Shhh.” Picotte held his hand out and cocked his head, listening. He looked at Captain Willets. “You hear that?”

Willets lifted his chin slightly, closed his eyes, and listened. “The wind. Not human.”

Picotte took his pipe out of his mouth and squinted, working at listening harder. “The wind’s bringing it, but it’s human. A death song, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Where? From what direction?” Willets opened his eyes, suddenly wide awake in spite of their long day.

“North.” Picotte listened again. He sniffed the wind like an animal. “Wolves, too. But it was human at first.”

Willets scrambled up. He went to where Leighton and Aaron had bedded down atop a cushion of pine boughs. “Elliot.” He shook Elliot’s shoulder. “Need to check on something.”

Aaron lifted his head. “What? What is it?”

“Don’t know. Picotte thinks he heard a Sioux death wail. We both heard some wolves in the distance.”

The men scrambled out of their bedrolls.

“You’ns go and check on it.” Edward Pope was up, too, stirring up the fire. “I’ll keep the extra horses here. And I’ll have coffee when you get back.”

In less than half an hour the four were on the trail, grateful for the bright moon, hoping the sound was more than their imagination, trying to follow it through the night.

When the wolves first appeared, Two Moons was ready. She had built a fire to keep herself and the man from freezing in the night. It was a strong flame, and although the creatures surrounded her, she thought she could stave them off. There were only a few. But as the night went on and the flames grew small, Two Moons realized more wolves had come. They were restless, and they watched her with glowing yellow eyes, waiting for the flames to die. She untied the travois and worked to get one of the poles free. She would use it as a club and fight as long as she could. She and the man were entering the spirit land tonight, but they would not go until she had fought the wolves. She shivered with fear, hoping they would kill her quickly.

When the first creature lunged at her, snarling and snapping its jaws, it was only playing at the attack and she fended it off easily. A second one came and she landed a good blow across its head. It yelped and trotted away, shaking its head like a child after its mother boxed its ears.

Two Moons sang, hoping it would frighten the creatures and for a time it did. She punctuated her song with shouts, and the wolves backed away. But as the night wore on and the fire began to smolder, the wolves grew bolder. One of them charged at the wounded man. Two Moons landed another crushing blow across the animal’s back and it tumbled over and then scrambled away. She positioned herself across the man, one foot on either side of his body. The wolves came closer. More than one, this time. Two Moons raised the stick over her head and screamed just as three of them lunged.

There was the blistering roar of a rifle, and one of the wolves fell dead across the wounded man. A second was thrown back and slunk away, yelping from pain. The others disappeared. The third wolf slashed Two Moons’s leg as it streaked across the wounded man’s body. Two Moons lunged at it with her stick, but she tripped on the man she was trying to protect and fell. She covered her head with her arms and, curling into a ball, waited to die.

But she didn’t die. She heard men’s voices and another gunshot. Someone grabbed her arm and said words she didn’t understand. She looked up and thought he must be a forest spirit, for his face glowed red in the darkness. She shrunk away, hiding her face in her hands.

Then she realized his face glowed red from her dying fire. He was white. And that made her more afraid than if he had been a forest spirit. She scooted away from him, stammering that she had not hurt the man on the travois, she was only taking him to the fort to get help. She had found him and she didn’t mean any harm. She was nearly hysterical, and she grabbed the man’s book up and shook it in the face of the yellow-bearded man who was holding her arm.

Suddenly someone said in Lakota, “Hush, woman. We won’t hurt you. We have been looking for this man.”

As suddenly as she had begun to talk she was quiet. The one who knew her language was the old one with the gray hair. Her eyes stayed on him, ignoring the others who were babbling in their own tongue.

“Why is he sick?” the old one asked.

“He fell. I found him broken at the bottom of a high wall.”

“Broken? What is broken?”

“Ribs. His leg.”

Picotte lifted the blanket covering Daniel’s lower body. What he saw made him close his eyes and swear to himself.

“Ask her when she found him,” Aaron wanted to know.

“There’s no time for that,” Picotte said. “We’ve got to get him to the fort.” He looked at Aaron. “He’s probably not going to make it, son. But we’re going to do our best. That leg’s infected. Gangrene maybe already have started. It works fast. Help me get this travois rigged—” he looked at Captain Willets. “Which horse is least likely to raise a fuss?”

“Mine,” Elliot said.

“Then let’s get it rigged and get moving.” He turned to the little woman. “What is your name?” When she answered, he smiled. “All right, Two Moons. Can you help me with the travois? These white men don’t know how to do it.”

Relieved to have something to do, Two Moons stepped over a dead wolf. She motioned for Picotte and another to help her and in moments they had the travois lashed to Elliot’s gray mare. True to Elliot’s prediction, the mare snorted and stared, but she tolerated the contraption without kicking. Two Moons scrambled up behind Picotte and soon they were moving quickly toward camp.

At the camp, Edward Pope had coffee waiting, but no one wanted to drink it. Instead, Elliot and Aaron kept on toward the fort while Picotte and Willets helped Pope break camp by the light of the moon.

“You take the girl,” Picotte said. “You’ve got a younger horse and we’ll go faster that way.” He said a few words to Two Moons, who nodded and walked obediently over to Willets. He started to lift her up, and for the first time noticed the deep gash the wolf had made across the top of her foot.

“Wait a minute, Picotte,” he called out. “She’s hurt.”

Picotte started to get down, but Two Moons shook her head. She called to him, pushing Willets hand away and motioning toward the fort.

“She says to leave it.”

Willets wouldn’t listen. “It’s deep. Needs tending now.”

“Fair enough,” Picotte said, and he translated for Two Moons, who stared down at Willets with an odd expression on her face, but submitted to his attention. Edward Pope produced a bandage and a canteen of water.

“You got everything in that kitchen of yours, Pope?” Willets joked.

“Just about,” Edward said. “A man’s got to be prepared.” He finished packing his kitchen while Willets tended the little woman’s bleeding foot. While he worked, he pondered his first sight of her, one foot planted on either side of Daniel’s body, her eyes blazing in the firelight, poised to take on a pack of wolves with a stick. He’d never seen anything like her for bravery in a woman, that was certain. Unless maybe it was Genevieve Two Stars.

Two Moons flinched when Willets washed the slash across the top of her foot. He apologized and tried to be gentler, thinking about the dainty feet of women back in Minnesota who whined if their dance slippers got muddy. One of them in this situation would have been wolf bait in less than a minute. One of them, he realized, would never have had the guts to try to bodily drag a man to a fort after her pony gave out. He wrapped Two Moons’s foot and prepared to mount behind her, but she slid back behind the saddle.

“Don’t want a white man’s arms around you, eh?” Willets mumbled. “Fine. But I hope you can manage to stay on.” He kicked his horse’s flanks and headed out at a smart trot.

Dawn presented a gray sky and cold winds. The men spread more blankets atop Daniel and picked up the pace.

Once, Daniel opened his eyes and Aaron leaned down trying to get his attention. “You hold on, Daniel. We’re taking you to the fort. The doctor will help. Just hold on.”

They rode in grim silence, churning out the miles. Willets rode up alongside the travois. He talked to his friend, trying to encourage him, hoping that if he couldn’t hear the words, at least he would hear the respect and caring and respond. “Don’t give up, Daniel. We’re almost there.”

A few minutes after Willets talked to Daniel, he was aware of Two Moons’s hands holding lightly to his coat. He caught up with Aaron. “Good time to pray, young man,” he said gruffly.

“What do you think I’ve been doing all morning?” Aaron said testily. “Maybe you ought to try it, too.”