soft, familiar voice.
Laramie whipped around. White Eagle stood a few feet away, grinning, his arms folded across his chest.
“Yer here,” said Laramie, rising to his feet again.
White Eagle, the amused look still on his face, made no comment but crossed to where Laramie now stood.
“We meet here—no?”
It was Laramie’s turn to smile. He reached out, and the two young men shook hands firmly.
“Yes, we were to meet here,” he agreed. “It’s been a long time,” he continued, placing a hand on the young Indian’s shoulder.
“Long,” agreed White Eagle. He nodded his head to the stump Laramie had vacated and eased himself to the ground. Laramie returned to his seat.
For some minutes the two friends sat silently, their eyes traveling out over the expanse of the valley beneath them. White Eagle broke the stillness. “You call,” he said simply, and Laramie understood his implied question.
He removed his hat and ran a finger through shaggy, heavy hair. “Yeah,” Laramie admitted. “I had to talk to someone.”
“Trouble?”
“Not…not really trouble. Jest…”
Laramie stopped and White Eagle waited for him to go on. It was some time before Laramie continued.
“My pa brought this here girl to the camp,” he said, feeling that the spoken words sounded pretty silly.
White Eagle nodded solemnly. “Trouble!” he said softly.
“Well—no trouble yet,” Laramie hurried to explain. “I mean she’s just a…a young…not a troublemaker or anything like thet. She’s off in a cabin all alone. The fellas don’t even know she’s there.”
White Eagle waited.
“Pa gave me the…the chore of…of guardin’ her,” went on Laramie.
“Nice—chore,” White Eagle said, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“No—it’s not,” quickly cut in Laramie. “She’s…she’s…it’s not a nice job—at all.”
“She mean squaw?” asked the Indian.
“No,” Laramie said quickly. “Nothin’ like thet. She’s young an’ she’s scared an’ I have no idea what she’s there for. I mean—I don’t know what Pa plans. I asked—an’ he got mad. Wouldn’t say nothin’. Jest says I gotta guard her.”
White Eagle shrugged his shoulders and spread his palms upright as if to say that there was nothing he could do to help the situation.
“It’s jest…well, I mean…you’ve lived in camp—with women—all yer life. I…I don’t know a thing about women. What…what am I supposed to…how am I supposed to…?”
White Eagle smiled. Yes, he knew about women. Elderly ones who, because of their years and wisdom, were the mothers of the tribe, wives of hunters who tanned the hides of the game the men brought in and tended the cooking pots. Younger women, eyes soft with love for their newborn papooses, maidens who modestly lowered their eyes when the young braves walked by, and then stole covert glances beneath long, dark lashes. Even the frolicking, playful little ones—on their way to “becoming.” He knew about life surrounded by women.
“But,” he went on to explain, “I have visited the white man’s fort—a few times. The women there are different—very different—from the Indian women in my camp.”
He shrugged again. “I know nothing—of white squaws,” he said, and spread his hands again.
“But—”
White Eagle shrugged again. “Not same,” he said as though that was final.
Laramie was agitated. White Eagle stared at him, looking both surprised and confused. Finally he asked, “Why such little bit of woman trouble so much?”
Laramie couldn’t answer the question.
“What you do for her?” White Eagle asked, his tone indicating he was genuinely trying to help his friend.
“I jest…jest bring her wood an’ water an’ food an’—”
“Why she not get own wood and water?” questioned White Eagle.
“She’s our prisoner,” responded Laramie.
White Eagle nodded. Then he frowned. “White man not make prisoner work?” he asked.
“She’s locked
Laramie whipped around. White Eagle stood a few feet away, grinning, his arms folded across his chest.
“Yer here,” said Laramie, rising to his feet again.
White Eagle, the amused look still on his face, made no comment but crossed to where Laramie now stood.
“We meet here—no?”
It was Laramie’s turn to smile. He reached out, and the two young men shook hands firmly.
“Yes, we were to meet here,” he agreed. “It’s been a long time,” he continued, placing a hand on the young Indian’s shoulder.
“Long,” agreed White Eagle. He nodded his head to the stump Laramie had vacated and eased himself to the ground. Laramie returned to his seat.
For some minutes the two friends sat silently, their eyes traveling out over the expanse of the valley beneath them. White Eagle broke the stillness. “You call,” he said simply, and Laramie understood his implied question.
He removed his hat and ran a finger through shaggy, heavy hair. “Yeah,” Laramie admitted. “I had to talk to someone.”
“Trouble?”
“Not…not really trouble. Jest…”
Laramie stopped and White Eagle waited for him to go on. It was some time before Laramie continued.
“My pa brought this here girl to the camp,” he said, feeling that the spoken words sounded pretty silly.
White Eagle nodded solemnly. “Trouble!” he said softly.
“Well—no trouble yet,” Laramie hurried to explain. “I mean she’s just a…a young…not a troublemaker or anything like thet. She’s off in a cabin all alone. The fellas don’t even know she’s there.”
White Eagle waited.
“Pa gave me the…the chore of…of guardin’ her,” went on Laramie.
“Nice—chore,” White Eagle said, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“No—it’s not,” quickly cut in Laramie. “She’s…she’s…it’s not a nice job—at all.”
“She mean squaw?” asked the Indian.
“No,” Laramie said quickly. “Nothin’ like thet. She’s young an’ she’s scared an’ I have no idea what she’s there for. I mean—I don’t know what Pa plans. I asked—an’ he got mad. Wouldn’t say nothin’. Jest says I gotta guard her.”
White Eagle shrugged his shoulders and spread his palms upright as if to say that there was nothing he could do to help the situation.
“It’s jest…well, I mean…you’ve lived in camp—with women—all yer life. I…I don’t know a thing about women. What…what am I supposed to…how am I supposed to…?”
White Eagle smiled. Yes, he knew about women. Elderly ones who, because of their years and wisdom, were the mothers of the tribe, wives of hunters who tanned the hides of the game the men brought in and tended the cooking pots. Younger women, eyes soft with love for their newborn papooses, maidens who modestly lowered their eyes when the young braves walked by, and then stole covert glances beneath long, dark lashes. Even the frolicking, playful little ones—on their way to “becoming.” He knew about life surrounded by women.
“But,” he went on to explain, “I have visited the white man’s fort—a few times. The women there are different—very different—from the Indian women in my camp.”
He shrugged again. “I know nothing—of white squaws,” he said, and spread his hands again.
“But—”
White Eagle shrugged again. “Not same,” he said as though that was final.
Laramie was agitated. White Eagle stared at him, looking both surprised and confused. Finally he asked, “Why such little bit of woman trouble so much?”
Laramie couldn’t answer the question.
“What you do for her?” White Eagle asked, his tone indicating he was genuinely trying to help his friend.
“I jest…jest bring her wood an’ water an’ food an’—”
“Why she not get own wood and water?” questioned White Eagle.
“She’s our prisoner,” responded Laramie.
White Eagle nodded. Then he frowned. “White man not make prisoner work?” he asked.
“She’s locked
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