up,” said Laramie.
White Eagle nodded again.
“So you not like…chore?” asked the young brave.
Laramie stood to his feet and began to pace. He reached up to push his hat back a trace. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t like it. She shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be in the camp. It’s gonna mean trouble. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Maybe she…escape,” observed the Indian with a knowing look.
“She’d never make it. She’d die—or be killed—or taken,” declared Laramie. He continued to pace, his jaw set firmly, his blue eyes darkening.
“You…not want that?”
Laramie whirled around to face the young brave. He did not even offer an answer. Of course he did not want that.
“So…you not like…care for…but you want…keep,” White Eagle continued, as though carefully sorting through Laramie’s problem.
Laramie did speak then. “I don’t want to keep—I jest want to—”
He broke off. How could he explain to the Pawnee what he was feeling? That it was all wrong to take another captive. That his father had broken some moral code in bringing the young girl into camp. That he knew, deep down inside, that this was totally against everything that a real man should stand for.
“I want her…back…where she belongs,” he stumbled on awkwardly. “Only…I have no way to get her there…so…so I have to do my best to take care of her and I don’t—”
“You got trouble,” agreed the young Indian again. “Plenty trouble.”
Laramie stopped his walking and stared out over the valley. Down below he could see the ramshackle buildings of the camp. From the high vantage point the crude shacks looked fairly organized, almost attractive. In the far distance he could see the rising smoke of a campfire. By the way the small column drifted, he guessed it to be an Indian hunting party who sat around its warmth.
“Yer men?” he asked White Eagle, nodding his head eastward.
“Three,” said White Eagle in reply.
“Hope they got something,” mused Laramie.
White Eagle nodded. “They did. Snow deep. Stop to roast meat for strength on home trail.”
“I think I’ll do a little huntin’,” said Laramie. “We could do with some fresh meat.”
The young Indian brave stood to his feet, his movements catlike with grace and strength.
He did not brush the snow from his leather garments but pulled down a branch of the spruce and brushed it back and forth across the ground where he had reclined, removing all trace that he had been there. At its release, the branch sprang back into position.
“Fresh meat,” he echoed Laramie. “Make strong. If girl ever…escape…she need eat. Be strong.”
The two young men looked at each other. A silent message passed between them. Even as the idea crossed Laramie’s mind, he discarded it as preposterous.
“You make signal,” said White Eagle, and Laramie understood the brief words as a promise that he would be there. He nodded.
Before his very eyes the young brave seemed to melt into the shadows of the forest.
“You should get some fresh air,” said Laramie after he had knocked, then brought in the plate of food to his charge the next morning.
Ariana glanced at the heavy wooden door.
“After you’ve finished yer breakfast we’ll go fer a walk,” Laramie continued. He had done a lot of thinking throughout the night. White Eagle was right. He had to try to keep her strong. Keep her healthy. Who knew what the future might hold?
She nodded silently, but he thought he saw a little sparkle come to her eyes. Was it fear—or anticipation?
When he returned later he was surprised to see she had eaten more than usual of what was on the plate. She stood, dressed in one of the calico gowns from the trunk, staring out of the window.
“It’s rather cold,” he observed. “You’ll need all the warm clothes ya got.” He hesitated, then pointed to the corner. “I would suggest thet ya wear those moccasins ’stead of those shoes.”
She
White Eagle nodded again.
“So you not like…chore?” asked the young brave.
Laramie stood to his feet and began to pace. He reached up to push his hat back a trace. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t like it. She shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be in the camp. It’s gonna mean trouble. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Maybe she…escape,” observed the Indian with a knowing look.
“She’d never make it. She’d die—or be killed—or taken,” declared Laramie. He continued to pace, his jaw set firmly, his blue eyes darkening.
“You…not want that?”
Laramie whirled around to face the young brave. He did not even offer an answer. Of course he did not want that.
“So…you not like…care for…but you want…keep,” White Eagle continued, as though carefully sorting through Laramie’s problem.
Laramie did speak then. “I don’t want to keep—I jest want to—”
He broke off. How could he explain to the Pawnee what he was feeling? That it was all wrong to take another captive. That his father had broken some moral code in bringing the young girl into camp. That he knew, deep down inside, that this was totally against everything that a real man should stand for.
“I want her…back…where she belongs,” he stumbled on awkwardly. “Only…I have no way to get her there…so…so I have to do my best to take care of her and I don’t—”
“You got trouble,” agreed the young Indian again. “Plenty trouble.”
Laramie stopped his walking and stared out over the valley. Down below he could see the ramshackle buildings of the camp. From the high vantage point the crude shacks looked fairly organized, almost attractive. In the far distance he could see the rising smoke of a campfire. By the way the small column drifted, he guessed it to be an Indian hunting party who sat around its warmth.
“Yer men?” he asked White Eagle, nodding his head eastward.
“Three,” said White Eagle in reply.
“Hope they got something,” mused Laramie.
White Eagle nodded. “They did. Snow deep. Stop to roast meat for strength on home trail.”
“I think I’ll do a little huntin’,” said Laramie. “We could do with some fresh meat.”
The young Indian brave stood to his feet, his movements catlike with grace and strength.
He did not brush the snow from his leather garments but pulled down a branch of the spruce and brushed it back and forth across the ground where he had reclined, removing all trace that he had been there. At its release, the branch sprang back into position.
“Fresh meat,” he echoed Laramie. “Make strong. If girl ever…escape…she need eat. Be strong.”
The two young men looked at each other. A silent message passed between them. Even as the idea crossed Laramie’s mind, he discarded it as preposterous.
“You make signal,” said White Eagle, and Laramie understood the brief words as a promise that he would be there. He nodded.
Before his very eyes the young brave seemed to melt into the shadows of the forest.
“You should get some fresh air,” said Laramie after he had knocked, then brought in the plate of food to his charge the next morning.
Ariana glanced at the heavy wooden door.
“After you’ve finished yer breakfast we’ll go fer a walk,” Laramie continued. He had done a lot of thinking throughout the night. White Eagle was right. He had to try to keep her strong. Keep her healthy. Who knew what the future might hold?
She nodded silently, but he thought he saw a little sparkle come to her eyes. Was it fear—or anticipation?
When he returned later he was surprised to see she had eaten more than usual of what was on the plate. She stood, dressed in one of the calico gowns from the trunk, staring out of the window.
“It’s rather cold,” he observed. “You’ll need all the warm clothes ya got.” He hesitated, then pointed to the corner. “I would suggest thet ya wear those moccasins ’stead of those shoes.”
She
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