first time she was dressed in a long metal-gray dress which did not have the big butt and which was tight around the middle, almost like shiny skin. She was slender and her small breasts only slightly interruptedthe smooth line of the tight material. She had come with an older man and another man about her age. At first, Charging Elk didnât pay much attention to her. Many people, many handsome young women, came to the village to look at the Indians. If there was anything interesting about this one, it was her hat; or rather, the shiny green and blue and yellow feathers that surrounded the crown of it. It looked as though a strangely beautiful duck was sleeping on her head, its own head tucked under a wing. Charging Elk stared at the hat, then looked at her face and was a little surprised to see such a clean simple face framed by vermilion upswept hair. Her lips were pale and her eyes were the green of ice in the wind caves of Paha Sapa. He looked at her for some time and decided that she was nice to look at. Then he went back to playing dominoes.
She returned the next day, just before the afternoon performance. Charging Elk was on the verge of entering the lodge he shared with five other young men to change into his buckskins and the long headdress he was given by the man in charge of costumes, which he wore during the grand entry and during the dance scenes. She was standing on the worn earth path between his lodge and Rocky Bearâs, looking at him. Although, like most of the other Indians, he didnât like to look at the eyes of these wasichus , he did look directly at her, at her clean face, then into her icy-green eyes. She smiled at him and his heart jumped up and he ducked into the lodge. When he came out, adjusting the feathers of the headdress, she was gone.
She came one more time after thatâfour sleeps later. Charging Elk had been counting because he had come to realize that he liked the attention that seemed beyond the bare curiosity of the other French women. He liked the way she had looked at him and he liked the smile that he saw many times after that, if only in his mind. For three sleeps he had worn his black sateen blouse with the brass arm and wrist bands, his fatherâs breastplate, a beaded vest, and the silver earrings he had taken from Cuts No Rope in a poker game. He carefullybraided his hair with otter skin and red yarn. Then he waited in a variety of poses designed to show he didnât care if he saw her again.
The fourth sleep he decided she would not return, so he wore his worn calico shirt, a pair of baggy-kneed white mans pantâs, and a black vest. His braided hair was tied off with bits of rawhide. The day had been hot in that close damp way that made Charging Elk wish for the open air of the plains. He was tired and his young bones ached from all the riding and fake fighting he had done over the three moons since their arrival in Paris.
He was playing dominoes with Featherman. It was just after the daytime performance and there would be no evening performance because this was the day the wasichus went to their holy houses and rested and ate long meals at home. Several of the performers were going to town to see the sights with Broncho Billy that evening. As tired as he was, he looked forward to eating a big meal in a brasserie that Broncho Billy had been told had plenty of American beef.
As he studied his next move, he felt more than saw a shadow that covered his face and hand. He thought it might be one of the other show Indians come to watch the game, but when he looked up with mild annoyance at the closeness of the shadow caster, he saw the clean face of the young woman looking down at him from beneath a simple white bonnet.
He stood quickly, all thoughts of his aching bones a thing of the past, and she involuntarily took a step back and made a noise that he knew was not a word. He was a head taller than she was and she seemed almost frightened at his size. But
She returned the next day, just before the afternoon performance. Charging Elk was on the verge of entering the lodge he shared with five other young men to change into his buckskins and the long headdress he was given by the man in charge of costumes, which he wore during the grand entry and during the dance scenes. She was standing on the worn earth path between his lodge and Rocky Bearâs, looking at him. Although, like most of the other Indians, he didnât like to look at the eyes of these wasichus , he did look directly at her, at her clean face, then into her icy-green eyes. She smiled at him and his heart jumped up and he ducked into the lodge. When he came out, adjusting the feathers of the headdress, she was gone.
She came one more time after thatâfour sleeps later. Charging Elk had been counting because he had come to realize that he liked the attention that seemed beyond the bare curiosity of the other French women. He liked the way she had looked at him and he liked the smile that he saw many times after that, if only in his mind. For three sleeps he had worn his black sateen blouse with the brass arm and wrist bands, his fatherâs breastplate, a beaded vest, and the silver earrings he had taken from Cuts No Rope in a poker game. He carefullybraided his hair with otter skin and red yarn. Then he waited in a variety of poses designed to show he didnât care if he saw her again.
The fourth sleep he decided she would not return, so he wore his worn calico shirt, a pair of baggy-kneed white mans pantâs, and a black vest. His braided hair was tied off with bits of rawhide. The day had been hot in that close damp way that made Charging Elk wish for the open air of the plains. He was tired and his young bones ached from all the riding and fake fighting he had done over the three moons since their arrival in Paris.
He was playing dominoes with Featherman. It was just after the daytime performance and there would be no evening performance because this was the day the wasichus went to their holy houses and rested and ate long meals at home. Several of the performers were going to town to see the sights with Broncho Billy that evening. As tired as he was, he looked forward to eating a big meal in a brasserie that Broncho Billy had been told had plenty of American beef.
As he studied his next move, he felt more than saw a shadow that covered his face and hand. He thought it might be one of the other show Indians come to watch the game, but when he looked up with mild annoyance at the closeness of the shadow caster, he saw the clean face of the young woman looking down at him from beneath a simple white bonnet.
He stood quickly, all thoughts of his aching bones a thing of the past, and she involuntarily took a step back and made a noise that he knew was not a word. He was a head taller than she was and she seemed almost frightened at his size. But