Zach heard the horse, but he didn’t slow down. Damn little fool. What made young women from the city so crazy, anyway? Probably rich food and soft beds. And newspaper jobs. Sheesh.
She trotted up and fell in beside him. “Where is this camp?”
He shrugged. “If I knew that I wouldn’t need to follow that kid ahead of me, would I?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she patted the shirt pocket where her notepad rested and sent him a grin.
Zach gritted his teeth. The boy glanced back over his shoulder, nodded and picked up the pace.
Side by side, they followed the boy’s black pony across the wildflower-dotted meadow toward the hills, and after an hour Dusty dropped behind him. He felt halfway sorry that she’d be eating his dust, but not sorry enough to slow down for her.
What the hell would he do with her at an Indian camp? Having Dusty along on a cattle drive was a liability; taking her into an Indian camp was just plain foolhardy. She’d probably scribble away with her pencil, and that was sure to arouse their suspicion.
The trail narrowed and began skirting stands of feathery cottonwood trees and tangles of pale green willows. Meandering streams straggled along in low areas, shallow enough to walk their horses across and clear enough to see small trout darting among the rocks. He could hear Dusty behind him, the steady clop-clop of her sorrel reminding him how much he didn’t want her along. No matter how interested she was in the mysteries of Indian culture, having a woman along was a risk.
An Indian camp was always an unknown. On his own he could handle pretty much anything that came up, but Dusty’s presence would complicate things. In fact, she could mess up the unpredictable relationship some Indian tribes had with the white man, especially white men driving cattle to Winnemucca or Abilene.
He tugged his hat lower to block the sun. At least she wasn’t complaining about the heat or the dust or the pace they were setting. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard Dusty complain about anything on the drive for the last ten days. She was a fast learner, he’d give her that. Or maybe she’d just run out of things to talk about.
She was too outspoken. And she was usually convinced she was right, no matter what anybody said. He prayed that no matter what happened at this Indian camp, she would keep her mouth shut. Either that or watch closely and learn something.
They were coming into a wooded area, and the sun was starting to dip toward the mountains ahead when the boy on the trail kicked his pony into a trot.
“Zach?” Dusty called. Her voice sounded tense.
“Yeah?”
“I need to—Could we stop and...rest the horses?”
“Nope.” He let that sink in, then acknowledged that he needed to stop, as well. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle, and the boy pulled up beside a grove of alders.
“Okay, Dusty. You first.”
She slid off her mount and sprinted for cover while he walked both horses to the stream. The Indian kid waited.
When she emerged from the trees she sent him a smile. “Thank you, Zach,” she murmured. He motioned for her to fill her canteen, walked off behind the nearest tree and unbuttoned his jeans.
Two hours later they rode into a small Indian encampment next to a pretty, slow-moving river. The boy slipped off his pony and disappeared into a large deerskin teepee, and Alex moved her mount up close to Zach’s and reined to a halt.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“Wait,” he said.
She gazed around at the Indians who had gathered in knots and were staring at them in silence. Old women with wrinkled faces kept protective hands on half-naked children with huge black eyes. Younger women clad in simple deerskin garments that came below their knees stood in uncertain groups, while men of all ages gathered near them. Their nearly unclothed bodies were painted with broad stripes of red and yellow and black. She was relieved to see they carried no weapons, but they weren’t smiling, either.
The air smelled sharp and slightly sour, a mixture of smoke and something pungent. Fires crackled in stone pits situated among the various-sized teepees, but no one was tending the pots hanging over the fire pits. The entire camp seemed to have come to a stop.
She longed to make a sketch of the surroundings and write up some notes. Her hand moved to remove her notepad from her pocket, but Zach stopped her with a quick motion of his arm.
“Don’t,” he ordered.
“But—”
“Not yet, Dusty. And for God’s sake, don’t dismount and start asking questions.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” she muttered. But she did long to explore the camp, peek inside the teepees and sniff whatever was cooking over the fires.
All at once a tall figure emerged from the biggest teepee and strode toward them, the boy at his heels. A feather headdress brushed the man’s shoulders and he wore a faded army coat. That gave her pause. How in the world had he acquired such a garment? Had he killed someone?
The man stopped in front of Zach, raised one hand, palm up, and spoke some words. She hoped they were friendly ones, but she couldn’t tell. He was not smiling, she noted. None of them were smiling, except for some of the younger children.
“Must be the chief,” Zach said in a low voice. He raised his hand in the same manner, and the feathered man motioned for him to dismount.
“Stay there,” Zach murmured as he slid off his horse. He turned to the chief and pointed at Alex as if introducing her. She would love to know what the chief thought she was. Zach’s woman, she guessed. The thought made her face feel hot.
The chief motioned for her to dismount, and the instant her boots touched the ground the entire camp came to life. Women crept up, reaching out to touch her red plaid shirt and peer at her jeans, and the children giggled and pointed. Two of the painted young men came to lead their horses away.
Uneasy, she stepped closer to Zach. “I think we passed muster,” he said. “The chief looks pleased, and that kid who came and got us is grinning like there’s no tomorrow.”
“I’m a little scared,” she whispered.
“Well, for God’s sake, don’t let it show!”
The chief called out something to the other Indians. The women moved to tend the cooking pots, and the men began to don armbands and feather headdresses. The boy motioned for them to sit down by the biggest fire pit.
She followed Zach to the indicated spot, and a large woman with an elaborately beaded deerskin dress pointed at the pot over the fire, then at herself, and then at Alex and Zach.
“I think she’s going to feed us supper,” he said. He sat down and tipped his head toward Alex. “Sit close.”
She sank down beside him and scooted sideways until her shoulder touched his, and he draped his arm over one bent knee. She felt enormously heartened by his presence.
“When can I make some notes?” she asked quietly.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Maybe not ever.”
The woman stirred the contents of the pot with a long-handled wooden spoon. It smelled rich and meaty, and Alex’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. When shallow wooden bowls of a steaming stew of some sort appeared in front of them, her mouth watered.
“Whatever it is,” Zach murmured, “eat it.”
“Of course,” she murmured. “I am ravenous!”
The chief sat down across the fire pit from them, the women served him and the boy, and the men squatted near them and waited.
Alex studied the contents of her bowl. “How do we eat this, with a spoon?”
“Don’t know,” Zach answered. “Wait.”
The chief dipped his fingers into his stew and scooped a portion into his mouth. “Guess that’s how,” Zach said. He reached into his bowl.
Alex hesitated, studying her supper. It looked thick and lumpy, like beef stew in heavy brown gravy. She fished out a tiny bite and swallowed it. “It tastes very good,” she breathed. She downed another, larger bite. “Delicious, in fact.”
“Don’t talk, just eat. We’re guests.”
A drum began to beat out an insistent rhythm, and suddenly the men were on their feet, wearing feather headdresses and executing intricate steps forward and then back, moving in a loose circle around the open area of the camp.
She couldn’t stand one more minute without a pencil in her hand. Sneaking her notepad onto her lap, she alternated scooping up bites of stew, licking off her fingers and jotting down a few words. She noted the rhythm of the drums using X’s and circles, then studied the dancers’ steps, described their feathered headgear and sketched the faces of some of the women. She had just started to describe the teepees and some deerskins pegged to the ground on drying racks when Zach laid his hand on her writing arm.
“Stop,” he whispered. “Something’s happening.”
She looked up to see the chief striding toward them with something held in his two hands. He leaned down and draped a necklace made of some kind of animal teeth around Zach’s neck. He spoke some words and extended his hand, and Zach reached up to clasp it. The chief smiled.
“Must be thanks for that cow I gave the boy,” Zach breathed.
The dancing went on for over an hour and then suddenly stopped. The chief then turned to Zach and gestured toward the smaller teepee next to the big one.