One of her Indians added fuel to the fire.
“There are also the Conejeros,” I suggested. “You have seen them?”
“Their feet have left marks on the way we walk. I know them not.”
“They are dangerous men. They are warriors and there are many.”
“You fear?”
Irritated, I said, “We have met them. Three are dead. Two have gone for others. I suggest you find a place that is safe for the winter. Soon the snows will come. You cannot cross the plains.”
“We have canoes. The water is strong.”
She ignored me, speaking to Keokotah. Yet her eyes strayed to my guns in their ornate scabbards. That she was curious was obvious, but I had no intention of gratifying her curiosity.
She was, I must admit, uncommonly beautiful, and would have graced any gathering, anywhere. She had poise and intelligence and quick wit. I suspected she was not entirely of Natchee blood, judging by her appearance, but that was merely a suspicion.
We had been speaking in Spanish interspersed here and there with an English or Cherokee word, but I soon discovered that her command of English was not small. We had heard of Englishmen as well as Spanish who lived among them, and some of De Soto’s men had stayed on with the Natchee, preferring the safety of the Indian villages to the long, doubtful trek that would have awaited them.
Knowing what I did of the Europeans who had lived among the Indians I was not surprised. When De Soto first landed he discovered a man named Juan Ortiz already living among the Indians, and when the French Hugenots living at Charlesfort abandoned their settlement, one young lad, Guillaum Rufin, decided not to trust himself to the frail craft they had constructed and remained with the Indians. Several of the Frenchmen in a later colonizing attempt by Jean Ribaut had escaped a Spanish attack and gone to live with the natives.
“The Tensa and Kapata look for you. The Conejeros are everywhere. To get to the river, find your canoes, and then escape will be very hard.”
“So?”
“Go into the mountains, wait there for a week, then go quickly. They look for you now. If you leave no tracks, they can find none.” I gestured toward the path they had followed to us. “This goes into the mountains. We will follow it.”
She considered what I had said, and then Keokotah spoke. “The Ni’kwana trusted him. He thought—”
“We do not know what he thought. Only what he said.” She paused. “We will do it. For three days we wait.”
She arose and went to where the women had made a bed for her. She lay down and composed herself with a woman lying on each side of her, but each at least ten feet away.
Keokotah looked at me, shrugged, and rolled up in his own blankets. I withdrew the longer sticks from the fire to let it die to coals, and then lay down myself. First I checked my guns. The night was overcast. It was very still. Once a brief flame struggled against the darkness and then faded and died.
When morning came we left quickly, but not until I had gone off some distance to where there was an old campsite. Gathering some of the ancient coals I brought them back to scatter over our fire. Then I lifted handsful of dust and let it drift from my fingers over the fire, carried by the slight breeze. To casual glance our campfire would look months or even years old.
We moved out quickly, going down a slight declivity to the stream that flowed past the hogback mountain we had used for a landmark. There seemed to be an opening through which the stream flowed that would allow access to the mountains.
The stream had cut through the dark rock, and the game path along the stream was narrow. With Keokotah leading the way we climbed a steep hill and came out on top in a lovely valley. We camped where we could watch the entrance and settled down to rest, and to complete work on our buffalo hides. Keokotah and I moved our camp under several large old trees some fifty yards from the camp of the Natchee.
At daybreak I was up and scouting. The hole in which we had taken shelter must have embraced a thousand acres of fertile land, surrounded by rugged hills and cliffs covered with timber, mostly pine. Or so it seemed from where I studied them.
For several hours I scouted about. There were a number of caves, one a death trap. I tried dropping a stone into the darkness and it took some time to hit bottom. It was a place to avoid.
Here and there wildflowers still bloomed and I saw other plants I remembered—mountain parsley, wild mint, choke-cherry, and a half dozen others that might be useful. Already I was planning for the coming winter. No matter what Itchakomi decided to do, this would be a good place for Keokotah and I to winter.
Game would be apt to shelter here, and if we kept our presence small the supply would be sufficient to provide us with meat. Building a shelter was not out of the question, but one of the caves might be all that was needed.
As I studied the valley and the surrounding hills I heard the song of a meadowlark, always a favorite, and several times I stumbled upon flocks of quail. The hills would give us shelter from the worst storms and there would be fuel.
Itchakomi’s people were gathered about their fire when I returned. Keokotah had built our own fire. He was broiling meat, and I joined him, bringing more fuel.
“A cold time is coming,” I said.
He cut a sliver from the meat with his knife and began chewing.
“There are caves. I see many deer. I see bear tracks. Quail.” I cut a sliver from the meat. “It is a good place,” I said.
“What they do?”
I shrugged. “She will decide. I think they will go.”
“They will stay,” Keokotah said. “Itchakomi has eyes for you.”
“For me? No chance of that. She despises me.”
Sitting beside the fire I considered their problem. If they left now and could get to the Arkansas they might float down the river to its mouth. The severe drouth that had hit the plains before we had come was gone. The river was running full and strong. To get so far as the river would call for considerable luck, and we had been fortunate so far. They must have canoes somewhere not too far off if they had not been discovered by the Conejeros.
On the other hand the Conejeros might know of this valley or might find our tracks. We had seen no signs of recent occupation or of hunting or travel, so it was possible they had not found this place. Here we might last out the winter in comparative shelter. We would need more food, of course. A little judicious hunting would take care of that. Most of all we needed a fat bear, for of all things, fat is the hardest to come by in the wilderness.
One of Itchakomi’s young warriors came to our fire and squatted on his heels. “You stay?” he asked.
“We stay.”
He was uneasy. “Snow?”
“Much,” I said, “and much cold.”
The Indian poked a stick into the fire. “Natchee not much cold,” he said.
Keokotah said nothing, but I glanced around at him and said, “Living where they do on the lower Mississippi they wouldn’t have much experience with cold and snow. You know better than any of us what we’ll have to do.”
Keokotah was silent for several minutes, and then he made a sweeping gesture. “Snow!” he said. He picked up a stick from the small pile of fuel. “No find tree for fire, all cover! No find game! Snow! Much, much snow! Stay in lodge!”
“Then we’d better hunt,” I said. “We’ll need meat, and we’ll need a fat bear or two. We’ll need to gather what seeds we can before they’re all covered with snow.”
They sat silent, waiting. “Keokotah? You know the problems.”
The Kickapoo shook his head vigorously. “You speak! You chief!”
“The women and the older men should gather wood,” I said. “We must hunt, but hunt far away from where we live. We must not drive game away from us.”
There was time yet, so we went quietly about what must be done. There was much wood lying about, trees that had blown down or fallen from age or lightning, many with limbs broken off. As in all such wild areas there was no limit to the available deadwood, and we gathered it close to the cave we had chosen.
My leg was still a handicap. Undoubtedly I had begun using it, even with the crude crutches, sooner than I should have done. I limped, but also the leg tired rapidly. My other wounds had healed, although the scars on my scalp and legs would always be reminders. My strength had not returned, and I had to work in spells, resting from time to time.