We stood together in silence, I with my thoughts and she with hers, the stream rustling at our feet. Low clouds had come, and they rested in the silent valleys among the hills, and with mountains looming above. Slowly a few flakes began to fall, drawing a thin, delicate veil across the morning.
“We had better go back,” I said.
She turned and looked straight at me for a moment, but said nothing. We walked back together, and then she went to her cave and I to mine.
Several days passed in which I hunted, and scouted the mountains to the west, finding another even higher valley than this where we were, and one to which we might retreat if necessary. I found a shelter and gathered wood against a time of need. It was ever my way to prepare for the possible, even if improbable. Now, in the event we had to flee from where we were, we would know where shelter was and where wood was gathered. I moved away from the place, choosing landmarks and other trail markers that could be found at night.
It was a good place, that upper valley, and I spoke of it to Keokotah, telling him of the shelter cave and the wood. “There may be a better place,” I said, “but at least it is a place.”
Somewhere out there was Kapata, for I did not believe he was one to quit. Somewhere were the Conejeros, but the snow was still falling and there was hope they would not discover our retreat.
That day I began for the first time to set traps for fur. If the time came when I returned to civilization I would need money, and furs were the most certain source. But we might need the furs for ourselves. I was afraid it was going to be a long winter.
Keokotah hunted each day, and each day returned with game. Often he went alone, sometimes with one of the Natchee. One night beside the fire he spoke suddenly.
“They look for us.”
Startled, I looked around at him. “Who?”
He shrugged. “Conejeros. Kapata. I do not know. Somebody. ”
“You saw tracks? Inside the valley?”
“Outside. I am over the mountain. I am in the trees. Among the trees,” he amended. “I see five mans. They look for tracks.”
That sounded like Kapata. I doubted the Conejeros believed we were still about, but Kapata would be sure of it. The Conejeros did not need to find us, but Kapata did.
Of course, it came as no surprise. We had known he would be searching for us.
It was on the third day of the snow that I went to the cave mouth and looked out. All was white and still. The snow was no longer falling, but the tree branches bent under their weight of snow and wherever we looked it was a white, white world. Turning, I walked back into the cave. Keokotah was sleeping.
Suddenly I wished I had a book. It had been so long since I had read. Could a man forget how to read? The idea worried me. I checked our supply of meat. There was enough to last a long time, but we would need to hunt when we could. I found myself wishing for Keokotah’s pasnuta, the creature with the long nose. Some kind of long-haired elephant would provide us with enough meat to last for a long time.
The thought amused me. The only elephants I had heard of had been from India or Africa, places that were warm most of the time. It was unlikely an elephant could survive in this country in winter, but I knew little of the beasts. In any event it was purely idle speculation.
Returning to the cave mouth I stood where I could look out over the valley. Because of falling snow I could not see the entrance to the valley.
Should we move to the upper valley now? It would be colder, and we would not have as much fuel. Our meat we could take with us.
Glancing around I saw Itchakomi. She put her hand out to catch a snowflake. It hit her palm and then vanished. She gave a little cry of amazement. “It is gone!”
“They melt quickly sometimes.”
She looked at me. “You have seen snow?”
“Much of it on the mountains, and once we hunted far to the north and there was snow. We returned home.”
“Will it stay?”
“For months, I think. Five or six moons,” I suggested. “I do not know. Some years are colder than others.”
“It is not a good place for my people,” she said. “They do not understand.”
“They could learn, and there is much game.” I pointed toward the western hills. “They could lose themselves in the mountains. It is beautiful there.”
“I shall go back,” she said.
“I shall go west, I think. Or perhaps I’ll stay here, at the edge of the plains.” I had not thought of it until that moment but suddenly I decided. I would stay. I would find a place somewhere along the edge of the mountains, and stay.
The thought was strange to me, who thought only of wandering. A foolish thought that would go away. I was sure of that. Yet the idea lingered.
“Here?” she looked around. “But you are alone! There will be nobody!”
I shrugged. “I am often alone. It is my nature.”
“But you would need a woman!”
“In time I’d find one.” I smiled. “Maybe even a Conejero woman. Or an Acho, like Keokotah.”
Her eyes were cool. She glanced at me and then looked away.
“Indian men need women to prepare the hides for them,” I said. “After a hunt there is much work, but I can do my own, and have done them. On this trip I have made moccasins, and when necessary I can make my leggings and jacket. When I marry it will be for love.”
“Love? What is love?”
It was something of which I knew nothing, yet something of which I had thought a good deal. Too much for a man who did not intend to take a woman … yet.
“It is something between a man and woman, something that goes beyond just being man and woman. It is a feeling between them, a sharing of interests, a walking together, it is—”
Keokotah was suddenly there. “Somebody comes!” he said.
Stepping to a place where I could look through the trees, I saw them.
Two men standing beside the creek, looking toward us.
EIGHTEEN
We held ourselves still, knowing a movement might be seen, hoping no smoke was visible from the caves behind and above us. After several minutes of looking around they turned to go, crossing the stream and walking back toward the way they had come.
“Conejeros!” Keokotah said.
Neither of us replied. We simply watched. I know my heart was beating slowly, heavily. I thought of my guns back in the cave. It was foolish to have them and not carry them always. When their time would come I did not know, but they were something on which to rely, something that might save us all.
The Conejeros had probably fought the Spanishmen, so they would be familiar with guns, but mine were far more accurate than any other firing weapons I had ever seen. Of their kind they were masterpieces, as their maker had intended them to be. My future might depend on them, and that of Itchakomi.
Now the strangers were gone, or apparently gone. Still we did not move, for they might yet be within sight of us, might turn and look back. “Thank God,” I said, “there were no tracks!”
Itchakomi turned and looked at me. “Who is God?” she asked.
For a minute I just stood there. How to answer such a question? I was no preacher or priest. I was no student of religion. I knew so very, very little!
“He is the Father. He is present in all things. He—”
“—is the Sun?”
“That would be one way in which he reveals himself. I believe he is more than just the sun.”
“Just the Sun?” Her eyes were cool. “The Sun gives life to all things.” She turned her dark eyes to me. “The Sun was our ancestor.”
Religion was a topic I avoided. I felt myself inadequate to discuss it. Each man seemed to have a different idea about it. Moreover I had discovered that few things led more quickly to anger. “Perhaps you are right,” I replied mildly. “Men have found many explanations and perhaps each contains some element of truth. I am not a scholar, only one who wishes he could be.”
“What is it, a scholar?”
“I suppose a scholar is one who studies the origins of things, the laws of society and how men came to be what they are and where they are. I am not a scholar, and I have known but one, my teacher Sakim.”