Stealing May part 2

“They are not close,” Red Bird told him.  She rested her hands on her knees and tilted her head, listening to the shrill cries as if to a piece of music.  “Do you fear them?”
“In a way, yes,” he admitted, laughing to settle his nerves.  “They spook me a little.”
Red Bird was amused.  She left her place and came to sit close to Jake.  “Small woman protect man with gun from wild dogs,” she told him, grinning. 
Jake smiled in return.   
A chill evening breeze swept across them.  Red Bird wrapped her arms around herself, leaning closer to the fire.
Jake was suddenly struck with an idea.  Digging through the wagon, he pulled out a large piece of heavy canvas and brought it back to Red Bird.
“I brought this along to use as a sort of roof for a cabin, while I was still building it.  It could make a nice tent for you to sleep in.  At least it will keep you out of the cold night air.”  He suddenly felt like a little boy seeking to please his mother.
“For me only?”  She asked.
“Yes, just for you.”
“You will sleep out here?”
“I’ll be fine.  I’m used to it.  And we have the fire tonight.”
She reached out and touched the corner of the canvas. 
“Why you do this?”  She asked. 
“Well . . . I thought you might like the privacy.”
“Privacy?”
“Uh . . . so you can have your own place.  To be alone, and out of the weather.  It will be warmer at night.”
She smiled softly.  “Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble.”
Jake threw the large cloth over a low branch of a nearby tree, folding the sides over each other to close off the back and the front.  He stepped back to look it over.  “What do you think?”  He asked.
“Very nice tent,” she replied.  “I will sleep now.”
Jake nodded.  “All right.”  He went back to his seat near the fire, feeling strangely abandoned.  He turned to look in her direction.
She stopped at the entrance of the small shelter, and stood for a moment.  Looking back over her shoulder, she lifted her hand in a slight wave. 
Jake waved back.  “Good night.”
He knew now that he was taken with her, more than he wanted to admit.  It went beyond simple curiosity or fascination because she was Cheyenne.  He was completely smitten.
He lay motionless near the warm, snapping fire for the longest time before, amid the intermittent screams of coyotes, he finally slept.
The following day passed uneventfully.  The land around them was dotted with sparse vegetation, and it seemed strangely vacant.  The clouds overhead were gray and heavy, creating an atmosphere that was cold and damp.  Few birds darted between the trees.
They traveled on in a guarded silence.  It wasn’t long before they could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.  Jake looked up when he felt drops of moisture falling on his hands.  “The rain’s finally started,” he commented.  “I guess we had better find some place to get out of the weather.”
Red Bird agreed, somewhat reluctantly.  Jake knew that she must be wanting to be back at home again, and the rain was preventing her from getting there.  He considered going on as long as possible, but a sharp wind came up suddenly, and lightening flashed in the distance. 
“There’s a storm over us.”
“Yes,” Red Bird replied, her voice heavy with disappointment.  “We must stop now.”
In the short amount of time that it took Jake to unhitch the horses, the light rain had become a downpour.  The wind lashed at his back as he pulled the large canvas from the wagon, staking down two corners.  He handed Red Bird a piece of rope.  “Tie this through the right corner,” he told her, moving quickly to the left. 
Jake tied off his own rope and pulled it tight, the fabric flapping wildly against the gusting wind.  He tied the long end around the closest tree, then moved to where Red Bird struggled with the other corner.  “Here, let me.”
The rain poured down on him in sheets, running down the brim of his hat and out onto his shirt.  He rounded another tree, tying the last knot as a huge bolt of lightening filled the sky with a blinding flash.  He grabbed Red Bird and pulled her under the rippling canvas.  Heavy thunder shook the ground. 
“Are you all right?”  Jake asked, raising his voice to be heard over the growling storm.
“Yes,” she replied.  More lightening, more thunder filled the darkened sky.  The horses neighed wildly, voicing their fear.  Red Bird huddled closer to Jake.  They were out of the rain, but the wind continued to howl around them.  All they could do was stay together under cover, and wait out the storm.

When Jake opened his eyes in the early morning light, the first thing he realized was that he was certainly not alone.
Red Bird lay close at his side, with one arm draped across his chest.  He liked the feeling of having her nestled against him.  Jake found himself holding his breath.  He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to wake her.  He wanted to stay in this moment as long as he possibly could. 
He could look at her now as much as he liked, to gaze contentedly at her beauty.  He wanted so much to reach out and touch her soft lips, but he reminded himself that she wasn’t his to touch.  Instead, he let his fingers caress the back of her hand.  She stirred slightly.  Jake let out a breath.  He knew he should wake her.  She wouldn’t approve of this, he was certain.
Placing his hand on her arm, he squeezed it gently.  “Red Bird,” he spoke quietly.  “Wake up, Red Bird.  It’s morning.”
She moved, then looked up at him.  Jake noticed when the realization came into her eyes of where she was.  She pulled away and sat up quickly.  She fumbled nervously with her dress, with her hair.
“It’s all right, May,” Jake told from where he lay.  “Nothing happened.  The. . . the storm’s past.” 
She glanced down at him, then turned her back.  “Yes,” she remarked.  “Long past.”
Jake sat up.  Strands of Red Bird’s hair clung to her face, and she fussed at them.  He reached out and tucked a long piece behind her ear.  “You look fine to me, May.”
Her eyes met his, and her gaze lingered.  Jake was struck with the sudden desire to kiss her.  He tore his eyes away from hers, clearing his throat.  “Maybe—uh, maybe we should move on.  We need to find a water source.”
“Yes,” she agreed.  Without another word, she stood and left the shelter of the canvas, wiping her palms on the skirt of her buckskin dress. 


The horses had been none the worse for having been through the last night’s storm, and Jake made quick work of packing the canvas away.  The day was nearly half gone by the time the wagon came in sight of water.  Jake suggested that they make camp there, and Red Bird agreed.  Walking around, she seemed to feel uncomfortable, unsure of herself.  The reason was obvious.  Jake tried to smooth things over.  “Look, why don’t I bring the water in this time.  You can .  . . Well, you can just see to the horses.  If you’d like to.”  Jake did not want her to feel that she in any way owed him anything.
“I will.”
Searching for more to say, Jake came up empty.  He filled his wooden bucket at the edge of the river and carried it back to camp.  Red Bird had moved the horses into a grassy area, and they were grazing, grateful to be free of their harnesses. 
While Jake spread the canvas out to dry, Red Bird lingered near the bucket of water.  She peered with discontent into the reflective surface.
“Why don’t you go ahead and wash up?”  Jake suggested.  “You’ll feel better.”
She nodded and pushed up her sleeves, wetting her hands and arms.  She washed her face free from any dirt that remained from their travels.  Next, she slowly, intently loosed her hair from its tangled braid, aware that Jake was watching her.  Using her hands, she ladled the icy cold water over her head, and it ran down over her shoulders. 
Jake was drawn in by the way she moved, in everything she did, even washing her hair.  Again, he had the strong desire to touch her, to kiss her.  Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself.  What are you thinking, Jake?  He asked himself.  Don’t overstep your bounds. 
He rummaged through his belongings, distracting himself.  Finding a towel, he moved toward Red Bird and held it out for her.  “Here,” he told her.  “You can dry yourself.”
Her hair was wet and dripping, shiny, smooth, and very black.  She reached out slowly and took the towel from Jake’s hand.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Jake stood close to her.  He couldn’t help himself.  He gently touched her chin.  “You look beautiful, May.  You always look beautiful.”
She looked away, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. 
“I’m sorry if I’ve said too much, but . . . I want you to know how I feel about you.”
Looking up, she gave Jake a hint of a smile. 
Out of nowhere, Jake heard a wild cry and looked up to see a young Indian with a drawn bow charging toward them, his long straight hair falling around his face. 
“May, look out!”  Jake jumped up, pulling Red Bird behind him and grabbing his rifle.  He quickly pulled the gun up to his chin and sighted on the armed young man. 
“Leave us alone!”  He called out.  “Stay back!”
“Nahkohe, he'kotoo'estse!” Red Bird shouted.  “Noxa’e! Noxa’e!”
The boy held his arrow tight against the string, looking back and forth between Red Bird and Jake, obviously confused.
“Do not shoot him!”
Jake felt Red Bird’s hands close tightly around his arm.  “Please, do not shoot!”
“Tell him that!”
She turned toward the boy and called out to him, speaking quickly in Cheyenne.  Slowly, the young man lowered his bow and released the tension on the string.  “Nenasestse,” he said gruffly.
Red Bird hurried to his side, trying again to explain the situation. 
The boy eyed Jake suspiciously, even as he lowered his rifle.
“Do you know him?” Jake asked.
“He is from my tribe. His name is Nahkohe,” Red Bird told Jake.  “In your words, it is Bear.”
“Bear,” he repeated.  “Don’t be angry, Bear.  I wasn’t going to hurt Red Bird.  She’s . . . my friend, and I want to keep her safe, until she gets back to her people.  Your people.”
The young man only scowled at Jake, his face hard.
“Does he understand me?”
“He speaks English some,” Red Bird told him.  She turned to Bear and spoke to him.  He looked at her, then back at Jake.  He nodded silently.  Red Bird spoke to him again, pointing at their camp, at the wagon and the horses.  Bear listened, never taking his eyes off of Jake. 
“I tell him you are no danger.”
Jake thought that the boy didn’t seem altogether convinced.
“What’s he doing out here alone?”
Red Bird relayed Jake’s question, and Bear gave her a lengthy explanation. 
“He says that some of my people have been looking for me.  But they did not come this way.  Nahkohe went off by himself to find . . . us.  He did not tell anyone that he was going.”
“Us?  You and—”
She nodded.
“Ho’honaa’e?” Bear asked.
Red Bird slowly shook her head, and the Cheyenne boy spoke to her, what sounded to Jake like a question.
She held up her hand, motioning for him to wait.  Jake didn’t look away from Bear for a second, or take his hands off the rifle.  Red Bird hurried over to the horses, pulling the eagle feather from the bay’s mane, and bringing it to Bear.
She spoke to him in Cheyenne, in a low, solemn voice.
Jake knew that she was telling him of the warrior’s death. 
Bear shook his head in disbelief.
“Yes,” Red Bird told him.
Jake cleared his throat.  “Were they close friends?”  He asked.
Red Bird looked over at him.  “No. Brothers.”
Jake felt a fresh wave of guilt about the man’s unfortunate death. 
Red Bird took hold of Bear’s hand, giving him Ho’honaa’e’s feather.  The boy looked long and hard at it.  His fist closed around the shaft of the feather, and he looked up, pain and anger filling his eyes.
“I’m very sorry about your brother,” Jake managed.
Bear gave him a hard stare.  “I hate white man!” He snarled, walking away. 
“Nahkohe!” Red Bird called after him.
Jake put his hand out to stop her.  “Let him be for a while.  He’s angry, of course.  Just give him some time.”
Red Bird’s face showed her disappointment and concern.  “He lets his anger destroy his heart.”
Jake stepped up next to her.  “Some wounds take longer to heal than others.  Don’t worry, May.  His heart will win out.”
“Hea’ehama?” She asked softly.  “Do you think so?”
He gently touched her arm.  “I hope so.”
She looked at him, grateful for the encouragement.
After a long while, Bear returned to camp suddenly and spoke harshly in Cheyenne.
Red Bird looked over at Jake.  “He wants me to come back with him.  Right now.”
“Now? This very minute?”
“Yes.” She turned toward Bear and responded in an argumentative tone.  He hesitated, then tossed his bow to the ground angrily, talking back.
Red Bird was firm, however, and after a moment, the young man sat down, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of defeat.
“What did you say to him?”  Jake asked.
“I tell him that he has come a long way, and the day is almost gone.  He will stay with us tonight.  We start back tomorrow.”
“He agreed?”
“I give him no choice.”
Jake smiled to himself.  No one pushes her around, he thought.

Bear hadn’t remained in camp long.  Jake had tried to speak to him, but he would have nothing of it.  Red Bird had done all she could to convince him otherwise, but he had stayed away until well after sundown.  Only the flickering light of the campfire had revealed his presence, some distance away.  The boy’s face revealed the absolute contempt that he felt about the whole situation.  If Jake had been concerned for his own safety that first night alone with Red Bird, now he was downright fearful.  Bear, he knew, was in just the sort of temper to kill him, if he had the notion to.  It was Red Bird’s presence alone that brought Jake any reassurance. 
The following day brought more trouble with it.  Bear once again demanded that Red Bird leave with him.  She told the young man that Jake had protected her, and that Bear was dishonoring him by refusing his help.  He wasn’t fazed in the slightest, however.  He made it all too clear that he wanted nothing to do with this white man and his ways.
Red Bird was just as unyielding herself.  Her insistence at wanting Jake’s help confused and infuriated Bear.  He finally told her in no uncertain terms that if she wanted to ride with Jake, that was her choice, but he wouldn’t be found on a white man’s wagon unless he was dead.
So, when the three of them finally cleared out, if was Jake and Red Bird who rode while Bear went on foot, keeping his distance.  From time to time, Red Bird glanced at him, torn between joining the boy and staying with Jake.  She always chose to stay.
Eventually, she questioned Jake as to whether or not he still wanted to help her.  “Nahkohe is here now,” she told him.  “You do not need to come back.”
“I want to, May,” Jake insisted.  “I’m not in the habit of giving up.  I always intend to finish what I’ve started.”
She nodded in consent.
When she suggested they stop for the evening, Bear objected.  “Not tired,” he asserted.  Red Bird was firm.  “We will stay here.”
Bear deferred to her once again, but made it clear that he was not pleased.
Jake got a small fire blazing while the two Cheyenne had another of their fervid discussions.  The longer this went on, the more absurd the whole situation seemed to Jake.  True, he had hoped to meet some local Indian people, but he in no way expected to capture one, much less develop feelings for her, not to mention traveling on with one very reluctant, hostile Indian boy.
And he felt like an intruder.
Red Bird, through with talking to Bear, came and stood a moment near the fire.  She glanced down at the empty metal pitcher nearby, then snatched it up.
“What are you doing?”  Jake asked.
“I tell Nahkohe to make a spear, go to river and kill fish,” she replied.  “I will go and bring back fruit.”
“What do you want me to do?”
She glanced around.  “Keep the fire,” she replied, tramping off into the woods.
Jake watched her go, then looked over at Bear, who pulled out his knife and began to sharpen the end of a long, solid stick in jerking motions.
“Be careful with that knife while you’re angry,” Jake advised him.
Bear shot him a quick, spiteful glance.  He muttered under his breath.
Well, Jake thought, let him be.
After a few more strokes, sure enough, the knife slipped and sliced the side of Bear’s hand.  He cried out, dropping the stick and the knife.
“Are you all right?”  Jake came to his side.  “Here, let me help you.” 
Jake reached out toward him, but he yanked his arm away.
“Fine, suit yourself.”  Jake ran the back of his arm across his forehead.  If he wanted to be that way, he was willing to play that game himself.  He sat at the fire, turning his back on the boy. 
Bear grasped his throbbing arm tightly and looked around.  He knew that he had to stop the bleeding, but he was at a loss as about how to go about it.
He growled in frustration.
“You help now?”
He turned and looked at Jake’s back. 
Jake heard him, but he ignored him, adding more wood to the fire.
Bear rose to his feet and stood over Jake, casting a shadow across his face.
“You help now!”
Jake looked up at him.  “Do you need me, Bear?”
“Help.”
Jake couldn’t hide his smile.  “Sit down then,” he said, pointing to a seat near the fire. 
Bear sat, still holding tightly to his wrist.  Blood was running down his palm and dripping to the ground.  Jake grabbed his canteen, unstopped it, and poured it out over the boy’s open wound.
Bear winced and looked away. 
Jake studied the boy in silence for a moment.  He didn’t know what to think of him, to think of his aversion to white men.  Was it the boy’s anger, or pride that made him want to keep his distance?  Or was it fear?  Maybe a little of everything, Jake guessed.
He rose to his feet and crossed over to the wagon.  Opening one of the trunks, he pulled out Hale’s old blue shirt.  He tore a strip from the faded fabric  and crouched in front of Bear, near the snapping fire.
Jake folded one end of the fabric and pressed it into Bear’s palm, wrapping it tightly and tying it off.  He sat back on his heels and watched as Bear fingered his bandaged hand.
Red Bird emerged from the brush then, picking her way through the undergrowth as she made her way into camp with a pitcher full of berries.
She lingered at the edge of the clearing, where Jake saw her and looked up.  The wind played at her silky hair, and it swirled loosely around her face.
Jake held his breath, struck once again by her fierce beauty. 
She strode boldly up to the fire, taking in Bear’s injured hand with one glance.  She spoke quickly to him in their native tongue, and he responded in a low voice.  She reached down and took hold of his hand, looking over the bandaging.  She spoke again to Bear, who remained silent a moment before shaking his head.
Red Bird spoke again, gruffly.
Bear faced Jake now, the low flames from the campfire reflecting in his dark eyes.
“Thank you,” he said grudgingly.
Jake nodded.  “No trouble.”
Red Bird’s mouth was set firmly.  Still clutching the pitcher of berries, she turned away from the fire and marched over to her tent, disappearing behind the flap.
“She’s angry,” Jake commented.
Bear grunted in response.
Jake watched him.  The moments passed in silence.  Bear looked at his injured hand, gently flexing his fingers.  He glanced over at Red Bird’s tent.
“You’re angry too, I know,” Jake told him.  “I am sorry about your brother.  He shouldn’t have died.  My friend made a mistake.  Do you understand?  It was wrong for him to shoot your brother.  But now he’s gone too.  They’re both gone.”
Bear said nothing, but Jake was sure that he understood, enough to know what he was trying to tell him.  The boy’s face showed the distaste he still felt toward Jake, however.
“You have brother?”  He asked, staring into the distance.
Jake swallowed a mouthful of water from his canteen.
“I do,” he answered.  “Two of them.”
Bear pulled at Ho’honaa’e’s eagle feather, which he had secured to the front of his shirt.  “My brother die,” he said bitterly.  “You be angry if brother die!”  He jerked to his feet and started to walk away.
“It was an accident, Bear!  Can’t you believe me?  Hale didn’t kill your brother in cold blood.  He was afraid.”
The boy stood staring down at Jake, strands of his long dark hair blowing out behind him.  He seemed to be tossing Jake’s words around in his mind, trying to sort them out. 
Bear grunted in reply and abruptly walked away, turning around once to look back.

Bear returned to camp later in the day.  He stood outside the front of Red Bird’s tent, eyeing Jake suspiciously.  He spoke in the direction of the tent, and Red Bird responded from inside.  A moment later, she emerged, hands on her hips.  The two of them exchanged words.  Jake could tell from their body posture and their abrupt hand gestures that they were arguing. 
Bear glanced back in Jake’s direction.  “He’tohe hetane havesevemeaha’eve!”  He continued. 
“No, Nahkohe!  Netahevahtov,” Red Bird shot back.
Jake stood and stepped toward them.  “What’s this all about?”  He asked.  “What is he saying?”
Red Bird was exasperated.  “He does not want you to come with us.”
“Why not?”
“He blames you for Ho’honaa’e’s death.”
“But I’m not the one who killed him!”
“He knows.  It does not matter.”
“What can I do?”
She thought a moment.  “You tell him who you are.  Tell him what you want him to know.”
He looked at the suspicious, resentful Indian boy.
“Bear . . .” He began.  “I want to be a friend to you, if you’ll let me.  I don’t have any bad feelings toward you.  I want to help you get Red Bird home safely.”
She passed along Jake’s message.
Bear looked Jake up and down, then shook his head.
“Let me help you.”
“No!”
“Just listen to me, Bear—”
“You listen, ve’ho’e!  Your help not wanted!  We leave now! You stay!”
“But I can get you home faster in the wagon than if you were on foot,” Jake asserted.  “And I can protect you.  There are wild animals out there, you know.  A rifle would be better than your arrows.”
Bear looked at Red Bird, who repeated Jake’s words in Cheyenne.
The boy shook his head slowly.
“White man thinks he too good for us.  Thinks he is better man.  Thinks we should die!”
“I don’t think that, Bear.  I’ve never thought that.  You’re wrong about me.  Just give me a chance to show you!”
Bear stepped aggressively in Jake’s direction and shoved him.  Jake grabbed the boy’s arm to stop him, and he tried to shake loose.
“Nehetaa’e!”  Red Bird cried out.  “Stop this fighting! Please!”
Jake released Bear and held up his hands in surrender.  Bear walked away, his eyes locked on Jake in an angry, piercing stare.  Red Bird sat, shaking her head, and Jake went to her side.  “I’m sorry about all of that.”
She leaned her chin in her hand.  “I want Bear to know you, Jake.  I want him to see through his anger.”
Jake nodded.  “I know you do, May.  So do I.”
A moment passed in silence.
“What is ‘ve’ho’e’?” Jake asked.
“White man,” Red Bird answered, looking up at Jake apologetically. 
“Well, I am that, aren’t I?”
“Not only that.  Not to me.”
Jake paused before asking.  “What am I to you?”
“A good man,” she replied.  “A friend.”
“Only a friend?”
Jake had begun to feel something toward this intriguing woman.  He desperately wanted her to tell him that she did too.  He remembered the way she’d looked at him, more than once.  He knew there had to be something there.
She pulled her eyes away from Jake and looked over toward where Bear stood at the edge of camp.
She changed the subject.  “You have more cloth?” She asked.
“Cloth?”  Jake asked. 
“For Nahkohe’s hand.”
“I do,” he replied with a nod.
“Get it, please?”
She watched him as he pulled what was left of Hale’s shirt from the trunk in the back of the wagon.  He used his knife to cut off a piece, and held it out to her.
“One more.”
“Another one?”
“Please.”
“Yes ma’am.” 
Their fingers touched as he handed her the fabric.  Jake noticed that she let her hand remain close to his, and he took advantage of the situation, lightly taking hold of her hand.  Red Bird glanced toward Bear, but he wasn’t looking in their direction.  Gently removing her hand from Jake’s, she draped one strip of cloth over her shoulder and gathered the other loosely in her fist, soaking it in the bucket of water.  She carried it, dripping, to where Bear stood leaning against a tree.  She pointed to his hand, holding up the cloth. 
Bear started to turn away, but she grabbed hold of his sleeve and pulled him back. 
“Ve’ tovahe!”  She scolded him.
Reluctantly, he surrendered his hand to her care.
She glanced over at Jake.  “He is stubborn boy.”
“He’s strong-willed,” he replied.  “So are you, May.”
She acknowledged his remark with a guilty smile.
Jake looked on while Red Bird pushed back Bear’s sleeve and gently washed the dried blood from the angled gash.  Water ran down his arm to his elbow.  When she was satisfied with her efforts, she dropped the wet rag, carefully drying Bear’s hand on her own sleeve.  She then took the other piece of cloth and wound it around his hand, tucking the loose end under. 
Only then did he look up at her, silently thanking her.
She affectionately held his face in her hands.  For the first time, Jake saw the boy smile, just slightly.
She spoke to him quietly, and he nodded, resting his good hand on her shoulder.  She held him close for a moment before turning to walk away.  When she looked in Jake’s direction, he ducked his head, embarrassed that he’d been caught watching them.

The following morning came on cool and damp. Almost as soon as he awoke, Jake was assaulted by the memories of everything that had happened the previous day.  Was this really all happening?  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.
He sat up now, pushing his blanket aside and stretching his legs.  Taking a deep breath, he watched as Bear came into view.  The boy had pulled back his hair and secured it with long strip of leather.  Red Bird spoke with him for several moments.  She pointed toward the trees.  Bear seemed hesitant.  “Now?” He asked.
Red Bird pointed at Jake and nodded firmly.
Bear turned to face Jake. “Come,” he told him.  “We hunt.”
Jake was taken aback by this unexpected request.  “You want me to go hunting with you?”
Bear jerked his head toward Red Bird.  Jake looked at her.
“I tell him to take you,” she admitted. 
Jake considered whether or not to go with him, knowing how much he hated white men.  Would he be in any danger, alone with him?  Surely Red Bird wouldn’t be suggesting this if she feared for his safety.
“All right.  I’ll come with you.”  He gathered up his gun and some extra cartridges.  “Will you be all right here alone?”  He asked Red Bird.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him dubiously.
Jake chuckled.  “Right.  Of course you will.”
He started after Bear, who was leading the way across the plains.  The boy looked back and saw Jake coming toward him, carrying his gun in one hand.  His eyes darted from Jake’s face to the rifle.  He motioned for Jake to walk ahead of him.
“Well, all right,” Jake agreed, continuing forward.  He hesitated, realizing that then Bear would be at his back, armed with his bow.  He didn’t like thinking that Bear would  actually shoot him, but why take chances?
“I’ll walk side by side with you, if you don’t mind.”
Bear looked him up and down, then nodded consent.  They walked on for some time, in a sort of uneasy truce.
“What are we looking for?” Jake eventually asked.
Bear hesitated.  “Deer.”
“Okay.  Sounds good.”
The call of a chickadee broke the lingering silence.
“Who taught you how to use your bow?”  Jake continued.
“Father.”
“How old were you when you killed your first deer?”
“No talk,” Bear snapped.  “Hunt only.”
“Right.  Sorry.”
After nearly two hours, they had seen only birds and an occasional marmot.  The midday sun was creating a warm day, one of the last Jake was sure they would have before the seasons changed.
When they stopped briefly to rest, Jake leaned the barrel of his rifle against the trunk of a tree.  Bear watched him as he knelt at the edge of the stream and drank several hands full of water. 
Bear took a few steps backward, then sat, keeping his eyes on Jake as if he was analyzing him.  He seemed to not want to let himself get too close to Jake, physically or emotionally.  He glanced over at Jake’s rifle.
“Are you afraid of me, Bear?”  Jake asked him.
He said nothing.
“I admit I’m a little . . . uneasy of you myself.  I know we both have reason to be.”  He pushed his hat back away from his face.
Again, Bear’s eyes darted toward the rifle, standing against the rough pine.
“You didn’t have to bring me out here, you know,”  Jake challenged.  “You didn’t have to take me with you.”  He waited for Bear to show that he understood, then finished.  “But I’m glad you did.”
Once more, Bear glanced over at Jake’s gun.
“I can see that you listen to Red Bird when she tells you what to do,” Jake continued.  “You respect her, don’t you?”
“Respect . . .” Bear echoed.
Jake tried to think of another word.  “Honor?” He asked.  “You honor her, you look up to her.”
Bear thought a moment, then nodded slightly.  He waved a fly away from his face, looking once more at the rifle.  Getting up, he walked over to where it rested and stood looking down at it.  He slowly reached out and touched the metal barrel.
“Can you shoot?”  Jake asked him.
Bear flinched and looked over at him.
“White man’s weapon,” he muttered.
“It comes in handy.”
Bear frowned, not understanding.
“I mean, it’s good for hunting.  And for protection.”
Bear held up his bow.  “With this I hunt.  Kill buffalo.”
Jake looked from the bow to his rifle.  Frankly, he preferred the reliability of his gun, but he sensed an opportunity to relate to the young Cheyenne.  He didn’t want to be at odds with the boy, and he knew that Red Bird would prefer it if the two of them could be civil with each other.
“Will you teach me how to shoot it?”
“You hunt with bow?”
“If you show me how.”
Bear considered this for a moment, then nodded.  He pulled out his knife and made a short diagonal cut in the bark of a nearby tree.  He turned and started walking away.  Farther, farther off he went, until Jake thought it wasn’t possible to hit the mark from that distance. 
Jake looked from the target to where Bear had finally stopped.  He backed away and positioned himself behind the far side of a nearby tree, where he would be safe from any straying arrows.
Bear notched an arrow, raised his bow and started to pull back on the string. He stopped abruptly, releasing his grip with his left hand.  He jerked it away, looking at the bandage.
“Still tender?”  Jake asked from his sheltered location.
Bear looked up, frowning.  He quickly took aim once again, and fired.  The arrow flew across the distance, striking the target tree mere inches from the carved notch.
“Well done,” Jake told him, surprised at his accuracy.
“You come!” Bear called out to him.  “You shoot now.”
The sounds of birds calling echoed in Jake’s ears as he made his way through the trees. 
Bear held out the bow, and Jake accepted it.  He lifted it, getting a feel for its weight.  He awkwardly took the arrow that Bear offered him, and set it against the string, trying to remember what he’d seen the boy do only a moment ago.  He pulled back on the string.
“No,” Bear told him, shaking his head.
Jake released the tension.  “Am I doing it wrong?”  He asked.
Bear took hold of Jake’s right hand, positioning his first two fingers on the string and folding the others out of the way.  “These only,” he told him.
“I see.”
“Look here.”  Bear ran his finger along the shaft, then pointed toward the target.
Jake peered down the length of the arrow.  “I think I’ve got it,” he said, releasing the string.  It snapped forward and struck his wrist. 
“Ouch!”  He exclaimed, pulling his arm away.
Bear held back a chuckle. 
“Oh, that’s funny now, is it?”
Without a word, Bear retrieved the arrow from where it had hit the ground a few feet away.  Giving it back to Jake, he motioned for him to try a second time. 
As Jake gingerly raised the bow, Bear corrected the angle of his wrist and elbow.  “Again,” he told him.
“Okay. . .”  He pulled the string tight, took aim, and let it fly.  He missed by a good two feet.
“Well, that was terrible,” Jake said with a short laugh.
“Wind,” Bear told him, pointing to the right.  “Again.”
“Right.  I have to account for the wind.  I should have known that.”
Bear handed him another arrow.

Jake took aim for the third time, trying to focus on the strength of the wind, adjusting the bow toward the right.  He let out a breath as he released the arrow.  It struck the tree this time, a handbreadth below Bear’s mark. 
“Well!”  Jake exclaimed, surprised.  “Not too bad for a beginner, huh?”
Bear didn’t appear overly impressed.  “Close hit,” he admitted.  He told Jake with a wave of his arm that they should go retrieve the arrows.  Back at the base of the tree, Bear pried his arrow loose, putting it into his quiver.  He started to remove the other one, but stopped, his hand tight on the shaft.
“Is something wrong?”  Jake asked.
Bear raised his arm slowly, pressing his fingers to his lips.
“Deer,” he whispered, so softly that Jake could hardly hear the word. 
Jake held out the bow, trying to get Bear to take it from him.  The boy shook his head.  “Yours.”  Bear slowly pulled a loose arrow from the quiver on his belt and passed it to Jake.
He wanted him to shoot the deer?  With the bow?  He wasn’t sure he would be able to do it.
“Where?”  Jake asked, setting the arrow against the string.
Bear fixed his gaze on a place beyond Jake’s left shoulder. 
He slowly turned around.  A single buck stood about fifty feet away, watching him.  Jake’s mind raced.  Wind, distance, shoot!  Don’t miss.  He released the string, and the arrow flew across the distance, striking the buck’s side just behind the shoulder.  The animal jumped as if to run away, then stumbled and fell. 
“I got it!”  Jake couldn’t believe he’d actually done it.
Without a word, Bear ran to the fallen deer and knelt beside it.  Pulling out his knife, he made sure it was dead.
Jake          stepped up next to him.
“Good hit,” Bear told him.  “You give us meat.”  He seemed to have gained a small measure of respect for Jake.
“Well, you helped me,” Jake told him.
They made quick work of cutting up the meat and headed back toward camp.  They had almost reached their destination when suddenly, Bear reached out and grabbed Jake’s arm.
“Stop.”
“Why?  What’s wrong?”
“Too much smoke.”
Jake raised his eyes toward the afternoon sky.  Bear was right.  Dark gray masses of smoke billowed above the tops of the pines.  Something wasn’t right.
They exchanged a quick glance, then hurried the short distance into camp.
There, they could see that the wind had blown the flames across the ground, catching the nearby grasses and spreading the blaze across the camp site. 
“May!  May!  Where are you?  Are you here?”
“Ma’evekeso!” Bear called out.
The only sounds that came back at them were the crackling of flames and the screaming of the frightened horses.
Jake watched as the wildfire continued arching towards the wagon.  The wagon!  The supplies—the food—everything!  He had to stop the flames from destroying his future.  Dropping his gun and the side of deer meat, he ran for the wagon, grabbing the blankets which had been draped over the side from the previous night’s use.
Bear quickly turned and rushed toward the horses. 
“What are you doing?”  Jake shouted after him. 
“Ma’evekeso gone!”  Bear yelled over his shoulder.
“Help me, Bear!” Jake called out. 
He ignored him, grabbing out for one of the horses, ready to mount.
“Please, Bear!  I need your help now!”
The young man held a fistful of the horse’s mane, his other arm against the flat of the animal’s back.  He glanced over his shoulder at Jake, then turned away. 
“Please! Don’t leave me here.  Help me, and we’ll find Red Bird together. I care about her too.”
Just when Jake was sure that Bear would go, the boy dropped his hands away from the anxious steed.  He let out a sigh and came toward Jake, wearing a surrendered expression. 
Jake knew it must be yet another blow to Bear’s pride, admitting to himself that he might need a white man to help him find Ma’evekeso.
Taking the blanket that was held out to him, Bear began beating at the spreading flames.  Jake did the same, working at Bear’s side, turning his face away from the billowing gray smoke and the scorching flames that jumped at their arms and faces.
At times, Jake thought that the fire was expanding so quickly that they couldn’t possibly stop it.  Bear grabbed his bow, holding it vertically, and used the tip to rough up the soil.  He bent down and pushed the loose dirt onto the flames, snuffing them.  Jake followed suit and grabbed his bucket, dumping what was left of the water onto a wide section of the blaze.
The fire hissed and died out.  The two of them beat at the remaining flames that struggled to stay lit until there was nothing left. 
Bear leaned forward, his hands on his knees.  Both of them were breathing hard, exhausted.  They took a little time to catch their breath.  Jake gathered the singed blankets and threw them into the wagon.
“Come on.  Let’s find Red Bird.”
Bear straightened, running his hand along his forehead, leaving a streak of dirt behind.  “No wagon,” he told Jake.  “Too big.  Too slow.  Take horses only.”
Jake thought it over.  Leave the wagon?  Of course, Bear was right.  Red Bird couldn’t have just wandered off.  Something or someone must have frightened her—or worse, taken her.  Again, Jake thought bitterly.
“Okay,” he said aloud.  “No wagon.”  He looked around.  “But where do we look for her?”
Bear looked around.  He walked slowly across camp, away from the river.  Abruptly, he crouched down and pointed at a patch of dirt.  “Horse,” he declared.
“Did someone come this way?”  Jake asked him.
Bear didn’t respond.  Instead, he got down on his hands and knees and looked out across the terrain.  He stood then, and walked ahead, examining the ground as he went.  Jake watched him as he ran his hand along a tattered bush, reaching out and taking hold of one of the branches. 
“See, Ve’ho’e.  Broken.”
Jake stood by Bear’s side.  He looked closely at the bush, and could see where the twig had snapped. 
“New break,” Bear told him. 
Jake nodded.  “It is.”
Bear pointed farther ahead, and walked up a slight rise, surveying the land stretched out before them.  He looked up. 
“Higher,” he said, motioning for Jake to follow him.  He came up to a lodgepole pine and rested his hand on the rough surface.
“Up,” he instructed, pointing at the lowest branches. 
“You want to look around from up there?”  Jake asked. 
Bear pulled Jake closer to the tree and put a hand on his shoulder.  Jake linked his fingers together, forming a step for Bear’s foot so he could lift him up.
The young man climbed, Jake straining to hold his weight until he was securely on a stout limb just above Jake’s head.  Bear lifted himself from his stomach to his feet, and began to ascend the tree with surprising ease.
“Be careful,” Jake called up to him.  “Don’t fall from there!”
Bear scowled down at him and continued climbing.
Jake was concerned about the tree branches’ ability to hold Bear’s weight, as high up as he had climbed.  He stood directly under the pine and watched him.
Bear looked around from the upper branches, in every direction.  He pointed into the distance.  “There!”  He called out. 
“What?  What do you see?”
He didn’t answer.  Instead, he quickly and easily made his way back down the trunk of the pine, then jumped lightly to the ground.
“Horse.”
“You saw a horse?”
Bear shook his head and pointed at the ground.
“Oh . . . Horse tracks?  Going this way?”
Bear nodded.  “Come.  We follow.”
“Right.”
As he gathered his rifle and extra cartridges, Jake found himself wondering and worrying about what could have possibly happened to Red Bird.  Who could have taken her away from camp?  Was it the Crow?  Another tribe?  Why would they want to bother her?  Or could it have been white settlers?  What would they do if they never found her?  Jake didn’t want to consider that as a possibility.
Jake gave the campsite one last sweeping glance before he and Bear rode away, following the trail of hoof prints.
The gold light of the sun was in their eyes when they crested a sloping hillside, looking out across a large, spreading valley, and—surprisingly—an Indian village.  Bear dismounted and walked ahead.
“You wait, Ve’ho’e.”
“What are you doing?”
Bear offered no reply.  Getting down onto his hands and knees, he crawled slowly toward the encampment.  Jake lay flat on his stomach, positioning his rifle where he could easily fire if he had to come to Bear’s defense.
The boy stopped behind a low, leafy bush and studied the scene before him.  After a long while, he stood and turned toward Jake.
“Cheyenne!”  He called out to him, waving for Jake to come.
Cheyenne?  Jake got to his feet and joined Bear where he stood waiting.  Together, they came closer to the crowd of teepees.  Bear called out a greeting, but there was no response. 
The village was strangely quiet—too quiet.  No one moved about.  No smoke rose in the air.  No horses grazed in the surrounding grasses. 
Bear whistled, but again, no reply.  He slowly, resolutely made his way down the slope toward the teepees.  Jake followed close behind him, his rifle ready. 
Something was definitely wrong here.
Jake kept his eyes on the tall Indian dwellings as they moved across the open land, surrounded by a silence so heavy that Jake thought he could feel it.  He feared that there could be someone hiding just behind one of the leather tent flaps, waiting to ambush them.  Off to Jake’s left, Bear evidently feared the same thing, keeping his bow drawn and ready. 

Jake passed a large teepee and saw Red Bird standing some distance ahead, near the large community fire ring.  “Bear, she’s here!”
Bear saw her.  “Ma’evekeso!”
She slowly turned around to face them. 
“What are you doing out here?”  Jake asked.
“He asked me to come,” she replied.  “To help.”
Jake looked around.  “Who did?”
“Mahpe.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
She glanced up toward the hills.  “He is gone now.”
Jake was relieved beyond words that she was safe and unharmed.  He turned toward Bear, but the boy only looked around, he face serious.  Jake shouldered his rifle.
“You said he asked you to help.  Help with what?”
“Her.”  She looked down at her feet.
Jake walked closer and saw that she was standing over the still form of a little girl, lying on her back in the dry prairie grass.  Surprised, Jake reached toward the child, wanting to see if she was still breathing.
“Stop!” Red Bird warned him.  “Do not touch her.”
“Why not?”
“She is dead.  They are all dead.”
“How?”
She swallowed.  “White man’s sickness.”
Jake was appalled.  An entire village, gone.  Completely wiped out.
“Oh, May, I’m sorry.”
Red Bird looked back in the direction they’d come, and Jake followed her gaze to where Bear now stood alone some distance away, his back to them.
“Is he all right?”  Jake asked.
She shook her head.  “I don’t know.”
Jake left Red Bird and slowly came to stand by his side.  “Bear?”
The young man stood still and silent, but his face betrayed his sorrow.
“I’m sorry this happened,” Jake told him.  He looked away.