As young men, Windtalker and Kiyo developed excellent hunting skills during the warmer months, and in winter, they learned how to fight an enemy and kill on the field of battle. However, their desire to be together forces a plan long in the making. Making their way through the snow, they hurriedly make their way west from the plains of Montana, and begin crossing the treacherous, difficult ridges and rivers in the Glacier Mountains. The mountains harbor dangerous animals and tenacious warriors, but they refuse to turn back. They seek a valley far from their homeland where perhaps they can live in secret together, but their journey is wrought with adventure and numerous near death experiences. They use their well-honed skills, and the powerful love they share, to survive every obstacle, but can they survive in the wilderness alone?
Comments:
"The thing that I love about your writing is how wonderfully you develop your characters. You make me really care about what happens to them. Then, on top of it all, you are able to develop a plot line that makes the book impossible to put down. I have lost a lot of sleep because I read into the wee hours of the morning, (that's why I hate you!!!). But, I love you because of the amazing stories that you write. I have just started 'The War Apart-Part 1' and am already hooked." Bruce Foulkes Santa Ana, CA
"5 out of 5 stars! What a wonderful story, it is so rare - especially in gay fiction to have a story fold around you like a comfortable blanket. The characters are so rich and their environments and emotions are presented in such vivid detail that the reader feels like they are in the story themselves. Simply wonderful." By Todd Seibel (Austin, TX)
The Blackfeet Boys
Warriors By Day, Lovers By Night
Part I
By
TJ Johnson
Smashwords Edition Published by TJ Johnson
Copyright © 2010 TJ Johnson
Discover other titles by TJ Johnson at Smashwords.com
The Blackfeet Boys Part I Copyright © 2010 by TJ Johnson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, contact Hard Title Publishing at Info@ItsFiction.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Library of Congress Control Number:
2009909965
Print Version ISBN 978-0-9819932-1-8
Print Version Published By
TJ Johnson & Hard Title Publishing
This book is available in print at: www.ItsFiction.com
This novel is strictly and entirely a work of fiction. All references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are purely and solely intended to give the novel a sense of reality and authenticity. All other names, characters, incidents, organizations, or locales are strictly the product of the author's imagination, as are those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons and entities. Of the fictional characters, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely and purely coincidental.
Books by TJ Johnson
The War Apart - Part I
(A Josh & Zeke Story)
The War Ahead - Part II Revised 2010
(A Josh & Zeke Story)
The Will
(A Brett & Chase Story)
Stranded
(An Austin & Ryan Story)
The Raceboys
(A Jack & Thad Story)
A Writer's Fantasy
(About His Favorite College Basketball Star)
(A Shane & TJ Story)
Gay Grifters
(An Eric & Tyler Story)
The Blackfeet Boys Part I
(A Kiyo & Windtalker Story)
Coming soon:
Crosshairs
(An Eric & Tyler Story)
The War Beyond - Part III
(A Josh & Zeke Story)
Almost Identical
Rock Solid Part III
(An Eric & Tyler Story)
The Blackfeet Boys Part II
(A Kiyo & Windtalker Story)
Web Site and Release Information:
Dedication
To my pal Mickey, one of the best dogs I have ever loved. He is missed every day. We got him from the pound, and often joked that we paid about a dollar a pound! He ended up being worth a whole lot more.
See the rocks in your path not as obstacles, but as opportunities to climb higher!
The Blackfeet Boys – Part I
‘Warriors By Day – Lovers By Night’
ONE
The scholars and historians of both early American and Indian history often proclaimed the Blackfeet Indians as the most feared of all the North American tribes by Indians and whites alike. The tribes thought nothing of committing the cold-blooded massacre of the warriors protecting an enemy village, but also the slaughtering of old and young alike, including women, children, and dogs hiding in the various tipis. They fought with overwhelming brutality, indiscriminately, and felt no remorse for the lives and families they destroyed. Every Blackfeet warrior spilled the blood of their enemies everywhere, including onto their own bodies as a symbol of success. Their battle-axes, clubs, tomahawks, and spears were all permanently stained with dried blood from previous battles. They fought to steal, to overwhelm, and to survive.
If their tribe or village were attacked, the Blackfeet women and children took part in the annihilation of the captured wounded, as well as the corpses of their enemies. They didn’t follow the Sioux example of cutting the heads off their enemies and displaying the scalpless noggins on sticks, but with great vengeance, they utterly destroyed the anatomy of the fallen warriors. If their enemy remained alive, they cut off body parts, including ears, nose, fingers, genitals, peeled their skin, cut open their gut, cut tongues, drilled eyes with sharp sticks, and slashed heads from ear to ear. The children pounded the skulls with the largest rocks they could pick up. Bigger boys and women stomped the chest of the wounded until the ribs cracked and the chest cavity fell in. The entire village took out their revenge for the attack with great exuberance and tenacity. For the Blackfeet widows, it became a bloody catharsis, and literally an eye for an eye. In the nineteenth century, the words for forgiveness or sorry did not exist in their language. They felt no remorse or tenderness for their enemies. To the tribe, it was simply kill them before they killed you.
Permanently scarred from seeing so much bloodshed at their tender ages, the boys and girls alike toughened quickly. The boys turned into hunters by their mid teens, and with more experience and training, by age eighteen or nineteen they became warriors that hunted humans.
For centuries, tribes became enemies after one group of warriors stole pelts or food from the other, but when horses arrived, thieving became an art form, a topic of every meeting, the price for marrying an old man’s daughter, a gift for their sons, and stealing became the goal of every brave. It was a badge of high honor to pilfer the exceptionally valued horses from an enemy tribe or even another band of Blackfeet. The Blackfeet tribes absconded with more horses than all the surrounding Indian nations together. They kept the best horses, while trading the weaker stock for food and weapons. Their favorite swindle was to welcome a group of white explorers into their camp, feed them, smoke the peace pipe, trade their horses to the men for goods and supplies, and then wave a friendly goodbye when they left the following morning. Later, a small pack of warriors would trail the explorers for a few days until they were far enough away that the white men would not want to give chase or return for revenge on the village. Late in the night, they would steal the traded horses back and gallop away laughing. As more white men came west, they traded the same horses repeatedly, after stealing the animals once again.
Like most of the tribes, a successful raid of horses bestowed the victor a high honor among his fellow tribesmen. They also loved counting coup, the art of riding right up to the enemy and tapping him with the butt of their spear and galloping away while yelling nasty epithets. Once out of arrow range, they insulted their enemies by showing their naked butt, slapping their behind, and calling them every foul name they could think of. Not every man in the tribe was the best hunter, or the best fisherman, but from early childhood, the fathers trained all young men to be the best warriors. If the tribe recognized an exceptional warrior in their camp, they would encourage their son to spend time with the man, hoping to improve their skills. They knew for their band of tribes to survive, everyone must defend the village and their families from all enemies. The Blackfeet chiefs wisely never waited for a possible pending attack, but with careful and cautious analysis of the scouting reports after spotting an enemy tribe, they immediately went on the offense by riding all night and attacking at dawn.
Some tribes to the west were friendly to the early small squads of whites that came west, but as their numbers grew, many leaders began to fear an invasion of more and more whites. Santanga, a highly skilled and experienced war chief, delighted in driving the white men from the Blackfeet’s vast lands in the northeast. He sent warriors out to attack every beaver and buffalo hunter they could find, bringing scalps and severed ears back as a testament of their overwhelming success. However, every time he thought they had killed all the white explorers, more would come.
When the wagon trains began their trek through their lands, he watched the large trails of dust announcing their arrivals. He spit and cursed them, and along with his older warriors, he planned to annihilate them all. He gave new orders to his men. They were to attack the trains in large numbers, demonstrating how powerful they were. He told them not to kill everyone, but make some watch as they tortured the living. After they won the battle, they rounded up the women and children and made them watch and listen to the screams, as one by one they cut the remaining wounded men to shreds. Their knives would slice off toes and fingers like sausages. They stripped bare the helpless, captured white men so they would not bloody the clothes. They mutilated their genitals by stomping them and then quickly cutting them off. Noses and ears came next, followed by tongues. Blood squirted and sprayed on everyone, but they didn’t stop. Using sharp skinning knives, they would peel the skin of the men like peeling an orange. They would rub sand in the open wounds to increase the pain. Just before the men would pass out, they would gut them with a sharp cut across their belly button, spilling their intestines on the field before their eyes. Their scalps came off in whole slabs, and then finally, they would slit their throats. Tossing the cadaver aside, they would start on the next man with great energy. The gruesome scene never once caused a Blackfeet warrior to throw up.
Once completed, they would kill the older women, choosing only the pretty, younger, childbearing ones for slaves. An Indian woman lived a difficult life and often died young. They secured the white women as replacements, thus increasing the number of childbirths. They killed all of the young children, except during winter when food was scarce. At those times, they would put a leather leash around a child’s throat and march them to camp like captured cattle. Once the killing was completed, Chief Santanga allowed two of the oldest boys to live. With a thin knife, they striped their faces and arms with long cuts as a visual testament that the Indians attacked them. They would put them on horses, and order them to ride east to warn whites if they came west, they would horribly kill them all. He intended to demoralize the whites and make them afraid of the Blackfeet warriors. He thought this treatment would stop the march of the whites to the west.
What the Blackfeet warriors did to the white settlers was not much different from what they did to any enemy tribes that attacked them. If ten of their men died in a skirmish or an attempted raid of horses, once the battle was over, his men and women would hold no mercy for the survivors. They tied the limbs of victims between strong horses and ripped them apart. They cut off the limbs while the fallen warriors were still alive. They gouged eyes. They hammered knives in one ear until the tip showed on the other side. They made enemy children chew the flesh of their families. Knees and feet were broken with rocks, and sand forced down their throats. In a few hours, hardly a blade of grass on the entire battlefield remained free of the spilled blood. They left not a single captured enemy alive, though some escapees watched the gruesome scene from the safety of the forest. The warriors looted the village and then burned it to the ground. The vultures circled overhead as they rode out of the enemy’s camp victoriously, shouting and pumping their bloody fists into the air.
Not all the members of the tribe believed they should slaughter innocent white women and children, but fearing reprisals, they said nothing. Their leaders believed if they didn’t attack the whites with the goal of total obliteration, then the whites would wipe away the entire tribe. News of the white man’s disease called smallpox reached the camps, bringing great fear to everyone. The blood of the Indians lacked the antibodies to protect them and they acquired no medicine to stop the fatal pandemic.
Their shamans revealed dreams of white men marching across their hunting lands in one long line, as if ants queuing for a fallen buffalo. Over and over, the mystical men warned the chiefs of the vast numbers of whites heading their way. There were no scientific tools to prove these men were right, but in fact, they were. Almost every day, another ship docked in New York’s harbor filled with immigrants. During the warmer months, every week a new wagon train set out from Saint Louis to the west. For every hundred settlers killed, three hundred would head out once again.
The Tiltanga family consisted of a father, mother, grandmother, two girls, and their only son they called Kiyo. The grandmother told stories of their ancestors going back centuries. She carried a large, soft-tanned, deer hide, with hot knife markings like a crude family tree. She often told stories of her childhood and the stories her grandmother told when she was a child, and during the long cold nights of winter, she spoke nearly every night. She was their entertainment as well as a teacher.
Kiyo Tiltanga reached his eighteenth birthday last winter. His best friend lived in the next tipi, as the families were close. Windtalker Nitana’s family consisted of his parents, two grandparents, and a pestering sister. Kiyo and Windtalker’s family trees were similar, and they grew up playing together as soon as they could walk. Their fathers taught the boys how to make weapons in winter and expanded their hunting skills in the warmer months. Now almost grown, everything they wore they made themselves from the skins of animals they hunted and skinned. It was a source of pride to make your own clothing and weapons. They wore the traditional black moccasins that also identified the young men as members of the Blackfeet tribe. They were not born with black feet, but the soil of the northwest was very fertile, and running across it barefooted as a child soon gave the boys their traditional dirty black feet.
They taught the boys how to fight, especially in the last four years, as they protected the families while their fathers went to war. They spent the early morning hours fetching water for their mothers, but the rest of the day they remained in the forest hunting. They rarely ate lunch in the village, preferring to eat on the run and going farther away from the village hunting for game. Sometimes, they had to replace a lookout on a high mountain overlooking the village, but mostly they stalked everything considered edible. On a bad day, they brought home prairie dogs or large rats, but on a good day, they killed a deer, elk, or moose, providing plenty of food for their families. They did not attempt to hunt or kill a buffalo, grizzly, mountain lion, or panther, because these kills required the skills of numerous older hunters working together. Buffalos were essential to their diet, as they were not farmers but rather voracious meat eaters. They left the other big animals alone unless attacked.
Together, they became the best hunters in the village, bringing back plenty of game for their families, and extra game for the village. Everyone liked them, calling them tishiwas or twins, as you rarely saw one without the other. The boys looked very much alike, with their dark tanned skin, long black hair, deep brown eyes, and slim muscular frames. Kiyo had a scar on his left arm from a badger bite and remained the taller of the two at almost six feet. In the warm season, when their fathers were not away attacking other tribes or wagon trains, and thus could stay home and protect the village, the boys would go alone on longer overnight trips while hunting bigger game. It was on such a trip they learned they had more in common than any villager thought.
At the end of a long day of trailing a nimble fleet-footed moose, and before they could make camp, a thunderstorm raced over the mountain, drenching the boys with cold rain and bombarding them with hailstones. Shivering as they sloshed through the wet melting snow, they searched for cover until finally, they found a dry area underneath a big overhanging rock. They pulled their hides and gear from the packhorse and flung it under the rock, they hobbled their horses but let them feed on nearby grass. They spread out a hide to sit on, but starting a fire with the wet wood was not possible. They ate some dried jerky from a rabbit fur lined pouch and decided to sleep. They took off their rawhide loincloths and laid them on a rock to dry out. Naked, they pulled another hide over them and lied down to sleep. Kiyo could hear Windtalker’s teeth chattering, as did his own. They moved closer together for warmth, hands began roaming, arousals happened, and soon they were kissing. It was a wild passionate first time for the boys to spend an entire night together. After keeping their feelings completely secret all of their lives, it felt like a dam of emotion finally broke free, leaving them spent from adrenaline, but deliriously in love.
The next morning they did not discuss their actions. In fact, they did their best not to talk at all as they continued searching for the moose. The following night, it did not rain, but they slept together anyhow and once again kissed and cuddled. Their secret lovemaking began over two years ago, and they knew they were in love with the other. However, they also knew that no one must ever know.
Like most tribes, the Blackfeet Indians handled the oddness of two males behaving like a couple in similar ways. If a boy was effeminate, but smart, he attached himself to a shaman and learned how to be one. They often respected a slightly feminine acting shaman, thinking he must truly be possessed with rare gifts, and he never worried about having to fight in battle like the other boys. Shaman rarely lived long lives, as a few incorrect dreams or an unsuccessful potion might result in a revengeful death. However, if the village caught two boys experiencing sex together, any number of bad things could happen. Generally, they killed, mutilated, or scarred the offending boys, while they treated some like slaves. Banishment from all tribes usually ended in death, as the abandoned boys usually starved while trying to live on their own. Most tribal leaders preferred banishment, knowing starvation provided more pain, as well as the constant fear of being eaten alive by a mountain lion or other predators.
Kiyo and Windtalker were pretty sure their tribal chief would have them killed, because it happened to two older friends several years ago. They also feared separation from each other by selling the boys as slaves in trade for horses from opposing tribes. A slave in an enemy camp would experience a short miserable life.
Not long after Windtalker’s eighteenth birthday, they began making plans to leave the tribe forever. They felt it was the only choice they had to both survive and be together. All winter long, they stored supplies, weapons, hides, cooking and skinning utensils, as well as seeds and sacks of wild corn, and hid their possessions in a secret cave. The winter was the only time of the year the nomadic tribe stayed put, instead of following the trail of the buffalo across the plains in the warmer season.
Their fathers gave each boy a horse when they turned fourteen and they trained the animals well. With just the slightest touch of their thighs, they could silently maneuver their horse through any obstacle. They could fire their bows with great accuracy on a full gallop and they were deadly with spears. This was the way the great hunters of the tribe took down the buffalo. To make their escape, however, they needed a packhorse. To steal one from their family or another member of the tribe would be a great insult, and the entire tribe would seek revenge and hunt them down. They needed to find a wild horse on their own.
All winter they made their plans, but on warmer days, they hunted the gullies in the mountains for wild horses known to hide from the winter storms in the deep gorges. They found none. They saved up worn pairs of moccasins and repaired them, as active hunters often went through a pair of moccasins in just six weeks or so. They saved buffalo bladders to carry water, and made many bags of jerky and cornmeal. They planned to leave on the night of the first big spring rain, as they knew the rain would mix with the melting snow, hiding their tracks and their trail to make it nearly impossible to find them. They would also ride for days, stopping only to rest their horses. They prayed they would find a packhorse soon and before the village returned to the plains. The forest would hide their trek while the plains would make it easier for a good scout to see them.
The spring sun woke them early in their tipis. They fetched water as usual, ate some leftover hot stew near the fire, and set out on their horses to hunt game. The men were away after a scout spotted a white hunting party killing buffalo on the plains near the edge of the mountains. They were on the trail of a deer and tracked it to the entrance of a ravine they knew to be a dead end. They went about a quarter mile into the gulch, tied off their horses, and set about on foot tracking the animal with great stealth. Their moccasins made no sounds as they carefully crept gently along the trail.
Kiyo decided to climb the ridge so he could see down into the ravine while leaving Windtalker on the main trail in case the deer tried to bolt down the trail. Kiyo hoped to get behind the animal and force him towards Windtalker and certain death from one of his pal’s arrows. He had just reached the top of the cliff when movement down the trail behind Windtalker caught his eye. Quickly, he fell to his belly and crawled behind a rock. Prudently, he peered out through the crack of two stones. His heart sank as he spotted the unmistakable colors of a Shoshone warrior. The man appeared to be alone with a bow over his shoulder, a big hunting knife at his side, and a spear hung loose in his right hand. Kiyo assumed he was a hunter because he, too, was tracking the deer, but now he also tracked the larger hoof prints from Kiyo's and Windtalker’s horses. The warrior smartly valued two horses more than one deer.
Kiyo searched the trail ahead for Windtalker, but could not locate him in the cover of the forest. Carefully, he moved along the ridge being mindful to avoid scattering rocks, but urgently searching for a glimpse of his friend. The minutes slipped by and the hunter began speeding up his search. Kiyo knew about where he had left Windtalker, so he assumed he must have moved deeper into the ravine.
Suddenly, he caught sight of Windtalker briefly, but he could not fathom how to signal him. He cautiously waved his arms, but Windtalker never looked up, while assuming Kiyo had reached the top, ran along the ridge to the end, and descended as planned. Finally, Kiyo caught just a glimpse of Windtalker before disappearing in the foliage again. Kiyo looked back to his left, while discovering the Shoshone warrior was but fifty yards south. Kiyo’s eyes rapidly searched the trail until finally he saw Windtalker once more.
Quickly, Kiyo threaded an arrow, aimed it in front of his friend, and fired. Windtalker nearly jumped off the trail as the arrow slammed into the dirt just three feet ahead of him. He recognized the arrow immediately, as the boys had made their arrows together for years. He looked up and saw Kiyo signaling quietly by taking his hand like a knife and pretending to slit his throat. He then pointed behind Windtalker. Then Kiyo pushed his hands downward with open palms; a signal the tribe used when enemy warriors approached and the families should silently hide.
Windtalker looked behind him, snatched up Kiyo’s arrow, scattered snow, and left the trail. Kiyo began making his way off the ridge as quietly as he could in case the warrior discovered Windtalker. Forty yards from reaching Windtalker, the Shoshone warrior stopped when he found their horses. He pondered whether to pursue the game, kill the riders, or just steal the horses. Wrongly assuming the hunters were grown male warriors, he took the safer route and began untying the horses, because without horses, the hunters would probably die in the snowy gorge.
It had begun to rain with a snowy mix, but the Indian tied the horses one after the other and was in the process of maneuvering them to leave the gully. Kiyo saw him and nearly panicked when he saw him leading them away. He climbed on a rock overlooking the trail. He turned towards the deep end of the gorge and let out the sound of the hawk. It was a sound he had practiced all of his life and one that Windtalker knew well.
Windtalker crept out from his hiding place and listened once more, then took off running back down the path. Kiyo threaded his bow. The warrior tried to hurry along, but didn’t want to make too much noise. The wet snow began pouring down harder. When the warrior was but twenty yards away, he spotted Kiyo just as the boy let go his arrow. The warrior almost managed out of the way, but the arrow caught him high in the left shoulder. He pulled his bow up and tried to fire back, but his wounded left arm didn’t work well. He dismounted and lifted his spear. Kiyo fired again catching the man in the thigh of his left leg. Filled with rage, the man attempted to run towards him. Kiyo fired again but missed.
Windtalker heard the Indian yelp at the impact of Kiyo’s first arrow. He threaded his bow as he ran. Kiyo searched for cover but found none. The big warrior was within range of a certain kill. Kiyo placed an arrow across his bow and fired again, but the warrior dodged the hurried attempt. Suddenly, the man stopped, and brought back the spear with his right hand. Kiyo feared for his life and rapidly tried to place another arrow on his bow, but he was too frightened.
Before the Indian could fire, Kiyo heard the zip of Windtalker’s arrow. It caught the Shoshone warrior in the back of the neck, came through and out his Adam’s apple. The sudden immense pain forced the man to drop the spear. Windtalker didn’t hesitate but fired again, putting a second arrow deep in the man’s back. Kiyo finally fired and hit the man in the heart, and the warrior went down like a stone, his life quickly drifting away.
Windtalker ran up and cautiously checked to see if the man was alive, but he was rapidly bleeding out. “It’s all right. He’s dead. Come on down.”
Kiyo hurried to him. “Thanks, he was about to kill me with the spear. He was stealing our horses. I had to stop him.”
Windtalker laughed. “Well, you might as well have used rocks, as you didn’t even nick him good. Come on and let’s strip him of his weapons.”
“We’d better hide his body in case he has friends nearby.”
They quickly took his knife, bow, arrows, spear, and a tomahawk, plus his kit of supplies, including a valued flint rock used for starting a fire. They dragged his body into the brush.
Suddenly Windtalker grinned. “We finally have our third horse. We can go now.”
Oblivious of the cold wet snow sliding down his back, Kiyo’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Do you mean now, or go back to the village and leave in the night?”
Windtalker wet his chapped lips with his tongue while thinking. “Well, there are some things I would like to have at the village, but how would we keep the new horse a secret?”
“I guess we can’t say goodbye to our families and friends, but we’ve always known that.”
Windtalker added, “Most of the men are away tracking the wagon train. They can’t afford to send many warriors to track us, and with the wet snow, it is probably best we leave right now. The snow will hide our trail.”
The boys remained deep in thought for a long minute as their bodies became soaked with the cold rain snow mix. Kiyo finally agreed. “If we leave now, the icy rain will wash away our tracks, hide the blood spilled by the Shoshone warrior, and we’d have a horse. We’ll just have to hope we can find game soon, as we don’t have much food.”
“How far do you think it is to the secret cave?”
Kiyo replied, “About two hours ride. Do you think we should go to the cave first?”
Windtalker nodded. “Yes. It is a risk as someone might spot us, but I doubt anyone else would be out in this weather. If we get our cache of supplies, we’ll have a greater chance of success, but we must hurry there, load, and ride as far west as we can before nightfall.”
Kiyo agreed. “Help me scrub away the markings on the horse in case we run into more Shoshone.”
Using mud and leaves mixed with snow and rain, they scrubbed away the colors on the horse’s rear flank, and then used the warrior’s tether to make a loop around the horse's neck. Together, they left the gorge and turned east in the direction of the cave.
They were quiet and careful, but moved as fast as they dared, hoping to avoid any other Shoshone hunters. Reaching the cave safely, they attached the supply frame they made months ago to the new packhorse, tied on their supplies and bundles of extra arrows and two extra bows, the captured weapons from the Shoshone hunter, and kissed in the dark of the cave. They were about to commit tribal treason, but they knew they wanted to live unencumbered for the rest of their lives. They felt they had no choice. They were now homeless without family or friends, but together they were free.
Taking a different route west, they bypassed the area where they were hunting in case someone discovered the body of the Shoshone they killed. As soon as possible, they made their way up the western ridge towards the higher mountain and out of the area, and hopefully, out of range of anyone looking for the warrior. By late afternoon, they were in the bottom of two gorges to the west, and making their way a bit south to make travel easier. The rain let up but they were cold. By late afternoon, they came upon a cave. They checked for bears or mountain lion tracks near the mouth of the cave, found none, and cautiously entered the cave.
They hid their horses behind a blind of brush, hobbled them, and set about breaking off dried limbs off the trees. It took a half hour before they felt the warmth of a fire. The snow was melting so they knew the temperature was above freezing, but they were still cold. Once the fire grew, they ate some jerky, and made some cornmeal cakes cooked on a hot flat rock next to the fire. They drank water from a bladder, laid out a few hides, stripped naked and hung their clothes on sticks to dry, and then huddled together for warmth. They knew perhaps one of them should have stood watch, but on this first day of their journey to freedom, they felt exhausted from the short battle, the decline of the adrenalin rush afterwards, and the long ride to get away. They fell asleep dog-tired but deliriously happy in each other’s arms.
TWO
It had been a few days since their escape from their tribe and the killing of the Shoshone hunter. Kiyo climbed a tall tree and watched for a half hour, but could not spot any group attempting to follow them. They had been in this territory of the mountains before when they were younger and the tribe needed to go deeper into the mountains for a particularly harsh winter, and to get away from swarming bands of Sioux warriors determined to catch them after a particular bloody raid and the theft of many horses right before the first major snowfall.
A week later, they began feeling confident no one was tracking them, but daily they did things to hide their trail to prevent other hunters from attempting to catch up with them and steal their horses. They walked through streams for long periods, departed the water on long stretches of rocks, and stayed away from larger well-worn trails by moving parallel in the forest. They finally managed to kill a deer, and ate well for several nights, carried some cooked beef with them, but abandoned the rest to the scavengers, as they didn’t want to take the time to cure the meat. The weather improved with the Indians noting longer days of sunshine and blue skies. The snow continued to melt but the nights remained cold.
Mile after rugged mile they climbed steep mountains and descended the rough terrain on the other side. They were often in the sun during the middle part of the day, but the rest of the time they were in the cold dark shadows of the tall mountains. A few days later, more rain fell washing away most of the snow. The timing of their escape might have been a little early, as a possible late blizzard could certainly kill hunters so high in the mountains, but they were young, tough, highly trained, and in love, and determined to survive.
It had been a long first month on their journey, eating on the run, chewing game when they could get it, and finding a few berries to still the grumbling in their empty bellies. They relentlessly continued moving west and as far away from their own Blackfeet people as possible, but by doing so they feared capture by another band, and either forced into slavery, or worst for them, a forced march back to their tribe. For the better part of two years, they planned and talked about this trip, but now that they were doing it, and yet, they were not sure of where to go. As boys, they heard stories of the mystery lands to the west, and tried to recall every detail, but every day they went up yet another mountain ridge, and down to the next riverbed.
Sitting near the fire to stay warm, Windtalker said, “I think we must find a secret valley full of game and good water, but difficult for anyone else to enter.”
Kiyo grinned. “If it is difficult, how are we to find it?”
Windtalker laughed. “Oh we will find it, because we have to.”
“How are we to live? We don’t have enough hides for a tipi.”
“Once we find our valley, we’ll make camp and hunt deer until we have enough hides to make a small tipi.”
“It might be easier to build a lodge like the white men.”
“How so?”
“Do you remember when we found that abandoned lodge built with the white man’s tools? They built it in a square using the tree logs and mud.”
Windtalker laughed. “I thought it was weird looking, but it did look warm.”
Kiyo added, “And dry. I can’t wait to dry out in the summer sun.”
“Me, too.”
The next day, they crossed a stream and saw a large trail just a bit south. They walked their horses through the water cautiously while listening for any sound. Suddenly, Kiyo lifted his hand for Windtalker to stop and remain still. Kiyo heard something. They waited.
“Yelp!” they heard together.
Kiyo quickly looked left and right, and rapidly made a decision to lead them out of the water, over a grassy bank, across a bed of rocks and deep into a laurel thicket. They dismounted behind a field of giant granite boulders and tied off the horses. Taking their bows and quivers of arrows, he and Windtalker returned a few steps down the trail, but remained as quiet as possible.
Windtalker touched Kiyo’s face to get his attention and pointed back to the stream. Kiyo turned in the direction and together they counted a dozen Shoshone warriors moving slowly through the stream to the north on horseback. Their weapons glistened with fresh blood still dripping to the ground. They were not hunters but full grown experienced warriors, and the sight of them nearly caused the lads to shake with fear. Kiyo and Windtalker almost held their breath while praying the men would fail to find their tracks. Suddenly, they all heard another yelp to the north.
The Indians began rapidly chattering at each other, and then suddenly they went out of the water on the eastern bank of the stream and galloped away. The young men had no idea what had spooked them, but they didn’t wait around for their return. They led their horses through the thicket, crossed a second stream, and kept moving west for the rest of the day.
They said little to each other while plodding along the animal trails, afraid someone would hear and attack. They communicated with hand gestures or knowing eyes, as they could almost read each other’s mind. They continued for as long as possible, only stopping as darkness fell. At night, they planned strategies for defending an attack, and kept their weapons at the ready at all times. Fearing more Shoshone warriors, they began taking turns standing watch at night.
As they crossed the next big ridge, they realized they were now at least two moons away from the plains of the Blackfeet, and by air, they were over two hundred miles to the west. With the warmer weather, the tribes would have already left the safety for the mountains, and moved to the plains where they would follow the trails of the buffalo. This would put much more distance between them and the families they now feared. They felt like they might have crossed through the Shoshone area as well, but had no idea what tribe might be next. After resting a spell on the ridge after a hard climb, they suddenly heard a gunshot. Although there were no guns in their village, several were stolen from the explorers and hunters, and fired, so they knew the sound, but no one knew how to reload the weapons or make more bullets or gunpowder.
At first, they thought they should turn south and away from the gunfire, but that would put them back in Shoshone territory. If they could go north for a few more miles, they could turn west again across a long ridge, and in a few days be up and over the next big mountain. Reluctantly, they followed the ridge to the north, wondering what they might find. After a mile, they could smell gunpowder, and a half-mile later their nostrils inhaled the aroma of food on a campfire.
Carefully, they continued until they knew they were close. They tied off the horses and crept up the trail placing an arrow across their bows. At twenty yards away, but safely hidden by the laurel brush, they could see a campfire, the leg of a downed white man, an arm of an Indian, and away just a bit, a leg of another Indian. Blood marred the ground, but what stopped the Indians still in their tracks was a large dog resting on his belly next to the white man. He looked a bit bigger than a wolf but similar in structure.
Windtalker motioned to Kiyo that he was going into the camp so Kiyo prepared to cover him with his bow ready to fire. They saw no one else alive and nothing else moving. The man and the Indians had been without horses. The dog spotted Windtalker and snarled at him. Wisely, Windtalker retrieved a bit of jerky from his waist pouch and held it out for the dog to see. The dog stopped snarling and licked his lips. Windtalker moved closer and now could see two dead Shoshone hunters and the dead trapper.
Windtalker tossed the dog another morsel. The dog caught it. Finally and bravely, he left a piece in his hand, stretched his hand forward, and went down on his knees to show he was both not afraid of the dog nor meaning the dog any harm. One paw at a time the dog slowly walked to him and took the meat from Windtalker’s hand. Windtalker petted him, and gave him another bite of jerky from his left hand.
Carefully, he stood, and began searching the campsite. He waved for Kiyo to bring the horses. After Kiyo entered the camp, Windtalker said, “It looks like the white man shot one Indian and then the other two fought with knives and killed each other. The man and the Indians have supplies. Let’s gather up what we can and get out of here, or we could be blamed for killing a white man or the Indians.”
They rummaged through everything, keeping a rifle, pistol, knives, bows and arrows, gunpowder, cooking utensils, and supplies. There was a rabbit roasting over the fire. They retrieved and ate chunks of it while packing the things they found. Both fellows tossed the dogs chunks of meat as well. Once satisfied, they climbed aboard their horses and left the camp.
The dog circled around the camp as if confused at his situation. His master lay dead. If he stayed he would starve. Reluctantly, the dog slowly trailed the riders, but cautiously remaining behind the young men a hundred yards and out of sight. His nose easily tracked their horses, so he could follow even during a sudden downpour. When they crossed a stream, he sniffed the far bank until he picked up the scent again, but smartly increased his speed fearing he might lose them.
Late in the afternoon, the Indians felt they had gone far enough to avoid any connection with the dead white hunter and the Indians. They found a good campsite near a smaller stream that was safely away from the river and far away from any trails. The skies were clear so they made camp in the open. Windtalker began making a fire so he could cook a hot meal for them while Kiyo went hunting.
Kiyo made his way across the stream and into a small plain where he spotted the tracks of a rabbit. He threaded his bow and carefully followed the trail. He had been on the track for a half hour when suddenly he saw it leap about thirty feet ahead of him. He knelt down and fired his arrow, but missed his target just slightly. Suddenly, the big dog that had been tracking him, leaped over him knocking him down, and sprinted after the rabbit.
Kiyo sat there astonished, having failed to pick up the scent of the dog. Just as he got to his knees, the dog returned with the rabbit in his teeth. The big dog caught the fleet-footed rabbit, shook it harshly to kill it, and returned it to Kiyo. Gently, he laid it down at his feet and then backed up a few steps and sat down.
Kiyo smiled. “Good dog. That’s the way to do it. Let’s find another one.” He petted the dog numerous times, gave him a bit of jerky from his waist pouch, and then tied a leather string around the hind paws of the rabbit and threw him over his shoulder. Together, he and the dog continued the hunt.
An hour later, Windtalker successfully cooked cornmeal bread cakes for them, as well as some wild carrots and potato roots still stewing in a pot. He heard the soft sound of a dove. He knew it was Kiyo and a signal they practiced since they were little boys. He looked up to see Kiyo coming into the camp with the dog.
“Where’d he come from?”
Kiyo grinned. “I think he must have tracked us, and he must be good at it as many times as we went in and out of the streams today.”
“How are we going to feed him?”
“He’s feeding us,” replied Kiyo with a grin as he removed the three rabbits hanging on his back. “Look at these rabbits. You won’t find a single arrow wound. The dog tracked them, made the kill, and returned the game to me. I’d say he has earned his keep.”
“We’ll have to train him to be quiet on command or he could accidentally give us up.”
Kiyo said, “I’ll train him. I think he may be the smartest dog I’ve ever seen. Let’s get these rabbits over the fire. I’m starved.”
They quickly skinned the rabbits, tossed a few morsels to the dog, ran skewer sticks through the torsos, and placed them high over the fire using two limbs with forks to hold them as they cooked. Windtalker turned the roasting rabbits from time to time until satisfied they were done. They pulled off pieces and began chewing the tender white meat. Kiyo threw more pieces to the dog. The dog never failed to catch and devour the morsels. They ate the stew and cornbread while tossing more chunks of meat to the dog, as three rabbits made quiet a feast. Windtalker added some meat to his stew, plus more water and some seasoning from a dry pouch, and left it near the edge of the fire to keep it warm for breakfast.
Afterwards, they stripped naked and walked to the stream to wash several days of grime away. The dog played in and around the stream, and then suddenly snatched a fish like a bear catching a salmon. They laughed at him as the dog sat down on a bed of rock and stripped away the meat and ate it all. The water was cold to their bare skin but it felt so good to wash. They scrubbed each other’s back and then sat on the rocks to dry a bit before walking back to the fire to get warm. The sun dropped quickly behind the big mountain peaks. They laid out hides and Windtalker soon fell sound asleep as Kiyo and the dog took first watch. Now and then, he put another stick on the fire. He played with the dog by throwing a stick for him to retrieve for a spell before letting the dog settle down and sleep. It didn’t take long until he noted the change in the dog’s breathing as he slept soundly.
Kiyo looked up at stars and thought about the journey they had taken so far. Most of the tribe would assume they were dead or captured by enemy tribes and made slaves, but mostly, they would just accept the boys were gone. He no longer feared capture by the Blackfeet but he wondered about the tribes to the west that he had never seen before. He thought perhaps they could rest a day or two here in this valley, and perhaps scout about for a place to live. They were now in the section of what the explorers called the Glacier Mountains. It was beautiful country with spectacular views, clean cold water, plenty of game, and so far no sign of another human.
THREE
Kiyo, Windtalker, and the dog finally left their campground where they enjoyed several good days of rest, made repairs to their belongings, and taught the dog to stay, hunt, fetch, attack by both word commands and sign language. They named the dog Emita, which is the Blackfeet word for dog. They realized how smart the dog was as he picked up everything they taught him quickly. He loved to run the trail ahead of them, and often took off running as they climbed on their horses and rode across the next peak.
They traveled over the rugged area for another week while searching for the right place to live. One morning they set out not long after dawn. Emita ran ahead as usual and had been out of sight for ten minutes or so when suddenly, they heard a yelp. They rose upwards on their horses and spotted the dog fleeing towards them at a rapid pace. They were confused as to what scared him until they spotted a big grizzly bear heading their way chasing the dog. It would be too slow to go back up the mountain, so they rapidly turned south and rode hard while calling for Emita. The terrified dog soon passed them as they galloped away from the grizzly.
They crossed a stream thinking the bear would slow down, but the giant beast sprinted through the water quickly. They came out of the water and into the forest after finding an animal trail, and rushed down it as fast as possible. The bear must have been hungry and wanted the dog or the horses, and maybe the Indians, so he continued his tenacious pursuit. Suddenly, they crossed what appeared to be a well-trodden road. They feared other Indians on the road so they rode straight across and down the hill through another forest. They came upon a second stream and followed it upriver and soon made many left and right turns before they saw a high ridge ahead of them. They assumed there was no exit so that left the fellows with no options. They were going to have to attempt to kill the bear. They heard a waterfall about a hundred yards ahead so they kicked their horses and rushed to it.
As they rounded a bend they could hardly talk as the loud roar of the huge waterfall overwhelmed them. They slid off their horses and tied them in a thicket near the base of the falls. The exhausted Emita drank some water and then sat down to rest. Windtalker and Kiyo grabbed their spears, bows and arrows, and climbed on top of a boulder. They could see the big bear coming up the trail. His chest was wet from the chase and he did appear to have slowed some. Suddenly, he saw them and charged with renewed energy. They hoped to kill or discourage him by firing their arrows. They put a couple of arrows in the bear but they failed to slow him down. He stood up on his hind legs, growled fiercely with an aggressive roar that was loud enough to hear him over the sound of the falls, and then swung his paws and claws back and forth in the air at them. They fired arrows again, this time hitting the softer underbelly. They each got an arrow in before the bear suddenly collapsed and fell hard to the ground. One of the sharp arrowheads must have struck his heart. They waited a while before climbing off the boulder and walked down the trail with their weapons ready.
They found the bear bleeding out. They knelt and gave thanks to the bear for the food and warmth he would provide for them. Kiyo took his knife and cut the bear’s throat. Emita ran up and barked at the dead bear. They laughed at him, calling him chicken, and teasing him.
They walked back up the trail to get their horses. Emita ran out ahead of them and wrongly assumed they were going up the trail and leaving the old bear behind. When he got to the waterfall, he smelled the trail of a deer, and began barking as he tracked it. The deer’s tracks went to the left side of the falls and disappeared. The perplexed dog kept his nose to the ground and stuck it through a sheet of the water, and then went on through. Kiyo just got a glimpse of him before he disappeared.
“Where’s that dog going?”
The Indians ran up to the falls. They could see the deer prints in some sand, and Emita’s big paw prints, and both sets of tracks went straight through the edge of the water. Kiyo called the dog and Emita replied by barking loudly. The Indians heard him. Kiyo reached forward and stepped through the water quickly. Windtalker followed him. Their heads were instantly drenched by the clear cold water. They followed a dry path behind the falls. Emita ran to them wagging his tail excitedly. They feared he had found another bear. They entered a large cavern carved in the rock and underneath the waterfall. They looked behind them, and they could see daylight through the cascading water. They turned around and followed the dog. The natural tunnel curved slightly to the west. Forty yards later, they came through an opening, and stepped out of the cavern and into a huge valley. Before them was a large lake. They went a bit farther while thinking the view was completely spectacular and decided they would make camp there. They called Emita and began making their way back through the falls.
It took a bit of coaxing, but they got each horse through the waterfall and out the back and together, they rode to the mouth of the lake, crossed over to a stand of nice timber where they could hear just a slight roar of another waterfall deeper into the valley. They quickly set up camp, put away their gear, and took the packhorse back through the waterfall to retrieve the bear.
It took several hours of work, but they fed the dog while working on skinning the bear. They kept some claws, some meat, and the big furry hide, and returned to the camp. They ate well that night, but after all the excitement of the bear chasing them, they realized they were exhausted and went to sleep early taking turns as lookouts as usual.
The next day, they ate leftovers for an early meal, left the packhorse on a long tether so he could eat the surrounding grass, and began to survey the valley. They turned north and up a steep slope. Once they got to the top, they found an unusually high mountain lake that was carved by a glacier many centuries ago, and so clear they could easily see big fish swimming about. To their right they could see where the lake led into a riverbed that fed the waterfall they went through into the cavern.
Across the lake was a steep incline that went right into the water with no shoreline and no access for anyone to hike or ride a horse around. They followed the lake until they came to another rock face and began following the bottom of it around until they came into the wide-open valley. It took several hours or so to get back to the waterfall entrance before they both started grinning.
“I don’t think we could find anything more perfect for us,” said Windtalker.
Kiyo responded, “The lush valley has a good open area for the horses to graze, maybe a bit of farming for us, a big lake that I bet has loads of fish in it, plenty of freshwater, and a stand of trees to protect us.”
“We could build a log cabin, too.”
“I think it is secure as the only entrance is the waterfall. If we hide our tracks leading to it, I doubt anyone would find it.”