The Drums of Change (21 page)

After the two days, they had indeed run out of water. The pony had required a share of the bottled water since an unusually dry year had meant no streams or even a small slough. But they found the spring as the farmer had promised. With immense thankfulness they knelt at the water’s edge and drank deeply along with the pony.

Then they rested. The long days of travel were taking their toll.

“It is going to rain,” observed Silver Fox the next morning.

Running Fawn lifted her eyes to the sky. All she saw was a wispy cloud far to the northwest.

“Thunderstorm by afternoon,” Silver Fox predicted.

The small bit of white on the horizon looked so harmless, so scattered, that it was hard for her to believe it could carry enough power to be a thunderstorm by the afternoon, but she did not argue with Silver Fox. She did notice his stride lengthen as though he wished to cover as many miles as possible before the storm struck. The pony quickened his pace to keep step.

“What is his name?” Running Fawn asked after they had traveled some time in silence. Silver Fox turned to look at her.

“The horse,” she explained. “What is his name?”

“I do not know.”

“They did not name him?”

“I suppose they did. But Otis did not tell me—and I did not ask.”

“You should name him,” she mused after further silence. He dropped back to walk beside the pony. “Name him if you wish,” he offered.

Running Fawn sat up straighter and smiled in delight. She had never named an animal before. She wasn’t sure if she should pick a name that would suit an Indian pony or a name like the horses from the boarding school stable.

Prancer? Yellow Mane? Prince? Quonto?

At length she spoke in English, “What do you think of Little Giant?”

He laughed softly at her choice and reached up to pat the neck of the sweating animal.

He answered her in the same language. “Little Giant? That is good. That suits him—just fine.”

By midafternoon the clouds were rolling toward them, dark and menacing. The wind that accompanied them was blowing strong and held a chill. Silver Fox took Little Giant’s reins to move him forward at a faster pace. But it was not long until the storm’s full fury was upon them. Dark clouds, with a frightening white streak through the center, were bearing down upon them, and the strong wind pushed against their progress.

“Hail,” Silver Fox shouted into the wind, then hail blew into their faces. “We should find cover.”

Running Fawn looked around them. As far as the eye could see was open prairie. Not even a small shrub offered any kind of shelter from the storm.

“I think we should stop,” Silver Fox reiterated, “and do what we can for protection before the hail strikes.”

He offered a hand to Running Fawn and she slid down off the pony. She wondered what they could possibly do for protection from the storm.

“The blankets—” Silver Fox was saying as he slipped the bridle from the pony. “Get all the blankets from the pack.”

“Blankets will not stop rain,” argued Running Fawn.

“No, but they might be some shelter from the hail.”

Quickly Running Fawn unrolled the bundle and pulled free the three blankets it contained.

“Fold them together.”

Running Fawn obeyed.

“Now wrap them around you. Especially over your head,” he ordered.

Running Fawn looked at him in concern.

“And you?” she asked simply.

“I will be fine,” he answered just as large drops of cold rain began to beat down in earnest upon them.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled angrily across the darkening sky. The wind had reached gale proportions. Running Fawn was glad she was wearing the buckskins and had the added protection of the extra blankets.

“The pony,” she cried, watching the small animal drift away, head down with the wind.

“We will have to see to him later,” Silver Fox shouted against the noise of the storm and the first icy balls of hail pelting down with the rain. “Quickly,” he yelled. “Get under cover.”

Running Fawn sank to the ground and held the blankets up for him to join her.

“No,” he shouted in response. “I will be fine. Wrap them around your head and shoulders.”

Running Fawn rose to her feet and cast the blankets to the side on the ground.

“If you plan to face the storm,” she called against the wind, “so will I.”

He stared at her in frustration, then swept up the blankets, pushed her to a sitting position, and threw the blankets around their shoulders. Huddled together they felt the full assault of the storm as the hail began to pummel them.

For minutes that seemed like hours, wind-driven jagged balls of ice pounded them on the head, the back, the shoulders, while cold rain beat down on them and formed a puddle beneath them. By the time the hail had diminished, Running Fawn was shivering uncontrollably. Her garments were soaked through and her hair was dripping. The cold rain continued to fall, and the force of the wind seemed to drive the chill to her very bones.

Silver Fox finally lifted away the sodden blankets.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

She managed to nod her head. She was too cold to speak.

“You have some welts,” said Silver Fox, looking at her bare arms. Running Fawn was sure her back was just as bruised. Because he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, she could not tell if Silver Fox had bruises on his arms.

“I … I think I am fine,” she finally said through stiff lips. She noticed that she did not have to yell to be heard. The wind was dying down.

He nodded.

“Do you think the sun will return?”

Silver Fox stared at the sky. The rain was still falling and the clouds seemed to stretch all the way to the northern horizon.

“I think it will rain for some time,” he answered.

Running Fawn shivered. It seemed that there would be no way to get dry. Even though they had matches, there would be no dry fire material, and a fire could not be kept burning with the rain pelting down.

“We may as well walk,” said Silver Fox. “Are you able?”

Running Fawn nodded, then cast an anxious glance around.

“What about Little Giant?” she asked.

“He will have drifted with the storm. I’m afraid we cannot take time to look for him. It will be dark before long.”

Running Fawn knew in her heart that he was right, but she hated to lose the pony. Besides the welcome relief for her feet, he had become a friend. Had he been able to endure the hail? One of the big stones on his head could be disastrous.

“Let’s try to wring out the blankets.”

She took one end and together they tried to twist them free of their sodden load. Water ran on the ground, but the coarse wool had soaked up the rain like a sponge, and the blankets still were much heavier than they should have been. They bundled their provisions into soggy piles. Without a pony to share the load, Silver Fox laid aside the heavy bottle, now empty and too cumbersome to tote along. The young man lifted the smaller bundle to Running Fawn’s shoulder, then hoisted his own, including the rifle.

Together they trudged on through the somewhat gentler storm.

They pushed on until it was too dark to see. The rain had ceased to fall, but they were very wet. With night coming and the cold wind still blowing against them, they were both shivering uncontrollably in spite of their exertion.

“We must stop,” said Silver Fox.

Running Fawn was only too glad to quit for the night. Her whole body ached from struggling through the mud, carrying her load. But to stop walking meant they would no longer have the little bit of warmth generated from their movement.

“It will be cold,” noted Silver Fox. “Everything is wet.”

Running Fawn nodded, her teeth chattering.

“The blankets will be of no use.”

She knew that.

“We cannot build a fire.”

She knew that too.

“It will not be a pleasant night.”

He was right, but she was too cold to comment.

“Let me see if I can pile the bundles to break the wind a little,” said Running Fawn, and he worked in the dark to make some kind of wind shelter, using the rifle to prop up one edge.

“That is the best that I can do,” he said finally.

It wasn’t much, but it did help. Running Fawn sat down on the sodden ground behind the blankets and pulled her knees up tight against her chest. It was now so dark she only felt Silver Fox lower himself to the ground at her side. At first she held herself apart, self-conscious and shivering.

She had not forgotten that she did not share his ideas. He had always been more open in accepting the ways of the white man than she felt he should be. They still had not resolved those differences, though on the trail they had made an un-spoken agreement to lay them aside for the time being. She was so thankful that he had come to help her find her way home that she was glad to accept his help, regardless of his interest in learning the white man’s ways. In the days they had traveled together, she simply would not let herself think about their difference of opinion.

Now as they sat shoulder to shoulder in the darkness of the stormy night, she dared to think that perhaps he had changed. She wanted him to change. She wanted him to care as much for their people, for their history, their ways, as she herself did.

There was something about him—a depth to his character—that drew her to him in spite of her resolve to hold herself aloof. He was someone she admired. Someone with great strength. If only he would forsake his fascination with this new learning and return to the ways of his past. The old ways had served their fathers. They were good enough. If only …

But wait. He had left the boarding school. He had voluntarily taken to the trail. Didn’t that mean—? He was taking her home—back to the Reserve. Surely it must mean … He was going back too. He was going home to their people.

In the cold darkness she leaned just a little more toward him.

Chapter Fifteen

Reunion

Running Fawn struggled to her feet in the morning and found herself to be so stiff that she had a hard time moving.

Silver Fox was already walking about, flexing his own stiff muscles, working his arms and legs. He smiled at her. “Did you know you had so many parts that could ache?” he asked her.

Running Fawn shook her head. Even that motion hurt. She reached up to feel a couple of sore spots that must have been from the pounding hail.

There were blue bruises on her arms, and she knew from the way her back and shoulders felt that she was bruised there as well.

“Walk around a bit—slowly,” advised Silver Fox, “then we will begin our journey.”

Running Fawn obeyed.

As soon as they were reasonably free of their cramped muscles, they started out. With no pony for Running Fawn to ride, she tried to keep stride with Silver Fox. But she noticed several times he had to consciously slow his pace to match hers.

Silver Fox observed, “We should have no problem with a water supply,” and Running Fawn nodded. The heavy rain of the day before had filled low-lying slough bottoms. It also made walking more difficult.

They walked steadily on, their conversation only occasional. Running Fawn’s moccasins felt twice their normal weight.