Page 24 of The Spirit of the Wolf

But he was her only mirror, and Marietta repeated, “Do I look all right? Everything in the right place?”

Grey Coyote nodded, appearing most strained in doing so. However, after a moment, he seemed to have collected his wits about him, and said once more, “Come.”

“Yes. I will.”

Together, with the pony following after them, they wound their way down the bluff.

Before they left the spot completely, however, Marietta glanced back at the top of the rise affectionately, looking for the place where they had stood. What was it about this particular spot? Their time there? If she wasn’t mistaken, there, on top of that lonely butte, something had touched her heart.

Chapter

Six

They traveled south and west, riding through the soft, balmy night. Grey Coyote appeared to take his direction from the North Star, since she observed his examination of it several times. So this was how Indians found their way.

As if by mutual consent, Marietta rode her own mount now, noting with some surprise that the animal had already been primed for this purpose. Her pony was equipped with buckskin reins and a blanket for a saddle.

Strange how the thought of escaping from this man now had the appearance of being ridiculous. Was it only this morning she had accused him of stealing her?

Perhaps he had done so, but she didn’t really care anymore. Though she had been in his presence for only a few hours, she felt as though she could trust him.

Would he take her to St. Louis? Could she use feminine wiles to her advantage? He had said maybe—if she performed well for him on their travels. But would she do well? After all, what did she know about camp life?

Glancing ahead toward Grey Coyote, she saw with some astonishment that he must have increased his pace, for he was leaving her behind.

“C’mon, pony,” she whispered to the mustang. “Let’s not let him get too far ahead.”

Soon, with very little effort, both were racing their mounts over the land. On the one hand, it was frightening. Dusky shadows darkened the earth, she couldn’t see where she was going, and images of prairie dog holes danced in her imagination.

On the other hand, the open spaces of the prairie seemed to urge a person to let go. Not of anything in particular, but to simply give up her cares. The peacefulness of the prairie, the expanses of the space, as though it were urging one to be free, pressed in on her. Despite herself, she felt unfettered.

The stars above her littered the sky from horizon to horizon. Indeed, from her position, their numbers looked to be so great she thought if she were to account for their total with a slash on a blackboard for each star, those slashes might well fill an entire room.

Marietta’s pony jostled beneath her, and she petted its neck and bent down. “What a good pony you are. You run like the wind.” At her words the animal snorted, creating the impression that it glowed with pride, appearing to step even more sure-footedly over uneven ground.

There was a constant wind in this place, Marietta noted. But this was summer, and it was not a cold wind which blew at her, though at this late hour of the night, the breeze did tend to chill. However, she had her dress, Grey Coyote’s shirt and his cloak to warm her, so it was not as if this were a hardship.

Glancing upward, she decided it was probably around midnight or perhaps later. And if this were the case, then they had been riding hard for well over five hours. Yet she was not very tired. Indeed, glancing off toward the north, Marietta spied a series of lights, columns of dancing brilliance. Now green, now blue, now yellow.

Had this just started? She didn’t recall seeing this earlier. Why, the whole northern sky was alight with streams of incandescence—a luster that looked as though it played in the heavens.

Were these the northern lights? They seemed unreal but fantastic. As she watched them, she felt childlike, as though she were privy to a treat.

Grey Coyote slowed to let her pony come up alongside his own, and he caught hold of its reins, unnecessarily pointing out the flares to her. She nodded, smiling at him, then gazed at the splendor again.

Some sixth sense had her looking back at him, and she was startled to realize he hadn’t taken his eyes from her.

“Is something amiss?” she whispered.

Grey Coyote didn’t respond to the question, and after a while, he simply turned away, setting his pony once more into dashing across the moonlit fields. Marietta followed, but at a more leisurely, thoughtful pace.

A wind rushed in her face, and it seemed as if it tried to speak to her. But what it said was beyond her. Hours passed, and still Grey Coyote hurried onward, as though he had wagered himself against the coming sunrise. It was only in the extreme darkness before dawn that Grey Coyote at last called a halt to their march. Sighing deeply, still atop her mount, Marietta began to relax, looking forward to a restful sleep.

There had been no sleep so far this night. None for her, for Grey Coyote or for their horses, either—not even a few hours. After a too-brief meal of pounded, dried meat with fat and berries added—a meal she had once heard called pemmican—she and Grey Coyote shifted mounts, as though by this action, they would not overly tire any one pony. They then had once again set out across the prairie.

They had traveled all morning, not taking the slightest rest. Many times it had been in Marietta’s mind to ask for respite, but each moment when she had formed the question on her lips, she had thought better of it. After all, if her goal were St. Louis—and it was—the faster they traveled, the better.

But finally—and it must have been close to noon, for the sun had been straight overhead—they had stopped. But this had been several hours ago. Her task now was to light a fire.