Page 25 of The Spirit of the Wolf

Clink, clink, clink.

The sound of the flint and the iron pyrite, as she beat them against each other, was beginning to grate on her nerves. After these last few hours’ work—and doing nothing but this same action over and over—it seemed to her as if the entire process were impossible. She had never made a fire this way, and it didn’t look as though she would be lighting one now, either.

Straightening up, she raised the flap of their shelter’s entrance and glanced around the little gulch where they had settled, looking for any sign to indicate that Grey Coyote had returned. But nothing met her gaze except the now-familiar landscape of their gully.

It was a pretty place. On one side of the ravine ran a gurgling stream, and next to the stream grew a few short scrub trees, which clung to the shoreline. Each bush threw out delicate patches of shade, though so flimsy was the shade, it did nothing to give a human being any comfort.

Their meager abode was interesting, since Grey Coyote had fashioned the structure so it blended into the environment. Indeed, he had done this so well, their little lodge “disappeared” to the eye.

Marietta wasn’t certain how he had accomplished this, either. She remembered earlier watching him position two boulders close together and had seen him throw his robe between and over those two stones. The action had created their ceiling, of sorts. He had then made a smoke hole at one end of the shelter, and over the entire thing he had laid grasses and plants and bushes, placing them around their dwelling, as though landscaping the entire structure.

Then she had lost interest in the activity, had glanced away, and the next thing she knew, she could barely detect that a shelter was even there.

However, though it was a piece of workmanship, the dwelling was temporary, surprising her as to how comfortable it was. Over the ground Grey Coyote had placed a buffalo robe—their “rug” or “floor”—and beside her were bags full of berries and fruit, as well as some roots, pemmican and water.

These, too, had been left by Grey Coyote, who had then informed her that she was to stay within the protection of their hideaway during his absence. So saying, Grey Coyote had gathered the horses together and trudged off. He had mentioned he would be looking for a place to keep the horses, some location distant from where they were camped, for if set to grazing next to their little niche, the animals would announce their presence.

Marietta had questioned Grey Coyote about the wisdom of doing this, certain that if put out on their own, the animals would either return to the wild or be stolen. But Grey Coyote had shrugged, saying he would hobble them, but if they were stolen, it was no loss. Ponies abounded on the plains, he said; he could always get more.

She did not quite understand his attitude. Did the man care nothing for his possessions?

But no amount of arguing could persuade Grey Coyote to do otherwise than what he thought best.

Clink, clink, clink. The sound of her efforts filled the small space.

“You will never light the fire this way.”

Marietta jumped. The low voice came from behind her, within the shelter itself. Where had the man come from?

Pressing her hand to her chest, she let out a breath. “Mr. Coyote, you frightened me. Not only did I not hear your approach…” she glanced around the interior, “…but how did you come to be here?”

“I did not intend for you to hear me.” He stared down at the array of small sticks she had gathered together. He crouched beside her. “Where did you find this tinder?”

“I took it from the ground.”

Grey Coyote picked up one of the sticks and examined it. “The storm must have blown these off the tree last night.” He bent the stick. “Do you see how green it is?”

“Yes, well, green wood will burn.”

“With difficulty, and with much smoke,” he countered. “Besides, even with dry twigs, one would never start a fire this way.”

Marietta, who had been sitting forward on her knees, flopped down, sitting back on her rump. She brought her knees to her chest, placing her arms around them. “Very well. Then tell me how it is done.”

“Surely you have lit a fire before this.”

“No, not in this manner, I have not. Where I come from we have matches.”

Grey Coyote nodded. “I have seen these, for my sister’s husband keeps them. They are a source of great mystery to the red man. But here on the plains, a man must learn to light a fire another way. One does not often find matches in nature.”

“No, I don’t suppose one would.” She gave him a shy glance. “Are you going to show me how it is done?”

“Hau, hau. I could do this.” Looking askance at her, he gave her a wink.

Marietta stared at him. Had he meant to wink at her? Was he flirting with her?

“What we will need,” he began, “is something dry and small⁠—”

“But these branches I gathered are small.”