Page 46 of The Spirit of the Wolf

After the warning from the Creator, Grey Coyote grasped that he must proceed with caution. Where this white man was, he did not know; where this white man might stage an attack, he did not know.

But one fact of the matter was clear, it was time to leave, to travel again over the prairie…safely.

Ponies, unfortunately, were a signal to war parties, as well as to the white hunters and mountain men of one’s presence; therefore, ponies to a lone rider were dangerous. If Grey Coyote were to ensure that he and Little Sunset traversed this next part of their journey without incident—surprising the enemy instead of being surprised—then they must cross this land not as travelers, but as scouts.

Nevertheless, Little Sunset was not going to be happy, and it would be his responsibility to bring her to understanding, if he could. But her viewpoint, he feared, would be very different from his own, and he groped for the words to bridge the gap between their realities.

Alas, if only he could confide the deepest secrets of his soul, his task might be easier. But he could not; he alone must solve the riddle. So much was this true, he feared that to share his plight with another could cause the forfeiture of his entire life’s work.

So, with these somber thoughts deeply in his mind, he stepped into camp. Little Sunset, unaware of what plagued him, welcomed him heartily. Throwing back their shelter’s entrance flap, she crawled out from it and happily pushed herself to her feet. Running toward him and smiling, she flung herself into his arms, grinning. “You were gone so long. I worried.”

He smiled back at her. “Haye-haye, this is a good greeting. Perhaps I should be gone for a long time each and every day.”

“Maybe.” She looked around him, toward his back, then at each side of him. “Where are the ponies?”

He didn’t answer.

She seemed not to notice, however, and went on to say, “I have prepared all of our possessions for the horses to carry, our robes, everything, and we have much pemmican ready.”

Grey Coyote hesitated once more, his silence long and drawn out. At last, knowing he had to respond in some fashion, he came right to the point. “The ponies are gone.”

“Gone?”

“Hau.”

“Did someone steal them?”

“Hiya.”

“No? Then did they come loose from their hobbles and wander away?”

“Hiya.”

She looked puzzled. “What happened?”

He breathed deeply. “I let them go.”

She drew away from him slightly. “You what?”

Grey Coyote didn’t elaborate all at once. But knowing he must justify himself, he stated, “We are entering enemy country,” as though this explained everything.

“Yes?”

He jerked his head to the left. “When one is in enemy territory, and alone, one must be careful. If we bring the horses, we cannot predict we will be able to safely cross the prairie.”

“Oh. But…” She paused, and her voice was colored with confusion. Tentatively, she stepped out of his arms. She was frowning. “But I thought you went to collect them.”

“It had been my intention to do so, but I fear I underestimated the danger on the prairie at this time of year. And so I have changed my mind. Circumstances now demand we travel in a way so we will be as invisible as possible.”

“But the ponies were our only means of transportation, weren’t they?”

“We have other means.”

“We do?”

“Hau.” He pointed toward her feet. “You stand on them.”

He watched as enlightenment dawned, and he waited for her answer, although he knew her reply would not bode him well. At length, all she asked was, “We’re going to walk?”