Page 82 of The Spirit of the Wolf

“Ah, how I would love to get rid of this mud and clay. But there is still a problem.” She pointed to herself. “I don’t have any other clothes. I didn’t save so much as a simple chemise.”

“Hokahe,” said Grey Coyote. “Have I not taught you to observe better than this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you not noticed how greatly this parfleche bulges?” He indicated the bag strapped around his shoulder.

“No, I have not, and I… You don’t mean you…”

He nodded. “I have brought your dress with me.”

“You have? Oh, my! This is wonderful.” Her enthusiasm, however, died quickly. “Still it’s not good. Remember? You cut my clothing off me.”

“And can you not repair it?”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course I can. But is there time? And do we have the materials I will need to sew it together?”

“We will take the time. And we have sinew for sewing. Perhaps you could see what you can do to it today. We can rest here while you make the repairs. Then tonight we will find a deserted stream and wash this mud from our bodies so we might clothe ourselves appropriately. Once done, we may then approach the fort in the early dawn of tomorrow morning.”

She nodded. “I like the sound of this. It is a good plan.”

“Hau, I had hoped you would like it. Come, let us make a shelter so we might complete our work without worry.”

Grey Coyote turned over again, back onto his stomach, and coaxing the women to follow him, they scooted down from their overlook.

The sun hadn’t yet put in an appearance on this bright, new day, when a party of three stepped toward the fort’s gate. Two of the group were Indian, a man and woman. The third was a white woman.

Perhaps it was because of this woman that the three presented such an unusual sight. Maybe, too, it was their “new” clothes which seemed to cause speculation.

Somewhere, somehow during the night, Grey Coyote had managed to count coup on some Lakota clothing, as well as a few trinkets from the surrounding Indian camp. It was a good masquerade they had affected, for Grey Coyote had not only donned the clothes of the Lakota, he had parted his hair down the middle so as to reflect the appearance of the Lakota tribe in every way possible. Yellow Swan had done much the same.

Thus, the three of them had walked safely through the Indian encampment toward the fort. There had been curious stares, yes, but they had arrived at the gate with impunity.

“Who goes there?” called the gatekeeper after they had asked for admittance.

“You must answer for us,” whispered Grey Coyote.

Nodding, Marietta at once called out, “I am Maria Marietta Welsford, an English lady. I have arrived here with the two Indians you see beside me. They have guarded me and protected me as we traversed over the prairie, and they have brought me here.”

“Yer a white woman?”

Marietta answered, “Have you no eyes, man?”

“What’cha waiting fer?” came another male voice from over the wall. “Are ye blind? Open the gate.”

“But a white woman? Here? It’s hard ta⁠—”

“I was traveling with a party from Europe,” Marietta interrupted, “but I became lost from them. These Indians found me and have brought me here safely.”

No reply followed this. The gate, however, slowly swung open, and after a few moments of hesitation, Marietta stepped into the inner sanctum of the place called Fort Pierre, followed first by Grey Coyote, and then by Yellow Swan.

On her left and right, she was greeted by the sight of rows and rows of log houses, though directly in front of her stood a larger, more magnificent home, with a smaller building to its right. No grass grew here. It was all dirt, though there was an American flag raised on a pole, which waved at them from the center of the parade ground.

There, however, the pleasantries ended. Far from being the refreshing scene Marietta had envisioned upon her return to civilization, she cringed.

There wasn’t a single head that wasn’t turned her way. Moreover, men of all sorts and sizes were rushing at her from every possible direction of the fort. Some were pulling on pants as they ran, others shirts and coats.

All shared one common trait. They gaped at her. Doubtfully, Marietta said to those who had assembled, “Is there anyone at this post who can help me? As I have already said, I became lost from my party, and these Indians found me and brought me here. But I search for a man…a trapper. I need to speak to someone.”