Page 24 of Red Hawk's Woman

Something in the man’s demeanor changed. It wasn’t so much a look as an impression that some emotion within him shifted. For an instant, he appeared unsteady on his feet before he uttered, “Ehh-fee?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, with a slight bob of her head. “That is what people call me. You speak English, then?”

He nodded and drew his arms out of the blanket, as though he needed his hands to speak the words. He stepped forward, but something went wrong with the simple movement. One moment he was on his feet, as solid as a stone, the next he was falling backward, although he salvaged the move and caught himself before he crumpled completely. However, his pipe fell to the ground.

She glanced at him strangely. Had he tripped over his own blanket? “Why don’t we take our conversation to the sidewalk in front of that store.” She pointed toward the establishment. “We will be out of the way of the wagons and buggies there.” She graced him with what she hoped was a cheery grin. “If you would be so kind, I would like to speak to you, that is, if you have the time.”

Again, he nodded, started to move his hands with the sign gestures that Indians frequently used, changed his mind and instead, he stooped to pick up his pipe. But he must have been thrown off balance, for once again something happened, and instead of grasping hold of the pipe, he lunged for it, missed it and plummeted forward.

Effie stared at him, aghast. Weren’t Indians noted for their unwavering composure?

Deciding to overlook the entire incident, she turned her back on him and walked to the sidewalk made of puncheon logs. Two steps led up to the walkway, and on them were baskets with flowers set in them. Meant as decoration, they looked pretty, but completely out of place in this rough frontier town.

Nevertheless, Effie admired them as she climbed the steps. Turning back to the man, she gestured toward an empty space beside her. “Won’t you join me?”

With the pipe held firmly in hand, the man paced toward the stairs and stepped one foot up, but the end of his pipe hit the hitching post. It caught on something, a nail perhaps. He tried to extract it from the wood. He pulled on it, but it held fast, and instead of it coming away from the post, the force of his exertion caused him to fall forward against the steps, knocking the baskets off.

He tried to right the baskets, but each time he attempted it, he must not have been looking very clearly at what he was doing, for he set the baskets half on, half off the steps. They, too, fell.

He tried again, replacing the baskets. Same results.

Sheepishly, he gazed up at her. He grimaced and tried to set the flower baskets back into place once more. But it was useless, and when they fell over again, he ignored them, as though he had accomplished the feat perfectly.

He came to stand beside her.

Effie chose not to comment on his clumsiness.

“You say you understand English? How?”

Pretending that nothing had happened, he said, “I scouted for a black robe who was traveling through this country in his search for the Flathead tribe. It was through him that I learned the language.”

“I see. No wonder your pronunciation of the language is excellent. You were taught by a monk.”

He treated her to a rakish grin, and for a moment Effie forgot to breathe.

Collecting herself, she continued, “Do you know the way to the Gates of the Rocky Mountains?”

“Aa,” he said, as he stood over her, yet next to her. “I do. I am from that country.”

“Are you? What tribe are you?”

“I am from the Southern Pikunis,” he replied proudly.

“Oh. I was hoping you might be from the Blackfeet tribe, since the Gates of the Mountains are in their territory.”

“Southern Pikunis are part of the Blackfoot Confederation.” He stood stiffly, as though afraid to make a move, any move, lest something else tumble down around him. “There are three tribes that make up the Blackfoot Confederation, and they are the Blackfoot, the Bloods and the Northern and Southern Piegan or what we refer to as the Pikunis.”

“Oh, this is good. If I were to hire you for a job, would you be able to start in a few days?”

“Aa,” he said, and again he nodded.

“Aa? Does that mean yes?”

“Aa.”

She frowned. “Hmmm. I suppose that it does.”

He didn’t answer, merely continued to stand rigidly, uncomfortably.