Streams to the River, River to the Sea

  Black Moccasin called his wives and told them to give me food, to put me to bed, and to keep me there until the sun came on another day. "Then see that she has something to do. She is not to go into the village."

  I followed him to the doorway and looked out. The council place overflowed with people. The pitchwood fire burned high and sent black clouds spinning in the air. Toussaint Charbonneau and the girl were dancing, a dance I had never seen before. They hopped around like frogs.

  "It's the white man's dance," Black Moccasin said. "They dance because of the whiskey that builds a fire in their bellies. Not to the sun, not to the moon, not to the Great Spirit below us, above us, around us everywhere."

  The Frenchman stopped dancing. He upended a leather bag and drank from it.

  "There is a thing I do not understand," I said. "You have told me that Charbonneau will not harm me. Yet I must stay here in the lodge until he leaves. I have been away from my friends for a long time. I would like to talk to them."

  Black Moccasin frowned. He was not used to having a girl question him.

  Patiently, he said, "The Frenchman will not harm you for it would mean his death. But if you walk in the village it is sure to cause trouble between him and my son. Or bad feelings. And I do not want bad feelings. I want Charbonneau to come back. My people like to trade with him. If you are out of sight he will forget you. He has forgotten many girls along this river and other rivers, too."

  Charbonneau was dancing again, this time with Lightning in Her Hair, one of my friends, the prettiest girl among all the Minnetarees.

  I watched Charbonneau leap about with Lightning in Her Hair. She leaped too. She seemed to be happy. The fire glistened on his hairy face. Fie still looked like a wounded bear.

  "Gladly will I sit in the lodge. I do not wish to see this man again," I said to myself.

  The Frenchman traded all the next day. The wives of Black Moccasin came back from the trading place with a shiny knife, an iron kettle to cook in, three long sewing needles, and a length of pink goods, enough to make four dresses.

  There was no word from the Frenchman himself. But the women said that he was in a happy mood. He joked with everyone, took long drinks from his leather jug, and sang songs they did not understand. But he did not say a word about me.

  Word came later, the next day at noon. It was brought by Black Moccasin. I could see that it was bad when he sat down beside the fire.

  "You are not to blame us if things go wrong," he said. "If you have to marry Toussaint Charbonneau and not my son."

  I was sewing on a deerskin robe. I stopped sewing to stare at him.

  "The Frenchman went into a rage when he heard that you and Red Hawk were to be married. He took a knife from his belt and stormed around, threatening everyone in the village. He stormed at me. I told him that the marriage was decreed long before he came. He said that you were near death from the winter cold when he rescued you. He asked me why I had not gone out to search for you, why no one had rescued you."

  I jumped to my feet. "I was not dying when he found me. I had shelter and fire and food. In a very short time the river would have frozen over and I could have walked to the shore."

  "This is true as you say it, but to him it is not true. To him you were saved from death. Therefore you are his, the same as if he had found a wounded beast with arrows in it."

  "Not the same," I said. "When the Frenchman found me, I was not a wounded beast. Nor am I a wounded beast now."

  Black Moccasin gave me a straight look. He was displeased that his judgment was questioned, that I dared speak in such a voice. I had a strong feeling that my fate had already been decided. I was to marry the Frenchman no matter what my feelings were.

  Not only did an honorable law demand it. Charbonneau was a trader whose friendship was very important to the tribe. He must not leave the village an angry man who felt that he had been treated poorly.

  "Smile," Black Moccasin said. "I will smile too. A plan of mine may work. Have you played the Hand Game?"

  "Yes, Shoshone children play it."

  "It is not played in Metaharta for fun, only to settle arguments, such as what arrow of many arrows has killed a buffalo. Three will play the game. Toussaint Charbonneau and Red Hawk and Le Borgne all claim you."

  "Le Borgne?" I said, surprised. "Why does he claim me?"

  "He says that he took you away from the scoundrel Tall Rock and protected you. He says that you ran away and hid. In his village of Hidatsa this is a crime. The punishment is death. From all that you told me, you did run from him and hide."

  "Le Borgne is a brute. I have heard you say it. Why must you listen to him?"

  "Because he rules a village more powerful than mine. I cannot stand against One Eye and his village, which is bigger than Metaharta by two times."

  My heart stopped beating. "If Red Hawk loses the game, then I belong to either Charbonneau or Le Borgne?"

  "That is the rule. There is no other. But Red Hawk will not lose. He never loses. He always wins."

  My heart started to beat again. "Why does Red Hawk never lose?"

  "Because he always receives help from the Great Spirit who guards our village. The Spirit helps him to see through flesh and bone, through the closed hands of those he plays against. Into the palm of their hands. He can see, as clear as if it lay right there beside the fire, what is in the hands. Who holds the plum seed that is carved with the sign of the moon or the seed that is uncarved."

  "Do the Frenchman and Le Borgne know that Red Hawk never loses?"

  "If they did know, they would not play."

  "When does the game start?"

  "Tonight is the best time for Red Hawk. His spirit sees better in the dark than in the light. He never loses when the game is played in the dark. Tonight is the night he will play because the moon will cast shadows."

  When Black Moccasin left me, I got ready to speak to my talisman. I could not go into the village and find a quiet place. I could not see her in the sky now. But she was there waiting for the night to come. I went and lay beside my bed and waited.

  Chapter Nine

  Night came slowly. I looked up through the hole in the roof and saw night shadows and the first faint star. Black Moccasin sent for me. His wives had built a fire of willow branches and he sat beside it in his heavy bear cape.

  "Find a place where you can see and not be seen," he said to Blue Sky. "Sacagawea should not be here at all, but better here than somewhere else. Stand her on the other side of the fire, where you can keep an eye on her. If the game goes bad, if she is tempted to flee, be ready to stop her."

  Against all the laws, Minnetaree laws and Shoshone laws, I spoke up. "You said that your son Red Hawk never loses in the Game of Hands."

  "So I did. And now I say it again. Red Hawk never loses in the Game of Hands." He gave me a sharp look and said to his wife, "Take the girl away. Guests clamor at the gate."

  The beat of drums and loud voices came from outside. A gust of wind swept the lodge as Toussaint Charbonneau burst in, followed by Le Borgne and his followers. Black Moccasin pointed to the blanket spread in front of him and bade the men to take their places.

  Le Borgne and his followers, whose cheeks were painted with dots and swirls, sat at one end of the blanket. Charbonneau sat at the other end. I could not see his face because of the hair that covered it and hung down over his chest like a black curtain. Red Hawk came. He smiled to himself and sat in the middle.

  "Red Hawk looks happy," I said.

  "He talks to the Great Spirit," his mother explained.

  "Is the Great Spirit listening?" I asked.

  "He always listens to Red Hawk."

  The other wives began to sing and all twelve children joined in with deerbone rattles. At the same time loud chanting came from the warriors gathered outside. In the awful din, Black Moccasin tried to explain the rules.

  They were the same as those in the place I was born, only here plum seeds were used instead of bones. One of the
seeds was rubbed smooth and the other had a small dent in it, colored yellow and blue.

  The game was simple. Each player tried to hide the dented pit. He could stand and move his hands and body any way he chose, but not his feet. When he was done with his movements and put his tight fists on the blanket, one of those playing against him must choose the hand that held the colored plum pit.

  The score was kept by the chieftain and the winner was the one who guessed right four times, the mystical number of all the tribes.

  Charbonneau passed a jug of rum. Le Borgne drank but Red Hawk refused. He got to his knees, took the two plum pits from his father, and tossed them into the air. He caught them in one hand, clasped his hands together, and made the pits rattle. Then he put his fists on the blanket in front of Charbonneau.

  The Frenchman reached out two long thumbs and pressed hard on each of the fists. He was trying to find the hidden seed.

  "You have played this game before?" Red Hawk asked him.

  "Often," Charbonneau said. "More often than Red Hawk, among many peoples."

  "If you know so much, Charbonneau, do not press so hard or you will crush the seeds."

  Charbonneau said nothing and took his thumbs away. His narrow head thrust out. He peered at the clenched hands. "Her," he said, pointing.

  Red Hawk turned his fist over, taking his time. He showed an empty palm.

  "Zut!" the Frenchman shouted. He took a drink from the jug and wiped his mouth on the kerchief around his neck. "The other hand, let me see her, huh?"

  Red Hawk opened his fist and Charbonneau saw that it held two plum seeds. He rubbed his eyes, grabbed the seeds, and jumped to his feet. He raised his hands over his head, yelled like a coyote, and quacked like a duck. Then he shoved his hands close to Le Borgne's beaked nose.

  The great chieftain of the Hidatsa Minnetarees closed the eye he could see from. He kept the other eye open and chose the hand that held the colored plum seed.

  A warrior was sitting on the roof, watching through the smoke hole. He shouted down to the warriors at the gate that their great chieftain had won.

  The chanting grew louder, but Le Borgne only smirked. From the moment he strode into the lodge he had shown that it hurt his pride to play a game to win a girl, a slave girl who by all rights belonged to him already.

  I must have gasped as he twisted his mouth, for Blue Sky said quickly, "The Great Spirit does not like the man. He can never win the game."

  "But if he does?"

  "I will go with you and take you home to the Shoshone," she said, "and he will never find you."

  Le Borgne picked up the plum seeds carefully, one at a time, as if they were hot stones. He did not bother to shake them. He did open his hands up near his eye and for a long time looked at them.

  "Choose," he said to Red Hawk. "And do not move the feet like the Frenchman, who acts like a buffalo with ten arrows stuck in him. It is against the rules to move the feet."

  Red Hawk guessed at once and chose the right hand, the one that held the colored seed. At this, the singing of the wives grew louder and the children rattled their deerbones and danced around. Red Hawk looked to make sure that I had seen. I gave a sign and smiled. He did not smile back at me.

  His mother said, "He thinks well of you. But now his mind is with the game. He cannot smile until the game is over."

  The wind, chasing its windy tail, roared around the lodge. Some of it roared down the smoke hole, so Black Moccasin sent one of his wives up on the roof to cover it with a blanket.

  Charbonneau won the next game and the next. Le Borgne won the following game.

  Black Moccasin kept the score, which stood two for Charbonneau, two for Le Borgne, and one for Red Hawk. It was the Frenchman's turn now.

  As before, he went through all of his antics. He also added new ones. He sat on his hands and howled like a wolf and bellowed like a bull buffalo.

  Red Hawk groaned while all this was going on. When it was over and Charbonneau held out his hands for him to choose, he said, "Nothing is left of the plum seeds. You have worn them out, Frenchman."

  Surely the words were a joke, but Charbonneau did not take them that way. He glared at Red Hawk and fingered the knife in his belt. For a moment I thought he meant to use it. Instead, he shouted, "Choose! No more talk. Talk gives Charbonneau bugs in the ear."

  "He has a big temper, this Frenchman," Blue Sky said. "Sometime it will give him more than bugs. It will give him big trouble."

  Red Hawk waited, seeking the colored seed, talking to himself.

  My heart beat in my throat. Blue Sky must have heard it for she put an arm around me. "He talks to the Great Spirit. He will choose wisely," she said.

  But Red Hawk did not choose wisely.

  Then the game went fast. Le Borgne took the plum pits and lost to Toussaint Charbonneau. It was Red Hawk's turn again and Charbonneau needed only one good guess to win.

  Raising his hands, Red Hawk drew them far apart, but as he brought them together one of the seeds slipped away and fell on the blanket. It is a bad omen, I thought to myself, and Blue Sky thought so too. Her arm grew tight around me.

  "Your hands fly like goose," Charbonneau said, passing his jug to Red Hawk. "Here, drink! Drink, friend, huh?"

  Red Hawk had not touched the jug before when it was offered to him. Now he drank deep, drank a second time, and passed the jug back to the Frenchman, who put it down without drinking.

  "This is foolish," Blue Sky said. "I do not like it."

  The blanket had blown off the smoke hole, and cold, hissing gusts of air swooped down. The wives brought armfuls of buffalo chips and heaped them on the fire. They smoked so much that it was hard to see what Red Hawk was doing.

  He was on his feet. He was swaying from side to side, holding the plum seeds above his head. Then he twisted them around, the way the Frenchman had done, around his knees and between them.

  Blue Sky gasped. She took her hand from my shoulder and held it over her mouth. The singing had stopped. There were no sounds from outside except from the man who was at the smoke hole again, shouting down to those who stood at the gate.

  In the midst of everything, Great Chief Le Borgne rose with a bow to Black Moccasin and silently left the lodge. He slammed the door behind him. For a while shouts echoed and rocks were hurled against the door and fell upon the roof.

  Charbonneau stared at me, shielding his eyes against the glare of the fire. It was hard to tell with all the hair he wore on his face, but I thought I saw his lips move in a smile. I did not smile back.

  It was very quiet as Red Hawk drew himself together, closed his hands, and put them on the blanket in front of Charbonneau. The Frenchman gave them a sidelong glance. He shielded his eyes again and looked at me, to make sure I was watching.

  With a flourish, he put a thumb on the right hand. When it did not open, he pried it open with his big paws. In Red Hawk's hand he found the colored seed.

  Charbonneau heaved to his feet and stretched himself. His hairy face loomed through the smoke.

  Blue Sky took my arm. "I will be slow to give you up," she said, leading me away.

  Chapter Ten

  Charbonneau came to the lodge soon after dawn to take me away. Snow was falling and the wind blew, but Blue Sky made him wait at the door until we had eaten. When she let him in, he did not want to talk to her and asked for Black Moccasin.

  "He sleeps," Blue Sky said.

  "I wait," Charbonneau said.

  "Sometimes he sleeps all day."

  "I wait."

  "In the winter he sleeps sometimes for two days. What do you want of him'?"

  "That girl," he said, pointing at me.

  Last night he was angry when she took me away and he was angry now, though he spoke soft words.

  "Winter is here," she said. "Go trade with Le Borgne. Come back when the snows are gone. Then you can build a lodge and have a proper place to keep your wives."

  "Charbonneau trades," he said. "Charbonneau does not
build tipis or wigwams or wickiups or hogans. He go trade one village to another village. On river and far from river. He takes journeys. You see?"

  "I see," said Blue Sky. "That is why I tell you to come back when there are no more snows."

  His black eyes snapped. "Talk? Why talk? This girl she belong to Toussaint Charbonneau. This girl ... What is the name of this girl, anyway?"

  "Sacagawea.".

  "Sacagawea? What does this word mean?"

  "Bird Girl. Bird Woman."

  "Huh," Charbonneau grunted. "Bird Girl better. No like bird woman. Like bird girls."

  We were in the lodge, huddled at the fire. Black Moccasin came and sat down. Usually Blue Sky made decisions for the family. Black Moccasin was happy not to be bothered, but he did speak up now.

  "Enough, Charbonneau," he said. "Go. We will talk again when spring comes."

  Charbonneau stood over the old chieftain. He fingered his hunting knife. As long as I knew him, he always fingered it when he was angry. The old man gave back to him a sullen gaze.

  I did not want to marry Toussaint Charbonneau. He scared me. The locks of lank hair, the black beard, the tufts of black hair on his hands, the huge shoulders, the lumbering gait, always reminded me of a buffalo or a bear.

  I told this to Blue Sky on the day that Charbonneau came back from the villages far up the river.

  Soon afterward she said to him, "While you were gone we built a fine lodge for you and your wives. It is built of antelope skins and has two bearskins on the floor. It is big, big enough for a big family."

  "I do not wish the lodge. Charbonneau goes down river. He goes to great city, St. Louis. He trades with Sioux and Iowas, also Kickapoos. Charbonneau goes north also. He trades with Dakotas and Ojibways and Assiniboins. Charbonneau travels much. Charbonneau does not sit in lodge."

  "You don't need to sit," Blue Sky said. "You go south, north, in every direction, but this wife stays safe in the lodge while you are away. She will make a home for you in the village of Metaharta."

  He raised his hands above his head. He clutched his hair and pulled at it in a frenzy. "Charbonneau," he said, "do not wish to come home to wives. He wishes wives with him where he go."