Chapter 3

Somewhere outside of Four Corners, one month later

He slowly came to consciousness out of the depths of darkness. He did not want to awake, but there was an insistent pain in his back that would not let him fall back into the comforting darkness. He felt weak as a kitten and he hurt all over. Very cautiously he opened his eyes and his vision swam into focus. His head ached fiercely and the dim light within was something his green eyes had to adjust to. He tried to remember what he had been doing the night before, but everything was in haze. For some reason it was all a blank to him.

As he looked around only moving his eyes, because of the agonizing pain that came from his head, he noticed that he was lying on his back, looking up at a ceiling made of cloth. There were poles that met up in the middle, tied with rough rope, and feathers were hung ceremonially from them.

He turned his head slowly to the side, being careful not to create anymore pain than he already had, and came face to face with a woman of dark complexion and round brown eyes. Her long black hair was worn loosely around her shoulders, a headband, decorated with colorful symbols, holding it close to her head and an eagle feather sticking out of it. She looked to be of a tribal origin, but he knew there was more to her than he could even guess at. She was dressed in the buckskin of an Indian. Of what tribe, he could not differentiate.

As he looked at her more closely and focused more on his surroundings, he saw that she held in her hands a wooden bowl, which looked to be filled with some type of liquid. The woman took Chris head gently in her hands to raise him so that he could sit up and drink whatever was in the bowl.

As Chris did, sharp pains came from his head and his back. He grunted as he tried to double over, but the woman held on to him tightly, not letting go. Once the pain had subsided and his eyes cleared of the tears that developed because of his agony, he saw that the woman had raised the bowl with the liquid to his lips, inviting him to drink. Chris eyed her doubtfully, but slowly eased his mouth to the bowl, sipping it cautiously. The liquid burned as it went down, but it seemed to warm him up. Chris had not realized that he had felt so cold. Once he had finished off half of the bowl, the woman gently laid his head back onto the bear fur he was lying on.

As Chris took in more and more of the place he was in, he decided to look down. When he did, he noticed that he was totally naked under the blanket that covered him. He also saw that his chest was bandaged tightly and there was a large stain of blood on the white cloth. His head was bandaged also in some type of cloth, which when he felt it gently at it, had some kind of plant lying underneath it, over the cut on his forehead.

“You rest now”, came the woman’s sultry voice. “It will help you to sleep and ease some of the pain that you feel in your head and back.”

“Thank…ya. You speak…speak English?” asked Chris, his voice rough from lack of use.

“Yes. My father taught me. He wanted me to know the tongue of the white man so that I would be able to understand in case of treachery.”

Chris’ eyebrows arched in surprise. “Treachery? Don’t you mmm…mean, trading?”

“No. I mean treachery. You cannot know when an enemy will betray you unless you understand their language,” she said smiling gently at Chris.

Chris laughed, although it hurt like hell to his side and head to do so, but he could not help it. This woman was funny.

“It is good that you laugh. Laughter heals the body as well as the soul. Rest now. I will return.” She started to stand up to leave, but Chris quickly grabbed her hand.

“How l…long have…I been here?” he asked tentatively.

“Maybe close to one whole moon. It is now Oeneneeše'he, the Harvest Moon or what you call I think O…gest, I think, that is how you say it.”

“August.”

“Yes, that is it. When we found you, you were hurt. If we did not bring you, then I think your spirit would have, how you say, uh, . . .”

“You mean die?”

“Yes. That is the word. Die. You whites have such little words to mean very big and important things.”

He did not remember any of it and he did not know why. Surely, as badly as wounded as he seemed to be there should be some recollection in a month’s time. But he could not find it in his memory anywhere.

“You were sick in the head for several days. At first, we did not think you would live. We were going to bury you and your things where we found you so that the white men would not come looking for us. But a half moon ago, you start to get better and I told my father that we must make you well again.”

“I’d like to thank ya…for that. By the way, where is here? And who...who are we?”

“Here is here. It is where my people live. Not far from the, what you call, I think, box canyon, that we saw you. And, we are the people. White men call us Cheyenne.”

“Cheyenne. Ain’t ya…tribe a little off the beaten path?”

“We once lived in the Black Hills. But the white men, like you, drove us from what was always a part of the people. Now we roam the land, looking for our final place of peace.”

“You own…the land? Is this a reservation?”

“The people do not own the land. White man always talk of own. You own your children, you own your wives, you own your land. The people do not own anything. We live with it and on it, but no one can own the grass, the sky, the earth. That is why my people think Emasehanee’e.”

“Emash….”

“It means, “he is crazy”. That is what the people say about white men.”

“Oh.”

“I…I don’t know your name.”

“My name is Mapiya. In your language it means Sky.”

“M…Mapiya. Sky. That s…sounds very…nice,” Chris replied as his eyes got heavier. He was getting tired and although he wanted to know more, his body was not able to fight off the exhaustion he felt.

“What is your name?”

“M…my name?” Chris tried to think, but his head hurt so bad that even the slightest thought brought pain. His name was lost to him and so was everything else that made him who he was. He frowned at her, trying hard to produce a name from his memory, but none would come. It should bother him, but it did not and he did not know why.

Mapiya saw the look on his face and she gently laid his hand down to rest on his chest. She did not let go immediately, but caressed it tenderly and said, “Do not worry. It will come to you. For now just rest and know that you are safe. We will talk more in your language later.”

Chris could only nod, still with the thought of trying to remember who he was. He wondered if anyone would miss him or come looking for him. Tomorrow he would try to discover who he was or may have been, he thought, as sleep finally claimed his weakened body.

Mapiya glanced down at the sleeping white man. He was a strange one indeed. They had found him in the wilderness with an arrow stuck in his back and a bleeding forehead. There was no horse to be found and the only things they had of him were the clothes he had worn and his weapons.

When she and her father had come across him, they thought he was dead, as what usually happens to all white men that come to their land. But upon further examination, they found that he still breathed and moaned at the touch of his wounded body.

Over her father’s objections, Mapiya had helped her father to lay the stranger sideways on to one of their ponies to take him back to the village. It was her decision that they should help this man, be he of the people or not. She would not leave him to die. Her father, of course did not see it that way. He saw it as only trouble for the people. Mapiya told her father if they did what he wished, then they were no better than whites that had stolen their land. Her father looked at her with proud eyes as he saw his daughter was growing up to be a very wise woman as her mother was.

With strange white man secured on the other pony, Mapiya then mounted behind her father. They would ride double, pulling the other pony with the stranger behind them back to their village. It was long trek home, but Mapiya had confidence that they would make it and so would the man.

Upon arrival to the village, the white man that Mapiya and her father had brought shocked the people. Her father had explained to the people that Mapiya, being their wise woman had saw that this should be done. Although there were those would rather have killed the white man with the blonde hair, most of the village agreed to listen to their wise woman’s decision. All the while, Chris was oblivious to the decision of his fate by the people.

Now one moon later, after removing the arrowhead from this stranger, tending his wounds and his raging fever that racked his body for half of those days, Mapiya now stood watching over this white man. She felt a protective about him, and did not know why.

When he had first opened his eyes, she saw they were of a green-blue that fascinated her. She had never met someone with eyes the color of such a green. Only in the marble stones that they played with when they lived with the Navajo tribes. His hair was the color of the wheat fields that she had seen when she was young and his face was almost boyish as he slept through his illness.

This white man had initiated such fires within Mapiya’s heart that not even one of their prominent braves could do. There was just something about him that made her want to take care of him. Something about how sad he looked when he dreamed and his cries that rang out in the night during the time he was feverish. She just did know. All she knew was she wanted him.

Many braves had brought wealthy gifts for the honor of having her as their bride, but her father always refused, saying she was to be wise woman of the tribe and her price would not be common. Not only must her future husband be a man of wealth, but he also needed to be of such bravery that all among the tribe would know that he would be a leader of their people. A leader that would take them back to the ways of their ancestors and the life of hunting the buffalo again.

Her mother, a Ho'óhomo'e, Sioux of the Black Hills, had told her when she was a young girl that it was foretold that one day they would have their lives back as the way it should be and the buffalo would return home. Little did her mother know that she would not be able to see that vision come true. She died when Mapiya was of 11 winters old.

Her father, Aenohe, a Heévâhetane, Southern Cheyenne and a chieftain had bought her mother for six horses from the Sioux when they had traveled the tribe way up North to the Black Hills. That was a great price to pay for a wife, but she was the tribe’s wise woman and her father would not part with her so easily. It was there that he had met her mother and fell in love. It was there that her mother had fell in love with a young chieftain. Sadly, it was on their way back to their homeland, several years later when she died.

Mapiya missed her mother’s comfort and her mother’s love. It was hard to grow up without a mother to tell a young girl what should be done, even though she had the tribe’s women there always to give advise. But, it was not the same as a mother’s.

Mapiya turned to hear the flap of the tepee open and a tall elderly tribesman walked into the dimly lit place.

“Nâhtona (My daughter),” he said softly.

“Neho'eehe (My father),” replied Mapiya, bowing her head to her father.

“How goes things with the white man?” asked her father, Aenohe, sternly. He wished the white man to be better and gone from the people.

“Nea'háanéhe (He’s the one).” Mapiya’s eyes looked down at the sleeping stranger, her eyes glittering as she looked upon his face.

“That cannot be, Nâhtona. He is a white man.”

“But Neho'eehe. I can tell.”

“Nâhtona, you have much to learn. This will only bring trouble among the people.”

“But Neho'eehe. . .”

“No, Nâhtona.” Aenohe Nestoohe then turned quickly, opening the flap and walked out of the tepee.

Mapiya looked down at the strange white man again. She had heard her father’s words, but her heart spoke louder. She smiled and then followed her father outside the tepee.

Chapter 4

Four Corners, same day, evening

Vin was leaning against the post outside of the saloon. It was night and the town was peacefully quiet. To Vin, it was a blessing since he needed to be alone with his thoughts. He seemed to be getting antsy every day that past that Chris was not back. It took a long time for him to convince the others that they needed to go look for Chris. He had decided this morning that if the others were not going, he would leave anyway.

But he should have known better. They were just as antsy as he was to leave and search for their missing leader. It was only that they did not want Chris feel that they were trying to interfere in his life. But Vin knew that some interference was needed, whether welcomed or not.

It was over three months and there was so sign or word of Chris. Vin did not like it and over the past weeks had been steadily convincing the others that they should go look for him. It finally worked. They were leaving in the morning.

Vin had remembered that Chris had said before he left at the saloon, that he was headed for El Dorado in the Colorado Territory. They would start there. It would be a long trek, but to Vin it would be worth it to find the older man and give him the raking of his life for scaring them half to death.

In the past few weeks, Buck kept trying to talk them out of it, saying that if they found Chris alive and well that he would be madder than a jackass mule. But what everyone did not know was that Buck really did want to go look for Chris. It was just the fact that his last couple of actions concerning the very same type of situations had almost cost him Chris’ friendship, and although, they were not as close as they use to be, he considered Chris one of his best friends. In fact, he was like family, just like the others.

But as the days wore on, he started doubting his previous decision and he was beginning to wonder if he did the right thing. He finally decided that he could deal with Chris anger, but he could not deal with Chris’ death.

Nathan and Josiah during the last two weeks changed their mind about following Buck’s advice. They too thought that some terrible mishap had happened to Chris. Even in his vengeance, Chris would not forget about them for this long of time without some word.

JD was on Vin’s side from the beginning and wondered why they had not left sooner. He had several times tried to convince Buck that Vin was right, but of course, he thought that they just thought of him as a kid and he did not push his point with the others. Now he was happy that he did not have to and they would be leaving in the morning to find their friend.

Ezra openly made no opinion, but privately he missed their emaciated leader. There was none who would doggedly bother him about his morality on a day to day basis, and to him those types of banters he yearned for in the coldness of the world.

The Judge was just as concerned as the others, as he knew Chris Larabee would never forego is responsibility without notice. He knew Chris, although had a dark past, was still a man of deep morals.

Mary Travis even agreed with the boys’ decision. Her thoughts kept turning to the Jericho incident and she felt guilty that she had not persuaded the boys earlier to go after Chris at that time. She felt that if she had been more persistent that Chris would not have had to stay in that hellhole of a town for the amount of time that he did. She would not make that same mistake again, for the sake of Chris’ pride or anything else.

Vin turned as he heard several footsteps approach him the doorway of the saloon. He turned to find Buck and the others standing around him as if waiting for him to make his feelings known.

“So where do we start first?” was Buck’s comment to the Tracker.

“Well, Chris said he was goin’ up ta a town called El Dorado. It’s in the Colorado Territories. It’s where Chris was told that he could find Sam Basser.”

Sam Basser was the man Chris was told had information about his family’s murder. He had discovered the information while down in Purgatory looking into another lead.

“But we wired there and they said he left about around a month and a half ago,” piped in J.D.

“I know, J.D. But I’d figure we can take the same trial Chris did and maybe we can pick up his trail somewhere between here and there. Also, if Chris was on his way back, we might stumble across him or some signs of his passing any of those areas. It’s the only way I know how ta find him.”

“Colorado Territory?” questioned Josiah, thoughtfully.

“Ain’t that Indian country, Vin?” asked Nathan, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Yep. There some Cheyenne, Comanche, Arapaho, Navajo and I know of some Sioux tribes that have come down from the Black Hills in that area. Most of them leave people alone as long as people leave them alone. Don’t rightly know what we’d find, but we gotta take the chance.”

“Do ya think Chris’s in trouble or hurt?” came, J.D.’s statement as he walked around to face Vin.

“Don’t rightly know, J.D. But I know he’s alive and we can’t just leave ‘im out there ta die.”

“I pray that he is alive, Brother.”

“So do we have any indications as to the cause of the abstruse disappearance of our distinguished commander?” asked Ezra, slowly removing his gloves on his hands.

“What did he say?” asked Buck.

“I think he said Brother, if we have any idea what might’a happened ta Chris,” answered Josiah.

“Nope. But we aims ta find out,” came Vin’s soft drawl. Vin knew one way or the other he would definitely find out what happened to Chris. He would not think of doing anything else.

“Dang right, we are, Vin!”

“Buck, we don’t even know where he is?”

“Nathan, it don’t matter! We start lookin’!”

“Mr. Wilmington, may I suggest that we give our expert in the fine artistry of tracking full reign of this enigmatic dilemma?”

“Ezra, I wish you’d speak English!” exclaimed J.D.

“I did, my dear excitable young friend. I cannot help it that your vocabulary is so limited to the natives of these here parts.”

J.D. walks up to face Ezra, fire and frustration in his eyes, “That’s it! That’s it! Ezra, if ya don’t start speaking in a language I can understand, I’m gonna, . . .”

“Whoa, J.D.” intervened Buck, as he grabbed J.D. by his jacket collar and pulled him away from Ezra. “Calm down. We gotta stay focused here, boys. Vin, I think Ezra has a point. Since ya do have experience in this type of situation, I think you’d be the best candidate to lead this huntin’ party.”

All of the others nodded their heads in agreement. Vin was the best tracker around and he had more experience with the natives than anybody else among the group, with the exception of Josiah and Nathan with the Seminoles.

“Fine. We leave at sun up.”

“What about the town, Vin? We can’t just up and leave. What would the Judge say?”

He then stood up straight and looked at the others, pushing his hat further down onto his head. His long hair drifting ever so gently back, as a whiff of wind blew through the town’s street. “The Judge will just have ta understand, Nathan. Without Chris, this town wouldn’ be here t’all.”

“I’ll talk to the Judge,” volunteered Buck, his usual wide smile missing from his face. He knew even Mary Travis would not object to their going to look for Chris. “We can let ‘im know which towns we’ll stop in and if he needs us he can always have a wire sent. We can always send some of us back if we have ta.”

“A very astute decision, Mr. Wilmington.”

Buck then looked at everyone. “Then that’s it, boys. Let’s get saddled up in the mornin’ ta ride.” He then stepped off the boardwalk towards his room at the boarding house. He did not wait to see if the others followed suit. He knew that they would do what they had to do. The boys’ connection to Chris Larabee was strong, stronger than anyone thought possible. There was no way they were going to leave Chris Larabee out in the cruel world alone. They would either find him alive or bring back his body. Either way, they were not going to give up until they accomplished their mission. Chris Larabee was family to them, whether he knew it or not.

Chapter 5

Somewhere Outside of Four Corners, the next morning

Morning came quietly to the small village of the migrating Cheyenne. As soon as the sun was up, the people went about their daily lives. The women of the tribe started making breakfast for their families and although winter was still a long way off, their duties of preparing for it were not put off until later. The men of the tribe ate with their families and once done, it was time to go on hunting parties for food and other things that they might need for the winter. Even the children and the elderly had jobs to do, although they might be small and old. Everyone had a place in the village and everyone had responsibilities, except for the white stranger.

Mapiya had stepped into the tipi, carrying some stew in a small wooden. She knelt besides the white stranger and placed the bowl next to him. As she looked upon him, she felt her heart flutter lightly within his chest. This white stranger had captured her heart and soul. Unfortunately, he knew nothing of it and she did not voice her feelings to him. She had decided that she would wait until he was well and then she would express her feelings to him, although she did not know how it would be accepted. She knew this to be a bold move on her part, as most women in her tribe would never profess their feelings to any brave. It was not the way. But Mapiya was not a normal Cheyenne woman. She was a young wise woman and most of the people believed her to be special.

Mapiya broke out of her reverie and stared at the stranger. She gently pushed back a strand of blonde hair that had fallen over his face. As she accidentally brushed against his face in the process, her hand tingled with electricity and excitement. How could she be so bold as to touch this man? He was not of the people nor was he like the white men she had seen before. He was different. Maybe there was something that they both shared a special power that had made fate somehow bring them to this meeting. She did not know, but she would find out whether this was to be or not.

Without warning, Chris stirred slightly from his deep healing sleep, catching Mapiya off guard. She watched as eyes under closed lids started moving and she knew he was awakening. Slowly, the lids opened and two green eyes tried to focus on her. She waited patiently, knowing he would speak as soon as he realized his surroundings.

Chris focused his eyes, although his head hurt less today, it was still an effort to do so. He stared as a young woman’s face finally cleared into view and smiled. Mapiya. He coughed once, trying to clear his throat and tried to sit up. Mapiya’s hands came to lay upon his chest, pushing back down on the fur pallet.

“You should not,” she said shaking her head to emphasize her words. She then reached over for a small wooden cup, which held a liquid, lifted Chris’ head delicately and slowly brought the cup to Chris’ mouth. Chris drank greedily as he felt his throat and body so dry and parched from his illness. Once he had enough, he slowly took his hand and gently grabbed Mapiya wrist holding the cup to let her know that he had enough. Mapiya nodded and then she gently laid Chris’ head back onto the pallet, while her other hand placed the cup not far from Chris’ reach.

“Thank you, Mapiya. “

“You are thanked.”

“I think you mean, welcomed. How long have I been asleep this. . . time?”

“You have slept since sun down. We fear that you would not wake up soon.”

Chris looked at her now with startled eyes. He saw worry there and did not know what he had done that would put such concern in the young woman’s eyes.

“Why? What’s wrong?” his voice harsh from misuse.

“There is no wrong, now that you are awake,” she said, smiling at him. “You are strong every day and soon you will leave your sick héstoomôtse.”

“I don’t understand,” said Chris confused.

Mapiya padded the fur pallet.

“Oh. You mean bed.”

“Yes. That is the word. B-bed.”

“Well, at least that’s good ta hear. Thought I’d be lying here too long that I might get sores,” said Chris now smiling also.

“S…ss.sores? What are sores?”

“Cuts. Wounds,” explained Chris.

Mapiya nodded that she understood.

“You still do not know your name, true?”

Chris frowned at the comment. No, he still did not know his name and it bothered him. Who was he? Did he have friends or family? Where was he from? He sighed in frustration and anger.

“No. Not yet it seems.” He was disappointed and saddened by this fact because he desperately needed to know.

Mapiya looked at the stranger with concern. She wanted to know who this stranger was and what was his name. To the people, a person’s name was very important. It described to those who they met what kind of person they were, what were their beliefs, and morals, even their personality. The people did not name a child on a whim. It took great care and much painstaking deciding among the parents and the tribe. She did not know if white men took such care in their naming, but without a name a person was without a home and without a people. She felt sympathy for this man. She could not think of being without a name, without a people, without a home.

But just then a thought came to her. There was a way to temporarily solve the man’s current problem that was a tradition of her people. It was possible to give a non-Cheyenne a Cheyenne name. In the culture of the people, a person name changes as they go throughout life. Her current name was Mapiya, but when she reached a certain maturity or took the rites of becoming a real wise woman, her name would change based upon the Elders decisions. Her people could give the man a name so that he would not be nameless and without a people or a home. And when, and if, he should remember his true name, he could always use both. It was not unheard of among them. In this way, she could somewhat ease his pain of lost and give him something to belong to. But she had ask him first. As one of the people, she would not dare approach her people on such an important matter without his consent. He would have to agree.

Excited, Mapiya went about planning how to approach him with it. But she then realized her first concern at this moment was getting him fed and then to the sweat lodge in order to rid the illness from his body. She pushed the thought aside for the moment and turned her thoughts back to the stranger.

She said, “It is good that we work to make you well again. There will be men of my people coming in a little time to take you to our what you call, . . . émaome, ah, . . . hot, no, what do you call the water that drips from the body, . . .”

“Sweat.”

“Yes. Yes. Sweat house. No, no. That not right. Your tongue sometimes is h..ard.”

“You mean sweat lodge?” Chris remembered that someone had told him about it once before. But he could not for the life of him remember whom. A picture flashed in his head of a young man with long hair wearing buckskins. Now where did that come? But as quickly as it came, it was gone again. He turned his attention back to Mapiya.

“Yes. They will take to sweat lodge to make better.”

Chris could only nod tiredly. In his weakened condition, he did not know if he could stand being in a sweat lodge. He mentioned this fact to Mapiya, but she told him that it helps to make people better and she knew it would help him. The healer of the tribe had prescribed the sweat and Mapiya believed in the healer as much as anyone of the people. Chris reluctantly agreed, although he did not know what difference it would make.

“Do you wish to eat?”

Chris thought about it. He was hungry. He did not know how long he had last had anything in his stomach. As he smelled the aroma of the stew, his stomach growled in want.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let me help you to sit,” said Mapiya, walking over to the corner and bringing over a buffalo hide. She rolled it up and placed it to the side. She then very cautiously put her hands around Chris’ neck and back and helped him to a slightly sitting position. She then quickly placed the buffalo hide behind his back and then laid Chris back down on the hide. The hide helped Chris to sit up at a semi-reclined position. Once she thought him settled and she saw that his face was no more framed with pain, she gathered up the bowl of stew and with her fingers, she picked up some it to feed him.

Chris shook his head and glared at her. “I can feed myself.”

Mapiya only glared back. “You are being. . . Étóvahe.”

Although Chris did not know Mapiya’s language, he knew what she said.

“I may be stubborn, but I can still feed myself, if I can’t do anythin’ else.”

Mapiya did not let it dissuade her. She picked up some more of the stew, putting it near Chris’ mouth and simply said, “Méseestse!”

Chris looked at her incredulously. This woman had a fire in her. She could not scared or intimidate easily. He liked that and instead of objecting again, he took the food from her fingers.

Mapiya smiled at him as he did. He would make someone a good husband. She had hoped it would be her, but she did not know if that would be possible in their current situation. But she could hope.

Chris ate hungrily as Mapiya fed him the stew. Once in a while he would look up from his chewing to see her gazing at him. She had a look in her eyes that he could almost understand what it was he was seeing, but then it was quickly changed as soon as she noticed he was looking.

Once he had enough, motioned for her to stop. She acquiesced and then rested the partly empty bowl to the side. She noticed that Chris eyes were lowering and she knew he would rest. When he woke again he would be taken to the sweat lodge to cure his illness. Then he would have to rest again. She had only known this man for a little time, but in that time she knew that being an invalid chaffed him tremendously. But she also knew in the end, it would be worth it. He would be well again and able to do the things he wished to.

Chris felt his body tiring. He was as weak as a newborn. He could not keep his eyes open any longer. As they started slowly closing he had one last glance at Mapiya. That look was back in her eyes again. He was curious, but he was too tired to try and determine what it meant. He fell into a fitful sleep quickly.

TBC