“From my father. He was a Scot who came to the Blue Mountains to trap and met my mother.”

“Oh.” That explained his curious accent and the way he rolled his r’s. I had more questions now. Maybe one more. “What does Kaya mean?”

“Hawk. Go to sleep.”

Chapter Seven

I was prodded awake the following morning by someone, a soft moccasin prod. I rolled over and tried to go on sleeping, but the prod continued until I sat up. His Heart Is Brave walked away, his duty done. I wondered if his daughter liked to be prodded awake.

I closed my eyes again and opened them slowly, hoping that when I looked around, I would be back in my own bedroom in Omaha, and the whole episode a silly nightmare brought on by too much ginger fizz. No luck. I was still somewhere in Yellowstone Park, surrounded by men in war paint. My only consolation was that some of them didn’t look like early risers, either.

I tried to stand up, rethought the matter for a moment, then gritted my teeth and stood, my body one enormous ache. If I thought my muscles were sore last night, they were screaming now. I felt faint and wanted to sit down, but that would only mean I would have to stand up again. Nope.

My faithful nag was saddled and waiting for me, looking truly repentant in the half-light of dawn, his head hanging down. I am certain if he could have talked, he would have begged my forgiveness for yesterday’s folly. He whinnied and tried to nuzzle me as I hobbled to him, but I was in no mood to be jollied by such a deceiving hunk of dogmeat.

As I contemplated climbing up, a rider came tearing down the trail we had covered the day before, silent and swinging a red blanket in circles. The others leaped on their horses with an agility I could only envy.

Kaya – I will call him Hawk – was already in the saddle. “Come on, Liz. We must ride.”

I shook my head. “Leave me here, won’t you?” I hoped he would. If the soldiers and their Indian scouts were coming at us, I figured I could remain behind and this whole adventure would be done. I could be back catching trout with Father.

Hawk shook his head. “We can’t do that.”

“And pray why not?” I didn’t mean to whine, but there you are.

He leaned over until he was nearly in my face. “The scouts will reach you first and you will die. If you are lucky.”

That hardly seemed logical and so I told him. Hawk narrowed his eyes, dismounted and started toward me. I backed away. If he thought I was going to let him toss me onto that saddle and jostle about for another day, he was sadly mistaken. I would take my chances with the Indian scouts.

The Nimiipuu were already heading north at a gallop. Several of them looked back at Hawk and laughed, which didn’t do much for his disposition. “Look!” he shouted. “I’m responsible for you!”