Where the Lost Wander: A Novel(26)

“I won’t be anyone’s representative. I will relay your words. I will listen. And I will tell you what is said.”

“I’ll send a load of flour and corn behind you. Charlie here will show you the way. Remind them there will be more if they go north.”

“Will there be?”

Captain Dempsey sighs, but he nods. “There will as long as I’m in charge.”

Without being told, Charlie heaves Dame’s saddle back in place, tightening the cinch and patting her nose. He looks at me expectantly, and I step forward to take the reins.

“You can leave the rest of your animals here,” Dempsey says. “We’ll keep an eye on them. Report back, Lowry. Tonight. I’ll send the wagon with the corn and flour within the hour.”

Charlie opens the gate to let me out, and after swinging it closed and dropping the bolt back in place, he starts to run, obviously expecting me to follow. I do, digging my heels into Dame’s sides and trailing after the fleet-footed boy in surprise. I call after him, asking him in Pawnee if he is going to run all the way. He laughs, picking up speed, and for a while I simply keep pace beside him, letting Dame canter.

“Do you run to the fort every day?” I ask.

He nods, his eyes ahead, his stride long and easy. He continues this way for a couple of miles, the river to our right, an endless rolling prairie to our left. He takes me across the tufted swales, up one low rise and down another, until I can’t stand it any longer and pull up short. Charlie slows to a stop too, his hands on his hips, his gaze quizzical.

“Your turn,” I say. He is hardly winded, but his eyes widen at my command.

“Oh, no. No, Mr. Lowry.” He shakes his head, adamant. “We don’t have much farther to go.”

“Good. You ride. I will run.”

“You will run?” he squeaks. His teeth flash in his brown face, and I grin back.

“I used to run just like you, all the way back to my mother’s village. You think I can’t?”

“You are wearing boots. You will be slow.”

I slide off Dame and hand him the reins, but he is still reluctant.

“This way, your village will know that I am a friend,” I insist.

He doesn’t look convinced, but his desire to ride my horse is too great, and he scrambles up on her back. He flaps his legs and yips like he has spotted a buffalo herd. Dame bolts, and Charlie whoops, leaving me behind without a backward glance. I break into a dead run that isn’t nearly as easy or fast as the one I relieved him from. It has been a while since I used my own two legs to travel any sort of distance, and my limbs protest, stiff from days in the saddle and nights stretched out on the hard ground. I pray Dame doesn’t step in a hole and break her leg. The homes of the prairie dogs dot the expanse, and I keep my eyes on the ground so I don’t step in one myself. I continue to cover the ground as fast as I dare, trusting that Charlie will return, hoping the village is not as far as I fear.

Minutes later, Charlie comes back, still kicking up dust. He circles me in celebration, his arms raised, his face wreathed in triumph. He is a fine horseman for a man with no horse. He points at a suggestion of lodges in the distance, and for the final stretch, he trots along beside me, enjoying his ride.

I expect flurry and interest when we enter the village, but no one seems to notice we’ve arrived. A sheep bleats, and a few children chase it, stopping briefly to stare at me before resuming their game. The village feels empty, occupied only by the dogs, the sheep, and the handful of children. The corrals are empty too, not a single Indian pony anywhere, and I wonder if Charlie runs every day because there is literally nothing for him to ride. Several brush huts are burned to the ground, the blackened grass around them the only indication of where they stood. The earthen lodges have fared better, and they circle a big center lodge, where I know the men gather, talk, and pass the pipe. It is something I’ve never done.

“Where is everyone?” I ask Charlie.

“Many are still at the fort. The warriors are gone. They’ve gone to fight the Sioux and recover our horses and cattle.” His voice is glum, like he doesn’t believe it will happen. Or maybe he fears they won’t return.

“Then why am I here?” I mutter. “Who will I talk to?”

“The brothers are here. You can talk to them,” Charlie reassures me.

“The brothers?”

“They do not run anymore. They don’t even ride. They sleep, and they eat, and they pass the pipe. When the Sioux came, they did not even leave their lodge. They say they are ready to die. But for some reason they never do.” He shrugs.

“How many brothers?”

“Three. They are the oldest men in our village—maybe the oldest of all the Pawnee. So old they have outlived their sons and their daughters. My uncle, Chief Dog Tooth, is the grandson of one of the brothers.”

“Is he a good chief?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie says slowly. “What is a good chief?”

I’m not sure I know the answer either and remain silent, following Charlie toward the big lodge. He ducks through the door, telling me to wait, and I can hear the murmur of voices, though I can’t make out the conversation. After a moment, two women scurry out, their eyes darting from me to the ground, and I am ushered inside. It is dark inside and warm, and though it is only midday, a fire burns, the smoke rising up toward the hole above the center pit.