Winter on the Belle Fourche

"Certain rules will apply," she said. "I suppose we are confined here for the moment, though I trust the Lord will release us from adversity in good time."

She sat very close to the fire. The warmth never seemed enough. The cold came in and sought her out. The man continued to squat against the wall. It didn't seem possible that he could sit in this manner for long hours at a time. Only the blue eyes flecked with gray assured her he had not turned to stone. He was younger than she'd imagined, perhaps only a few years older than herself. His shocking red hair and thick unkempt beard masked his face; hard and weathered features helped little in determining his age.

"You will respect my privacy," she said, "and I shall certainly respect yours. There will be specific places in this room where you are not to venture. Now. I wish to say in all fairness that I believe you very likely saved my life. I am not ungrateful for that."

"Yes'm," Johnston said.

"My name is Mistress Dickinson. Mistress Emily Elizabeth Dickinson to be complete, though I caution you very strongly, Mr. Johnston, that while circumstances have thrown us together, you will not take the liberty of using my Christian name.

"Already knew who you was," Johnston said.

Emily was startled, struck with sudden fear. "Why, that is not possible. How could you know that?"

"Saw yer name when I went through yer belongin's," Johnston said.

"How dare you, sir!"

"Didn't mean to pry. Thought you was goin' to pass on 'fore the morning. Figured I ought git yer buryin' name."

"Oh." Emily was taken aback. Her hand came up to touch her heart. "I... see. Yes. Well, then..."

Johnston seemed to squint his eyes in thought. For the first time, she detected some expression in his face.

"Ma'am, there's somethin' I got to say," Johnston said. "Them soldiers you was with. I reckon you know they're all three of 'em dead."

"I... guessed as much." Emily trembled at the thought. "I have prayed for their souls. Our Lord will treat them kindly."

"Some better'n them Sioux did, I reckon."

"Do not take light of the Lord, Mr. Johnston. He does not take light of you."

Johnston studied her closely again. "Jes' what was you an' them fellers doin' up here, you don't mind me askin'."

Emily paused. She had kept this horror repressed; now, she found herself eager to bring it out. Even telling it to Johnston might help it go away.

"Captain William A. Ramsey of Vermont was kind enough to ask me to accompany him and his troopers on a ride," Emily said. "There were twelve men in all when we started. The day was quite nice, not overly cold at all. We left Fort Laramie with the intention of riding along the North Platte River a few miles. A storm arose quite quickly. I believe there was some confusion about direction. When the storm passed by, we found ourselves under attack, much to everyone's alarm. Several men were killed outright. It was... quite terrifying."

"Cheyenne, most likely," Johnston said, as if the rest was quite clear. "They kept drivin' you away from the fort. Gittin' between you an' any help."

"Yes. That is what occurred."

"Pocahontas an' John Smith!" Johnston shook his head. "Yer lucky to be alive whether you know that or not."

"The men were very brave," Emily said. "We lost the Indians the third day out, I believe. By then there were only three men left and myself. Whether the others were cruelly slain or simply lost in the cold, I cannot say. We could not turn back. I think we rode for six days. There was almost nothing to eat. One of the colored troopers killed a hare, but that was all."

"You got rid of the Cheyenne an' run smack into the Sioux," Johnston finished.

"Yes. That is correct."

Johnston ran a hand through his beard. "You don't mind me sayin', this end of the country ain't a fit sort of place fer a woman like yerself."

Emily met his eyes. "I don't see that is any concern of yours."

Johnston didn't answer. She found the silence uncomfortable between them. Perhaps he didn't really mean to pry.

"Mr. Johnston," she said, "I have lived all my life in Amherst, Massachusetts. I am twenty-five years old and my whole life to now has passed in virtually one place. I have been as far as Washington and Philadelphia. I had no idea what the rest of God's world was like. I decided to go and see for myself."

"Well, I reckon that's what ye did."

"And yes. I confess that you are right. It was a foolish thing to do. I had no idea it would be like this. In my innocence, the Oregon Trail seemed a chance to view wildlife and other natural sights. Soon after departing Independence, I sensed that I was wrong. Now I am paying for my sins."

"I'd guess yer folks ain't got a idea where you are," Johnston said, thinking rightly this was so.

"No, they do not. I am certain they believe I am dead. I only pray they think I perished somewhere in the New England states."

"You ain't perished yet," Johnston said.

"I fear that is only a question of time," Emily sighed.

This time he was waiting, fully awake and outside, hunched silently in a dark grove of trees. It was well after midnight, maybe one or two. There was no wind at all and the clouds moved swiftly across the land. He thought about the woman. Damned if she wasn't just like he figured, white in near every way there was, stubborn and full of her own will. It irked him to think she was stuck right to him and no blamed way to shake her loose. There wasn't any place to take her except back to Fort Laramie or on to Fort Pierre, and either way with one horse. He thought about White Eye Anderson and Del Gue and Chris Lapp, and old John Hatcher himself, seeing him drag in with this woman on a string. Why, they'd ride him for the rest of his life.

The shadow moved, and when it did Johnston spotted it at once. He waited. In a moment, a second shadow appeared, directly behind the first. He knew he'd been right the night before. How many, he wondered. All six or just two? What most likely happened was the Crow ran back toward the Powder, then got their courage up when the Sioux were out of mind. One was maybe smarter than the rest and found his trail. Which meant there was one red coon somewhere with a nose near as good as his own. Now that was a chile he'd like to meet. Johnston sniffed the world once more and started wide around the trees.