appear to be friends or even to know each other. Instead there was an atmosphere of distrust.
Shining Rifle’s tall stature and clean-cut features held no resemblance to the other Indians. Clarinda wondered if they were from different tribes. She found her thoughts were constantly muddled and confused.
Early on the morning after Polly’s disappearance the remaining Indians held a parley. To Clarinda it sounded like they could not agree on which direction to travel. After a time they split up into two groups. One group took two of the women, one named Robinson, the other Clarinda did not know.
Four Indians and Shining Rifle took Clarinda, Elizabeth Young, and Susie Baker. They took two horses, a roan and the gray mare. By this time the women knew to do as they were told. They could interpret the signals and gestures the Indians used to direct them. Shining Rifle did not speak or acknowledge them in any way, but after the others were gone, he led the gray mare at a slower pace and stopped more often to rest.
The Indians seemed less hostile now. One brave killed a deer with his bow. That night they had fresh meat. The Indians carried salt in small leather pouches. The venison was cut in strips, rolled in salt and slow cooked over the fire. It tasted delicious.
Back on the trail, Clarinda realized they had ceased their circular travel and were moving steadily toward the east. The mountains were getting higher, and the going more rugged and rough. She studied the position of the stars in the night sky and took note of where the sun and moon rose and set. She felt certain she could find her way home.
Elizabeth’s movements were still trance-like. The poor woman trudged along woodenly, doing what she was told. In a whispered conference one night the women made an agreement to do whatever the Indians expected of them, hoping their lives might be spared.
Clarinda suggested it would be wise for them to help out whenever they could and make the best of this dreadful situation. In so doing, they might gain the Indian’s trust.
The long march ended for that day when the Indians found a clear stream to camp by. Clarinda began gathering sticks for the fire and the other women followed her lead.
Shining Rifle appeared to be more in charge now, though he seldom spoke. He took on the duty of making the campfires. Clarinda watched as he carefully placed the larger sticks that she had brought in a crude cross. He filled in around the sticks with leaves, grass and small bits of wood. The mound resembled an altar.
When the wood was ready, Shining Rifle sat back on his heels and held his arms and hands together in the manner of a prayer. He lifted his head, leaning back, so his face was turned to the sky. After a few moments, he went back to igniting the fire using the flint from his war bundle.
Clarinda thought this ritual must be a tribal custom but didn’t know from what tribe. The other braves took no interest in the proceeding and continued staking out the horses.
At dusk Clarinda picked up two gourds and a metal pot that dangled from the backpack the gray mare carried. She walked slow, making no sudden moves on her way to the river. Kneeling by the water’s edge, she scoured the metal pot with sand, then paused for a moment to listen. The sounds of the forest had quieted and she sensed another’s presence.
Shining Rifle’s voice startled her. His movements through the thick, knee-high grass had made no sound. He spoke in a gentle tone, tempered so as not to cause her alarm. “Don’t be frightened away like the fawn, you’re safe with me. I intend you no harm. What are you called?”
Frightened, yet reassured by his words, she stammered “Clarinda.”
“Clarinda.” he let the name roll slowly over his tongue, tasting the syllables. “It sounds like music.”
She gasped in astonishment. “You know about music?”
He stood silent, watching the ripples on the water. He seemed to be deciding if he should say anything more.
“My mother was French,” he said. “It is many seasons now since her spirit left this world. You are much like her.”
“I am? How strange,” Clarinda was flabbergasted. “I mean, how is that so?” She could not imagine herself being like a French girl who had borne an Indian child. “Was she pretty?” Clarinda looked up at the Indian, thinking even as she spoke, what a foolish question to ask. He was so close she could smell the oil on his skin. It was not a bad smell, but pungent, like spice.
“Much pretty, Clarinda. I can make no more talk here.”
She nodded, trying to understand, her thoughts racing.
Now she knew for sure Shining Rifle was different from the rest of the Indians. He was a half-breed. A magnetic force flowed around him. She could feel it. She also felt she had to keep his secret, at least for now. His tall form melted into the shadows. Clarinda carried the water back to the campfire. Tonight she would have so much to think on.
Elizabeth and Susie sat together near the fire. Clarinda handed Elizabeth a gourd full of the clear water. Elizabeth drank gratefully, then watched uninterested as Clarinda worked at some camping chores. Susie was silent, staring into the fire.
The next day Elizabeth ventured out to gather sticks to burn. Clarinda touched her arm and smiled. “It is good for you to help.” For a moment Elizabeth’s eyes shined, seeming to come to life.
“Maybe she’ll get better if we help her,” Susie Baker said.
Clarinda was so glad Susie was feeling better that she hugged her.
“We will help each other, we must find a way to go home,” Clarinda said. She looked around in every direction, then whispered “We have to be brave.”
The Indians held their course, and continued moving east. Clarinda could see high mountains, where a blue mist hung in the air like smoke. She remembered them on her journey into Kentucky. To the north must be the dreaded Ohio Territory.
“Dear God, please don’t let them take us into Ohio,” she prayed as she walked.
By afternoon they had reached what appeared to be their destination. It was an encampment in a small clearing. The Indians who took the other two women were already there, and acted relieved to see Shining Rifle and the rest of the braves.
Clarinda, Susie and Elizabeth were glad to see the woman named Robinson and the other girl were alive.
The Indians spent most of that night dancing around a huge bonfire. They had been waiting for Shining Rifle’s band. There were no Indian women in sight.
The camp consisted of a few deerskin-covered teepees and a circular pen for the horses. The women were assigned a teepee. Since reaching the mountains, the cold air cut through their tattered clothing. They were grateful for the shelter and welcomed the privacy the teepee offered them.
The first few days at the camp passed quickly. The women busied themselves bathing and washing what was left of their garments. Taking turns, they helped each other. The naked ones stayed inside the teepee while the others fetched the clothes when they were dry. They discarded what little was left of their shoes.
Every morning Clarinda found a round stone to place against the inside wall of the teepee. This provided them a way to count the days and have some understanding of the passage of time. They had no idea how long they had been on the trail.
They found a pile of clothing outside their flap one morning. Delighted, they sorted out things they each could wear. It was the plunder from Morgan’s Station. Their pleasure was bittersweet. Clutching the chosen items, they scurried back into the seclusion of their tent. With dry eyes they held the clothing close and thought about home, each remembering in her own way.
Clarinda threw her arms about Susie Baker. She had seen Polly wear the blue cotton dress she had chosen. Susie held her tight for a time, then motioned for her to put it on. The girl known now to them as Jenny chose Nancy Allington’s favorite red frock.
Like butterflies emerging from cocoons they crawled out into the sunlight. It felt good to be clean and well clothed. Their spirits