“He was deceived as we were,” Raven On The Ground said.
“He speaks the white tongue. He should have suspected the whites lied.”
“We did not suspect.”
“You are fond of him. If you were not, you would be as upset as we are that he got us into this.”
Raven On The Ground looked at the others.
“I understand that he was tricked,” Flute Girl said. “But I agree with Lavender. This is partly his fault.”
Spotted Fawn said, “I should not hold it against him, but I do.”
Raven On The Ground withdrew into herself. She cared about Chases Rabbits, cared about him a great deal. He was awkward and unsure of himself at times, but some men matured faster than others. As one of the few Apsaalooke who knew the white language, he stood to rise in prominence, and as much as she liked him, she liked even more the thought of being the wife of a prominent warrior. She became aware that Flute Girl was speaking to her.
“…to escape? If we break down the door they will hear us.”
“We have lamps,” Raven On The Ground said. “We will light one and throw it against the door. It will set the door on fire and burn a hole big enough for us to get away.”
“But the whites will see the flames and the smoke and be waiting to stop us,” Lavender said.
“Then we will throw it against the back wall,” Raven On The Ground proposed. “They will not notice the flames until it is too late.”
“But the smoke,” Flute Girl said. “We won’t be able to breathe.”
“We will if we lie on the wood under our feet. The smoke will rise and we will be able to breathe. As soon as enough of the wall has burned, we will run off into the hills.”
“Without our horses?” Spotted Fawn said.
“We will come back for them with our warriors. I want to see the whites punished for their insult.”
“It is too dangerous,” Flute Girl said. “The fire might spread too fast and we will be burned.”
“I would rather be dead than let a man I do not know or like take me,” Raven On The Ground said.
“As would I,” Lavender concurred.
“We are agreed, then?” Raven On The Ground said. “We might as well do it right away. By now the sun has gone down and we can lose ourselves in the dark.”
“If you say so,” Spotted Fawn said dubiously.
Raven On The Ground rose and went into the cramped space the whites insisted she sleep in and brought out the lamp. The whites had shown them how to light it. They used little sticks called lucifers that came in a small box. She didn’t like them. They made a loud noise when they were struck and gave off an unpleasant odor.
Raven On The Ground squatted at the back wall. She raised the glass, swiped the lucifer, and held her breath at the stink. Quickly, she held the lucifer to the wick until it caught. She let go of the lucifer and took a few steps back.
“I hope this works,” Flute Girl said.
Raising the lamp over her head, Raven On The Ground hurled it at the wall. It hit with a loud crash and there was a sizzle of spreading flames as the bowl broke and the liquid in the bowl splashed across the wall. Whale oil, the whites called it. Shattered pieces of glass fell to the floor.
Raven On The Ground retreated. The flames spread rapidly. Already thick coils of smoke writhed toward her.
“This was a mistake,” Spotted Fawn said.
“Stay calm.”
“I do not want to be burned alive.”
“We won’t be,” Raven On The Ground assured her. “Just do as I do.” She tried to sound confident, but she was having doubts. The flames leaped and grew at an alarming rate, licking at the ceiling and the floor. The wood, mostly pine, caught remarkably fast.
Coughing from the smoke, Raven On The Ground backed up farther. The others clustered close to her, their worry apparent.
“If I die today, tell my mother and father I loved them,” Spotted Fawn said.
The ceiling was on fire. The writhing coils had become a cloud, and the crackling and hissing of the flames was ominous.
“What if the back wall doesn’t burn through before the fire reaches us?” Flute Girl brought up.
Raven On The Ground refused to consider the possibility. “It will.” She realized an oversight on her part. “Quick. We need blankets.” She ran into her living space and yanked the top blanket off the frame. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she came back out and was instantly engulfed in smoke.
The crackling was a roar.
“Raven On The Ground? Where are you?” Spotted Fawn called out.
A groping hand found Raven On The Ground’s arm. “I am here!” she shouted so all of them could come to the sound of her voice. “Be ready.” The smoke was so thick that she could hardly see the flames. The heat was unbearable. She backed farther away and bumped into someone.
“I told you this was a mistake,” Spotted Fawn said.
All of them were coughing. Raven On The Ground covered her mouth and nose with the blanket. She peered into the smoke, trying to tell if the back wall had burned enough for them to get through.
Suddenly there was a rush of air and harsh bellows. She recognized the voice of Dryfus. She turned. The air had moved the smoke enough so that she could see the open front door and Dryfus standing in the doorway, astounded. His yells were bound to bring the others.
Geist would be furious. She glanced at the back wall again and shouted to her friends, “Out the front instead. Lavender, it will be up to you.”
“I understand.”
Bundled in their blankets, they dashed out. Dryfus stepped aside and made threatening gestures, as if he would strike them.
Raven On The Ground breathed the precious, clear air deeply and shouted, “Do it!”
Lavender swept her knife out from under her blanket and stabbed Dryfus. He clutched at himself and staggered. His rifle clattered to the ground and he dropped to his knees.
Raven On The Ground snatched up the rifle. Lavender raised her knife to stab Dryfus again, but a yell from the trading post gave her pause.
Gratt and Berber were coming.
“Run!” Raven On The Ground cast off her blanket and bolted around the corner. She took for granted that the others would follow. “Hurry!” she cried, and flew into the night.
Behind them the flames roared.
Chapter Seventeen
Nate King was adrift in dreamless sleep when the pounding woke him. He sat up with a start. Years ago hostiles had attacked his uncle’s cabin and slain his uncle, and it was a secret fear of his that one day hostiles might try to do the same to him and his loved ones. His hand went to the small table beside the bed, groping for his pistols.
The pounding continued.
“Go see who is at our door, husband,” Winona said sleepily, her body a vague outline in the dark of their bedroom.
“Better not be hostiles,” Nate muttered.
“I doubt they would knock.”
Nate got up and tugged on his buckskin britches. In his bare feet he padded out into the front room and over to the door.
“Who’s out there?”
“It’s me.”
“Louisa?” Nate quickly threw the bolt and opened the door. She was in a dress and shawl. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” Nate sheepishly moved aside, then peered out. There was just her horse, a few yards away. He thought maybe his son’s cabin had been attacked. “Where’s Zach?”
“That’s what I came to talk to you about.” Louisa bit her lower lip. “I’m a little worried.”
Light flared. Winona, in the blue cotton robe Nate had ordered for her at Bent’s Fort, was lighting a lamp. “Have a seat,” she said in her calm manner, “and tell us what is the matter.”
Nate never ceased to marvel at how well she spoke English. Far better than he spoke Shoshone. She had a knack for languages. He had to struggle.