From time to time he would-for how long he did not into the twilight edges of sleep, but he was constantly waking with eyes to some new entertainment, the latest of which was a dizzying series of moments from his boyhood, when he perceived the soft tones of a girl's voice whispering, "Grandfather." In his mind he could see her soft, unwrinkled lips moving as the word was formed.
The whispering would stop for a few seconds before the word came again, tunneling into his head like a call from afar.
When in addition to hearing the whisper he imagined he might be smelling the speaker's breath, Ten Bears suspected he might actually be awake. His eyes fluttered and opened. A form was in front of him. It was opaque and, because he was lying on his side, he could not tell if it was that of a man or a woman, but it seemed as if someone must be in the lodge with him.
"Grandfather?"
It was the same voice, and now Ten Bears was sure it belonged to a girl. With a grunt of acknowledgment, he pushed himself up on an elbow, at the same time opening the bony hand that clutched his spectacles.
Fumbling with the arms of the frame, he slipped the miraculous things onto his nose and the luminous eyes of his granddaughter stared down at him.
"Grandfather?"
"Hunting For Something."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm having difficulty sleeping tonight."
"I won't disturb you, then. . "
"No, no," the old man said, waving off the notion with his free hand. "I'm fine. Stay awhile. Spread your robe and lie down and we will talk. I'm tired of trying to sleep."
Hunting For Something did as he suggested. She laid the robe down like a blanket, stretched out, and, in imitation of her grandfather across the fire, propped herself on an elbow They looked like bookends.
"You like the cool air?" he asked.
"Yes. . Are you going to that Washington?"
“Yes."
"Aren't you afraid they will kill you?"
"Noooo," Ten Bears laughed, "I'm to be a guest. I don't think even the whites kill their guests: I've never heard that they do that. Are you afraid for me, Granddaughter?"
"Maybe I should go with you," she said. "I could take care of you.” "I think I'll have plenty of help. Kicking Bird is coming. I think Touch The Clouds is, too. And some Cheyenne and Arapaho men.” "Will they make your pemmican?" she asked slyly.
"No," Ten Bears replied, laughing again, "but you can make up some for me to take."
Hunting For Something's affection for her grandfather was apart from what she felt for anything else. It was purer, and, with the simplicity of a lover, she nodded at him dreamily. She would do anything for her grandfather.
"When that's gone," Ten Bears continued jovially, "I guess I'll be at the mercy of white man food." Ten Bears raised his eyes in a comic, knowing way. "Whatever that is."
As they laughed together, Hunting For Something blurted out, "I would be afraid to eat white man food."
"I'm curious about it," Ten Bears said, smoothly shifting tone. "It's strange. . a man with as many winters as I — all those seasons behind me — I am still wondering. I'm very curious to see what I can see in Washington with these new eyes."
Unable to resist the constant temptation, Ten Bears let his eyes roam the lodge, and he marveled at the clarity of objects and the shadows that shrouded them. While he was gazing, Hunting For Something's hushed voice came to him once more.
"I don't want you to cross the stars yet."
The old man swung his head back. He reached over and patted hand.
“The Mystery has been calling me for a long time. I have to answer.” "I want you to stay with us."
Ten Bears smiled.
"We will all be together someday."
Hunting For Something did not look reassured.
"You love the Mystery?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I have always loved the Mystery. In between birth and death is life, and I have tried to stay close to the Mystery for all of mine. There are only two times when a person is truly with the Mystery: birth and death. . "
He stretched out his elbow and laid the side of his head against the ground.
"My mother said I came out easily. I think I will go out of this life the same way." He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial hush. "I'm looking forward to it!"
She couldn't help but smile at her grandfather's intrepid enthusiasm. Her worries always seemed to melt in the warmth he radiated.
"Is that grandchild of mine kicking yet?"
"A little," she said. "It kicks hard. It must be a boy."
"If it kicks hard, it's probably a girl."
She laughed, but Ten Bears was only half-joking,
"I mean it," he said, "you were the only girl your mother had, and she always said, 'Hunting For Something kicked the hardest.'"
"I did?"
"Yes."
Hunting For Something pulled her robe aside and ran a hand over her belly. She pushed at the bulge with her fingers, but there was no response.
"Asleep," she announced, looking at him again.
Ten Bears stared at her belly, then lifted his eyes up toward her face. She was yawning.
"Has Smiles A Lot decided which path to walk? Is he going to take the white man's holy road?"
"He's going to stay out."
Ten Bears nodded.
"I thought that's what he would do. Keep together. . you never know when you might need each other."
"We will, Grandfather," she said, yielding to another urge to yawn.
"Are you comfortable?" Ten Bears wondered.
"Yes, Grandfather," she answered, closing her eyes.
"Then sleep here tonight."
"Yes, Grandfather," she murmured.
Still, he could not sleep. He kept his glasses in place as he alternated between shadow and light. That way he could gaze whenever he wanted at the slumbering, fresh-faced flower of a granddaughter he loved so well.
Chapter XLII
By mid-morning of the next day all who had decided to go in with Kicking Bird pulled out. More than half the village trudged north for the country of the Kiowas and the unpredictable future awaiting them. There were many young. There were widows and a few widowers and a dozen prime warriors and their families. Ten Bears was last to fade from sight, his travois at the rear of the column racking the earth's every wrinkle.
It had been a bitter, wrenching departure, oddly devoid of all but the most poignant sound: a stifled shriek of agony or a sudden fit of muffled sobbing. People who were staying behind milled mutely through the slow-moving column as it left the village, reaching up to touch relatives and friends with trembling hands. When they were gone, people seemed stuporous as they tried to pick up the tasks of everyday life. Their hearts were dragging and tears were constantly being wiped away as moved about.
Even Wind In His Hair was weeping — to his surprise — and to clear his head, he jumped on a pony and galloped alone onto prairie for a distance of several miles before halting at the top of a little berm.
There he slipped off the pony, started a fire, and smoked in silence under graying skies that threatened rain. Seeing so many people go was difficult. He knew in his heart that he was nor likely to see them again. He also knew that with their leaving, Comanche sway over the domain they had controlled was broken.
But as he stared over a prairie whose surface was pierced here and there with the last, errant rays of the sun, the shock of separation began to recede, clearing space in his mind for contemplation of how he would defend his country.
Seventy strong warriors followed him but they would never be enough to fight the many soldiers corning out. As the first drop of rain struck his forehead, Wind In His Hair realized, that it would be well to be moving all the time. In that way soldiers might be kept off balance and contact with itinerant bands of people who might be absorbed into his force was more likely.