"Hello, white girl," called bearded Tom in his resonant voice.
I stopped on my morning walk to the river and turned to face him. He had spent the last night in the chief's tent and had been served a rich meal there. The laughter and voices could be heard from the tipi late into the night. The men had apparently exchanged funny hunting stories. Ohitika had not been invited, for that honor was reserved for the older, respected warriors. So I assumed he hadn't had a chance to speak to the chief about a trip to the cave.
"Hello, Tom," I replied. The empty water bag hung loosely in my hand.
He came towards me and stopped three paces from me. Some women working nearby were watching us but couldn't understand us as he spoke English. "Mary, right?" he asked.
I nodded, resigned to the fact that everyone here pronounced my name differently.
"Escaped pretty quick yesterday," he said, scratching the back of his neck.
I looked down at my moccasins. "I did not want to be unpolite. I... just haven't seen a white man in a long time."
"How long have you been here?"
"It should be almost two months now."
"And they treated you well?"
"Yes." I was surprised when the word shot out of me without a second's hesitation.
He tugged at his wild beard, which not only grew over his chin and neck, but also reached up to his cheeks. "Well, I wouldn't have expected it any differently. Mazzukata is a decent man for an Indian."
I narrowed my eyes but said nothing.
"I'm leaving soon," he continued. "If you want, I can give you a lift a little way, toward the nearest fort. Then the military can take care of you; take you back to your parents' or wherever you're from ."
I looked him straight in the eye for the first time. They were gray, not black or brown like everyone else's around me, and lined with a multitude of tiny wrinkles that had carved deep, thin lines of white in the tanned skin. He seemed trustworthy. If he had made the offer to me a month ago, maybe even a week ago, I probably would have accepted without thinking twice.
But then I thought of Wihinapa's comforting hand on my back and Ohitika's sincere willingness to listen to me. And also Tatanka Wakon's lined face with the flashing, wise eyes, the little trusting Zica, and Mazzukata's reserved authority... I hadn't been treated like a prisoner before, and I couldn't imagine myself being better off with white people would happen.
"So?" Tom inquired, squinting into the low sun to judge the time. "The fort is only four days' ride away."
Now Wihinapa slipped out of our tent. She smiled at me, her white teeth flashing in the sunlight. But it was mostly two charcoal, fathomless eyes that came to mind as I said firmly to Tom, "No." I shook my head for emphasis. "Thanks, but no. I can't leave just yet ."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, whatever you want. If you change your mind... I'll definitely stop by again." He held out a calloused hand and I shook it.


Then he turned and stomped away in his heavy boots, which left deep, square imprints in the ground. As I made my way back to the river, Ohitika suddenly appeared in front of me, this ghost that appeared and disappeared out of nowhere. I took a sharp breath and wondered if he had observed everything. And whether he might even have understood it. But no, his English wasn't that good, was it?
"After the buffalo hunt, Chief Mazzukata decided," Ohitika said simply and I knew immediately what he meant. After the hunt was over, we would be allowed to go and search for the cave.

"Tatanka, Tatanka," was heard throughout the village.
Buffalo had been sighted far out on the prairie. The tent village prepared to break down the tipis and move close to the herd. I wondered if I too would get to see the buffalo. That had been one of my wishes before I flew to the US — ages ago. I wanted to watch the bison herds on the prairie. And now I might actually have that opportunity, and at a time when the number of buffalo must still be in the millions.
I helped Wihinapa pack everything because it was supposed to start at sunrise. Everything was still bathed in the first gray light of day. We wrapped the wooden cooking and eating utensils and earthen bowls in skins, stowed sewing utensils, food supplies, and the few other belongings in leather bags while Ohitika gathered his weapons—bow and quiver of arrows, spear and club. The knife was in his belt. Then he led the horses from the herd to our tent. The animals grazed not far from the village on the other side of the river. They were herded to a different spot every few days to always find fresh grass. One of the youths guarded her day in and day out.
Ohitika owned three horses—the pinto, who was his preferred mount and also trained as a buffalo horse, a gentle bay mare that Wihinapa sometimes rode, and a small chestnut mare. The number of horses was considered a measure of wealth among the Lakota. Chief Mazzukata owned the most: twelve for himself and his family.
I stroked the piebald's soft nostrils. Luckily his ankle healed and he was able to walk again. But I particularly liked the little chestnut mare. She had a pretty head shape with large, round eyes that protruded a little. It made her look a bit like a colt, although she must have been older. She nudged me confidentially and I scratched her neck.
"Malie takes the mare," Ohitika said.
I looked at him in astonishment. "May I ride her?"
"If you can," he replied with a faint mockery in his voice.
That made me hesitate. Maybe she wasn't as friendly as she looked? Admittedly, I had no experience riding bareback either. The horses didn't even have a real snaffle. How am I supposed to steer them? Still, I nodded determinedly.
Then it was time to take down the tent. I was amazed at how quickly it went, although I wasn't much of a help yet. Wihinapa folded back the heavy buffalo hide wall on one side, exposing the slender tent poles. She then climbed up on it like a squirrel and loosened the fastening at the top so that the entire tent wall slid down. A neighbor helped me fold them while Wihinapa slid the spruce poles back down and, with the help of a few other women, laid them one by one on the ground. Two of the poles were each tied to the sides of a pack horse so that the ends dragged on the ground. We stretched the folded tent walls and our other belongings between the poles.
As soon as the first fiery streak of the rising sun appeared over the horizon, the whole tent village was gone. All that remained were the fireplaces with the charred ashes and the cooking racks and the holes in the ground where the tent poles had been before. A few bones gnawed by the dogs lay scattered among them.
Now the long procession of pack horses formed up, one after the other. On some sat women, some with babies on their backs, while the older children, too small to walk or ride but too big to be carried by their mother, simply wrapped in leather blankets and stuck between the tent poles behind the horses were hanged. The mustangs' tails kept brushing their faces, but no one complained. Some of the women and older men walked while the warriors and boys at the edge of the procession rode.
I lined up with the chestnut mare behind Wihinapa. We had a pack strapped to the horse and I would mount in front of it. Now I faced my first problem: how to get on a horse without stirrups? Luckily the Indian ponies weren't that big. So I was confident that I could do it.
I stood next to the mare's neck, facing her hindquarters like I'd seen the others do. Then I grabbed her mane, gave myself momentum, and rushed up to throw my right leg over her back. The animal took a small step to the right, but I still managed to hang on and finally pulled myself to the top. She danced under me, but then calmed down. I straightened and squinted triumphantly at Ohitika, but he had already ridden his pinto farther forward.
I tried to steer the animal with my thighs and was pleased to find that it actually responded to the slightest push. We lined up behind Wihinapa on her mare and waited for Tatanka Wakon, who was leading the line, to take the first step.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, we were already in the middle of the endless grassy landscape, where on all sides there was nothing to see but rolling hills and valleys with yellowish grasses swaying gently in the wind, sloping towards the horizon far in front of us seemed to merge. The sky was a dull light blue, no longer the intense blue of midsummer. Small birds flapped up from the grass around us, rabbits hopped away, startled by the pounding of horses and dogs, and at one point we passed a town of prairie dogs. The little brown rodents, which reminded me of the meerkats in the zoo, stood at the entrances to their burrows and whistled loudly to warn their fellows of our arrival. If you got too close to them, they would disappear into their holes in a flash.
On the horizon behind us I could still see the dark peaks of the Black Hills, blurred slightly in the hazy atmosphere. It felt like cutting the last connection to my old life. I could only hope that we would actually return here.
My butt was now hurting like hell from sitting on horseback for hours. I would have preferred to run now, but I'd rather bite my tongue off than let it show. Nobody here nagged or whined, not even the smallest babies cried — no comparison to the family hikes that I remembered and where Max seemed to want to take a break and eat something every hour, but couldn't go any further ...
We hadn't stopped yet and those who were hungry just took a little pemmican from a bag and a sip of water from a leather bag.
Finally the chief called a break. We had come to a stream where the horses could drink. The poplars and willows on the shore offered us some shade. I could hardly manage to slip off the horse's back, the insides of my thighs, which I was holding on to, were so painful. I strutted around, stiff-legged, to loosen up, and Wihinapa good-naturedly laughed her lapping laugh that sounded like the gurgling of the river.

"Maybe you'd rather walk?" she teased me.
"I'll think about it," I replied, and then plopped down on the grass next to her. Leaning against the trunk of a willow tree, we watched the children from here, who were also enjoying the freedom and frolicking in the grass while some of the warriors The scouts who had been sent out had returned and it appeared there was another group of Lakota nearby. They would be waiting for us so we could do the great hunt together. But we still had to until to meet them moving on sunset.
Groaning inwardly, I got back on my horse. The next few hours passed me like the same landscape over and over again. For a while Ohitika rode next to the train very close to us and I busied myself staring at his tan back which he held perfectly erect and straight. When his pinto changed direction, I couldn't tell how he made it do it, as he didn't seem to have moved a muscle. It was as if there was a telepathic connection between horse and rider. His black hair shone in the sunlight like polished onyx. Suddenly he turned his head towards me. Had he felt my stare? The idea made my cheeks bleed. I could feel them throbbing and getting hot, and I turned away quickly. Ohitika urged his horse and disappeared behind a bump.
When we arrived at our final destination for the day, the sun was almost touching the western horizon. The sky was a beautiful play of colors of red and orange tones. We were all exhausted from the long journey. Nevertheless, we women still had to set up the tents for the night. The other tribal group had already pitched their tents by the creek that rippled through the grass here and whose banks were densely overgrown with trees. Again, some women helped us to set up our tipi, because it took too long for two and was almost impossible. The leather tent walls were much heavier than our modern tarpaulins, and the tent poles were long and bulky. Finally our tipi was back in its usual place on the outskirts of the village, but this time there was no edge of the forest behind us, but the open prairie.
For supper we picked the ripe blue plums from the creek bank, which enticed us. The children and women of the other tribal group were also there. Of course, I was again eyed with furtive glances and word quickly got around that a white woman lived in our village.
I saw Thokala-gleschka at the edge of the camp talking to some young men from the other group and gesturing in my direction, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. A few of the warriors glanced at me, and even in the shadows of the twilight, I thought their expressions were particularly grim. Eventually, Ohitika joined them and listened in silence, arms crossed. I retreated to our teepee, worried but too exhausted to think about it.
Inside, I piled some dry wood in the hollow Wihinapa had dug and made a fire. Now I was doing much better, even if it still took me longer than the other women.
Wihinapa yawned profusely and shared another piece of pemmican with me, that mixture of dried meat, fat and berries. We sat in silence by the fire. The flames crackled, filling the tent with their flickering glow. Men's voices were still coming in from outside, rising in irritation, then dying away. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Wihinapa undid her braids and carefully combed her hair as Ohitika ducked through the entrance.
He sat down by the fire with us and also stared into the flames in silence for a while. The men outside still seemed to be arguing. I glanced at him questioningly. He lit an intricately carved pipe shaped like an eagle's head and began to smoke it slowly. I watched the blue-white squiggles rising from her, dancing in the firelight, and fading away. The teepee filled with a spicy scent. Out on the prairie a lone wolf howled and the dogs in the village barked.
Only after he had finished smoking, tapped out his pipe and put it away carefully did he say: "We will reach the buffaloes tomorrow. The herd moves south to their winter grounds. It is a large herd, but a group of a few dozen animals has broken off from her and are grazing in a river valley. We can circle them there."
Wihinapa smiled happily as she tied a leather cord around her braids again. "Ohitika will make good haul, as always," she said confidently. "My brother is a great buffalo hunter," she continued, turning to me, "and his horse is well trained."
She was his sister, no wonder she thought so — but I smiled back.
Ohitika didn't respond to the praise, only his face relaxed a little. He pulled out his quiver and began notching arrow shafts with a knife. These marks would later be used to identify which hunter had killed a buffalo. The one who fired the fatal shot had the first claim to the loot, but those who killed a lot also gave a lot to the other villagers who had had less success. This ensured that everyone had enough supplies for the coming winter.
I watched him go about his business for a while, then plucked up courage and asked in my awkward Lakota, "What were those men out there discussing?"
Ohitika continued to work, putting one arrow back in the quiver and pulling out another. I thought I saw a tiny wrinkle between his eyes. "The warriors of the other village have heard that more and more whites are invading our hunting grounds. Farther south along the Platte River they traverse our territory in long migrations and settle, shooting our game and polluting the prairies."
I bit my lip and pulled a leather blanket around my shoulders.
"Many young warriors of our tribe and those of the Cheyenne and Arapaho feel that we can no longer tolerate this encroachment. You want to fight back. After the buffalo hunt, they want to go on the warpath and many from our village will join them. Including Thokala-gleschka, who hates the whites. They want to drive the whites back to the country they came from."
Wihinapa looked startled, but Ohitika wasn't looking at her, he was looking at me. His gaze literally pierced me and I couldn't resist him. "Will Ohitika go with them?" I asked quietly, eyelids lowered.
"I haven't decided yet," he said after a short pause.
_Don't do it_, I wanted to shout. _It makes no sense._
I had read the story in my book and knew that no matter how many lives were lost on both sides in this war, the Indians would ultimately lose. Once Ohitika could read well enough, he would know. I shuddered. What if he did? Would it affect his actions? Would he just sit back and let the story take its course, or would he still fight because that was the only thing he could do?
I lay awake late that night, though my limbs felt like lead. Wolves howled all around us and the wind howled around the tents. But I had realized for the first time that I actually had secrets. Secrets no one else knew that had the potential to change the course of history...