Page 68 of My Heart Will Find You

As always, Max seemed to know where to go. When he urged his horse into a run, Etta said, “Go, Daisy! Follow your brother,” and the mare flat out ran.

The wind in her hair felt glorious, and the excitement of what was ahead filled her. Daisy seemed as anxious to go as Etta was.

Max halted at the top of a hill, dismounted, and went to her.

She got down and stood beside him. Below them was a great, moving, solid mass. Buffalo. Thousands of them. They could hear them, feel them, even smell them. They weren’t running, just sauntering along, denuding the prairie grass as they went. The beginning or end of the massive herd wasn’t visible. On the side, sometimes a buffalo would lie down and wriggle around to form a huge hole. “It’s a buffalo wallow,” Max said.

She wanted to be closer. Below them was a flat area, a sort of cup in the land. She pointed to it and he understood.

He frowned a bit but then he nodded. They tied the horses, went down the hill and stretched out on their stomachs. The sound was louder, and she felt the danger of being so close but it was also exciting.

Etta was the first to see the man on the wiry pony. A young man wearing only a breechcloth, a fabulously beaded headdress, and—her heart nearly stopped at the sight—with a bow and arrow. She was seeing what no human alive in her time had ever seen!

She nudged Max to look. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“The Kanza like bows and arrows because they’re silent. They can get closer to the animal.” He pointed. “The bulls are on the outside as protection, with the cows and calves in the middle. The cows have the best meat, and the skins are used for clothes and housing. But you have to sneak past the bulls to get to them.”

“And the bulls are unwanted?”

“Their pelts are stronger, and very valuable, but they’re dangerous to get. If your arrow doesn’t hit in the right place, a bull will attack and you’re a dead man. A rifle is better. But you have to get it with the first shot or it’ll be your last.”

“What’s that?” She was looking at a flash of light in the distance. When Max saw it, he glowered. “Stay here.”

She watched as he hurried back up the hill to the horses. He pulled a spyglass from his saddlebag, then took his time staring through it in all directions. He returned to her.

“What’s wrong?”

He got close to her so she could hear, and he nodded toward the young man on the horse. Now there were two more men. “Others are on the way here.” He sounded angry.

“Who?” she asked.

“It’s probably Cheyenne from the west, and buffalo hunters are coming from the south. They’ll run the little Kanza tribe off, and they won’t be allowed to take even a slice of meat away with them.” He looked back at the herd. “If it’s a good buffalo hunt, the Kanza will eat this winter. If it’s bad, they’ll starve. Have you ever seen people starve to death?”

“No,” she said. “And I don’t want to!”

Below them, she saw women arriving. On the edge of the land was a cow that had been taken down by one of the men. A young woman, dressed in a cotton blouse, a thick skirt with leggings below it, slid off a pony and went to the cow, her knife drawn. There were other women, but they were older, slower.

Etta looked at the hill she and Max were on. It was steep, but she was sure she could get down to level ground.

Max’s head was turned away, the glass to his eye. “I think they’ll have time. The Cheyenne and the hunters are still far away. They—”

Etta didn’t hear any more because she was halfway down the hill. When she got to the bottom, the young woman had half the buffalo skin off. When she saw Etta, she halted, knife raised in threat.

Etta didn’t have time for the niceties of introduction. She pulled out the knife Rufus had given her and set to doing what Lester had taught her. As always, she moved fast. As Lester said, “Hungry people are waiting. Don’t think,do!”

Skinning something as big as a buffalo wasn’t easy, and Etta strained every muscle she had.

The woman, probably no more than eighteen or nineteen, didn’t waste time. When Etta started to divide the meat the contemporary way, the woman stopped her. It was to be cut differently.

Etta caught on quickly. Two older women took the pieces and loaded them onto ponies. At one point, Etta stopped and pointed west. “Cheyenne.” She pointed south. “Hunters.” She pantomimed firing a rifle. They understood. There was great urgency in what they were doing.

When the women started going into the herd, Etta refused to let her modern day fears stop her from following them. The men had taken down two cows. Buffalo were big. Huge. Monster-sized. Scary as all hell.

But Etta kept her mind on the task. She didn’t allow herself to think about the dangers.

They were on their fourth cow when one of the women shouted to Etta. She looked up. In the distance was Max. He had pulled off his clothes and had on only a breechcloth. His upper body was bare. His legs, strong from a life on a horse, were naked up to his waist. His long hair had been tied back and a single feather inserted. He was on one of the strong, fast ponies, no saddle, and he held his rifle.

As she watched, he leaned over so far he almost fell off. He was after a bull! He fired. For seconds, Etta couldn’t see what happened. The bull stayed upright, and Max wasn’t visible. The bull moved, but there was still no sight of Max.

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