The first chirp of a cowbird woke No-Repeat. Her eyes had barely focused on the pre-dawn gloom outside the smoke hole before a terrifying scream pierced straight to her heart. A raid.
The pounding of mounted riders and the volume of horrifying cries indicated it was a massive attack. Willing herself to be calm she pushed her younger brother out, under the rim of buffalo hide. "Run to the creek, hide until dark then cross it and go to the hills at Ridge of Red Boulders. Wait for us there."
She turned to see her mother stagger back into the lodge, blood streaming from her shoulder. Jumping over her, No-Repeat grabbed the door flap, holding it tight against the ground. Kicking at her mother's feet, she whispered, "Go out the back, go, go!"
A knife slashed through at the top of the flap. No-Repeat let go and the knife faltered. Her mother struggled, one-armed, to pull herself out between the rock-held hide. No-Repeat threw herself on top of her, locked her knees into her buttocks and pushed her forcefully while frantically reaching for the sheathed knife under her mother's sleeping robes.
Knife in hand she rolled over to see the round, brown face of a Ute brave peering into the dark lodge. He squealed with delight at the sight of No-Repeat and pushed through the opening. Holding her breath, she waited. As he reached for her, she hurled herself off the ground and lunged the knife deep into his chest.
He fell over her with a piercing scream. Gagging, she frantically crawled out from under him and the blood that began seeping everywhere.
Squirming under the hide, she followed her mother. Briefly disoriented, the sharp sting of musket smoke assaulting her eyes, she shook her head and plunged past her grandfather's lodge towards the creek.
Horses ran in every direction, dancing spirits in the haze. The shouting, screaming and crack of muskets were deafening. Twice she stumbled, once over El-e-mo's boy.
She picked up the small body and staggered on, foolishly brushing the hair off his face. His deep, round eyes stared silently up at the pink-dawn sky.
Dropping to her knees she tucked the baby into the tall grass at the creek's edge, shutting his eyes to the horror around him. Silently, she started upstream. Concentrate, "you must learn the ways of the stalked, before you can successfully hunt," her grandfather's words played back in her head. "The stalked have the advantage, they know where they are. Move silently, calmly and blend into your surroundings."
That's when she remembered the paint. She dunked her face into the cold water and scrubbed her face with her fingernails. How proud she had been to paint the great orange and red circles on her cheeks only two weeks ago.
Two days of dancing and feasting to celebrate the defeat of the Ute and the Apaches. Now, the Ute were raiding us, here. Raiding when the braves were gone. Killing women, children and old men. She had to blend in. She had to keep going. Don't think, concentrate, you are the stalked.
She snaked her way into the dense cover of candlewick bushes, lowering herself to the ground. She rested, pressing her stomach into the dank, rich soil. The muffled sounds of restless horses, sobbing children and the gleeful laughs of victorious men meant the worst was over. Breathing in the richness of the earth she willed herself to go on. Tears clouded her eyes. She had murdered a man.
There was no time to feel. No time to grieve. She must reach the hills and then find Santo and his father, Chief Cuerno Verde. Cuerno Verde would right this terrible wrong. He would drive the Ute away forever.
Tears threatened again as she thought of Santo. Her wedding
preparations carefully laid out in the lodge to go up in smoke or be
packed for some Ute bride. Crouching in the bushes, she brushed the
tears from her face and continued to work her way upstream.