Where the Lost Wander_ A Novel - Amy Harmon Page 0,78

to him from inside. When Hawk peeked into the lodge, he saw a girl brushing her long hair.”

“Did she look like Naomi?”

“Naomi’s not an Indian,” Mr. Caldwell grunts, and there is a collective discomfort around the fire.

“Yes. She looked just like Naomi,” John says, raising his eyes to mine in brief appraisal, and I smile at his quiet defiance.

“Hawk forgot about the horses. Instead, he watched the girl all night long. When he finally left, he took two of the horses—”

“The roan and the dun,” Webb says.

“All right. But he left the paint, in case it belonged to the girl. He went back home to his people, but every time he saw something pretty, he would think of the Comanche girl, and he would trade one of his horses for the pretty thing, until he had traded almost all his horses.

“His friends said, ‘We must go take more horses from our enemies, the Comanche, for your horses are almost gone.’ So Hawk agreed, but he took all the pretty things he had collected with him.

“Hawk and his friends went back to the place where the Comanche camp had been, but the camp was gone. They went to another camp, but Hawk couldn’t find the lodge of the girl, and he left the camp without stealing any horses. His friends didn’t understand. Hawk said, ‘Let’s go find another camp, and we will steal their horses.’ They went to another camp, and another, and Hawk did not steal the horses at any of them; he just looked for the girl.

“At the last Comanche camp, Hawk crept among the lodges, looking for the lodge with the buffalo hooves and the feathers. Then he heard his name, Kut-a’wi-kutz, and knew he had found it. He went into the lodge, and there was the girl, fast asleep. He put all the pretty things he had collected for her at her feet and then lay down beside her, for he was very tired from searching.”

Mr. Caldwell scoffs and shakes his head, as if the story has suddenly turned inappropriate.

“What happened then? Did she wake up and scream?” Webb asks, oblivious to any unease.

“She did wake up, but it was dark, and she could not see who was there. She reached out and touched Hawk’s hair. The Pawnee warriors shave all their hair except for this piece right here.” John reaches out and tugs softly on the hank of Webb’s hair between his crown and his forehead.

“Like Dog Tooth,” Wyatt contributes soberly. He says he still dreams of being chased by the band of Pawnee.

“Yes.” John nods. “The girl was afraid because she knew Hawk was Pawnee. But his skin was cold, and he was sleeping so deeply that she took pity on him and put her blanket over his shoulders before she sneaked out of the lodge and went to find her father, who was the head chief of the Comanche.”

“Did Hawk get away?” Webb asks, worried.

“He did not want to get away,” John replies slowly.

“He didn’t?” Webb squeaks.

“No. He wanted to be close to the girl.”

Webb wrinkles his nose, as though he can’t imagine it, and something warm begins building in my chest.

“The head chief and all his war chiefs took Hawk and all his pretty things and brought him into the big lodge. They sat around the fire and passed the pipe while they decided how they wanted to kill him.”

“Are there lots of different ways to kill a fellow?” Webb asks.

“Yes. Some more painful than others. And the girl’s father was very angry with Hawk.”

“Because the Pawnee and Comanche are enemies,” Webb says.

“That’s right. Around and around the circle, the Comanche passed the pipe, and no one could make a decision. But then the old grandfather came into the big lodge, and he saw Hawk wrapped in his granddaughter’s blanket, awaiting his fate. He saw the gifts he brought, and he said to Hawk, ‘Did you come to take my granddaughter away from her people?’

“Hawk said, ‘No. I want only to be near her. If you will let me stay, her people will be my people.’

“The grandfather sat down among the Comanche chiefs, and when the pipe finally reached him, he said to his son, the head chief, and all the braves, ‘We will not kill the Pawnee. We will make him one of us. He will bring peace between the Pawnee and the Comanche.’”

“Peace? Isn’t there any fighting in this story?” Webb wails.

“No. No fighting.” John’s lips twitch. “Hawk stayed with the