hot-breathing, massive, hairy beasts—and he had been the one to fire the shots that had brought not one but two of the animals to their knees. Pierre clutched his musket. A feeling of pride, of accomplishment surged through him. God had blessed him with a hunter’s prowess, and he was making the most of it.
And I am determined to continue to do so. Of all the animals he had hunted thus far, there was one he wanted above all others—the great brown bear.
The Indians insisted the creature was like no other, a massive grizzly beast with claws strong enough to mortally wound a man in one swipe, or break him in half with a single bite. Yet as dangerous as the bear seemed, every man on the expedition wanted to see one. Pierre was determined to be the first man to bring one down.
And then, when I return from doing so with a deed for a land grant in hand, property of my own and plenty of stories of grand accomplishments to share, my father won’t think my adventures a waste of time.
At the riverbank, Pierre climbed into a waiting pirogue. The small boat carried him toward the opposite shore. He navigated the water carefully, for the Missouri was teeming with floating chunks of ice. Soon it would close completely, and he’d be able to walk across the frozen water.
The smell of cooking fires and sound of excitement was discernible as he neared the main Mandan village. A ditch and a walled embankment of clay surrounded the Indian dwellings. Pierre had never seen anything quite like them before. The lodges, made of timber, were partly sunk into the ground and then covered with a thick layer of earth. He imagined they were quite warm inside.
They’d have to be, he thought. For who could survive winter after winter in this harsh landscape if not? That was one thing to which he had not yet become accustomed. Upper Louisiana was much colder than Lower Louisiana.
Following the sounds of chatter, he walked toward the center of the village, to a plaza of sorts. There, beneath a large tree, stood Captain Clark and Chief Black Cat. The ten slain buffalo lay before them. The remainder of the hunting party and the rest of the village were there, as well.
Chief Black Cat was waving his arms toward the sky while speaking loudly in Mandan. Pierre had no idea what was being said, but he guessed that the chief was thanking the spirits for a good hunt. Pierre glanced about the crowd. Someone else was giving thanks, as well. Amid a cluster of females, two women had bowed their heads and folded their hands.
Are there Christians in this village? he wondered. Pierre watched for a moment. When the women raised their heads, he recognized one of them. Mademoiselle Manette. The woman beside her was older but of similar features. That must be her mother.
Pierre lingered for a moment where he stood, watching the pair of them. Then, thinking better of what he was doing, he moved toward Captain Clark.
“Ah, young Lafayette,” the buckskin-clad American said. “I presume you have a message.”
“Yes, sir. Captain Lewis wishes for our men to return to the fort.”
Clark nodded.
Chief Black Cat’s ceremony now finished, the women of the tribe came forward to carve the buffalo. Miss Manette and her mother were among them.
Captain Clark instructed his men to take their five buffalo back to the fort. Yet the moment the soldiers moved to do so, Chief Black Cat waved his arm in a sign of obvious disagreement. He gestured toward the women, then the buffalo, then back to Captain Clark. The American did not understand.
Neither did Pierre. Was the Mandan chief insisting all ten buffalo remain in the village? Pierre felt his muscles tense. He saw Captain Clark’s jaw tighten as well, apparently reaching the same conclusion—and no happier with it than Pierre was. They were hungry. It had been a joint hunting party. They would stand for no less than an equal share of the meat.
The chief continued gesturing toward his women, speaking louder, more emphatically. Noting the suspicious gazes of the surrounding warriors, Pierre gripped his musket tighter. Something lightly touched his arm. Jerking to the side, he found Miss Manette before him.
“Chief Black Cat is offering you assistance,” she said.
“What type of assistance?” Pierre asked warily.
“He says the women will prepare your share of the buffalo for you.”
“Our share?”
“Yes.”
So the chief hadn’t intended to claim the entire kill. Pierre quickly relayed the message to Captain Clark. The American’s face softened immediately. He bowed respectfully to the chief, then looked back at Pierre. “Please tell Black Cat that while his offer is greatly appreciated, it is Captain Lewis’s wish for the men to return at once to the fort. We will butcher the animals there.”
Pierre relayed the instructions to Miss Manette, but she cut him off mid-message with a perturbed look. Then, turning, she spoke most respectfully to her chief.
Pierre remembered her words. “Understand English? Oui. Speak? No.”
Black Cat forthwith dismissed the women surrounding the soldiers’ portion of the kill, and the men carried off the animals. Before turning to go, Chief Black Cat made one final remark to the American captain. Clark nodded and smiled. Miss Manette chuckled softly.
“What did he say?” Pierre asked,
She suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and Pierre couldn’t resist teasing her just a bit.
“Go on,” he nudged. “I know it was more than a wish for pleasant dreams.”
A hint of a smile tugged at her mouth, one she looked like she was trying desperately to keep hidden. Does she think I am amusing? he wondered.
“The chief said the white men are powerful hunters—”
“Thank you,” Pierre replied, his chest swelling just a bit.
“—but that you insist on doing women’s work.”
So much for his pride. Irritation took its place, for the look in her eyes seemed to say that she enjoyed taking him down a peg. “I see,” he said, curtly. “Thank you for relaying the message.”
She nodded brusquely, then added, “Black Cat says he does not understand your ways.”
And that brought Pierre directly to his next order of business. Understanding each other’s ways, and words, were the keys to peace. “Which is why Captain Lewis requests your presence at the fort.”
The smug look instantly vanished. Her eyes widened. Pierre couldn’t help but notice again what a lovely shade of green they were. Before he could tell her exactly why the captain had requested her, the mademoiselle’s mother approached.
Pierre removed his cap, bowed. “Madame,” he said.
The older woman seemed more at ease with him than did her daughter. She smiled broadly.
“This is my mother,” Miss Manette said guardedly. “Her name is Evening Sky.”
Madame Manette then said something to her daughter in Mandan.
“Oui,” the mademoiselle responded.
