More Native Americans rushed to greet the men. They huddled around Marcellious, helping him from his horse. Roman dismounted, as well. Then, they ushered Roman and Marcellious toward their village, which consisted of numerous teepees of every size dotting the clearing near a creek.
Smoke drifted from the top of many teepees. Women and children huddled near their dwellings, eying us as we wandered into their midst.
Two younger warriors, looking to be in their teens, their faces painted with the same distinctive red markings, took our horses. The warriors said nothing to me—didn’t even make eye contact.
A rotund male who appeared to be an elder indicated we should wait outside one of the large teepees. Then, he, and the ten men who had attacked us, all disappeared behind the hide-covered door flap.
“What do you think they want?” Roman said to Marcellious.
Marcellious’ jaw jutted out, but he said nothing.
“You’re going to have to tell us something sooner or later,” Roman said, shifting side to side on his feet.
“Must I?” Marcellious’ gaze held an icy demeanor.
“We’re all in this together,” Roman said.
Marcellious loosely crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the teepee.
Roman and I exchanged glances.
I shook my head and let out a big sigh. It had been such a mistake to bring Marcellious with us. Such a colossal mistake…
As we waited, I tried to make eye contact and smile at some women who gawked at us with mistrust, hostility, or curiosity.
They averted their gazes.
I crouched and reached a hand to a couple of curious children until their parents whisked them away, scolding them for looking at us.
Obviously, we were regarded as “persons of suspicion” and untrustworthy.
About fifty teepees stood in the clearing, several yards between each. The sturdy poles of each structure poked out the top like porcupine quills, with tendrils of smoke lazily winding their way to the sky from between the sticks.
Some of the dwellings had horses or other symbols painted on the outside. Some were merely unmarked bison skin.
The women and girls wore soft deerskin dresses richly decorated with colorful beadwork. The men and boys wore supple leggings and suede shirts or went bare-chested.
They looked like proud, noble people, much like I knew Moon Lee to have been. Lee always spoke highly of his heritage.
Thinking of Lee drew wistful longings through my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder where he was and what he was doing. Did he ever miss me as much as I missed him?
After an interminably long time, a wizened old man emerged from the teepee. He gestured for Marcellious, Roman, Emily, and me to enter.
Inside the teepee, a man who looked to be in his late forties sat in the center, flanked by the other men.
The old man who had led us in here indicated that Emily and I should sit in the back and Roman and Marcellious should approach the man in the middle.
“He’s the chief’s son,” the man said. “His name is Mahkah Mato.”
Earth Bear.Indeed, he looks like a bear.
As soon as Mahkah Mato looked at Marcellious, tears filled his eyes. He glanced at the men next to him, and they rose to their feet and helped him stand.
The chief’s son threw his arms around Marcellious. His sobs grew as he patted Marcellious’ back.
Marcellious’ back heaved with silent laments as he returned the embrace.
“Mahkah Mato,” he said in Sioux. “It’s been so long.”
