Red Deer: Life Among the Mandans

By Aimee Lamb

When her convoy is attacked and everyone massacred, a young French girl, Anne, manages to flee across the unknown praries where she is later found by scouts from a Mandan hunting party.
Taken in by the tribe, Anne, who is given the name Red Deer by her 'captors' because of burns sustained during her flight and her red hair, must learn their ways and language in order to survive.
Life is hard but good until the smallpox epidemic almost wipes out the Indian tribes.
Surviving, along with a few others from her Mandan family, Anne finds love in the arms of a Pawnee warrior and must decide, when her brother Pierre finds her and tells her their mother survived the massacre, whether to go live among her people, or to stay with her new family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781623090562

Book preview

oration

Soon there will come from the rising sun a different kind of man from any you have ever yet seen.

-    Spokane prophecy.

PROLOGUE

The girl ran, ran and kept running. For three days she was observed, from a distance, by a scouting party, more out of curiosity than from any desire to find out why, or what, she was running from. The scouting party, made up of braves of the Mandan tribe, had strayed somewhat from its normal route and had not, in the past, come this far east. The girl the braves were observing was of that new breed making incursions into the lands of the Sioux, a white. One of the first tribes to have contact with whites, this group was intrigued, but not concerned, they kept their distance however, wondering about the cause for such alarm and fear. And of course, they were men and had not, in their memory span, had any contact with white females. They had dealt with and were almost used to white trappers, but the latter always traveled alone, sometimes with a male companion, of if any females were with them they were squaws. So it was, with piqued interest, that they watched the girl.

Her clothing was commented on and laughed at, somewhat nervously, for it was not laughable but the braves were unused to such clothing and color, and of course her hair intrigued them too. Red like the flames of a fire, it caught the rays of the sun as it bounced about her shoulders and cascaded down her back. In fact, the braves were a little more than intrigued. They also had some concern over her obvious panic and fear and wondered, among themselves, as to what could cause one person to be so agitated and run as though for her very life. And why was she alone and without any means of hunting of self preservation? These facts were also discussed and puzzling to the braves and so, they stayed their journey, and observed.

On the third day it became obvious. Four white men, one accompanied by yet another white young woman, were seen, off in the hazy distance, following the young girl’s tracks. From the braves’ vantage point the pursuing men, as they neared and were easier to make out, seemed overweight, rough, ill-kemp and red of face. The young woman with them, seemed to be attached, by some kind of restraint, to one of the men, and wore a blood-stained skirt and a torn upper body garment. Her physical appearance was no better, for her lower lip was split open while one of her eyes was half-closed as though from the impact of a heavy blow. Her hair, dark like an Indian maiden’s, was disheveled and had not been tended to in quite some time. It was obvious to the observers that she was an unwilling member of the hunting party.

The pursuit took place way out on the prairie just before it gave way to the undulating hillocks which stretched out before the steep, dark and foreboding hills which rose in the background. It was as though the hillocks were there to give pause to any traveler who might consider venturing further and coming within reach of the stark and seemingly menacing black hills.

The pursued girl, who had sustained herself over the three days with some bread, an apple and hard tack, finally ran out of food. The braves had watched as she came to a small river, and after bending down to quench her obvious thirst, had then tried to catch a fish with her bare hands. She seemed to know what she was doing too, for she would lie out of sight, of the fish, on an overhang and wait for a fish to swim under it. When the fish did not reappear the girl would lean over and make a quick grab, but the fish were too quick and she came up empty-handed. Defeated and tired she sat down with her knees drawn up and her head resting on her arms. The braves were about to turn away and give up on the scene unfolding beneath them when the girl sat up, her body tense. The braves looked off into the distance, beyond the girl, and that was when they had their first sighting of the pursuing horsemen. The girl had obviously heard, or felt, the approaching hoof beats of her pursuers’ mounts for she stood up her body posture denoting hope and anticipation. Her stance, however, quickly turned to one of terror, when she saw who the four approaching horsemen were, and she began to run once more. She made for the protection of a nearby thicket, right beneath where the braves were sat on their mounts in the shade and protection of a small copse whose dappled shadows hid them well. The girl’s clothing, face, arms and legs were caught and scratched as she stumbled through into the heart of the thicket and she began to whimper, like a cornered animal, as the horsemen rode up laughing.

Taunting and shouting out to the girl they began to dance their horses around the thicket, their poor mounts protesting every harsh pull on their bits.

The girl tried to stifle her sobs and crouched down as low as she could, all the while peering around, with terrified eyes, for a way of escape.

There was none.

Unobserved, the intrigued scouting party dismounted and, having left their mounts in the charge of a young buck, silently approached the thicket from above. They kept themselves well hidden in the process and concealed themselves behind some boulders, just above the white men, which afforded them an unobstructed view of everything happening below them.

As night fell the four white men, who seemed to have time on their hands, started up a fired and decided to flush the girl out!

Laughing, they set fire to the thicket and began to dance around it, whooping and pretending to be Indians, much to the bemused, and somewhat confused, onlookers.

As they danced, getting wilder and more out of control in their gyrations with each passing minute, they passed a container around from which they each, in turn, took deep draughts, while waiting for the girl to emerge from the burning thicket.

Horrified, the girl watched their gyrations and antics until she realized that the dry thicket, surrounding her, was burning out of control. Fingers of flames began licking at her hiding place and the invading smoke-laden air made breathing harsh and painful. She began to cough and gasp for air, while tears streamed from her smarting eyes. Terrified at being burned alive the girl decided to make a run for it and, shielding her face with her arms, she dashed through the encircling arms of flames and probing fingers of fire into those of the waiting men. They laughed at her, swaying unsteadily on their feet, as she tried to staunch the flames licking at her skirts, while tears coursed, unstopped, down her singed face as she tried to fend off the men’s unwanted advances.

The man holding the other girl by a leash drunkenly flung her aside and she fell, her hands tied, unable to help herself. She cried out as her head hit the ground, then lay still, a small trickle of blood seeping out of the corner of her mouth. The pursued girl stood, in pain and despair, looking from the fallen girl to the men, then dropped down to her knees on the hard ground, her head bowed. The men advanced and started drunkenly squabbling and fighting over the right to be the first to ravish her and to finish the liquid in the container that one was still holding onto and which seemed to be made from some kind of shiny pottery unlike any the Mandan braves had ever seen before. At least that was what the scene represented to the braves watching from above. So intent were the white men on fighting one another for the bottle, that they did not see, nor hear, the braves approach - until too late. Knifed, garroted, and clubbed, they all fell around the passive body of their intended victim. As she looked up, in disbelief and horror, at the falling bodies, the braves took out their hunting knives and quickly, deftly, scalped their victims, one of whom still twitched where he lay while the blade cut away at his scalp and the brave held up high his gory, dripping trophy.

The braves then approached the terrified girl who whimpered and fainted, her last sight that of the bloody scalps, freshly taken, in the braves’ blood-stained hands.

The braves began arguing among themselves, undecided as to what they should do next.

We can’t leave her here, she will have to go with us, said one.

White men won’t like us taking one of their own, said another.

They won’t like the fact that we killed some of their own, either, stated yet another, matter of fact.

True, we had best leave here quickly before more of them come searching, said the obvious leader of the group.

As they spoke and argued among themselves, the one who seemed to be their leader, walked over to the fallen dark-haired girl who had been flung to the ground, and after checking up on her, shook his head fatalistically before rejoining his companions. As he passed the fallen white men he picked up the dropped container the men had squabbled over. He lifted it up to his nose, and threw it far from him, in disgust, after one whiff of the amber liquid which still remained therein.

We will take the young woman, with us, he said, as the container, a glass bottle, hit the ground and shattered, its remaining amber liquid seeping out over the hard dry ground. He went over to the prone red-headed girl, bent down and, with one effortless motion, picked up her inert body. He and his men then quickly retreated back up into the hills and to their mounts, taking their victims’ four horses with them. Reaching their mounts the braves quickly mounted, the leader holding the limp body of the young girl in the crook of his arm as he rode off at the head of the group, the grisly reminders of their confrontation with the white men dangling from either mounts’ bridles or from around the brave’s waists.

Behind them, the amber liquid, from the shattered bottle, met up with the fire from the thicket and a conflagration started up and quickly spread. Unawares, the braves had crested the rise of the hill and were well down the far slope when the fire, on the other side, spread out across the prairie devouring everything in its relentless path.

Some time later the braves stopped to rest their mounts and set up camp by a slow flowing river. After dismounting, while some went off hunting, three of the braves helped their leader carry the unconscious girl into the stream and began to bathe her arms, legs and face in the cool, crystal-clear flow. She opened her eyes, dazed, not knowing where she was or how she came there. When she saw that several of the braves were holding her, while the others looked on, she cringed and began to whimper, looking around wildly and then back to the men who stood hovering, uncertain, over her. She then began to struggle so that those braves bathing her burnt limbs let go of her, and she fell, awkwardly, into the stream getting completely drenched in the process.

Now totally alert, her look of fear turned to one of puzzlement when they did nothing and kept their distance, except for the one nearest to her who proceeded to bend over and drink from the water. She watched him and looked at the others who still did nothing. When the one closest to her raised his head, he indicated, by mime movements, that she too should drink. Fearful and wary, she took a quick drink, being scared almost out of her wits when the other braves began to talk in a language she couldn’t understand and then smiled hesitantly at her when, clearly frightened, she looked at them each in turn. They all appeared fit and well fed, even if their lack of clothing left much to be desired, in her eyes. She then looked from them to the one by her side. He again indicated that she should drink some more and also splash her face, arms and legs, to the merriment of his companions as he demonstrated on his own legs and fell into the water for his pains! He stood up, shaking the water from his body and hair, the drops of water glinting in the sun.

Still wary, the girl gingerly stood up, somewhat hampered by her soggy clothing and aching, painful limbs. She dabbed at her arms and face while keeping her eyes on the braves. Then, straightening up quickly, causing them to back up in alarm, she waded into the middle of the stream, looking around her in despair.

She tries to find an escape, said one of the braves.

She is resourceful, commented another.

She is scared for her very life! remarked yet another.

Finally, the braves gave up watching her and walked back to their camp fire to dry off and where the youngest brave was busy tending to two rabbits, and a plucked bird of some kind which he had skewered on a makeshift spit over the fire. Sitting down around the fire the braves began discussing the girl.

Well she can come with us, or not, I don’t care.

She’d never survive out here, there are no white eyes for many days’ journey. Too far for her to walk, said another.

We could give her a horse, suggested one.

You’re crazy! A bride’s price is sometimes only one horse. Have you taken leave of your senses! exclaimed another.

Well, what do you suggest? We did pick up four new ones from the white eyes.

Those are booty, not for giving away. They must be shared. She will come with us, said the leader, forcibly, as he turned to look at the girl who still stood, afraid but defiant, in the middle of the river.

Well, she could ride one of them then, if you plan on taking her with us. They still have the white men’s trappings on them, she will know what to do with them, said a young brave.

No, she is in no condition to sit on top of a horse, by herself, and, she might try to make a run for it. No she will ride with me, said the leader, firmly.

Phew! I wouldn’t want to be in your moccasins when you reach home and Grey Squirrel finds out! said one, as his companions laughed.

What if she doesn’t want to come? asked one.

She will come, where else could she go? When the white men come to our camp after the winter for trade, we will send her back with them. They will know what to do with her. And I’m not afraid of Grey Squirrel, what does she have to worry about a white eyes for?

Pouah! White men are all animals where squaws are concerned. You’ll see they will do to her what those pursuing her wished to, said one, spitting in disgust as he rolled over in his blanket.

Not all, said the leader. But we will let her decide, when she is ready. See, soon she will give up and join us. Turn the spit boy, maybe the smell of cooking meat will tempt her empty belly. He head may be full, but it won’t argue with an empty belly for long! Besides, we have her pouch, he said, holding up a small leather drawstring pouch. She will want something familiar to hold. It will keep her spirits up.

Do whites have spirits? asked one brave. Surely the Great Watonka does not look favorably on them, otherwise they would be same color as we. Yet they are pale, pale as moonlight.

Maybe their great spirit is of the Moon, said one.

Maybe they are really Pawnees and worship the Morning and Evening Stars! laughed another.

All the braves laughed and most of them laid back, relaxing, against their blankets while the young buck continued to turn the spit, and their mounts stomped around tethered to scrub oak as the sun rose ever higher in the blue sky.

They had all finished eating and were resting when the girl tentatively approached them. She eyed the remnants of their meal, licking her lips hungrily, but stayed close to the river’s edge.

Si un de vous bouge, je m’enfui, she shouted defiantly, the words meaning nothing to the braves, who looked at one another puzzled.

What does she say? asked one.

Who can tell? said another, with an indifferent yawn, as he rolled himself up in his blanket and went to sleep.

She doesn’t liked your cooking Little Sparrow, commented one, laughing at the young brave.

The smell makes her angry! said another, softening his words with a grin.

The smell makes her hungry you mean, said the young brave named Little Sparrow, almost defiantly.

Slowly, their leader stood and the braves were silent as they watched him use mime signals, to indicate to the girl that she should sit down and eat.

By now, shivering, maybe from the shock of her ordeal and burns, the girl slowly approached the fire. Looking at the brave she nodded to him in acknowledgment and slowly, painfully sank, to a kneeling position by the fire, somewhat encumbered by her wet skirts. Gingerly, she extended her arms and gradually the warmth from the fire seeped through to her gelid limbs as steam began to rise from her wet clothes.

The braves smiled and chatted among themselves, those that were still awake or alert enough.

Just look at that, she looks like she came out of a sweat house! said one, grinning.

Why does she not eat? She is strong this one, said another, his voice showing his amazement.

She’s crazy, you mean, snorted another one. Women!

It’s Little Sparrow’s cooking! teased the one, who had spoken of the cooking previously.

Seeing that they meant her no harm, the girl gingerly leant forward and picked up a small piece of rabbit which she ate delicately, savoring each small mouthful she took, and licking her fingers clean before she took another piece, after an approving nod from the leader. Like the piece before, she ate it slowly, relishing every bite and licking her fingers at the end.

See! She likes my cooking, maybe it was the company she couldn’t stomach! said Little Sparrow, defensively in the teasing brave’s direction, but if the latter heard he paid no heed and seemed to be sleeping. The girl seeing all but a couple of the braves lying down backed herself up to a tree and sat down at its base, keeping a wary eye on the group around the fire.

As the sun warmed the earth and the fire died down, even the young girl stopped shivering and slept fitfully.

It was mid-afternoon, and there had been several changes among the outlooks when the leader finally stood up and covered the dead fire’s remnants over with dirt and dragged broken branches and leaves over the spot, effectively hiding it from all but the most inquisitive eyes. Soon, all the braves had seen to their mounts and waited, prepared to leave. As they mounted the young girl woke up and looked around wildly. She stood up, somewhat painfully and unsteadily, and looked at the braves seeing that they were readied to leave.

The leader looked at her and indicated she could ride with him.

Timidly, the girl advanced. The brave leapt nimbly onto his mount’s back and then extended a hand to pull the girl up. Wincing in pain, as her burnt arms and legs protested her every move, she finally ensconced herself behind him. Still holding onto her hand he indicated that she should place both her arms around his waist and hold on to him.

Hesitantly, she did so and sitting up as straight as she could behind him, shivered as she wondered where they were taking her and what fate would await her when they reached their destination.

As they journeyed, she looked at the back of the brave in front of her. His skin was sleek, hairless, a deep brown in color and, like his front, was scar riddled for her fingers could feel the tell-tale raised welts of scar tissue. She wondered who could have inflicted so many scars on such a man. She had also noticed when he was in the river with her that his legs bore the signs of many scars too. Obviously, she thought, he must have been in many hand to hand combats to incur so many scars. She trembled at the thought and wondered what could lay in store for her with these savages. She had heard nothing but tales of horror and terror of the red man’s practices, very little else had been said other than that they were hunters and skilled scouts and horsemen. Where were they taking her and what would they do to her when they reached their destination? She trembled and resigned herself fatalistically, deciding there was nothing she could do, her fate was in God’s hands.

After a while, she turned her attention to her captor’s hair, which hung down past his shoulder blades. It was a rich,