Chapter Sixteen—Two Moons

     Robin woke up. She opened her eyes. It took her several moments to get oriented. This is not my bedroom…not my bed…where am I? Then she remembered. The stables. Somebody grabbed me in the stables…I lost consciousness…She didn’t move yet, she just looked around with her eyes, and listened with her ears. She was lying on the ground, in a teepee. Indians. I’ve been taken by Indians, was her first thought. And it was accurate. She heard some sounds outside, talking in a language she didn’t understand, fires crackling, pots bumping together. She felt a rising panic—I’ve been kidnapped by Indians…what do they want? What will they do?…
     All kinds of questions flooded her mind, but she tried to calm herself and think orderly. First things first. She tried to sit up and found that she could. She was still a little light-headed, but whatever drug had been used on her had worn off fairly quickly. She could tell by the luminosity in the teepee that it was barely light outside—dawn or sunset? Probably the former, otherwise she would have slept for almost 20 hours. Her clothes, except for her boots, were still on. She glanced to her right and saw a bowl full of liquid; it looked like water, and upon testing it, that’s what it proved to be. So she drank a little of it then washed up as best she could. She tossed what was obviously a buffalo robe blanket off of her, found her boots, put them on, stood up, and headed outside. Nobody was stopping her, so that’s what she did.
     When she stepped out of the teepee, she recognized almost immediately where she was. Not because she had ever been there before, but because of the description she had heard the night before. A huge Indian encampment, high canyon walls on both sides of her. Teepees by the hundreds. Indian braves milling around here and there, none of them paying the slightest bit of attention to her. Well, except one. A big fellow standing about 20 feet away, with a snarl on his face, his arms crossed, and a multi-thonged leather whip in his right hand.
     She was obviously in the camp of the Indians who were preparing to attack Whitewater.
     It was past dawn now and there was a lot of activity going on. Mostly fire building and cooking, but also some cleaning, polishing, inspecting, that sort of thing. Veal was right. They don’t look like they are ready to attack yet. And then Robin heard a familiar voice, or at least a familiar language.
     “Hi,” a female voice said. “I can’t say, for your sake, that I’m glad to see you, but it’s nice to see another white face.”
     Robin turned and saw a woman, probably mid-30s, white blouse, red patterned skirt, light brown hair streaked with gray, blue eyes full of weariness, face a little worn and drawn. “Hi,” Robin responded. “I’m obviously not the only one who these Indians have borrowed for awhile.”
     The other lady chuckled softly. “No, I’m afraid not. My name is Rita Carver. And you are number 25.”
     “Twenty-five?” Robin asked. “What…why?” Then bitterly, “Except for the obvious nighttime duties.”
     “Actually,” Rita said, “they haven’t touched any of us sexually. At least as far as I know. We’re here to cook, wash, clean, basic domestic stuff that these fellows don’t want to do themselves. They are obviously getting ready for some kind of huge military battle and they don’t want to be bothered with the more mundane matters, I suppose. They are Nipita, and I think I’ve seen a couple other tribes represented as well. I guess they are too lazy to do these things themselves.” She gave Robin a wry grin.
     “No Indian women here?”
     “None that I’ve seen. Only braves, and a few older men who are respected chiefs.”
     “How long have you been here?”
     “A little over a week.”
     “Where are you from?” Robin asked. “Incidentally, my name is Robin Morrow. I got snatched last night from the stable behind my aunt’s house in Whitewater.”
     Rita nodded. “Sounds familiar. I’m from Agua Caliente. Snatched one night on the way home from a party. Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”
     Robin walked beside Rita as they headed towards a cluster of teepees to the north. Robin could see a number of white women doing various chores, mostly cooking at the moment. “You don’t seem to be too frightened,” Robin said to Rita.
     “Well, we were…told…that we would be set free once the attack was over. So far, none of us have been harmed. Well, Stacey was whipped one day by that ugly thug you probably saw outside your teepee, but other than that, they haven’t harmed us. We’re here for one purpose—do domestic chores so the men can go play their war games. The more of us they have, I suppose, the sooner they can get on with whatever they have planned.”
     “Have they told you what they are planning?”
     “No.”
     “Do you really think they’ll turn us loose once the attack is over?”
     Rita made a face. “I hope so. I hope that wherever they attack, they get wiped out so there won’t be any of them left to hold us.” Then she looked at Robin. “But they said they would let us go and the Nipita have a reputation for keeping their word.”
     “Well, at least that much is good.”
     “Yes. Here let me introduce you…”
     Robin met several other women, she remembered a few of the names over time—a red-head named Linda, brunette named Charlotte, a Susan, Becky, Callie, Cheryl, Karla, Stacey—the Stacey who had been whipped by “Bruno,” as the girls called him.
     “What did you do?” Robin asked Stacey.
     “Some Indian pinched me on the butt so I turned around and kicked him in the….” She smiled. “The whipping was worth watching that guy roll around the ground in agony.” Robin laughed.
     The whole thing seemed to be a little ethereal to Robin. The women didn’t seemed to be distressed by their circumstances at all. Well, that’s not entirely true. They were obviously all distraught and disconsolate at their condition, but they also seemed to be doing a very good job of cheering one another up. She saw some tears and sadness, but there was hope, too. Hope that it really wouldn’t be too long before they would get to go home.
     “We’re all obviously ready to go home,” Rita told her. “But, well, we can’t. So we try to make the best of it.”
     “Any way to escape?”
     “If you can find it, let us know.”
     Robin looked around. “I’m the new kid on the block here. Isn’t there an Indian welcome wagon somewhere to tell me what to do?”
     Rita glanced around. “Here he comes. White Crow.” She pointed.
     Robin turned and saw an old, wrinkled man, shoulders bent, with silken gray hair that hung almost halfway down his back and front. Robin could see that he only had three or four teeth left in his mouth, but he appeared to be a decent sort.
     He came over to Robin. She was a little surprised to learn he spoke excellent English. “And you are…?” he said to Robin.
     “Robin Morrow. And you are White Crow?”
     “Yes. I’m sorry that we took you from your home. I told them, why don’t you just bring squaws, and they said white women cook better.” Robin wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not.
     “I don’t like being taken from my home,” she said.
     “Well, if we had sent you an invitation, would you have come?”
     Robin almost smiled. “No, I don’t guess I would have.” Then, curious, she asked him, “Where did you get the name ‘White Crow’? I’ve never seen a white crow.”
     “I haven’t, either. But when I was a youngster, I shot a crow off a tree and he fell into a huge pile of bird droppings. So when I picked him up, he was mostly white.”
     Robin gave Rita a disbelieving glance. She just shrugged. “That what he told the rest of us, too.”
     White Crow motioned to Robin. “Come, Robin Morrow. I will show you your duties.”
     As they walked, Robin asked him, “Where did you learn to speak English so well?”
     “I went to Oxford.” That was all he said. And Robin really couldn’t deduce if he was telling the truth or not, he had such a plain, straight-faced way about him.
     She followed him to another group of teepees, but only five in the cluster. “Just cook, clean, wash up, tidy around, act like you’re doing something important, even thought we all know you won’t be.” The old fellow had a sense of humor. “There are eight warriors in these five teepees. A few others will meander in and out of the area, seeing how well you cook. Keep them fed and they’ll be happy. That’s the main thing. You’ll probably have to help out a little in some other teepees around, but for the moment, this is your spot.”
     An Indian brave came over and said something to White Crow. He responded briefly, and the brave looked at Robin. “This is Two Moons,” White Crow said. “Don’t ask me where he got his name, I don’t know. He lives in that teepee there.” He pointed. “He likes his food hot, so build a good fire.”
     Robin was looking at Two Moons, who continued to inspect her. He was not quite the typical full-blooded Indian. His skin was more honey-colored than bronze, though his longish hair and eyes were dark. He was of medium height, strongly built, probably a little older than Robin. He wore a light colored leather vest, no shirt underneath, with long leggings made of the same color, with moccasins to match. He was looking at Robin with obvious interest, but he was just as obviously trying not to make a show of it. He spoke. White Crow had to translate, of course.
     “He wants to know how old you are.”
     That surprised Robin a little; white men usually were a little more diplomatic than that. “I’m 25. Is it proper to ask how old he is?”
     “Yes, but he’d probably lie to you.” She laughed.
     “Is he married?”
     “He’d lie to you about that, too.” And she laughed again.
     “What would he tell me the truth about?”
     “I don’t know. If I asked him, he’d probably lie about that as well.” Another laugh. He’s delightful…but then she remembered where she was. “I do know he has a son, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s married.” Two Moons wanted to know what was going on, so White Crow talked to him for a few moments. “I told him that you were 42, had 3 husbands, and 10 children, and snored when you sleep. He’ll leave you alone.”
     But he didn’t. Robin went to work, doing some things that White Crow told her to do, and Two Moons went back to doing whatever it was he had been doing. But a couple of hours later, he came over to her, looking down at her, though he was only about 2 inches taller than she.
     Robin looked at him with a quizzical expression. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a necklace—a beautiful silver necklace with various Indian designs, inlaid with magnificent turquoise. He reached up and put it around her neck. Robin’s eyes got wide, as she held the necklace up in her hands, examining it.
     “It’s beautiful,” she said, and indeed it was.
     “Genuine silver and turquoise,” White Crow said, coming up behind her. “The Nipita are quite proficient with both.”
     “Is it…I mean…is he giving it to me…to keep?”
     “Of course.”
     “Well, please tell him ‘thank you.’ And that I think it is beautiful and like it very much.”
     White Crow translated. Two Moons simply nodded, and walked away. He didn’t smile once, and it struck Robin that she hadn’t seen him smile one time yet. Hard, but handsome, features.
     Robin worked pretty much by herself most of the day. White Crow or Rita would come by occasionally and point out some things to her, but it wasn’t rocket science. Her mind, not surprisingly, was filled with thoughts of home. What’s Aunt Martha thinking? She must be worried stiff. I hate that…And Sam…I was supposed to go to dinner with him tonight…and just as naturally, she thought about trying to escape. I don’t have any desire to stay here any longer than possible…she cast her eyes around the canyon, seeing what she could see…high walls…no way to climb those…how about horses? I wonder if I could get a horse…She bounced the idea off Rita.
     “Yeah, I’ve thought about it, too. And there are a lot of horses, for sure. At the back wall of the canyon, there is a whole corral of them. At least 500. I’m not sure how they are keeping them all fed. But the problem is, even if you could get one, you’d have to ride almost three miles through 2,000 Indians to get to the mouth of the canyon.”
     “Not good.”
     “No.”
     “Any way to scale the wall?”
     “There is a rope ladder near the base of the canyon, too, but getting to it would be the problem. There is always somebody awake, roaming around, watching the horses, something. And Bruno always seems to be awake. I’ve never seen him sleep. I’ve never even seen him blink. I don’t think he’d be very happy if we got caught trying to escape.”
     “Probably not,” Robin said, but the germ of an idea was forming in her head.
     Two Moons came back over to her in the middle of the afternoon. He reached down, took hold of Robin’s wrist, and clamped a bracelet around it. Robin stared at it—gold, probably solid gold given how heavy it was, and carved once again with some beautifully intricate designs—she saw an eagle, a mountain lion, a howling wolf. And it fit her perfectly.
     She looked up at him. He was actually staring at some point over her head, his expression unchanged. It never changes…
     ”Two Moons,” she said. Only then did he condescend to look at her. “Thank you.”
     He grunted something, met her eyes for several seconds, then turned and walked away.
     “He said, ‘you’re welcome, pretty one,’” White Crow translated from behind her. She turned.
     “Is that really what he said, or are you lying to me, too?” she asked, with a smile.
     “That’s really what he said. White Crow never lies. Much.” She laughed. “Let me see the bracelet.” Robin held out her hand. White Crow nodded his head. “Gold. Ancient charm bracelet. If you wear this, you will never be bitten by a poisonous snake.”
     Robin laughed again, but White Crow didn’t smile, and she realized that he was serious, he believed what he said. “How lovely,” she replied, trying to cover up.
     “The snake god is one of the most feared in Nipita folklore, Robin Morrow. We all carry something to protect us from him.” He pulled a small necklace out from under his shirt. At the end of it was a small, golden snake. “Two Moons is trying to keep you from harm’s way. The snake. The deadliest enemy of the Nipita.” Then he paused. “Next to the white man, I suppose.”
     Robin was touched by this piece of Indian folklore and by Two Moons’ care for her. It was obvious that he was attracted to her. I wonder if there is any way I can exploit that to get away…and she almost felt guilty about thinking that.
     Almost. But not quite.

     Robin kept busy all day, doing whatever White Crow told her to do. Once she finished supper, she was hot, dusty, and tired. She asked White Crow if it were possible if she could take a bath.
     “Yes. There is a stream near the edge of the north side of the canyon. Hold on, I will get someone to take you.” He came back a few minutes later and Two Moons was with him. “He insisted on taking you. He will show you and stay there while you are bathing to make sure no one disturbs you.”
     She was about to ask if he would disturb her, but she realized that would be insulting. So she was given the Indian equivalent of soap and a towel, and walked beside Two Moons to the stream.
     It was only about 200 yards away. As they walked, Two Moons talked. He pointed to the sky once, then to the earth, made a waving, circling motion with his hand, then a broad, sweeping gesture with both of his arms. Robin, of course, didn’t understand a word he said, and this time White Crow wasn’t around to translate for her, but understand it or not, Robin was a little awed. He must have been weaving quite a tale, speaking in a beautiful, rhythmic language. It may have been a poetic epic that he was telling her. And she could see a light in his eyes that she’d not seen before. She wondered why he would do this, when he had to know she could make no sense of it.
     When they arrived at the stream—and there was a little pool actually—Two Moons turned his back, planted his feet, and crossed his arms. Nobody was going to approach that pool while he was there.
     Robin bathed fairly quickly—she would liked to have taken longer, but she didn’t think she should. She glanced at Two Moons occasionally, but he never moved. Stood there like a rock, protecting her. Robin was touched, but at the same time, found it strange, not being able to figure out why this Indian had taken such a liking to her.
     As they walked back to the teepees, Two Moons’ back was straight as a rod and his head was held high. He didn’t talk this time, so Robin, for some reason, felt she should. So she started talking about Aunt Martha, her job teaching, how she had gone to school back east. He acted like he didn’t pay attention to a word she said, he just walked straight ahead, looking ahead, never budging his head. But when they got back to the circle of the teepees, he looked down at her, no change of expression, and said, “Ah-unt Maharfa.”
     She blinked at him, astonished. “Yes. Yes, Aunt Martha.”
     And then he said, “Rah-ha-bin.” With the emphasis again on the “ha.” It sounded beautiful the way he said it.
     “Yes, Robin.” He nodded, and then pulled something else out of his pocket. A golden sun, flames radiating out from the orb. It was small, and it seemed to have a little clip attached to it. He reached up, and fastened it to Robin’s left earlobe. He studied it closely for a moment, as if to make sure it was where it was supposed to be, reached up, made a miniscule adjustment, then nodded. He said something, very briefly, then turned and walked away.
     “May the sun shine on you always,” White Crow said from behind her again. “The sun is the source of all life. If the sun shines on you, you will live. Tomorrow, he will put the moon on your other ear. But he must put the sun on your ear at night to ensure that you will live to see it, and then he must put the moon on your ear during the day to ensure that you live to see that.”
     “And if I die?”
     “Nobody’s medicine is perfect. But this give you a better chance.”
     “I did not get to thank him.”
     “He does not need it.”
     Robin looked at the old Indian. “Why is he doing this, White Crow?”
     He shrugged. “He’s taken a fancy to you.”
     “Am I supposed to…give something in return?”
     White Crow knew what she meant. He looked at her. “Nothing is expected.” He started to walk away, but then Robin asked him, “Where do I sleep tonight?”
     He pointed to a teepee a little back from the others. “That one is yours”—the one she had initially woken up in.
     Robin nodded.
     She started to go see Rita and the other girls for a few minutes, not ready yet to go to the teepee, but she changed her mind. She didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, and she certainly didn’t want to explain all her new jewelry. So she entered the teepee that had been assigned to her, thinking that one or two of the other girls might be sharing it with her.
     Well, if they were, they gave no signs of it. It wasn’t a huge structure, probably no more than 15 feet in diameter and 10 feet tall at its apex. There was an opening where the cone came together at the top to let in some fresh air and light. The only accessories were some blankets on the ground, with a pillow at one end—obviously the bed, and designed for two at the most—a small table that held a bowl of water, and a small stove, which could be filled with wood and used for heat on a chilly night. Robin checked and there wasn’t anything in it, but it didn’t matter, it probably wasn’t going to be too cold that night anyway, and even if it was, the bed had a huge buffalo skin blanket on top that would be very comfortable.
     All of this had happened so quickly—the Indian kidnapping—and so unexpectedly, that Robin hadn’t really had time to take inventory. It was like she was in a complete different world, and Whitewater was a million miles away. Maybe these people are savages after all…but then, if we hadn’t taken their mountain, none of this would have happened…and I got kidnapped a few weeks ago, too, and it wasn’t by a savage Indian…the thought of Rob filled her with melancholy, but it always did. She put him aside and concentrated on some kind of escape plan…a diversion…how can I create a diversion?…it would have to be at night, of course…I’ll give that some more thought…
     The air was cold, so the buffalo blanket felt good once she crawled under it. She was tired. She said a prayer. She tried to go to sleep. She couldn’t.
     So, Robin lay awake for awhile, staring at the stars she could see through the hole in the roof of the teepee. The thought coming back to her…I was kidnapped a few weeks ago, too…she saw his face. Why do I keep thinking of him?…he’s gone…he lied to me…and he’s gone…I should hate him for that…I should hate him for kidnapping me, turning my heart upside down, then leaving me… She rolled over onto her side, eyes still open. I wish I had a roommate…teepeemate? she smiled … …somebody to drive that demon named Rob out of my mind and body…No, I’ll just put him aside, forget him….but she couldn’t do it…he lied to me…and he got himself killed…and yet…yet…he’s right here where he’s always been…
     Robin could cover him up for awhile. But she could never bury him. Or she hadn’t been able to yet. She finally fell asleep, a fitful, restless sleep.

     The Indian preparation continued. The next morning, when she arose, Robin cleaned up as best she could and started about her daily chores, cooking, cleaning, looking busy—but mainly trying to think of a way to escape. At one point, she saw White Crow cleaning a rifle. I wonder if I could steal one of those…
     The old Indian glanced up at her. “If you’re thinking about trying to steal one of these, I wouldn’t. We only have about 1,000 of them now, and I’m sure somebody would notice if one was missing.”
     Robin couldn’t help but smile. He read my mind…And, once again, White Crow was so straight-faced that she couldn’t tell if he were joking or not. “Are you going to join the attack?” she asked him.
     “Lordy, no,” he replied. “A fellow could get killed that way.” Again, she smiled. White Crow gave the rifle one more good wipe. “I used to be pretty good with one of these things, though, at least the older models. Not sure how good I am with this new one.” He loaded a couple of bullets in it, and looked around. He pointed. “See that vulture up there on that tree?”
     Robin looked. It was on the bluff above the canyon, at least 250 yards away. “Yes,” she replied.
     White Crow aimed the rifle and fired. And feathers flew. The vulture dropped. The old Indian nodded. “Haven’t lost my touch.”
     Robin was impressed. “Do all the Nipita shoot as well as you do?”
     He snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. Why do you think they do what I tell them to?” And Robin did laugh.
     White Crow walked away. Still wish I could get one of those rifles…She pondered the thought…But how would it help me get away?….

     Robin never lost sight of her one goal while in the Indian encampment—to get out. And her relationship with Two Moons gave her a perfect opportunity to exploit that goal.
     White Crow had told her that Two Moons was a major chief of his band of the Nipita Indians, the Powder River band. Robin started calling Two Moons “Sonny,” mainly because she didn’t think the name “Moony” was a very good one. But it was obvious that he was infatuated with her, and given that fact, it gave Robin some freedom she wouldn’t have had otherwise.
     The next morning, Sonny brought her the moon earring that White Crow had said he would bring, but also something else—a dress. It was a basic Indian female dress—one piece, made of soft, buffalo hide, of a light brown color. It fastened at the shoulders, so all Robin had to do was step into it and close it up. It was much shorter than any dress she had ever worn before—the Victorian Age, remember—as it came to only the top of her knees. She was embarrassed to wear it at first, but none of the Indians seemed to notice, and the other white women thought she looked darling in it, especially after Sonny put a headband around her forehead and braided her hair on both sides of her head, Indian-style. The worst part of the dress was—that was all she wore. No underwear at all, so she had to be extremely careful how she stooped down or how far she bent over. It was a matter of no consequence to the Indians, because they didn’t have the same standards of morality that white, Christian Victorians did; a man or a woman’s nakedness was natural to them, and they found it a bit peculiar that whites were so protective of their modesty. And modesty did matter to Robin. The dress was comfortable, especially in the heat, but still a little hard to get used to.
     And it was quite obvious that Sonny enjoyed being with her. Robin couldn’t figure it out. They couldn’t communicate, not unless White Crow was around. She learned a few Nipita words, and he learned some English, but they couldn’t communicate that way. He might look at her, but more often than not he stared off into space as if he wasn’t paying a bit of attention to her. He never smiled. But he was always there. He would eat with her; sometimes White Crow was there to translate, usually not. He gave her more precious, maybe priceless, gifts—a ring, a brooch, a pendant, a blanket—all woven with some remarkable Indian design from a precious metal or material that came from who knew where. When she went to take a bath each evening, he always stood, as he had the first night, and protected her, making sure no one else approached the pool. But then after her bath, they would go walking, and he would regale her with some other…something…in his beautiful language. She hadn’t the foggiest what he was saying, but it caused a certain reaction in her, making her feel a part of him, comforting her, causing her to feel more at ease and less threatened by her unfamiliar surroundings. He would stop talking and she would start, and again, he would act as though he wasn’t listening to a word she said. But she knew he was. It was eerie. This has to be a dream…But it wasn’t. And she never forgot it. And she had difficulty feeling guilty about her intention to exploit her relationship with Sonny to escape…

     It wasn’t easy, but Sonny was the key. He was a major chief of his band of the Nipita—White Crow told her that—so he had plenty of authority and power. And the more he and Robin were together, the more she could sense a change in the other Indians towards her. She wasn’t just another white woman to clean and cook. A major chief was taking interest in her, and that put her in a respected, and to her, useful, position.
    Now…how can I use this to my advantage? She did feel the occasional momentary pang again that thought because Sonny had been so kind to her and she didn’t want to abuse that. But then she thought, they shouldn’t have kidnapped me in the first place. She smiled to herself. All is fair in love and war. But she’d try to do what she had to do without hurting him or abusing his trust too much.

     A plan began to formulate in her mind the next night--Thursday. She and Sonny had sat together at supper, as they would do every night from then on. On that night, Thursday, he brought in several small, 2 ounce bottles of whiskey for them to drink. Robin hated the stuff, but all the Indians seemed to love it. Well, she drank almost five bottles and it was so pure in its alcoholic content, that, if she wasn’t drunk, she was as close to it as she had ever been. The only reason she drank it was because she wanted to stay in Sonny’s good graces. From what she could tell he drank about 12 bottles of the stuff and it didn’t seem to affect him at all. Robin got a little giddy and giggly and almost passed out. The last thing she remembered was Sonny carrying her into her teepee and laying her down on buffalo-robe bed and covering her up. She smiled. That was nice of him…and then she was out like a light.

     But it was when she sobered up that the escape idea came to her.
     Rita told her that there was a rope ladder up the canyon wall. That was the only route out of the encampment as far as Robin could tell; she was simply too deep in the canyon to be able to slip by all the Indians and get out through the mouth. Too many sentries anyway. So she’d go up the rope ladder. But she needed a diversion so that the Indians would be distracted and not see her and the other white women escape. That was where Sonny and the whiskey bottles came in.
     Since Sonny had taken such a fancy to her, she had access to parts of the camp that the other women didn’t, such as all the supply teepees (some were off limits to the women). What if I were to get about 10 or 12 of those small whiskey bottles, empty them, fill them with lighting oil—used for lighting the various lamps around the camp at night—put a little wick on them and use them as firebombs. I could set enough teepees on fire to create a huge distraction…Then two more ideas struck her. I can sneak into the teepee with the ammunition—that could be tough, it was pretty well guarded—get a few belts of bullets, toss them in the fire, and when they started going off, it would sound like an attack…Indians would come running from all directions…the fires would be burning…I could then run to the corral, let the horses loose, and they could stampede the camp, creating further havoc. Nobody would notice us going up the ladder…She wondered if she were still drunk when she made those plans, but if even two of the three ideas worked, it should create enough confusion to allow time for the women to escape. It would have to be at night, of course, and they would need to travel as rapidly as possible, because the natives would probably come after them and attempt to recapture them. But they might be able to get away. It was worth a try. Robin had no intention of remaining at that camp any longer than possible, Sonny or no Sonny.

     “It might work,” Rita said, “but only if you went alone. As much as we’d all like to get out of here, and I’m ready to risk almost anything, if all 25 of us were to try it, there’s no way we’d get away. How could we hide without being seen when they came searching for us, as they surely would. But one escapee might not even be missed, or if she was, not considered worth going after.” She gave Robin a smile. “Although your male friend might want you back.”
     Robin was anguished. “I don’t want to go without the rest of you.”
     Rita shook her head. “You go. We’ll stay. You can tell everyone we’re safe and unharmed and where we are. I really believe they will let us go in a few weeks when they are all ready to break camp.”
     Stacey added, “We won’t tell the others, either. Somebody might talk.”
     Robin didn’t like it, but she saw the wisdom in what Rita was saying. And the thought went through her mind, What if they catch me fire-bombing their teepees? She decided not to go there. Bruno and his whip were frequently visible, and if she only got away with a visit from him, she would consider herself lucky.
     But she was going to try the escape. She wanted to go home. I’ve GOT to get home…for Aunt Martha…

     Bit by bit, Robin started working on her plan. It wasn’t necessarily a complicated plan, but it did take some doing. The biggest problem was finding some time to be alone to where she could put everything together that she needed. Somebody always seemed to be around. Of course, when she was outside, she was working and there were usually some natives milling about. She could only do it in her teepee, and at night. Too much time in the teepee during the day might arouse suspicion. Besides, Sonny had a habit of showing up three or four times a day to talk to her or watch her or just be with her. Robin couldn’t help being flattered by his attention.
     Getting the materials she wasn’t all that difficult. There were several teepees with supplies, but they were all guarded. But the women were expected to cook, so they could go to that supply teepee, thus Robin had no problem obtaining the whiskey. She took 12 of the 2-ounce bottles and when the Indian guard frowned at her for taking so many, she simply smiled and made the motion with her hands that she had been taught meant “Two Moons.” The Indian didn’t smile back, but he nodded. Sonny’s drinking reputation was probably legendary. And nobody messed with her, either. She smiled. It’s nice to have friends in high places…
     The oil for the lamps—which she would use as the inflammatory—wasn’t difficult to get, either. The girls were expected to light the lamps at night and they needed oil for that. So Robin was able to obtain some of that, too.
     Hiding the stuff proved a little more challenging. She had had her purse with her when taken, and she had been somewhat surprised to find it lying beside her when she woke up that first morning. It was fairly large, so she would be able to stuff several of the whiskey bottles in there. But not all of them. And the bottle of oil, a pint bottle, was certainly too big for her purse. The oil, though, wasn’t such a big deal. She could be expected to have some of that for lighting purposes, so she placed it on the ground next to the table in her teepee. She didn’t advertise it, but she didn’t try to conceal it, either.
     Robin thought getting the ammunition would be the most difficult of all, but it proved to be fairly simple as well. Again, the Two Moons motion with her hands got her into the ammo tent. The only thing Robin had to worry about here was one of the tent guards asking Sonny if he had authorized her to get the ammunition. Which is why she waited until the day she intended to escape to get what she wanted. The ammunition was in boxes of 50 shells each. She took four of them. That should be enough. She walked out of the teepee with her prize without even a glance at the guards, as if to say, You better not mess with me, buddy, or you’re going to answer to the Big Cheese…It worked.
     But, again, the ammo she picked up later. The first thing she needed to do was get the bottles of whiskey filled and a wick on each one. She took it a step at a time. What’s the best way to get rid of the whiskey? She thought about just pouring it out on the ground inside the teepee, but then, if Sonny came in—which he did occasionally—he would probably be able to smell it. So, after a moment’s thought, Robin smiled to herself. Where’s the best place to pour the whiskey?…Down Sonny’s throat…He’d insist, of course, that she join him, but that was the price she’d have to pay. Even though she hated the stuff, between the two of them they could probably finish the 12 bottles off in one night, and then she’d have 12 empties. They had drunk almost 20 bottles on Thursday night. I wish I had kept those. But she hadn’t, so she’d just have to do it again.
     It wasn’t difficult. She got the whiskey on that Friday, and found a pretext to invited him into her teepee that night. She was afraid he might get the wrong idea, and he did frown, but followed her. She simply brought out the bottles with a mischievous smile. Sonny simply nodded. They sat down and started drinking. To while away the time, Robin tried to get him to teach her some of his language while she taught him some English. He seemed to like that, and she was impressed with the quickness of his mind. Robin drank her four bottles slowly, and even then probably wouldn’t have passed a sobriety test. Sonny downed his 8—with no obvious effects at all. She feigned that she was about to pass out again, and indeed, flopped over onto the bed as if she was about to go to sleep. The Indian took the hint and got up to leave. Robin called out to him, lazily, “Sonny.”
     He turned and looked at her.
     She smiled and said, “Thank you,” in his language.
     To which he almost smiled and said, “Thank you,” in English.
     And it wasn’t too long after that that Robin was indeed asleep.

     She woke up the next morning with a headache, albeit not a splitting one, but that was ok. She also had 12 empty whiskey bottles—thankfully Sonny didn’t come in after I fell asleep and get them—and they probably had enough alcohol residue in them to provide an added boost to the fire bombs. Geez, I probably could have just gotten 12 bottles of whiskey and forgot about the oil. But the oil would burn longer and hotter and be better for her purposes. Phase 1 of her plan—getting 12 small bottles—was now complete.

     But then, an unexpected…uh…surprise. On Saturday night, Sonny—apparently thinking that Robin really liked the stuff--brought three big bottles of whiskey to supper. Robin was horrified to see that they each had 24 ounces of liquid in them. Sonny even smiled at her, a little self-consciously it appeared, and pointed towards her teepee. Robin hesitated, but smiled in return and nodded. Oh, well, if he gets me stone cold drunk and rapes me, I’ll probably never know…They sat on the buffalo robe bed again, and he handed her a bottle and kept two for himself. Robin was absolutely determined she wasn’t going to drink herself silly. So she opened her bottle and started pouring it on Sonny’s head. He yelled, knocked the bottle out of her hand, and jumped up, speaking angrily in his tongue. But Robin started giggling and was giggling so hard that Sonny started laughing, too. They laughed together for a good 10 minutes, and then he made her pay, big time, for the spilt whiskey. He handed her one of his bottles and made a motion to her that she was to start drinking it. She made a face at him, but opened the bottle and took a sip. He smiled, and shook his head, and then reached over and grabbed her, stuck the opening of the bottle in her mouth and forced her to drink the whole thing, although a lot of it spilled out of her mouth and down her dress. She tried to make him stop, but he was way too strong for her. He was laughing the whole time. When she had downed the whole thing, she started retching, and then ran outside and threw up repeatedly. She could hear Sonny laughing inside, but she didn’t think it was funny at all. There wasn’t enough alcohol in her system for her to be affected by it, but she felt as sick as she ever had. She lay down on the bed, her head spinning. Sonny was still chuckling, and Robin did smile. I guess I deserved that…He stayed awhile, drank his bottle, seemed totally unaffected, and then left. Robin was glad to see him go.
     But she added to her 12 small whiskey bottles two big ones. That was just a bonus. I’ll have to get some more oil…not a difficult thing to do, but she’d need to hide it because she feared having too much might look suspicious.
     She hit upon the idea to conceal the excess bottles under her old clothes. She was wearing the Indian dress all the time now, so she had just piled her clothes in a corner of the teepee. And then stuck the extra whiskey and oil bottles under them. Worked perfectly.
     Making wicks proved a little tougher. She had intended, initially, to simply use her own clothes, but she needed those to hide the bottles. The Indians weren’t big on towels and washcloths, but in one of the supply teepees, she found some twine used for binding arrowheads to arrows. It was made out of buffalo leather and suited her purposes admirably. It wasn’t hard to hide several strips of it down the front of her dress until she could get it to her teepee.
     The next move was a little dicier, however. She had to soak the twine in the oil. There needed to be enough fire on the wick to set the oil in the bottle aflame when she threw it. So she poured out the water in the bowl on her table and filled it with oil and laid the twine in it. Her concern was that Sonny might see it, if he happened to come into her teepee during the day, which, as noted, he did on occasion. But she took the chance and soaked the twine Sunday afternoon. Once she had everything she needed—and by Sunday she did, except for the boxes of ammunition—she started putting everything together. She did most of it Sunday night while everybody was asleep. She slept a little while and finished Monday afternoon. All she needed now was the ammunition and she wanted to get that Monday and hopefully leave that night.
     Am I overlooking anything? Is anybody suspicious? She hadn’t perceived any suspicion but…
     What will they do if they catch me? She tried not to think of that. Out of nowhere…I wish Rob was here…

     Sunday night, Robin was anxious, nervous, and getting excited. Will I be ready tomorrow night? Is that too soon? Should I wait until Tuesday? Obviously, she wanted to get away as quickly as possible, but she didn’t want to make any mistakes now that she was so close to the attempt. I think I can do it tomorrow night. I’ll have all the bottles filled up, I can get the ammunition in the afternoon, and then when everybody is asleep…The thought made her nervous, but she couldn’t allow herself to consider the possibility of failure. She had to get away, she couldn’t stay in the Indian camp.
     Even if it cost her her life in the attempt.