Once in a while they would untie her, but only long enough to let her attend to her needs. She tried to run away whenever they did, and they would catch her and tie her up again each time. They laughed at how violently she fought them, and one of them slapped her hard and threw her to the ground when she bit him. She was a wildcat in their midst, and in their dialect, they talked about what a prize she would be for their chief. They were well aware from her clothes that she was the daughter of the Sioux chief. She wore a soft elkskin dress that was carefully beaded and covered with the porcupine quills she had dyed. And even her moccasins were delicately made. And although she was not as young as some of the girls in camp, she was very beautiful, obviously very brave, and very strong. She fought them almost like a man, but they overpowered her anyway. The war party was made up of their camp’s fiercest men. Some of them would have liked to keep her for themselves, but they were saving her for their chief. He already had two wives, his own and his brother’s wife, whom he had married the previous year when his brother was killed in the hunt. It had been his duty to marry her, and she was already with child. This girl was much younger than the two wives he had, and far more beautiful. He would be pleased. She had a lovely figure, and although she did not look at them, even now, she had enormous eyes. And all of them had noticed how courageous she was, even being kidnapped by a war party, and no matter how much they tried to scare her. Other girls her age, or older, would have been screaming in fright. Wachiwi tried to run away whenever she could, and clearly didn’t care if they killed her. But she was too sweet a prize for their chief for them to want to lose her. So they kept her tied up as much as possible, and rode with great speed for their camp. One of the men tried to offer her food, willing to feed her with his hands, and each time she turned her face away and refused. She looked none of them in the eye, but her face was filled with hatred, and in her heart was despair for the father she knew would die of grief without her.

It was the end of the third day when they rode into the Crow camp at last. It was smaller than her own, and she saw the same familiar scenes, of children running, women sitting in groups and talking while they sewed, men coming back into camp after a hunt. Even the layout of the camp was similar to the way her people set up theirs, and the brave who carried her rode up to the chief’s tipi, followed by the others who had made up the war party. The women and children looked up with interest as the brave jumped off his horse, unceremoniously pulled her off, and dumped her on the ground. She lay there in her elkskin dress, tied up like an animal they had killed, unable to move as one of the men went to find the chief. Both his women were sitting near the tipi, sewing, and as they watched, Wachiwi looked up and saw him. He was much younger than her father, and looked proud and strong. He was closer to her brothers’ age. She heard one of the men call him Napayshni. It meant “courageous” in her tongue as well. Their language was close enough to her own that she could understand what they were saying.

They told him that she was the daughter of the chief, and they had brought her back to him as the spoils of war. They reported that they had also taken several good horses, and three other women, but some of the men had ridden ahead with them, so Wachiwi didn’t see them on their travels. The men told him that the war party had split up after they left her father’s camp, and the other group had taken a different route back. Those who carried her said they had gone a more circuitous way, in case the men of her tribe came after Wachiwi. No one had followed them at all. The Crow who had absconded with her had hidden her well, taking a more remote route. Her people hadn’t been able to find her, and her captors were proud of having outsmarted and outridden them with their prize. And she was a beauty.

Chief Napayshni stood looking down at her without expression. “Untie her,” was all he said, and the man whose horse she had ridden on was quick to object.

“She’ll run away. She tried every time we untied her. She’s fast as the wind and very clever.”

“I’m faster than she is,” the chief said, looking unconcerned.

Wachiwi said nothing, but her hands and legs were numb when they untied her. Her hair was tangled from the trip, and her face was filthy from the dust. Her elkskin dress was torn in several places from the buffalo-sinew ropes they had used to tie her. It was a few minutes before she was able to stand. She dusted herself off, trying to look proud, and stumbling a little. She turned away so the men who had taken her would not see the tears in her eyes. Life as she had known it, among people she loved, and who loved her, was over forever. She was a slave now. She knew she would run away, but first she had to learn the layout of the camp and be able to take one of their horses. And then she would go home. Nothing could keep her with the Crow.

Chief Napayshni continued to observe her. He saw the torn dress. It was unmistakably the garb of the wife or daughter of a chief. Her moccasins were beaded, and the whole top of her dress was covered in the porcupine quills she was so proud of. These had been dyed a deep blue, with a paste she had learned how to make with berries. It was a skill few of the women in her camp had mastered. And in spite of her matted hair and dirty arms and face, it was still easy to see how beautiful she was.

“What are you called?” the chief asked her directly. She ignored him. But this time, instead of acting according to maidenly tradition in all tribes, she stared him in the eyes with a look of utter hatred. “You have no name?” he said, looking unimpressed. She was like an angry child, but he knew that other girls in her position would have been terrified, and she wasn’t. He admired that in her. Her bravery was perhaps just an act she was putting on, but she didn’t seem to be afraid of him at all, and he liked that about her. She had spirit, and courage. “You are the daughter of a great chief,” he said, knowing exactly who her father was. The raid on her camp had been no accident, only taking her had been a random act by the braves who saw her and grabbed her, as a prize of war for their chief. And although he would never have said it to them, Napayshni felt sorry for her father. It would surely be a grief to him to lose a daughter such as this, for any man for that matter. And his men had reported that they had killed two of the chief’s sons, and others. The raid had been a great success for them, and a hard blow for Wachiwi’s tribe.

“Then why did you take me?” she asked him, “if you think my father a great chief?” She continued to look him straight in the eye, pretending not to fear him, or what he could do to her now. She had heard stories of kidnapped women who became slaves in other tribes. They were not happy stories, and this was her lot now.

“We did not plan to. They brought you to me as a gift,” he said gently. She looked hardly older than a child.

“Then send me back to my father. I do not want to be your gift.” She stuck her chin out, and her eyes blazed. She had never looked any man in the eye except her father and brothers.

“You are mine now, you with no name. What shall I name you?” He was playing with her a little, so she wouldn’t be frightened of him. Despite his reputation as a warrior and fierce chief, he was a kind man, and her situation touched his heart. He had children too, and he would not have liked his own daughter to be taken by another tribe and given to their chief. The thought of it made him shudder.

“I am Wachiwi,” she said angrily. “I don’t want a Crow name from you.”

“Then I will call you by your own,” he said, signaling to the two women sitting nearby. His own wife was younger and better looking than the one he had inherited from his brother the year before. Wachiwi could see that the older of the two was heavy with child, and she was the one who came forward when her husband called her. “Take her to the river to get clean,” he instructed her. “She needs clothes, until hers can be sewn.”

“Is she our slave now?” the woman asked with interest, and Napayshni said nothing. He owed her no explanation of his plans. He had married her, as was his obligation to his brother, and had now given her his child, that was enough. He did not want Wachiwi as a slave. He wanted her to get used to them so she would not be so hostile with him, and in time, when she had settled into their camp, he was going to make her his wife. She was much prettier and appeared more graceful than the others, and he liked the look of wildfire in her eyes. She was like a wild horse he wanted to tame, and he was sure that he could do it. Like her, he was an outstanding horseman.

Wachiwi followed the pregnant woman and said nothing to her. The woman spoke in the Crow dialect to Napayshni’s other wife, and Wachiwi understood all that they said, although she pretended she didn’t. The chief had spoken to her in her own tongue. And his women were commenting on the quills on her dress and wondered how she got them that color. They hoped that in time maybe she’d teach them. She vowed to herself as she listened to them that she would do nothing for them. Ever.

She washed at the river and they gave her a dress, it was plain and ill fitting, and one of the women handed her a blanket that she wrapped around herself. That night Wachiwi repaired her elkskin dress with the porcupine quills as best she could. Some of the quills had broken when she was thrown over her captor’s horse. She put the dress back on as soon as she had sewn it. It was all she had left of her old life.

Napayshni came into the tipi that night and said nothing to her. He slept at the north side of the tipi, as her father did, and she and the other two women on the south side, with their children. There were seven of them. And the tipi was not as tidy as she had kept her father’s. Two of the children kept waking in the night, and for most of it, Wachiwi lay awake, looking up at the sky through the opening at the top, and wondering how soon she could try to escape. It was all she could think of. She had refused to eat with them, and was determined to go hungry until she could stand it no longer. Later she finally ate some cornmeal cakes when she thought she would faint from starvation, but it was all she ate.

Napayshni got up at dawn to oversee the moving of the camp. Being a smaller village than her own, they moved every few days to follow the buffalo, and find new grazing land for the horses. She had heard that the men were going hunting that day after they set up camp again. Wachiwi was hoping to make a run for it then, if the women were busy, and most of the men were gone. She wanted to check on the three other women from her tribe, but had no opportunity to see them before they broke camp.

They didn’t have far to go to find more buffalo that day, and the men took off in the early afternoon, talking and laughing and in good spirits. She wondered how far she was from her father’s camp. She knew they had traveled three days to get here, but alone, she could travel in a straight line at great speed. All she needed was a good horse and an opportunity to get out of camp.

She wandered around aimlessly, and no one paid attention to her. She had caught a glimpse of one of the women from her tribe but couldn’t speak to her. The other women had each been given to braves at the camp and had no choice in the matter. All Wachiwi wanted to do was run.

There were some horses left after the men rode off, though not the best ones. She spotted one that looked solid and sturdy enough to travel with, though maybe not as fast as she liked. She walked over to pat his neck, looked at his legs, and without making a sound, she untied him, slipped onto his back, lay flat, lying along his side and holding on, and gently urged him out of camp while no one noticed. You couldn’t even see her on him, she had concealed herself on his far side, a trick her brothers had taught her when she was a child, and she had often fooled them and her father with it in later years. It had delighted her father and won her brothers many of their bets.

She got the horse moving fast across the plain toward the trees, before she allowed herself to sit up, and then she pushed him harder. She was going at a fast pace, although he wasn’t as good as the horses she was used to, and then she heard hoofbeats behind her, going even faster than she was. She didn’t dare look back, but only pushed the horse more fiercely. She was nearly at the treeline, going with all the speed she could, when the rider caught up with her, and grabbed her with one powerful arm. It was Napayshni, riding alone. He said nothing to her, but put her in front of him on his own horse, as the one she had been riding slowed, grateful to halt the killing pace she had urged him to, and quietly began to graze. Napayshni slowed his own horse down and reined him in. His was much more lively, and she knew she could have gotten away on it.