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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to two special people:

  To Patricia Devereaux Running Crane; may your dreams become realities.

  And to my mother-in-law, Joyce Bailey, who has helped in so many ways.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to acknowledge the work of Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy, whose music has given me so much pleasure and inspiration.

  And a special acknowledgment to my husband, Paul, who continues to help, to plot with me, and who continues to love me. I love you too.

  Excerpts from The Old North Trail: Life, Legends, and Religion of the Blackfeet Indians by Walter McClintock courtesy of the University of Nebraska Press; When Indians Became Cowboys by Peter Iverson courtesy of the University of Oklahoma Press.

  Chapter One

  Somewhere on Chief Mountain, Montana

  1895

  “It started with a song.”

  “A song?” asked Kali, straightening her shoulders and flexing the tense muscles in her neck. It had been a grueling hike up to this remote yet beautiful spot atop Chief Mountain—even for Kali, who was accustomed to trekking through the untamed wilderness. “What do you mean?”

  “You and your father…here to learn legend of mountain, is…not right?” Kali’s guide, Gilda Shadow Runner, gave Kali a glance that could have been construed as calculating, if it weren’t for the seriousness in Gilda’s demeanor.

  Kali, however, inured to the unusual nature of hired guides, ignored the look and said, “No, I’m afraid that my father and I are here for no other reason than to record and capture the beauty and romance of the West on film.” Kali bestowed a smile on Gilda, though after a moment she couldn’t resist asking, “What legend?”

  “Legend of Star Bride.”

  “Star Bride?”

  Gilda nodded. “It is said that on nights like this, when…sky is very clear, one can hear…song; song of lovers calling to one another.”

  “Lovers?” Kali looked askance at Gilda.

  “Aa, yes,” said Gilda.

  “How interesting,” said Kali, looking toward the sleeping figure of her father. “You know, Gilda, I think my father and I have perhaps missed something by never having used a female guide before now. Tell me, is your legend romantic?”

  “Aa, yes, it is,” confirmed Gilda. “It…said that she was…star, and him, no more than…mortal man who fell in love with her.”

  Kali smiled, the expression pure indulgence. In her experience, if there was one thing a body could count on amongst the aboriginal tribes, it was their legends and superstitions. However, that didn’t mean that Kali wasn’t interested. Neither she nor her father would be here today were it not for their curiosity about the native populations, their customs, their beliefs.

  “What kind of song was it?” Kali asked after a slight pause. “Have you ever heard it yourself?”

  “No, not this one, but I know of many in…tribe who tell of it.”

  “Oh? Really?”

  Gilda nodded. “It…said that only place on earth where a person can hear song is on what my people call Nina Istukwi, Chief Mountain—here. Maybe we…be quiet and see if you can hear it. You should close eyes.”

  “Me? Oh, no, not me. I’m afraid I don’t believe in—”

  “Try You might…be surprised.”

  “No, I… Do you really think so?”

  Gilda nodded.

  “All right. Maybe I will,” Kali said, and after a moment, she shut her eyes.

  Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Kali opened her eyes.

  “You must listen with…heart,” Gilda encouraged, “for only a person pure in purpose can hear it. Try again.”

  “Well, maybe,” said Kali. “But I must warn you that I have never believed in—”

  “No need…you believe. Now try again.”

  Kali sighed. “All right. I will.” As she closed her eyes, she was quick to observe that her heartbeat quickened. Why?

  Perhaps it was because of the wind, which was howling around the chasms and rocks, sounding to Kali’s ears like a ghostly serenade. Perhaps it was this that others had heard, thinking it was a song, thought Kali skeptically.

  Still, the entire affair was enchanting, wasn’t it? To sit here on a summer’s eve, high atop the plains, with nothing but the wide sky above you and the pureness of nature all around you. Even the air up here felt clean and fresh on the lungs.

  After a time, a coyote bayed far below them. Then came another yelp and another, as though each one were a successive call to the other. Ah, thought Kali. It was wonderful, breathtaking. But alas, Kali heard no song.

  So much for legends.

  Taking a deep breath, Kali opened her eyes, catching a rather expectant look on Gilda’s face, which caused Kali to frown. How odd.

  Stranger still was Gilda’s reaction when Kali shook her head and said, “I’m sorry. Although I’d like to think that my purpose here is pure, I must admit that I hear nothing…nothing but the wind.”

  Goodness, what had she said that should cause such a reaction with her guide? Gilda looked downright crestfallen, as though the woman might have more at stake in the telling of this legend than simply mentioning a song. It caused Kali to speculate.

  Had the woman brought Kali and her father here for some other purpose than shooting a few good pictures? What, after all, did Kali really know about Gilda Shadow Runner? Though Gilda had come highly recommended, Kali couldn’t help wondering if the woman might be putting her through some sort of test.

  Lost in her own thoughts, Kali was startled when Gilda asked, “Would you like to hear story?”

  “Hmmm?” Kali had been in the act of unbuttoning the first few buttons of her blouse—letting the evening breeze cool the bare skin beneath it. But glancing up, she shot a glance at Gilda, and what she saw there caused Kali more concern. Why did Gilda appear anxious, as though she were waiting for something? Kali cleared her throat. “Excuse me. What was that you said?”

  “The story of lovers—the legend…would you like to hear it?”

  “Yes, Gilda,” Kali admitted cautiously, “that would be lovely. I believe that my father has bedded down for the night—perhaps I should awaken him that he might hear the story also.”

  “If you wish.”

  “But again,” said Kali, wondering aloud, “maybe not. I’m afraid the climb up here was rather difficult for him, something we should watch in the future. Although he insisted on making this trip, I’m not sure he’s well enough for another hike like this. Perhaps we might try a more gradual path tomorrow?”

  Gilda nodded. “I will let white woman decide where we go, and how fast.”

  “Thank you. That will do just fine, then.”

  “And story?”

  “I would be charmed to hear it, if you would be so kind.”

  “Aa, this is good,” said Gilda, turning away to pick up a dry bit of wood. “Come closer,” she said as she threw the wood on the fire, “and I will begin my tale.”

  Kali shrugged. There could be little harm in that. Besides, her curiosity was, by this time, more than a little piqued…

  “This is the legend of…Star Bride. It is said that it happened in dog days, those days before horse was known to my people,” narrated Gilda. “Ah, but it was glorious time. It was peaceful time, too; a time when my people lived close to the land, when stars were gods and goddesses who listened to the pleas of my people.

  “Now, it happened that at this time there was a young Blackfeet man…him handsome and pure in spirit. His name was Strong Arrow, and he was looking for a wife. But his would not be easy task.

  “It true that there were many young women who would have gladly taken Strong Arrow as husband, fo
r it was well known that him wise, generous and skilled in hunt. But Strong Arrow have big flaw: him believe himself to be perfect, no faults. Worse, him convinced him could give heart to no one except she who also be perfect…”

  “My son,” said Strong Arrow’s mother. “I fear that you will be disappointed as you go through life, if you cannot find it in your heart to understand the imperfection of those around you.”

  “I understand them well enough, my mother,” said Strong Arrow.

  But Strong Arrow’s mother was wise and she said, “Heed my words, my son, for in order to be happy, you must learn that in all the world, there is not one single, faultless human being.”

  “Ah, my mother,” responded Strong Arrow. “I know that you speak with concern in your heart. But surely you can see that your words are not true. Look at me. Do I not obey the commands of my tribe? Do I not bring home much food? Do I not give freely to others all that I have? Do I not live an exemplary life? My mother, can you honestly tell me that I am not and have not been a perfect son?”

  Strong Arrow’s mother, Shining Woman, did not know what to say to this, knowing that to dispute with her son would only make his resolve all the stronger. Yet she feared that if Strong Arrow could not allow for weaknesses in others, he would never come to appreciate the intrinsic beauty that was held in another’s soul.

  And so it was that Strong Arrow became more and more steadfast in his belief of his own perfection, and he resolved that he would only marry one as unblemished as he.

  Now, it is said that he was true to his cause. He searched for such a being. He attended every dance, every social gathering given by his tribe.

  However, as might be expected, he failed in his quest time and again. In truth, as time passed, he became quite despondent.

  Now, Shining Woman, seeing her son’s unhappiness, at last begged Strong Arrow to beseech the Evening Star. After all, said she, was it not the Evening Star who was honored for her compassion, her understanding, her love? Perhaps the star might share some of her wisdom with Strong Arrow.

  And so it was that one lazy summer evening, Strong Arrow climbed to the top of Nina Istukwi, Chief Mountain, and, sitting down, took out his sacred pipe. He smoked, letting the fragrance carry up into the sky so that she who was the Evening Star could sniff it and know that he meant to speak with her. He looked up at her, she who shone so brightly in the silvery glow of a half-dark, half-bright sky.

  It was then that it happened. Suddenly Strong Arrow’s heart began to beat so fast and so furiously, he felt as though he might have been chasing a foe. Yet he had not moved.

  As he gazed up at the beautiful star, he realized that he had, at last, found perfection. Truly, he had fallen in love. But alas, what a love. For he had picked as a soul mate no less than she who was the Evening Star.

  Now as time marched on, many in the tribe, hearing of Strong Arrow’s unusual adoration, laughed at him. But Strong Arrow remained true to himself. And each night thereafter, he would return to sit alone upon the plain, there to give his devotion to his star.

  Many times he would return to Chief Mountain, and when he did, feeling closer to her, he would talk to her, saying, “Oh, Evening Star, how I wish you were made of flesh and blood that I might take you in my arms and show you all the love that is here in my heart. I implore you, Evening Star, do you return my devotion?”

  Sometimes one could hear him singing:

  “Ooooo, ooooo, how my heart beats for you.

  Ooooo, ooooo.

  Ooooo, ooooo, how my lips hunger for your touch.

  Ooooo, ooooo.

  For I love you. You, the Evening Star.”

  But he waited in vain for an answer.

  Now, it so happened that one day Strong Arrow came again to Chief Mountain. As he climbed up a slope, he heard a strange sound, an unusual music. Where was it coming from?

  Gaining the crest of the mountain, he scoured the countryside around and below him, his sharp eyes assessing all he could see. But try as he might, he could not locate the source of it. Still, his spirits took flight. Had it been a song? And if it was a song, could it be she who was the Evening Star?

  But as quickly as the music had begun, it stopped and he heard it no more. He waited all day, and the next and the next, climbing up to the mountain’s summit each evening, hoping to hear again the strange melody. But alas, it came no more.

  Now, Strong Arrow was not a stupid man, and it took little effort on his part to devise a plan. The next day came and Strong Arrow hid himself behind some boulders. And there he waited, and he waited. In truth, so long did he pause there that he began to wonder if his tribesmen were right about him. Was he chasing a mere phantom?

  However, this day his patience was rewarded, for soon—before the sun had reached its zenith—it happened again. On the wind came an alien yet beautiful refrain.

  Where was the voice coming from? All across the wide mountain range, there was nothing but the winds which whispered across barren rock. Nothing to his right, to his left, behind him, in front of him.

  Still, the music was becoming louder. Puzzled, he looked up, and there he espied the most uncommon sight he had ever seen. A bird, looking much like a large eagle, coasted down from the heavens. And upon its back was a very beautiful woman.

  At the sight, Strong Arrow’s heart began to pound, faster and faster. It was then that he knew that it was she, the one who was his true love.

  Soon, the maiden began to sing the unusual, eerie song, at first in words he didn’t understand, and then in the language of his people.

  “Come out, come out, oh warrior mine.

  For I know that you wait for me.

  Come out, come out, take me for wife.

  For I have heard your plea.

  Come out, come out, my truest love,

  come out and play with me.

  Show yourself, my warrior true.

  For I am the Evening Star.”

  With these words, Strong Arrow stood up from his hiding place. The maiden turned to look at him, and they gazed upon one another. And so long did they stare that Strong Arrow feared she might run away.

  At last, however, she smiled at him, saying, “Because you are a great hunter, my father, the Sun, has taken pity on you. He has heard your appeal. I, too, desire to marry you, for I have seen you here, night after night, alone upon the face of the earth. And as you fell in love with me, so too did I fall in love with you. Consequently, my father gives me to you in marriage freely, asking only that you take no other for a wife for the rest of your life.”

  Strong Arrow said nothing to this, though he yearned to speak of much.

  She continued, “My father, the Sun, knows that this thing he asks of you transgresses upon the custom of your people, for within your tribe a man of standing might take more than one wife. But you must refrain from doing this. Do you promise?”

  Still, so great was Evening Star’s beauty that Strong Arrow could not speak. In faith, it was all he could do to simply nod.

  “You must understand further,” Evening Star said, “that my father does not give me to you easily. Know that if you ever betray this trust he places in you—if you should ever take another to your sleeping robes, my father would ensure a penalty.”

  “I understand,” voiced Strong Arrow at last. “And what would this punishment be?”

  “You would cease to exist upon this, the face of the earth. So it is said by my father, the Sun,” she said. “Know, too, that my father, the Sun, is a jealous man, and he might test the strength of your resolve. Do you still agree?”

  Strong Arrow took a step toward her, his heart in his throat as he said, “Long have I admired and loved you, Evening Star. I will take you as my own. I will honor you. Aa, yes, I agree to your father’s demand.”

  Evening Star smiled and extended her arms toward him. “Then come, my love,” she said. “Take my hand and lead me to your people.”

  He did as she bid him, and they were married that nig
ht. Indeed, in the years that followed, it is said that they embodied the best that is known of love and marriage.

  Many years passed. Because Evening Star was a goddess, the regular chores of a wife did not fall to her. Skins were dressed, food was made, wood was gathered without her expending any labor, so great was her magic. Evening Star was also a generous woman and gave freely to the people the things that they desired, and she became the most well-respected woman of the tribe.

  However, all was well for so long that the people began to forget that they, too, needed to work, hunt and repair clothing in order to survive. Alas, so easy was it to obtain the goods they needed from Evening Star, the men in the village lost interest in hunting, while the women depended upon the crafts of Evening Star to repair their moccasins and homes. Even the little boys in the village no longer played hunting games, while young girls mimicked the charms of Evening Star.

  Truth be told, the people became lazy.

  Now, perhaps these things might have had little consequence were it not for the fact Old Man, the Sun, had yet to play out his full hand. Here is what happened.

  Strong Arrow was out on the hunt. But on this day, Strong Arrow saw a most unusual sight. Into his path walked a beautiful maiden, one who openly flirted with him; one who begged him to take her home. But she pleaded in vain. After all, Strong Arrow believed himself to be perfect; he had given his word to his wife and to her father that he would take no other into their home. He would stand by his word.

  And so he passed by the maiden. Looking back, Strong Arrow observed that the girl vanished, and it was then that he knew the time had come for Old Man to test him.

  The next day, again while Strong Arrow was out on the hunt, Old Man sent an even more beautiful woman into his path, this maiden also begging Strong Arrow to take her home. But Strong Arrow was as wise as he was virtuous. He passed this one by, too.

  Then Old Man smiled. Indeed, his son-in-law was a faithful husband. Still, there would be one more trial.