Chapter 7: The Mountain Trail

One of the warriors who had helped bring them to the camp ... Tall Elk ... became a regular visitor to the lodge where the sisters stayed. He was quiet, thoughtful, and patient with their halting Cheyenne. He taught them how to read tracks in the snow, find edible roots even in winter, judge weather by the wind, and move silently through brush.

Lise found herself drawn to him ... not just for his skill, but for his calm presence. He treated her with respect, listening carefully when she spoke, offering guidance without condescension.

One evening, as the pair walked near the edge of the camp, he pointed toward the distant mountains, their peaks white and sharp against the winter sky. He spoke slowly, choosing words he knew she would understand.

“There is a way west,” he said. “A path over the mountains. Not for horses. Only for people on foot.”

Lise’s breath caught. “A way to California?”

He nodded. “Old trail. Hard. But it leads west over those mountains. Safer for you than the wagon trail.”

She looked at him, heart pounding. “Why tell me this?”

Tall Elk met her gaze, his expression steady. “Because you seek someone. And because you and your sisters are brave.”

Lise felt warmth rise in her chest ... unexpected, frightening, and undeniable.

It was May 1853 by the time the snow eventually melted, and the prairie began to thaw, the sisters prepared to leave. For Lise and Greta it meant parting with young warriors with whom they had become particularly close. Tall Elk and Running Fox were cautious lovers, never pushing Lise or Greta further than they were willing to go. However, several cold winter nights were made more pleasant when Lise snuggled under Tall Elk’s bearskin bedroll. But both Lise and Greta knew that the relationships weren’t going to last. The four sisters had a mission, and had made a promise to complete it together.

The Cheyenne gathered supplies for them: dried meat, pemmican, water skins, warm cloaks, sturdy moccasins, and flint and tinder. The silverhaired woman who had first greeted them pressed Lise’s hands gently.

“You go now,” she said. “But remember what you learned.”

Tall Elk approached last. He handed Lise a small bundle of dried herbs, a stout walking stick, and a piece of soft leather wrapped around a hunting knife with a carved bone handle. He pointed west.

“Follow the river for three days. Look for a large rock overhanging the river. Cross the river and follow the side valley into mountains. Stay together. The trail is old, but it is true.”

Lise swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, solemn and steady. “Walk with courage.”

The sisters stepped away from the camp, their packs heavy but their hearts steady. The Cheyenne watched them go, silent and respectful.

As the camp disappeared behind them, Greta whispered, “We survived winter.”

Adelheid added, “And we learned more than we ever imagined.”

Irmgard squeezed Lise’s hand. “We can do this.”

Lise looked west, toward the mountains and the unknown beyond.

“We will find Papa,” she said. “No matter what lies ahead.”

And together, the sisters walked with the rising sun on their backs.

The trail westward began as a faint line through the grass bordering the river ... barely visible, marked only by the memory of those who had walked it before. On the third day they saw the overhanging rock, and the narrow side valley leading uphill on the other side of the river.

Tall Elk had warned them: ‘It is not a path for horses. Only for people who do not fear the land.’

The sisters feared the land. But they feared turning back even more. They waded across the cold river, and found the trail using the skills the Cheyenne had taught them. Greta took the lead as they walked single file, packs heavy with the provisions the Cheyenne had given them. The ground soon became steep and treacherous beneath their feet. Even though they were still in the foothills, the air grew thinner, colder. Snow lingered in the shadows even though it was midway through spring.