By mid-summer 1835, young Kit Carson was deeply in love with a beautiful Cheyenne girl named Singing Grass.  He saw her daily while traveling with her village that year.  It was a time when there was yet honor between the fur traders and the tribes, before the days of the robe hunters and whiskey peddlers.  The hunting was for sustenance.  The trading was an honest exchange.  Kit Carson was an honorable man, and the Cheyenne were an honorable people.

The Cheyenne tongue is hard to master, but Kit got along well enough with hand signs for most purposes.  Courtship, however, was a delicate matter, and sign language proved imperfect for the task.  In addition to the language difficulty, Cheyenne custom strictly separated young men and young women except during certain public events, so at first, all Kit had to inspire his hope was a rare shy glance from the prettiest girl he had ever seen.  Weeks passed before the girl met his eyes for more than an instant, but as summer drew to a close, she gradually allowed their eyes to meet more often and for longer seconds.

The reserved discipline of the tribe was never intended to deny romance, only to intensify it, and while Kit was at a loss concerning how to advance, Singing Grass knew what she was doing.  Her female relatives instructed her carefully.  One morning, she boldly paused by the river trail to watch him approach, and she waited until the last minute before moving off with a lingering smile of encouragement.

That very night, there was a rare and special social dance where the single men were invited to dance in a respectful and orderly line facing the single girls, who danced freely back and forth before them until choosing a partner to end the dance with. The honor of being chosen gave the young man a very rare opportunity to speak to an eligible female.  Kit was quiet and soft spoken by nature, but he shuffled his way right into the bachelor line and hopped and chanted in style with the other young bucks.  The girls practiced their skill at teasing and flirting before the line of men, clapping hands and swaying their silhouettes before the bonfire, dancing to an ancient rhythm in the pounding drums.

Often, an alluring siren would dance very near a brave, only to suddenly dash his hopes and turn to another.  With Kit it was no different.  Three girls took turns dancing before him, but he was relieved when they each turned away to choose another as their favorite.  The girl of his interest ignored him and danced before his rivals, one after another.  There was nothing he could do but maintain courage as the drumbeat picked up to sound the end of the dance.  His chin rose to a proud tilt.  His eyes stayed straight ahead.  Then suddenly with a bright smile and a squeal of delight, Singing Grass jumped in front of him and took his hand to choose him for her partner.  The drumbeat rose to a frenzy and stopped suddenly with a loud shout from the entire village announcing the final phase of the social.

The fire flared with new fuel, and suddenly with the new light, the night burst with giggles and shrieks of fun as playful girls enticed their beaus to chase them in a wild game of tag where the man tried to capture his partner by throwing his blanket over her.  Singing Grass did not run and dodge for very long.  She stumbled and fell, so Kit boldly tossed his robe across her.  She bounced to her feet and replaced the blanket around his shoulders then took him by the hand to the edge of the firelight, giggling and tugging all the way.  Once away from the crowd of people, she lifted his arm and stepped under the blanket, close against his side.

Kit held the blanket over her, but bore the weight of it on his own outstretched arm, barely touching her shoulders.  In this manner they could visit and talk for a short while as long as they remained in full sight of the old women who watched such things closely.  One by one other young couples joined them around the outer ring of light, each at a polite distance. 
Without hand signs, there was nothing Kit could really say, so he just held the blanket about the girl’s shoulders and faced away from the fire.  His chest swelled with pride, but he had no idea how to make the best of his hard won privilege.  Singing Grass, on the other hand, knew that time was precious.  She pulled his arms closer around her body so the blanket completely covered them both for privacy and gathered the two blanket edges for his left hand to hold secure.  In the faint light she looked up and gazed into his eyes for a timeless moment, and by this she told him her own deep black eyes were his to enter and dwell in.  Her love was that simple and complete.  She next took his right hand and pressed it first softly to her smooth cheek then to her breasts, first one then the other.  After a moment she circled her arms around his waist, and Kit felt her breasts press warm against his hard belly.  His free hand eased around the small of her back.

Singing Grass hugged Kit and rested her cheek against his shoulder.  Kit slowly relaxed and let the weight of his arms pull her body even closer.  She touched against him from her knees to her cheek, caressing his body with her own.  A cautious wave of newfound passion passed through them both.  He gently stroked her back and down the smooth soft curves of her hips while she pressed into him with innocent savage emotion.  He bowed his head to smell her scented hair and musky perfume and exhaled softly while they squeezed ever closer, pressing tighter and tighter--until the old women broke the spell and called all young girls home.

Carson was instructed to offer a token of respect to Singing Grass for being honored at the dance, so early the next morning he placed four strands of blue and white beads on a bolt of scarlet cloth before her tipi.  If the gift was rejected, he must depart in dignity and never approach the girl again.  He waited until noon before returning and kept his eyes on the far horizon as he rode.  Only when alongside the lodge did he glance at the spot where he left the offering.  He looked back once to make sure it was really gone then kicked his horse to a careening gallop through the village and far out into the prairie where he could share his joy with the wind. She had publicly accepted him as a suitor.  

Kit next learned that once a girl accepted such a gift, her suitor needed an “Uncle” to be his matchmaker and a dowry to honor her family, in particular her eldest brother.  In this case the eldest brother was Little Bull, a powerful war chief devoted to his sister.  Carson asked his friend, Joe Meek, to represent him and conduct the negotiations.  Meek had experience in such matters and accepted the office.  He proceeded to set a council while Kit assembled his humble wealth, hoping it would be enough.

At dusk they rode together to the appointed lodge.  Carson slipped lightly off his horse and slapped his friend’s shoulder as they stooped into the tipi, but his bravado fell away as an old woman closed the door cover behind them.  Kit suddenly looked with near panic at the barrier.  It was the first time in his perilous life the urge to run almost overpowered his courage to face a confrontation.

In the smoky light, the uncle and his nephew moved to the right around the small fire.  At the back of the lodge, the chief signed for Meek to take the seat of honor at his left.  Kit was directed to sit on his right.  Joe Meek received the long pipe from Little Bull.  In the honored way, he blew smoke to heaven and earth and the four winds before speaking.  He began, “Wise chief of the only true people, I am honored to sit in your lodge.  Your wisdom has guided your band through the winter without hunger.  Your horse herd is large and well bred, and your dreams are strong.  You are wise in the way of peace, and you are fierce in battle.  You are generous to the poor, and all who need meat are fed.  It is true when the people say the Sacred Spirit shines through you onto your people.  I am honored to smoke with a brave man and share truth.”

Meek waited for his smoke to rise to the heavens before passing the pipe back to the chief, who then passed it to Carson.  Kit smoked with his eyes focused on the smoldering little fire before him then followed the smoke upward along the converging lodge poles to a single bright star emerging in the darkening sky above the smoke hole.  He gathered courage from the vision and moved his hands in simple signs.

“May the smoke of this pipe carry our prayers to the spirit that gives all gifts.  May the Great Spirit let the sun shine on your lodge.  You are a great hunter and you are brave,” he paused, stalled for a moment, then added, “Your women are pure. It would be an honor for a man to belong to such a tribe,” and he passed the pipe back to the host.

Little Bull refreshed the tobacco and solemnly smoked with great ceremony and dignity.  He sat erect and looked Carson in the eye for several minutes before speaking.
He finally signed, “I know of your bravery in many battles.  I know of you as a great hunter of the buffalo and the beaver, and because of this your lodge will be protected from hunger, and all who live in your camp will prosper.”  He turned to Meek.

“It is an honor to share my lodge with another great warrior.  Your coups are many, so that it is said your heart is great as the heart of the grizzly bear is great, and your spirit is strong as the grizzly bear spirit is strong.”  He extended the pipe to Meek.

Meek accepted the pipe and glanced at Carson.  He almost grinned at the worry in his friend’s eyes but regained composure while he smoked.  With regal delivery to match the chief, he gestured slowly, “I am truly honored to sit in your lodge, and I must speak my heart.
“It is good to share your favor and strong medicine.  Tonight I come as a matchmaker.  I am this man’s Uncle, and though he is far too modest to speak for himself, my nephew is a great warrior and hunter and wealthy in the manner of the free trapper.  He is a man grown full and has proven his valor and skill.  He is twenty-five years old and will acquire many horses and provide trade goods to fill a lodge with.  He is a good man and chaste, as a young warrior should be.  He speaks truth and is generous.  And he has found his heart to go out to your sister.”

Meek paused for his message to settle in before he continued.  “Your women are virtuous and modest,” he said.  “They are not wanton as with some other tribes.  Your people guard their daughters closely, and you protect your sister as a brother should, in the traditional way, so her virtue is secured.  For this reason, as well as for her good heart and great beauty, her marriage is to be sought by the bravest and most worthy of warriors alone.

Joe Meek placed a pair of small twigs onto the coals side by side, and the three warriors faced each other as a new flame grew and joined the sticks together into a single fire.  A bright light filled the darkening lodge for a moment.  It played on their strong faces and danced across weapons hung in sacred cases from the lodge poles.  When the light ebbed, Meek said, “My nephew is too shy to speak of it for himself, but he asks to marry your sister.
“To honor your lodge,” he continued, “and show respect to her and to your family, he will give three Spanish mules, one of which is young and never broken, and two of which are already broken to pack and to ride.  He will give a new gun with a serpent in bright brass on its stock, and ten pounds of lead and five of powder, and five of tobacco.  These gifts are even now outside your lodge.”

The chief gave no acknowledgement of the gifts.  Kit held his breath while Joe continued.
“And furthermore, he will give ten scalping knives of English steel, and five blue English blankets, which are packed on the mules outside your lodge.”

The chief still held his pose and made no sign.  Carson’s eyes lowered to the ground.  He had nothing left but his saddle horse and his traps and rifle, and he needed those just to survive. 
“…and as his Uncle,” Meek continued once more after a short pause for better effect, “I will give a young black stallion of the Comanche’s blood--a swift and sure runner of buffalo and well proven in battle--which is also outside your lodge even now.”  The mountaineer made the cut-off sign and assumed a pose of completion.

With this last, the Chief rose and uncovered the door.  He stepped out into the last glow of lingering sunset and examined the offering.

Carson whisperd to Joe, “I can’t take your horse…,” but Joe just winked and firmly motioned him to silence.

Little Bull carefully looked over the animals and inspected the trade goods.  He lingered over the stallion then loaded the new trade gun and fired it into the air to alert the village.  When he returned to his place at the fire, he carried one of the blue blankets.  He loaded the ceremonial pipe with tobacco once more then spoke to the old woman.  The woman went out to the horse and mules and, for the watching village to see, moved them and tied them securely to the Chief’s post.  She left the door-cover open when she re-entered.  Singing Grass hid her face in her hands as she was led to kneel at Kit’s side, but it was shining with delight as her brother threw the new blanket over their shoulders to symbolize the union.  Carson’s hands shook as he took the pipe.

The Chief’s door-cover remained open so the brave men of the village might enter to share their respect.  They smoked Joe Meek’s tobacco and drank his coffee, and they praised the modesty and beauty of Singing Grass and the good fortune of the tribe to adopt the free trapper.  At the proper time, Little Bull asked his sister to serve the wedding soup she had prepared.

Singing Grass wore a pure white antelope skin dress, the finest and softest of all leathers.  The dress was belted snug about her waist to best show the curves of her breasts and hips, and it was worked in patterns of tiny quills to the same end.  She moved around the circle of guests and ladled portions of her soup with the mature grace of a woman come of age before their eyes.  After the guests were served, she lingered at Kit’s side, kneeling close to fill his bowl.  He turned and looked too long into her soft dark eyes in the wavering light, and memories of their close embrace after the dance surged through him.  His eyes followed the straight part in her hair down along the black shining braids, along the smooth skin of her neck and down into the enchantment of her breasts, revealed as she leaned toward him and the neckline of her white skin dress fell open for his eyes alone.  For a moment, he was captured in her perfect beauty before he blushed and forced his eyes away.  He wagged his head from side to side and let his breath out slowly in the all-purpose exclamation of a mountain man.

“Waugh,” he sighed to the fire.

After the soup was gone, Little Bull cleaned the pipe and laid it aside to signal the end of the gathering.  When only the family was left, Carson remained seated at the dying fire until he summoned his courage to look at Singing Grass with a shy smile.  He motioned to the door.  She looked back at him with love glowing in her eyes, but instead of preparing to leave, she made the signs for “I sleep here by grandmother.”  She unrolled her bed robes beside the old woman’s and signed, “I love you” by folding both hands over her heart.  Kit was entirely bewildered.

Little Bull grinned at Kit’s puzzlement. The old woman spread new robes in the men’s area.  When finished, she pointed at the bed and laughed.

The chief finally explained.  “You sleep there,” he signed, “across the fire from Singing Grass.  It will be a month or longer before the village women complete the wedding lodge and prepare it with proper ceremonies.  You sleep alone until then.  The Cheyenne are an honorable people.”