The Sioux shuffled uncertainly, staring about, worried that there might be more Whites.
''Stand up, Baptiste," Travis called. "Let 'em know they got a shooter on them."
Baptiste raised himself to a sitting position, his Hawken braced for a shot.
In signs, Travis gestured, ''We are friends. Traders. A boat is just downriver with many men. You have something to trade?"
This was the part that puckered a man's string. The Sioux glanced back and forth, evaluating their chances. Travis held his breath; then the leader smiled, signing, ''It is good to see our White brothers. Traders are always welcome among the Water Spirit's people."
Water Spirit, Wah-Menitu; so that's who the tall coon was. A Teton Sioux chief, Water Spirit could go either way depending on how his medicine played out. Maybe he'd lift hair, or maybe he'd be a man's best friend.
"Wah-Menitu," Travis called out loud. "Wash-te! It is good."
At a command from Wah-Menitu, the other Sioux lowered their weapons.
''C'mon out, Baptiste, but keep yer iron ready."
"Got that right," Baptiste agreed, rising slowly.
Wah-Menitu made the sign for "It is good.'' He was a lodgepole of a man, thin of frame and tall. Scars puckered the skin on his breasts. When he smiled, his projecting upper lip exposed worn yellow teeth. The aquiline nose hooked like a bird of prey's. Copper bracelets, tarnished as dark as the flesh beneath, decorated his sinewy arms. Tin cones held the horsehair tassels on his moccasins.
He pointed to the coup on Richard's belt. "Whose?" he signed.
"Pawnee," Travis signed back. "A warrior named Pack-rat."
At that, the Sioux yipped and began to leap about in enthusiastic joy. Richard had begun to sweat, his balled fists pressed desperately to his side. If he stood any stiffer, his joints were going to snap like dry sassafras sticks.
"Easy, Dick. Ye ain't dead yet. Stay calm, coon. They's just glad ter see ye."
Wah-Menitu touched the scalp reverently, then threw his arms around Richard in a bear hug that nigh to squeezed the grease out of the Yankee. The rest of the Sioux continued to leap and yip their shrill calls.
"What. . . what's happening?" Richard gasped.
"Made friends, coon." Travis laughed in spite of himself. And if'n old Dick ever figgers out what that ''fetish'' is, he's gonna come plumb unstuck. "Now, Dick. Whoop and holler a little yerself. C'mon, coon. Dance and shout! Join 'em. Or, yer wolfmeat!"
His back rigid as a keel, Richard jerked into step. Had his voice not been cracking, the whoops would have sounded a little more enthusiastic. The way Richard pirouetted reminded Travis of a stick figure on a string. The Sioux didn't seem to mind. They leapt and shrieked, nimble as hunting cats.
"What am I doing, Travis?" Richard shot him a frightened glance.
"Why, making friends, Dick."
"Am I gonna die?"
"Reckon. But if'n ye'll dance a little harder, it won't be hyar and now."
Richard jumped and bucked like a spring foal.
Baptiste sidled up to Travis, whispering, "Now, don't that beat all?"
"Reckon so. If'n his perfessers could just see him."
Travis stepped forward, grinning, and as the dance wore down, offered his hand around, smiling and shaking. Baptiste did the same, one hand still gripping his rifle.
"Smoke," Wah-Menitu said in English.
"Waugh!" Travis made a gesture and seated himself, digging his pipe and fixings out of his possibles. With flint and steel, one of the young warriors conjured a fire, and Travis used a twig to light his pipe.
Travis glanced up at the nervous Hamilton. "Sit down, Dick. Right hyar next ter me. That's right. We's gonna have us a palaver." Travis puffed his pipe to seat the fire, offered it to the four directions, and handed it to Wah-Menitu. The Sioux made his offering to the four sacred ways, to sky and earth, then puffed before handing the pipe to the next man. In silence, it made the rounds to Dick.
"Do like they done," Travis coached. "Follow the directions sunwise, then up and down. In the beginning, White Buffalo Cow Woman taught the Sioux how to use the pipe. Tobacco's sacred. Takes prayers to Wakantanka, to God. All words spoken here will be spoken truthfully."
Richard did as he was told, but his fingers shook as he offered the pipe and took a puff.
In signs, Travis said, "You gave my young friend a start. He thought you might have been Pawnee."
The Sioux laughed uproariously.
"You have boat?" Wah-Menitu asked.
"Downriver a mite. Be hyar soon."
''Our village is one day's travel upriver."
"He talks,'' Richard whispered in surprise.
"Hell, he got a tongue and talker like everybody else," Travis chided. To Wah-Menitu, Travis said and signed, "I am Travis Hartman, this is Dick Hamilton, and hyar's Baptiste. We will come to your village." He lifted his foot to show the hole in his moccasin. "Reckon I'm right keen ter trade, hoss."
The Sioux laughed again.
Wah-Menitu was studying Travis with hard black eyes. He said, "I know of you, Trawis Hartman. It is said yer a great warrior and a man of yer word. You have wintered with the Dakota before. Helped with the hunt. Shared our lodges and fires."
"Time or two, I reckon."
Wah-Menitu gestured to indicate the scars on Travis's face. "The bear left his sign. Only a strong man would keep his hair . . . and the bear lifted some of yers."
"Yep, wal, I reckon I got a sight more of his than he got of mine."
Wah-Menitu smiled. "It will be good to have you. Shining times for you, booshway. Beaucoup vittles." Wah-Menitu reached over to touch the coup on Hamilton's belt. "The Teton Dakota always have a welcome for warriors. We will dance . . . honor Dick for his courage and victory. Not all White coons are strong and brave."
"Damn that cussed Leavenworth anyway. Ye fought the Ree two years back?"
"Yer Leavenworth, and his soldiers, have water for blood."
Travis snorted. "Some do. Not all."
"But you, friends, are some. You are warriors. You come with yer boat, Trawis Hartman. Dance. Eat. Wash-te"
Richard leaned close. "What's wash-te! They keep saying that."
"Means good."
They stood, everyone smiling, shaking hands, and Wah-Menitu called out, "Hooka hay!"
The Sioux let out blood-curdling screams again, and danced away through the trees.
Travis replaced his pipe, and said, ''C'mon. We'd best hustle and make sure we still got hosses. Be just like them red varmints ter have lifted 'em while we was a-palavering."
''But they said they were friends," Richard cried.
''Whar ye been all yer life, Yankee?" Baptiste muttered. "Among Injuns, even friends steal each other's hosses."
''I was someplace sane," Richard muttered as they trotted back toward the horses.
Travis grinned again. If the pilgrim thought today was a scare, he'd be plumb twisted come tomorrow night.
''Sioux." At mention of the word the assembled engages peered fearfully out at trees turned so suddenly ominous in the twilight.
Heals Like A Willow shifted nervously as she too stared into the woods. She knew the Sioux as Bambiji'mina, the Cuts-Off-A-Head People. And their sign was the cut-throat sign. Among her people, only the Pa 'kiani were more hated.
The entire attitude of the party had changed. The engages, normally of cheerful countenance come the evening camp, now fidgeted. An unbidden shiver ran down her back.
Trawis, Ritshard, and Baptiste stood at the center of the knot of men. Behind them, Maria lay snugged tight to the bank by her painter. Green stood halfway up the plank, thumb thrust in his belt.
''All right," Green called out. ''Before we eat, I want trees drug up. Let's fort up. Horses inside, and double guard tonight. Baptiste, take first watch. Dick, you're in charge of second, and Travis third. I don't want anybody wandering out into the dark, hear?"
As Willow studied the men's faces, she decided any such order was needless.
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"How many Sioux?" Trudeau asked.
''Handful," Trawis stated. "But we ain't taking no chances, not with Sioux. Hell, after Dick hyar got ter dancing with 'em, I figger he wore them varmints plumb out."
''Dancing?" Green asked. Trudeau scowled his disbelief.
"Hell, yes! Jumping and screaming like a young buck back from his first hoss raid," Trawis cried. "Why, ye should have seen 'em! Dick had 'em bunched up in a circle by the time we got there. If'n they'd had a fight on, all Baptiste and me woulda had ter do would be plug them coons from the trees."
Green lifted an eyebrow. Ritshard looked sheepish. Trudeau snorted and stomped off in disgust.
"You heard me, now. Let's get forted up! Nobody eats until I'm satisfied." Green waved them away. "And I don't want nobody out there alone gathering logs! Groups of three, and sing out the second you see anything."
The engages muttered among themselves as they started for the trees. Trudeau kept glancing back over his shoulder and swearing sourly.
Green turned. "Travis? What's your opinion?"
Trawis pulled thoughtfully at his beard as he walked up to the plank. "Reckon they won't try anything. That's just a hunch, Dave. The way I figger, they's been starved fer trade last few years. Might have a couple of kids sneak out just fer a try at the hosses. One of them 'Just ter show ye we could do her' raids. Mostly, I'd guess that Wah-Menitu would want 'em ter leave us alone."
Green glanced at Baptiste, who said, "I'd say the same, Booshway. Way I read it, Wah-Menitu's savvy enough to know he'll get more from happy traders than mad ones."
"And Dick had 'em circled up?"
Ritshard flushed red, glancing down at the toes of his moccasins.
"Just the way I told ye," Trawis said with a twinkle.
"Shore 'nuff," Baptiste added, straight-faced.
"Uh-huh." Green looked at Willow. "I want you on the boat. No sense in baiting the Sioux with a Snake woman. You'll be a heap safer aboard."
Willow reached down to the war club tied at her waist. "I am no White woman, Green."
"Oh, I know that, Willow. But I want you out of harm's way, hear?"
She glanced at Trawis, who nodded, fixing her with those knowing blue eyes. "It ain't a' gonna hurt nothing to stay on the boat fer a couple of days. These Sioux, they're a sneaky bunch."
Ritshard looked up. "Please, Willow?"
One by one, she read their souls. Green wanted her safe for his trade. Trawis worried that a friend might come to harm. And Ritshard? That look betrayed the ache in his heart should anything happen to her.
"I will do this. But if there is fighting, I will take my bow and arrows and fight like a Dukurika."
"It’d be a help," Trawis replied.
Ritshard kicked hesitantly at the dirt, then looked up with resignation. "Mr. Green? Just a moment." Ritshard walked up to the plank. He clenched his fists, face strained. "I . . . I'd like a rifle. Not that Pawnee's trade gun, but a Hawken. One like Travis's. And powder and ball."
Green glanced at Trawis and saw his scarred eyebrow raise. "You want a rifle?"
Ritshard shrugged. "Yes, sir. I do
"Why?" Green cocked his head. "I thought you were going to run the first chance you got. Why should I take a risk on a rifle
Ritshard took a breath. "On my word as a gentleman, I won't run off with your rifle."
"But you might still run off."
Ritshard swallowed, struggling with himself. "I ... I won't run off—at least, not yet. Not with the Sioux so close."
Willow noticed the barely suppressed smirk on Trawis's face. Baptiste's black eyes glinted as he leaned on his rifle.
Green cast another glance at Trawis, who nodded. "All right, Hamilton. It'll go against your wages. You understand?''
Ritshard now stood lodgepole-straight. "Yes, sir. I understand."
Green shrugged. "Come on, then. I’ll fetch you a rifle. I just hope to God you're better at shcxning Indians than you are at dancing with them."
As Ritshard walked past. Willow could see the gleam in his eyes, as if he'd just proven something to the world, and himself.
She turned to Trawis. "He did well today?"
Trawis grinned outright now. "Wal, now, I reckon with a little work, he'll come around. He's a-fixing ter be more than he figgers he can. Just you be careful the next couple of days, Willow. Them Sioux, they might go fer the hosses, but they'd sure as hell make a try fer ye. If'n they do, it'll mean a fight to get ye back, understand?"
"Why fight for me?"
Trawis patted her shoulder. " 'Cause yer one of us." Then he walked out to supervise the forting up.
Baptiste touched a finger to the brim of his hat before he followed the hunter.
One of them? She sighed as she began collecting wood, careful to stay within the bounds of the camp. Trudeau was watching her as he worked, stripping her with his eyes. She glared back at him, and spat contemptuously.
"No, Trawis. I am Dukurika. I can never be anything else." The day would come when she would leave them. She hoped that it would not hurt Ritshard or Trawis. But they would forget. Such was the nature of men: red or white.
In the meantime, she would stay on the boat. Given a choice, she'd take thieving Pawnee over cut-throat Sioux any day.
When the night skies finaJy darkened, and ominous silence settled on the camp, Rit hard walked over to her fire, his new rifle in hand. He seated himself on a blanket, staring wearily at the flames before inspecting the stew she'd set to boil over the coals.
"Long day," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. He turned brown eyes on her. The intimate inquisitiveness of his look brought a tingle to her heart.
"You are lucky the Sioux didn't kill you and cut yer head off." Then she smiled, and for a long moment their eyes held.
"But they didn't. It's so different, Willow. Not Boston at all."
"Boston. Always Boston. Tell me of this place."
He rubbed his face, the tenuous intimacy gone. "Willow, sometimes things must be lived to be understood." He gestured around. ''This is your country. Boston, well, it's like a completely different world. So many people, endless buildings and paved streets. Those words don't mean anything to you, do they? I can't explain it any more than you could have explained this to me a year ago."
She stirred the stew, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "This is not my country. My land is high, what is the word—mountains? The trees are different, and air is clear and cool. The colors are brighter, even the dirt. From the mountains, I can see forever, the way Tarn Apo and eagle see.''
He rolled onto his stomach, gazing up at her. "What was it like, growing up in a place like that?"
She tasted the rich stew and laid the ladle to one side. "My father. High Wolf, he let me do things the other children couldn't. I like to think he saw something special in me, but it was probably just because I was his favorite. He let me hold his sacred things, and listen to their voices, even though I was a girl. Since he was a great puhagan, no one said anything."
"He wanted you to be a medicine man, too?"
''No. At least, he didn't really encourage me. But I wasn't strange, or anything."
"What do you mean, Strange? Sometimes, when Power lives in a person, he acts Strangely. You can see it. A hollow look in the eyes. The head cocked, listening to spirit things other people can't hear. As a child. I was like the other children. 1 played among the rocks and trees, seeking out brother marmot and hunting rabbits. As children, we would build little mountain-sheep traps. The littlest children got to be the mountain sheep and the older children drove them into the trap and threw blankets over them. I was always hard to catch." She grinned at him, the memories fresh in her soul.
His eyes twinkled, as if imagining her as a child. "It sounds like tun." He idly twisted the grass into knots, 'i never played much. I didn't have many friends."
"Boston is not full of children?"
"Oh. Yes, full of them. I just didn't get out to play much. Fat
her was always so busy. Jeffry and the other slaves took care of me. Mostly I read books. They were my friends."
She wondered just what a book was, Ritshard talked of them so much. "This way you lived, it doesn't sound good, Ritshard."
He shrugged. "It was all I knew. How about you? Did you see your father often?"
"Every night." She looked up at the trees, the branches lit by firelight. "After we ate, Father would play with us. Sometimes he was Coyote, and chased us around trying to eat us. But when he caught us, he just tickled us until our bellies hurt. He told us the stories about the beginning of the world, and how Tarn Apo made things. Mother would nod at all of the important places. Then, when I started to fall asleep, Father would carry me to the robes and tuck me in."
"How lucky you were." He frowned, still toying with the grass. Finally he asked, "What did you want out of life?"
She lifted an eyebrow. "Want out of life?"
"What did you think you'd be doing? I mean, what did you dream of being?"
She paused. She'd only told High Wolf, and then, only once. A woman did not speak of such things. But Ritshard was different, and the honest interest in his eyes overcame her reserve. "I wanted to be a puhagan, just like my father. I wanted to know all the things he knew. To cure, to sing, and to seek Tarn Apo." She hesitated, unsure of herself. "I do not talk of these things, Ritshard. They are between us and no one else."
"Why?" He cocked his head. "Your people wouldn't approve?"
She looked around, then bent down close to meet his eyes. "Among my people, women do not seek puha. It is said to be dangerous, that a woman might not be strong enough, that she would damage the Power and use it for evil."
"Like a witch?"
"What is this word?"
"A woman who uses magic—uh, power—for evil. To kill and inflict disease."
''Witch.'' She sounded out the White word.
''Did your husband know you wanted power?''
''A little." She backed away then, averting her eyes.
''Did ... did you love him?"
''Yes." The memory stung her. And I couldn't save him in the end. To avoid more hurt, she asked, ''Did you ever love, Ritshard?"
He shrugged, lips parting as if to speak, hesitated, and said, ''I didn't do well with girls. They just didn't ... I couldn't talk to them. Do you understand? They weren't interested in philosophy, in ideas. They just wanted to be pretty and admired."