Read Online Bounty Hunter (9781101611975) by Bill Yenne - Free Book Online

tongue, which signified their not being conversant in his language.
    Cole knew a few Lakota words—as did most white men on the northern Plains, because the two groups had had much contact over the past three decades—but almost nothing of the totally unrelated Blackfeet language. What he did know pretty well, and what did unite the tribes on the Plains who could not communicate verbally, was the universal sign language.
    Using this, Cole was able to explain that he was looking for three men, three
white
men, who had come into Blackfeet country in the previous couple of days.
    Without saying whether or not they had seen the Porter boys, the two men replied that they had problems of their own. There was some sort of intertribal squabble going on, and they were on one side of it.
    One of them pointed to the Winchester Model 1873 rifle that Cole had in the scabbard attached to his saddle. At first, he thought that they were proposing to trade. One of them carried an older model, U.S. Army–issue “Trapdoor” Springfield, and he could see the distinctive bronze-colored breech of the Winchester ’66 carried by the other. Neither gun was desirable in a trade for a ’73 Winchester, so he declined.
    At this, the man who was doing all the talking said that Cole was mistaken. They didn’t want his Winchester, they wanted
him
. They indicated that their head man had sent them to “volunteer” his services as a rifleman.
    Cole found it hard to stifle the laugh, which, when he suddenly guffawed, noticeably startled his new Siksikáwa friends. Bladen Cole, the hired gun, was being hired for a second job in parallel to that which had brought him north of the Marias.
    The two men were looking at each other with bewildered expressions, when Cole let it be known that he
would
help them.
    On one hand, allowing himself to become embroiled in a Blackfeet civil war was an unnecessary distraction from his purpose, but if he had any hope of completing a successful manhunt in this enormous land, he needed friends. And he was about to make some.
    They had ridden together for about an hour when Cole started to see the blue haze of many campfires in the distance. At last, as the sweet smell of smoldering cottonwood reached his nostrils, they came over a rise and saw a village below. There were more than a dozen tipis clustered along a quarter-mile stretch of a stream. People were going about their daily chores, and horses grazed on the hillsides.
    As they rode through the camp, Cole smiled broadly at the children who eyed him curiously. One group of preteen girls giggled and turned away as he caught their eyes.
    They stopped before a large tipi which was decorated with a variety of pictograms painted in both red and black. By its location in the center of the camp, Cole concluded that this was the chief’s house.
    The three riders dismounted, and one of the Siksikáwa men approached the open flap of the lodge. He spoke to someone inside and gestured for Cole to come in. The bounty hunter grabbed a knot of smoking tobacco from a parcel that he carried in his saddlebag and approached the opening. He wasn’t fully conversant in native customs, but he did know that among the people of the Plains, it was always good manners to present your host with a token gift of tobacco.
    â€œ
Assa, nápikoan, oki
,” the man said cordially as Cole appeared in his doorway.
    Though he claimed less than the barest understanding of the language, Cole did recognize the greeting “
oki
” and term for “white man,” “
nápikoan
.” He had always appreciated that it was a more literal translation than the Lakota word for his race, which was the derogatory “
wasichu
,” meaning “the one who steals the bacon fat.”
    Cole handed the chief the tobacco, a gesture which the chief seemed to appreciate. With this, the old man shot a glance toward one of the younger men which needed