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

no translation. It said pointedly that “this white man isn’t as discourteous as you thought.”
    â€œ
Ke-a-e-es-tsa-kos-ach-kit-satope
,” the old man said to the young man, who immediately spread a buffalo robe for Cole to sit on.
    The chief had a leathery, lined face that was deeply tanned in contrast to his long, snow white hair. His eyes were bright and sharp, and it was hard to judge his age. By those eyes, he could have been thirty. By the texture of his skin and the color of his hair, he could have been a hundred.
    â€œ
Nitsinihka’sim O-mis-tai-po-kah
,” he said. introducing himself. “
Kiistawa, tsa kitanikkoowa
?” he continued, pointing at his guest.
    The words made no more sense to Bladen than water gurgling over rocks in a stream bed, but by the gestures, he understood that the man had introduced himself and wanted to know his name.
    â€œBladen Cole,” he replied, pointing to himself.
    â€œAhhh, Bladencool,” the man said, leaning back on his buffalo robe.
    With this, evidently believing now that “Bladencool” understood some of the rudiments of the
lingua franca
, the man began relating some sort of story. Though it was accompanied by gestures, Cole became completely lost. He recognized the sign for “horse,” but beyond that, he couldn’t follow the man’s narrative at all.
    Finally, this confusion became apparent, and the chief impatiently turned to one of the younger men, who got up and left, as though he had been sent to fetch something.
    The chief continued, but with simpler and easier to understand sign language. The fellow was making what amounted to small talk. He asked how far Cole had come and nodded his understanding when Cole explained that he had been following the three men for four sleeps.
    They were deep into their conversation when a shadow appeared in the doorway.
    Cole looked up to see a young woman with dark, riveting eyes, who looked to be in her early twenties. Her features were as smooth and delicate as the old man’s were hard-edged and textured. Her long hair, which she wore in braids, was as black as his was white. She was wearing a double-row necklace made of elk teeth and a buckskin dress, lightly decorated with porcupine quills.
    She listened intently as the old man spoke to her, nodding periodically and glancing occasionally at the white man. Cole could not take his eyes off her and savored the grace of her movements as she was invited to sit on a buffalo robe near him.
    â€œMr. Bladencool,” she said looking at him, appearing to work hard to choose her words. “My name is Natoya-I-nis’kim. My uncle . . . his name is O-mis-tai-po-kah . . . has requested me to translate his words to you.”
    She smiled bashfully and asked, “Do you understand my words? I have not spoken in English for many months.”
    â€œYes, I understand you just fine,” Cole replied, trying to enunciate clearly. “Actually my name is Bladen Cole . . . two words.”
    â€œI’m sorry . . . Mr. Cool. I understand. Two names . . . yes, I understand.”
    â€œYou speak English very good,” he said to compliment her. “Where did you learn . . . way out here?”
    â€œI was taught at the mission school. I attended as a girl. I am happy I remember the words.”
    â€œYour uncle seems proud of you,” Cole said.
    â€œMy uncle, who is named O-mis-tai-po-kah for the white medicine buffalo calf who was born at the same time as he, is
iikaatowa’pii
, very powerful with spirit power . . . great medicine.”
    â€œWhat is it that your uncle wants with me? I understood something about horses . . . but that was about it.”
    â€œThere were Pikuni Siksikáwa renegades who stole many
ponokáómitaa
 . . . many horses . . . from us,” she said, gesturing elegantly. “They