Read Online People of the Fire by W. Michael Gear - Free Book Online

cow planted a foot, dirt spraying as
she spun, twisting at the sound of her calf. Dropping her head, hind quarters
lowered, massive back feet planted, muscles rippling down her flanks, she'd
pushed off, the long horn tip catching Clear Water in the small of the back.
                   Helplessly Two Smokes had watched as the
enraged cow tossed her head. The horn tip ripped upward, splitting the skin
under Clear Water's milk-rich breasts. His eyes met hers for a split second, a
communication of terror and disbelief.
                   Frantic buffalo obscured the rest.
                   He remembered the sudden impact to his own
body, clipped from behind as he turned to run. Then pain . . . and silence . .
. and . . .
                   He recalled the way his vision had shimmered when
he came to, a mirage dancing his sight away and out of focus. In the depths of
his mind he could hear a baby crying; the pitiful wailing bruised his soul.
                   Gray mist rose around him, cooling the
battering heat of the sun on his back, throbbing about him in time to the pain
that touched his nerves like white-burning coals on skin.
                   How long had he lain there, floating up and
down from consciousness? A vague image of night, of shivering and hurting,
played briefly about his mind.
                   Then something had changed. His head had been
moved. He knew it despite the lightning bolts of pain that racked him. Perhaps
the Power hadn't been dead. He remembered . . .
                  Two Smokes groaned, trying to find himself in
the waves of misery.
                   " Anit'ah ?"
He recognized the word. Enemy.
                   " Anit'ah , can
you hear me?"
                   "I . . ." The croak of his voice
scared him.
                   "Drink. Slow."
                   Warm fingers parted his cracked lips, working
between his teeth to pry his jaws apart. A slight trickle of water traced over
his tongue. Desperately he licked at the roof of his mouth. More water, enough
to tease his throat, then he was drinking, reveling in the liquid.
                   He tried to turn over—pain staggered his mind.
                   "Hold still. Your leg. Very bad. Wait
just a minute. Drink more."
                   This time he recognized the pressure against
his lip. Buffalo-gut water bag. He sucked more of the precious fluid into his
dying body.
                   "Now, let me .see your leg."
                   He felt fingers lifting the hem of his berdache's dress. Fire flashed white as fingers prodded and
he cried out. The dress lifted higher and he heard an intake of breath.
                   "You're a man? In a . . . Ah! Berdache !"
                   "Got to get back to camp," he
whispered. "My fault. Got to save the child. Got . . . to . . ."
                   "Child is all right. I've got to do
something with this leg. It'll hurt."
                   He screamed as the practiced fingers probed
his flesh. The grayness wrapped around him again, dragging him down into
darkness . . . away from the pain. .
                   She'd saved his leg. The old woman had healed
him while he waited there at Monster Bone Springs. Later she'd gone, bringing
back ranging hunters. They'd carried him here. Now he waited, and suffered, and
wished for the high Buffalo Mountains where he'd grown up and found a place among
a people who didn't treat him like an animal.
                   Carefully, Two Smokes lifted the Wolf Bundle,
placing it next to his cheek, feeling nothing of the Power it had once held.
Singing, he dropped sweetgrass onto the coals of the
morning fire, passing the Bundle four times through the cleansing smoke and
singing his devotion. With reverent he smoothed the scuffed sides of the