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Authors: Barbara Hambly
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than Pia, and no one besides
himself and Manitou had interfered - or injury to a girl who was more or less
white. But his job, he reminded himself, was to befriend as many potential
informants as possible - and to put himself in a position to receive whatever
gossip was going - not to have any opinions of his own.
So
he only shook his head, sighed and asked, 'Where's Blezy Picard when we need
him?'
Chapter 5
The
clouds gathering over the Gros Ventre mountains to the north swept down the
valley that night, unleashing a torrent of wind and a succession of short-lived
cloudbursts that rattled on the skins of Morning Star's lodge like the
hoof-beats of a passing stampede. The bags of pemmican, the bullet pouches and
powder horns that hung from the lodge poles swayed gently in the glow of the
embers, and the poles themselves creaked as they rocked, as if the lodge itself
were a living thing, dreaming of flight. January was twice wakened by
lightning, huge blue-white explosions that shone through the semi-translucent
skins: when he went outside, wind flowed down around him, and he could hear the
river roaring in spate, all the cottonwoods stirred to a rushing tumult nearly
as loud. Another bolt flashed almost overhead, and by it he had a startling
vision of a river of cloud pouring past above him, close enough, it seemed,
that he could reach up and put his hands in it, before purple-black darkness
slammed down again.
Rose
would love this, he thought as he groped his way back into the tent again, found his blankets by
the tiny whisper of the fire. Rose reveled in lightning and storms. How can I note this in that
little book? Why can't I fold up the night, the air, the lightning and the soft
creak of the lodge poles into a little packet to store in my pocket, to unfold
for her when I come home ?
If
I come home.
If
she's alive when I get there . . .
From
beneath the bundled jacket under his head he drew his blue-beaded rosary with
its cheap steel cross, counted the beads with grim concentration. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee . . .
Let
her be there when I return. Don't let me lose everything twice . . .
In
the morning Robbie Prideaux and his dog Tuck joined them at their breakfast
fire in front of the lodge, with the news that, on the strength of a rumor that
Clem Groot and Goshen 'Beauty' Clarke were going to sneak out of the camp under
cover of the storm, half the trappers and camp-setters in the valley had
stationed themselves in the woods and the hills on both sides of the river,
with the result that at least twenty men were now stranded on the far side of
the Green, waiting for the torrent to go down.
Morning
Star cried in triumph, "Bien,
alors ! We
will make a fortune, Sun Mouse!' - for she, Clopard, and one of her sisters had
spent the previous day fashioning a canoe. 'Nevertheless,' she added, scooping
into her wooden mortar another handful of dried elk meat to pound up, 'they are
lucky, those across the river, to survive the night. The Blackfeet are camped
up the draws there -' she nodded across the green- brown flood, toward the
hills that loomed beyond - 'and they watch for those who are so foolish as to
hunt alone.'
All
the way across the plains January had heard about the Blackfeet, a powerful
tribe engaged in permanent war with almost every other Indian nation west of
the frontier. In general the Blackfeet refused to have dealings with either the
American trading companies or the British, acquiring guns and powder through
raiding and theft more than by trade, feared by all and watching the slow
encroachment upon their territory with angry eyes.
'My
mother's brother Owl was killed by Blackfeet,' added Morning Star quietly.
'They chopped through his back on both sides of his spine and pulled his ribs
out, so that his lungs collapsed. This was after they drove splinters of
fatwood - resin pine - under his skin all over his body, then threw him on the
fire. It took him two days to die.' Her
himself and Manitou had interfered - or injury to a girl who was more or less
white. But his job, he reminded himself, was to befriend as many potential
informants as possible - and to put himself in a position to receive whatever
gossip was going - not to have any opinions of his own.
So
he only shook his head, sighed and asked, 'Where's Blezy Picard when we need
him?'
Chapter 5
The
clouds gathering over the Gros Ventre mountains to the north swept down the
valley that night, unleashing a torrent of wind and a succession of short-lived
cloudbursts that rattled on the skins of Morning Star's lodge like the
hoof-beats of a passing stampede. The bags of pemmican, the bullet pouches and
powder horns that hung from the lodge poles swayed gently in the glow of the
embers, and the poles themselves creaked as they rocked, as if the lodge itself
were a living thing, dreaming of flight. January was twice wakened by
lightning, huge blue-white explosions that shone through the semi-translucent
skins: when he went outside, wind flowed down around him, and he could hear the
river roaring in spate, all the cottonwoods stirred to a rushing tumult nearly
as loud. Another bolt flashed almost overhead, and by it he had a startling
vision of a river of cloud pouring past above him, close enough, it seemed,
that he could reach up and put his hands in it, before purple-black darkness
slammed down again.
Rose
would love this, he thought as he groped his way back into the tent again, found his blankets by
the tiny whisper of the fire. Rose reveled in lightning and storms. How can I note this in that
little book? Why can't I fold up the night, the air, the lightning and the soft
creak of the lodge poles into a little packet to store in my pocket, to unfold
for her when I come home ?
If
I come home.
If
she's alive when I get there . . .
From
beneath the bundled jacket under his head he drew his blue-beaded rosary with
its cheap steel cross, counted the beads with grim concentration. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee . . .
Let
her be there when I return. Don't let me lose everything twice . . .
In
the morning Robbie Prideaux and his dog Tuck joined them at their breakfast
fire in front of the lodge, with the news that, on the strength of a rumor that
Clem Groot and Goshen 'Beauty' Clarke were going to sneak out of the camp under
cover of the storm, half the trappers and camp-setters in the valley had
stationed themselves in the woods and the hills on both sides of the river,
with the result that at least twenty men were now stranded on the far side of
the Green, waiting for the torrent to go down.
Morning
Star cried in triumph, "Bien,
alors ! We
will make a fortune, Sun Mouse!' - for she, Clopard, and one of her sisters had
spent the previous day fashioning a canoe. 'Nevertheless,' she added, scooping
into her wooden mortar another handful of dried elk meat to pound up, 'they are
lucky, those across the river, to survive the night. The Blackfeet are camped
up the draws there -' she nodded across the green- brown flood, toward the
hills that loomed beyond - 'and they watch for those who are so foolish as to
hunt alone.'
All
the way across the plains January had heard about the Blackfeet, a powerful
tribe engaged in permanent war with almost every other Indian nation west of
the frontier. In general the Blackfeet refused to have dealings with either the
American trading companies or the British, acquiring guns and powder through
raiding and theft more than by trade, feared by all and watching the slow
encroachment upon their territory with angry eyes.
'My
mother's brother Owl was killed by Blackfeet,' added Morning Star quietly.
'They chopped through his back on both sides of his spine and pulled his ribs
out, so that his lungs collapsed. This was after they drove splinters of
fatwood - resin pine - under his skin all over his body, then threw him on the
fire. It took him two days to die.' Her
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