Child of the Dead (8 page)

“Come,” she signed to Gray Mouse. “We go now.”

Back at their little camp, there was much to be done. Too much, really. Gray Mouse, exhausted in her already weakened condition, had fallen asleep almost instantly.
I should not have pushed her so hard
, thought Deer.
She must be very weak
.

For now, while the child slept, Running Deer built up her fire and cooked some of the fresh meat that her sons had brought. That was thoughtful, though in reality, it made more work for her.
They did not realize that
, she assured herself. She cut thin strips of the meat, hanging each on a rack of willow sticks that she had constructed just downwind from the fire. The smoke would discourage the flies that were always a nuisance when drying meat.

She smiled, amused at herself. Here she was, working hard to prepare the fresh meat for future use …
Why?
There was more than enough already in the supplies that she had salvaged from the lodges below. It was likely that the future was very short anyway, both for herself and for the sleeping girl there. The child looked so tiny, so helpless.

Deer’s attention focused on a large circular sore directly in the center of the girl’s forehead. It was yellowish and wet-looking, as wide as a man’s finger, and dark in the center. It seemed darker … no, the dark portion was
larger
, than on the previous day. A wave of alarm swept over her. It was apparent that the sores on the dead bodies in the camp were completely black and scabbed. She realized now that this must be how it happens. The sores become dark and dry and the sufferer dies. Yes, there on the shoulder … a smaller circle,
but it, too, had a dark center today. Young Gray Mouse was a day closer to death than she had been yesterday.

But so am I!
Running Deer thought.
So is everyone!
She smiled grimly.

While the child slept, she carried the bright-striped blanket to the stream and scrubbed it, then stepped out of her dress and slipped into the cool water. She cleansed her body completely, washed her hair … She wished that it was possible to wash out her lungs. A deep breath still caused her to taste the scent of decay. She experimented with several very deep breaths in succession, hoping that this would force out the remnants of stale air. She could not tell whether it made any difference.

The bath did make her feel better, though. She was still luxuriating in its cool comfort when the girl stirred and woke. Deer hurried out of the water and picking up her dress, and the blanket, quickly covered the few steps to the Camp.

“Where were you?” Gray Mouse signed.

“In the water. Soon you can do that, too.”

She felt that she lied. She did not know what the effect of water might be on the sores of the
poch
, but did not think it would be good. It seemed unlikely that this child would ever be able to swim again.

Running Deer spread the striped blanket over a bush to dry in the sun, and turned to the fire. The broiling meat was nearly done … She rotated it, and then looked at the drying rack. That, too, was progressing nicely. A little more wood on the fire …

“We can eat soon,” she signed.

“It is good.”

They ate, and the exhausted little girl fell asleep again. Running Deer felt a pang of guilt at having kept the child on her feet so long while they explored the village.
But what could I have done? The child would not stay alone
…

Running Deer had donned her dress again, after her skin dried in the sun. Now she sat, watching the sleeping girl. What was to be done? Seldom in her life had there been a time like this, with no pressing tasks. Even after her husband’s death, there were things in need of doing. Now … it struck her that she did not know
what was needed.
How long
would they need food, shelter? There was no way to know.

Out of sheer habit, she inspected the ragged half of buffalo skin brought by her sons. It might be useful, and nothing should be wasted. She spread the skin on the ground and began to dress the flesh side, scraping all the scraps of fat and tissue away.

Running Deer had nearly completed her task with the buffalo skin when the girl awoke again.
A long sleep, good for the sick
, thought Deer. She left the skin, and approached the child.

“How is it with you?” she signed. “Would you eat again?”

The girl nodded eagerly.
Odd
, Running Deer thought.
She looks stronger, almost, after her sleep
.

They opened one of the tubes of pemmican, which did prove to be of high quality. Its richness prevented them from eating very much, but it was filling and good.

Evening was approaching, and Running Deer began to prepare for the night. More firewood
… It might be good
, she thought,
to have a better shelter. A frame of poles, maybe, a part of one of the abandoned lodge skins
… Well, she could consider that tomorrow.

It was nearly fully dark when little Gray Mouse approached her and crept into her lap.

“Are you cold, little Mouse?”

“No. Grandmother, tell me a story?”

A story? In hand signs? Deer chuckled.

“Maybe,” she signed. “We will try. I will use words, too.”

“In long-ago times,” she began, “all people and all creatures spoke the same language.”

The girl nodded eagerly. “I know of this!” she signed. “Your people know this, too?”

Running Deer gave her a quick touch in approval.

“Of course. Now, do you know why Bobcat has such a short tail?”

The little girl smiled. “Yes, but tell me again, Grandmother.”

And again, this was good.

It was a day or two later. Darkness had fallen, and they were settling down for the night when there was a noise in the darkness just beyond the circle of firelight. Running Deer quietly reached for her ax, and prepared to rise. Probably nothing … a stray skunk or possum, but it was good to be ready. The creature seemed larger than that, though. It was making a lot of noise, rustling around in the brush and making an odd snuffling sound.

Then into the circle came the object of their attention; A half-grown dog. It would be a large animal when it matured. Running Deer wondered why they had not seen it before. Well, they had not searched the village completely. The puppy might have been in one of the lodges. At this age it could be expected to wander around rather illogically and to do stupid things.
Much like young humans
, she thought. Maybe it had been out wandering the prairie. At any rate, it had been left behind.

The friendly yellow pup walked directly to Gray Mouse, wagging its tail and trying to lick her face. The girl giggled weakly and patted its head.

“Do you know this dog?” asked Running Deer in hand signs.

“No. But he is good. Can he stay, Grandmother?”

Deer thought for a moment.
Why not? The child is pleased by it. It will probably not be for long anyway
.

She smiled and nodded. The girl smiled.

“It is good! I will call him Yellow Dog.”

Deer fed the animal a few bites of meat so that it would stay. If it made the child happy in these last days …

“You have to hunt for yourself, dog,” she told it. “I will not give you all your food.”

When they fell asleep, Yellow Dog was curled near the sleeping robe of young Gray Mouse.

T
his child is stronger
, thought Running Deer.
She should be growing weaker, but she is stronger
.

It had been four … no, five days now, since their lives had been thrown together. There were times when Running Deer thought that her sons were right, that she had gone completely crazy. It was still a problem to communicate with young Gray Mouse, but usually there was not much need to do so anyway. The simple needs of the day … food, water, sleep … Deer had dug out a cooking pit, and lined it with the scrap of buffalo skin. That, with a few cooking stones, had allowed her to make nutritious soups from the pemmican. The little girl had seemed to enjoy this.

Of all the needs and wants of a child of five summers, though, perhaps the most important is that of affection. The two spent much time close together, or with the girl sleeping in the arms of Running Deer. That was how Deer noticed the change, slow as it was.

There is not so much fever
, she had noticed on the morning of their third day together. Later that day, she decided that she had been mistaken. The skin of little Mouse felt hot and dry. When it was that way, the girl was very quiet and listless, and showed little interest in anything. And, Deer noticed, the girl always seemed at her best in the morning, after a night’s sleep. So, the answer seemed to be more rest. When the child became
listless, Deer would hold and rock her, and when sleep came, lay her gently on a soft robe. Then she would fan the little face, stirring the air to keep the flies from annoying or disturbing the needed rest.

Now …
Yes, she is stronger
, thought Deer. She studied the child carefully for the next day or two, and realized that Gray Mouse had become much more active. Her need for rest was still present, but the periods of sleep were shorter and less frequent. The childish play became more active, more normal.

A favorite place to play was on the gravel bar where they dipped water from the stream. White, smoothly polished stones lay piled there by the current of the stream when it had been swollen in some flood time … maybe long ago, maybe last spring. The stones ranged from the size of a goose’s egg down to no larger than one which could be concealed in the palm of a child’s hand. Not all were round. Some were flattened or gnarled in strange shapes.

“Look! This one is a dog!” the girl would sign, bringing a special stone for Running Deer to examine. “And here is one like a bird.”

Deer had used some of the better, rounder stones, from well above the water line, for cooking stones. Heated in the fire, they could be transferred to her little cooking pit with willow tongs until the water was boiling and the meat cooking. As the stones cooled, they were returned to the fire to be replaced by reheated stones. Most of the People had cooked in this way when Running Deer was young. She was expert at it. She could have used one of the several cooking pots that she had seen in the camp of the dead ones, but felt that it would not be right, somehow. It felt better to go back to the old ways. It was simpler, cleaner and more pure, maybe. Anyway, it
felt
better. She was not certain how the spirit of the
poch
sores made its leap to another victim, but maybe the old women were right. Maybe it was the result of all the modern changes that had come about in her lifetime.

Aiee, I am thinking like an old woman
, she admitted to herself. Then she chuckled aloud.
I am an old woman! Maybe that is why
.

She lifted a heated stone and dropped it into the
stew. There was a hiss and a puff of steam, and the liquid continued to simmer. The smell was good …

A sudden cry came from the gravel bar where Gray Mouse was playing. The child had fallen, and now jumped to her feet to run to her “grandmother” for comfort, wailing from the hurt. Had the boisterous dog knocked her down? Maybe not … It always seemed concerned for the girl’s welfare. It was apparent that she was not badly injured, but: she was holding a hand over her other arm.

Running Deer opened her arms to give consolation and comfort. That was a function that she had missed when her own children had grown and no longer needed such hugs. The little girl flew into her ready arms, and Deer suddenly realized that the child’s arm was bloody. The bleeding seemed rather profuse … what …? She examined the injury and relaxed somewhat. It was only that the fall on the rocky shore had dislodged one of the round scabs that dotted the girl’s body. It would soon stop bleeding, but …

Wait!
she thought. She looked more closely. She had noticed that the black centers of the pustules had grown, day by day, until the entire sore became dry and black and scabbed. She had thought that an ominous sign. Many of the dead in the abandoned camp had sores with that appearance. Yet, as those of Gray Mouse dried, she had grown stronger. Now, looking at this fresh injury … the drainage was not the yellow of the vile fluid that had been there before. This was
blood
. Bright, healthy-looking blood, not like that from the sores of the
poch!