Deborah Camp (13 page)

Sitting at the table, Tucker laced his fingers against his middle and grinned at the maternal outpouring. “I wonder if my mama talked silly like that to me when I was still peeing my pants.”

“Probably not,” she retorted, wrapping her baby in her arms and cuddling her against her breasts. “As ornery as you are, I imagine she rued the day she started growing you.”

Tucker chuckled. “Sure I won’t be in your way?”

“If you were going to be a burden, I wouldn’t have asked you to come. We’ll be gone a good part of the day. Dress warm. Wear both of those shirts I made for you and the bearskin coat. Pull the hood up to cover your head.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“I’m only trying to save you from your own ignorance.” She changed Valor’s nappy and then dressed her in woolens. The cradleboard was lined with oilcloth that repelled water. After bundling Valor in two thick blankets and tying a furry cap over her sparse, black hair, Copper secured the baby in the cradleboard. “Help me strap her on?” she asked.

“Sure.” Tucker held the leather loops out so that Copper could slip her arms through them, then adjusted the cradleboard against her narrow back until he found a good fit. “There you go. How’s that?”

“Perfect. Hardly know she’s there.”

“Says you now, but you’ll be singing a different song by afternoon,” Tucker prophesied. “Military backpacks feel like feathers at sunrise and like millstones at sunset.”

“Valor will never be a burden to me. Never.”

He sent her a chiding frown. “Did I say that? I swear, when it comes to that baby you cut everybody
else a short rope. Which horse are you going to let me ride?”

“Brave. Courage should save her strength.”

“Guess she’ll foal this spring.”

“Yes. Another baby.” Copper smiled. “Ranger is the sire. That foal will be the finest horse in these mountains.”

“Ranger is a rotten nag.”

“He is not!” She glared at him. His raised brows chided her for her over-sensitivity. “He’s loyal to me, that’s all. He doesn’t want anyone else messing with him.”

“You don’t have to tell me. He’s the nastiest tempered horse I’ve ever had the misfortune of being around.” Tucker pulled on the other shirt Copper had sewn for him. “We’re going to check your traps?”

She nodded. “And hunt for bigger game. I want to haul home an antelope or deer. My tongue is weary of rabbit and squirrel.”

“Which rifle do you want?” Tucker asked, examining the weapons on the wall.

“You take one. I’m going to use this.”

Tucker turned to see her pull a sturdy bow and a quiver of arrows from beneath the lower bunk. Tucker had never seen a bow like it. He approached Copper, his hand held out.

“May I? Did you make this?”

She nodded, giving him the bow. It was wrapped with sinew and bowed naturally. Tucker kneaded it between his fingertips, feeling it flex with a nice spring.

“It’s awful small. What’s it made of? Feels like—”

“Bone. Buffalo bone,” she answered. “My Crow father taught me how to make it. I have this one too—” She pulled another bow from beneath the bed. “It’s made of chokecherry, but it’s heavier. That one,” she added, nodding at the bow Tucker
held, “is easier to use on horseback. It’s my favorite.”

“Let me see those arrows.”

She removed one from the leather quiver. “I made these, too. Chokecherry wood. It’s the best, I think.”

“And the points?” he asked, rubbing a thumb over the sharp arrow head.

“It’s from hoop iron I get at the trading posts.”

“I thought Indians used bone or flint rocks for points.”

“Only when we have no iron. Bone and flint break. You can’t bring down a tough-skinned animal with them.”

Tucker ran a fingertip along the hardwood shaft and examined the odd symbols of red, orange, and yellow. “And these symbols and grooves running along the shafts. What do they do?”

Copper pushed the extra bow back under the bed, averting her gaze from his. She felt a twinge of embarrassment, but then decided she shouldn’t be ashamed of her beliefs. She’d probably find his religion just as strange as he found hers.

She met his gaze candidly. “The wavy groove down the arrow is for blood-letting, but also the symbol for lightning. Arrows are harnessed lightning. The symbols tell all to whom the arrow belongs—which band of Crow and which spirit helper controls the arrow.” She pointed to a wavy red mark. “This is my own mark. In this way there are no quarrels about who brought down each animal.”

“I see.” He studied the shaft, especially her mark, which oddly enough seemed to fit her, reminding him of her hair. He noted that she’d resorted to speaking in stilted, near expressionless tones, reverting wholly to her Indian upbringing. She was using that tone of voice less and less around him, but this talk of Indian folklore had gotten her hackles up. Tucker ran the tip of his index
finger along the wavy groove in the shaft. “This keeps the wood from warping, too, I imagine.”

“Yes, that too.”

He knitted his brows, searching for a delicate way to approach the next question. “You said something about a spirit helper?” He gave the arrow back to her.

“That’s right.” She squared her shoulders and her flat-eyed stare was back again. “Each arrow has to have a spirit helper or it won’t shoot true.”

“Superstition?”

“Religion. What religion were you raised with?”

“I’m Christian.”

“I respect that religion. It’s good to believe in a high power—no matter what name you give it.”

Tucker smiled, feeling justly chastised. “The bowstring, what’s it made of?”

“Sinew I’ve twisted.”

“You’re a marvel,” he said, handing her the weapon. “Can’t wait to see you use that. I bet you can bring down a grizzly with one arrow.”

She laughed at that. “Maybe a baby griz.” Shaking the quiver of arrows, she added, “All of these probably wouldn’t kill a full grown one. You need long rifles and long guts for grizzly.”

“Gus seems to have had some success.”

“He’s fabled for his grizzly hunts. He’s probably tracked and killed more grizzly than any other man in the whole world.”

Tucker shrugged into the great coat, amused by Copper’s pride over Gus’ reputation. “From what he says you’re fabled as well. Indians think you’re big medicine.”

She turned solemn eyes on him. “A brave could become tribe leader overnight by wearing my scalp on his belt.”

Tucker swallowed the sourness that flooded his mouth at the thought of her beautiful hair as a savage’s trophy. “Copper, how in heaven can you
live like this? What kind of life do you have, always looking over your shoulder, having nearly every man, woman, and child afraid of you and thinking of you as an enemy? Why don’t you take your baby and get the hell away from all this?”

“This is my home. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“But your life is in danger here. If you’re too stubborn to think of yourself, at least consider your child.”

She rose to her feet. “It won’t always be so. Someone else will come along and pose a much bigger threat than me, then all the tribes will turn their arrows in that other direction and forget about a single woman and her small child.” Bothered by the discussion, she fastened the quiver of arrows to her side and headed for the door. “If you’re afraid of being seen with me, stay behind.”

“I’m not afraid,” he said, but grabbed the Henry repeater rifle on his way out.

“Geyser country is higher up,” Copper told Tucker.

They had wound their way through ponderosa pines and deep snow that often brushed the horses’ bellies. Copper directed Ranger toward jagged rock outcroppings and Tucker’s mount, the dapple gray called Brave, followed with little guidance from him.

“There’s a cave back here. If a grizzly isn’t using it, we’ll sit in there while I feed Valor.”

Tucker eyed the mouth of the cave with trepidation. One thing he didn’t want to confront was a grouchy grizzly. Copper dismounted and advanced, the fussing baby strapped to her back. Tucker slid out of the saddle. His feet hit the ground with undue force, sending a shock of pain up his splinted leg. He drew in a quick breath and winced.

“Copper,” he called, trying to hurry toward her. “Let me go in there first.”

She flapped a hand behind her, warding him off. Surveying the area, she saw no fresh droppings. She moved closer and sniffed for bear, but smelled only moss and pine needles. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she let out a yipping, coyote call. Nothing stirred in the dark shadows.

“Looks safe enough,” she said, sitting cross-legged inside the cave where the snow hadn’t reached. She let Tucker help her remove the cradleboard from her back, then lifted Valor from it.

“There, there, noisy child,” she whispered. “You are one impatient, squirming cub, aren’t you?” She pulled off the poncho and unlaced the front of her leather shirt. Reaching inside, she lifted out her left breast and helped Valor find its blushing pink nipple. Valor fell silent and fed intensely. Copper released a harsh sigh, glad for the quiet and the easing of pressure that had been building in her chest.

It was another minute before she sensed Tucker’s watchful stance. She looked up to find him staring at Valor’s hungry mouth at her breast. She had fed the baby in front of him many times before without timidity, but he had never stared with such open fascination. Fascination? No, she thought. He’s not fascinated, he’s …

Blushing, she turned sideways to place her exposed breast in shadow. Tucker cleared his throat and spun around to stare out the cave opening at the slashing shadows and pristine snowdrifts.

“You never get lonely out here?” His voice sounded strained.

“You’ve asked me that before and I answered.”

“Thought you might have a different answer this time.”

“No, it’s the same one. I don’t get lonely—for that.”

Tucker crossed his arms and bowed his head as
a grin spread across his face. “Maybe you’d answer different if you were loved by the right man, Copper. Could be that your husband just wasn’t good at it. You know, it’s like anything else. Some men have a talent for it.”

She switched Valor to her other breast. “So
that’s
what you’re good at, hmmm? I’ve been wondering.”

Her sarcasm surprised him. For an instant, anger roared through him at being ridiculed so soundly, but then it was gone, vanquished by his ability to laugh at himself.

“I guess you would be wondering about that. I haven’t done much in the way of making myself useful—except for delivering that baby of yours. Guess you could say I’m pretty damn good at that.”

“Yes, and I’m obliged.”

He swung his head around to smirk at her. “I’m pretty damn good at that other thing, too. I’d be glad to prove it to you.”

She knew her blush deepened because her face felt so hot, she was surprised she wasn’t sweating. “I’ll take your word for it.” It occurred to her that talk of sex had never brought color to her face before, nor had it made her heart gallop until now. Why had she become so shy about a most natural behavior around this man? Maybe because such talk always spawned that naughty grin of his and sprinkled firelight in his eyes.

Ranger whinnied; a high, nervous alarm. Instantly, Copper put aside wandering thoughts and became alert. She pressed a finger to her lips, then pointed past Tucker.

“Look out and see what you can see. Anything?”

Inching forward, Tucker surveyed the area twice. The horses were both eyeing a particular thicket of trees, but it was another minute before
he saw movement through the towering pine forest. He held his breath and strained his eyes, trying to discern if the disturbance was caused by man or beast. Then he saw the rack.

“It’s a stag, I think.”

Copper moved so quickly, so silently, that Tucker had no idea she was right beside him until he felt the brush of her shoulder. He jumped slightly and she gripped his forearm.

“Shhh! Hold Valor while I fit an arrow.” She gave him the baby and laced up her shirt. That done, she removed one arrow, notched it onto the bowstring, and crept forward. She glided over the landscape like a ripple on a pond. Her feet hardly left any tracks in the snow as she moved in a crouch from tree to tree.

The thrill of the hunt stole through Copper’s veins as she crept closer to the animal. She could see the rack, which identified it as a bull moose, not a deer. It would be good meat and she could make some fine footwear from the hide. Moving downwind from it, she made a slow semicircle until she was behind a brambly thicket with the moose only a few yards ahead of her. She brought up the bow and pulled back on the string. The moose never even looked up from his grazing as the deadly shaft zipped through the chilly air and buried into his chest. He bellowed and gave a tremendous shudder. Copper notched another arrow and ran toward the mortally wounded animal. The next was a mercy arrow. The big moose crumpled to his knees, belched a pink mist, and was dead before he rolled onto his side.

Copper knelt beside the kill and said a prayer of thanks for the skill and good fortune that had been bestowed upon her. The ritual completed, she went back to the cave.

“Did you get him?”

“Yes.” She slung into her poncho, then nestled
Valor into the cradleboard. Tucker helped her strap it on. “It’s a moose.”

“Is the meat tasty? As tender as venison?”

“Not as good, but I can make lots of things with it. It’ll taste fine after weeks of rabbit. Come on and help me dress it out.”

Scavenger birds were already pecking at the carcass when Copper and Tucker returned on horseback. Ranger dispersed them. Rearing and snorting and shaking his shaggy head, he sent everything scurrying and flapping. Copper slipped out of the thin saddle, knife in hand, and set to work. Tucker alighted as well, but stood back a minute to examine the efficiency of the kill.

“Two arrows,” he said. “You brought it down with just two.” Smiling, he patted her shoulder. “Well done. Is there nothing you can’t do better than most men?”

“Spit.”

“Wh–what?”

She flashed him a wide, bewitching smile. “I can’t spit as far.” She pointed to the knife at his belt. “Are you going to help or watch?”