Deborah Camp (28 page)

“Didn’t want us to tag along, I guess,” Gus said, completely unruffled as he returned to the fireplace. He selected some wood and tossed it onto the leaping flames. “Tracks are leading toward Pierre Sartain’s camp. As for taking all the horses …” He threw a grin at Tucker. “Don’t you just hate it when a woman out-thinks you, Yank?” He cackled like an old sitting hen. “If brains were beasts she’d be a griz and we’d be piss-ants.”

Tucker made several trips around the room to walk off his anger. “Why’d she leave your mule?”

“Because she knows I won’t loan my mule to anyone. Not even you.”

“She could have told us.”

“Like we were aiming to tell her about you making tracks?”

Tucker sent Gus a sidelong glance, stung by his own deception. “You’ve got a point,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t ease my worry any. I hope she
doesn’t pick a fight with Sartain and … what kind of man is he?”

“A coward.” Gus ambled to the cookstove and poured two cups of coffee from the pot. He extended one toward Tucker. “Plant yourself somewhere, pilgrim. She’s gone and your worrying and fuming won’t make her hurry home any faster. Is that coffee too strong? I can add water.”

Tucker tasted it. “No, it’s fine.”

“I might as well fix us some breakfast.” He gave Tucker a kindly look. “She can handle Pierre without breaking a sweat. I don’t know how, but it seems she got wind of our little plan, Yank, and she beat us to the draw. If we can’t be winners, we ought to work on being good losers, I reckon.”

“She’s the most exasperating woman I’ve ever known!” Tucker lifted his arms from his sides and then let them fall back in a show of utter helplessness.

Gus laughed. “Yep. God love her.”

Copper left the other horses at a squatter’s place halfway between Gus’ cabin and Pierre Sartain’s lodge. She’d met the squatter and his family a few times before and they were more than pleased to tend to the horses in exchange for the six fat stewing rabbits she had shot on the way. Harlon Moss’ wife had died the month before while giving birth, and Harlon had his hands full with his three young children and a new baby, who wasn’t taking well to goat’s milk. After telling him that she’d be back for the horses by afternoon, Copper directed Ranger toward Gros Ventre country.

“You’re getting heavy,” she murmured, shifting her shoulders to relieve the pressure Valor and the cradleboard added to her spine. “I look forward to the day when you can ride on this saddle with me.”

Valor gurgled and cooed. Peering around at her, Copper smiled at her. Valor waved her small fists
and drooled, eyes wide with wonder as she watched a black bird in flight. Did the Crow blood in the baby surge at the sight of the great spirit bird? Copper mused. Stands Tall’s heritage was evident in Valor’s olive skin and in the shape of her cupid’s bow mouth. Stands Tall had been a handsome man and his daughter had inherited some of his striking features. She was glad Valor had Stands Tall’s mouth instead of her own, which she’d always thought too wide. Copper only prayed her daughter wouldn’t develop Stands Tall’s mindless temper and selfishness.

Copper thought of removing the board and hanging it on the saddle pommel, but decided not to when she saw a curl of smoke on the near horizon and realized she’d soon be at Pierre Sartain’s.

Ranger topped a rise, giving a view of the depression where Pierre’s wife had erected his lodge. In the dim distance smoke hung on the horizon where the Gros Ventre were camped. As Ranger picked his way down the other side, Copper studied the lodge, disturbed by the lack of activity. She’d never seen Sartain’s camp when his children weren’t scampering about and making noise. Ranger snorted and laid back his ears a few moments before the breeze brought to Copper the soft, wailing chant of a woman. Copper reined Ranger to a prancing halt in the shadows of a copse of aspen. Color flashed and Copper swung her gaze east in the direction of the Creek. Three of Sartain’s children marched, one dragging long poles, the other two carrying a litter between them. The youngest wore a red shirt. The other two had crimson slashes on their shirts. As they drew even with her, but still a distance away, Copper held her breath as her eyes recognized the color for what it was—blood.

She studied the litter, but it was empty, then her gaze fastened on the long poles the eldest child
dragged, and she realized that the children were preparing to build a funeral pyre. Ranger blew white clouds from his nostrils, and Copper knew he was quivering because he smelled fresh blood. The woman’s gentle wail wafted across the snowy land and with it came the cloying scent of incense.

Copper tapped her heels against Ranger and the pinto moved from the shadows and toward the lodge. The oldest child spotted her first and turned to warn his siblings. They ran toward the lodge, clearly frightened. Dropping the things outside, they burst through the flap. A few moments later Floating Flower stepped outside, tomahawk in one hand, pistol in the other, her face streaked with tears, her eyes burning with hatred. Her mouth twisted out of shape as her eyes filled with tears. She blinked at Copper, then lowered the tomahawk when Copper held up her hands to show that they were empty of weapons.

“Who has gone to the other side?” Copper asked in French.

“Pierre, my husband,” Floating Flower answered in a sob-roughened voice. “They killed him and skinned him, then dumped him here in front of my home for my children to find this morning.”

Copper’s gaze slid to the red, sticky place on the snowy ground. “Who did it?”

“Them.” The widow looked toward the smoky horizon. “My own, led by the buzzard Feet Like Wind.”

A chubby, naked boy toddled from the lodge and clung to his mother’s legs.

“Mama, milk,” he murmured, tugging on her dress and looking up at her with beseeching eyes.

Distractedly, Floating Flower put down her weapons, hoisted the boy onto her hip, and exposed one of her breasts for him to suckle. When her gaze met Copper’s again, her face flushed
with bright color and she stroked the child’s long, black hair.

“I know he’s too big for this,” she said, her voice strained, her face showing weariness, confusion, and deep pain. “But I’ll have another soon enough and then I’ll wean him. Now it gives me comfort to have him so close.”

Copper examined the other woman’s protruding belly, remembering that Pierre had told her his wife would give him another child in the spring. This one, however, would never see his father. She glanced back at her own offspring and saw that Valor had fallen asleep, innocent and unaware of the horrible scene. Swinging out of the saddle, Copper bent and picked up the long poles.

“Leave that child with the others. You and I will build a funeral pyre for Pierre. Where is he now?”

Floating Flower motioned to a mound of snow several feet away. “Under there.”

Copper nodded. “Good.” She touched the other woman’s shoulder to get her attention. “We have sorrow’s work to do, Floating Flower. Let’s be done with it swiftly.”

Smoke billowed to the sky, obliterating the hazy winter sun. They all stood a respectful distance from the pyre and watched as the fire took Pierre Sartain’s body—or what was left of it—to the Great Beyond, following his spirit which had made the journey ahead of it. Feet Like Wind had removed Pierre’s tongue and genitals, signs that he thought the man had lied to him and possessed no manly courage. He’d skinned Pierre and taken his scalp to show his fellow warriors that he had no respect for or fear of the dead.

Sartain’s children sat in a semi-circle, their solemn faces turned up as they watched the grotesquely dancing flames that consumed their father. Copper looked at Floating Flower standing beside her, the Gros Ventre’s flat face expressionless,
but her eyes reddened by tears. She held her youngest, Jean, and the boy pulled fretfully at the front of her dress, wanting his mother’s nourishment. Copper cradled Valor in her arms and knew she’d be wanting the same from her soon.

“Why did they do this, Floating Flower?” Copper asked. “Was it because of me and the soldier?”

Floating Flower’s throat moved as she swallowed over and over again. Finally, she spoke in a hoarse voice. “He said my husband had lied to him about you and the man living with you. My husband said this man was Micah McCall, but Feet Like Wind didn’t believe. My husband told Feet Like Wind to leave, that he’d told him the truth as he knew it, and that he should leave well enough alone.” Her lips trembled and she kissed the top of her toddler’s head. “But this morning my husband went to check the traps at the creek—before any of us were awake. He liked to get away from the noise of the children and sometimes didn’t return for many, many hours. More and more often, he sought time away from our lodge.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I sent Henri out to fetch water and he screamed. We all ran outside to find …” She closed her eyes and fat tears fell from her cheeks and plopped onto Jean’s bare leg. He flinched and puckered up his face to cry, seemed to think better of it, and began pulling at the laced placket of her dress again.

“Milk, mama, milk,” Jean whined, this time in French. When she didn’t respond, he switched to English. “Milk! Drink!”

She jostled him on her hip and made a shushing sound. “We have nowhere to go now. The Gros Ventre won’t take us in. They’ve murdered my husband, and they’ll have nothing to do with his children. How can I stay here? My children will starve.”

Copper motioned to the lodge. “Let’s get inside
out of the wind and feed our children. We’ll talk and come up with something.”

Inside the warm lodge Copper helped Floating Flower heat stew for the older children, then she and the woman sat away from them to let Valor and Jean nurse. Over the soft suckling sounds and the children’s whispers and the lodge fire’s crackling, peace settled like a comforting blanket. Copper leaned to glance out the lodge door and measure the shadows.

“I have to leave here soon. You can come with me. I’ll help you take down the lodge and pack your things.”

Floating Flower sighed. “They took the fine U.S. Cavalry mule. I have only an old, ribby pony that should have been shot a year ago and put out of its misery.”

“I have Ranger and I left some horses at a squatter’s place not far from here. We can walk and be there before dusk.”

“But where will I go, Copper Headed Woman?” Floating Flower placed a hand on Copper’s arm. “You are far away in your mind.”

“Yes, an idea just struck me. I think I know a place where you can stay.” Copper laid Valor on a thick blanket and patted her back until she burped. “Let’s begin packing.” She stood and clapped her hands for attention. “Children, you have to help because the day is fading and we have much to do.”

As they gathered the belongings and stacked them outside, Floating Flower sent questioning glances at Copper until Copper could no longer ignore them.

“I left my horses with a squatter named Harlon Moss. He has several children and a new baby on his hands. His wife died last month. The baby isn’t keeping the goat’s milk down that he’s feeding it and will soon be dead, too. You can keep the baby
alive with your milk and help the squatter with his children.”

Floating Flower dropped the clothes she held as if they’d suddenly burst into flame. “Suckle a stranger’s baby? I couldn’t!”

“And why not?” Copper placed her hands on her hips and stared at the woman in a bold challenge. “It’s done often enough. The baby is dying. You have milk. Only a cold-hearted woman would deprive a starving baby. You feed his baby, and he’ll feed the rest of your children. It’s a simple trade.”

“He’s a white man?”

“He is.”

“And he’ll let a Gros Ventre woman’s milk sustain his white child?”

“He’s a Reb and used to seeing black white women suckle white babies. It’s done all the time in that part of the country.”

Floating Flower made a clicking sound with her tongue. “The whites are peculiar in many ways. I don’t think I want to be another white man’s slave.”

“Then you want to provide for your children all by yourself? Listen to me, Floating Flower, I have one little baby and it’s all I can do to keep her safe and sound. How can you do for four—five soon? Who will watch over your children if you have trouble giving birth?”

The woman’s face crumpled in misery and she buried it in her hands and sobbed. “I don’t know! I see darkness. There is no light.”

“There is light,” Copper said, pulling the distraught woman into her arms. She’d never thought she’d ever console a Gros Ventre. Disaster made friends of the most unlikely people. She told herself she shouldn’t feel responsible for the woman’s predicament. After all, she’d warned Pierre to keep his big mouth shut and he’d gone ahead and tempted fate and gotten himself killed for it. Still,
she felt a burden and she cursed Pierre for being so empty-headed and greedy.

Floating Flower straightened and wiped the tears from her face. “You shouldn’t feel that you must watch over me. My husband died by his own actions, not by anything you did.”

Copper smiled. “You see through me. I do feel responsible, but mostly I fear for you. You can’t stay here, Floating Flower. Come with me to talk to the squatter. If you don’t like him or his place, I’ll take you on to Gus’ with me. Maybe he’ll know of somewhere you can settle.”

“And maybe the white squatter won’t want me and my half-breed children.”

“Maybe.” Copper shrugged. “And maybe we’ll spend so much time talking that the sun will set and we’ll be riding in darkness.”

Floating Flower’s smile was wan, but grateful. “I’ll see this squatter with my own eyes and judge him.”

“Fair enough.”

It was hours past sunset when Copper topped the rise that gave a view of Gus’ cabin, its windows aglow. Sentry and Patrol raced with her, tongues and eyes glistening. A firmament of heavenly bodies spilled blue light over the snow-covered landscape. The dogs leaped around Ranger and the pinto snapped his yellow teeth and snorted warnings. Their high-pitched whines and yelps awakened Valor and set her to wailing.

Copper lifted the cradleboard into her arms and held it close. “Hush now. We’re almost there. I’ll change your soiled nappy and feed you and we’ll settle you in a pile of warm fur.” She glanced at the yapping hounds. “Quiet!” They fell silent. She motioned for them to go ahead and they bounded toward the cabin.