Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (62 page)

 
          
 
"We're no better than he is. We're
accomplices."

 
          
 
Travis plucked a stem of grass and chewed the
sweet end. "Immoral as all Hell, ain't we? Plumb gone ta Hob hisself with
sin the likes of which ain't been seen since
Sodom
and
Gomorrah
. Wal, I'll tell ye, it ain't up ter Green
and me ter tell the men they can't dally with no squaw. Not when she's been
offered right fair."

 
          
 
Richard snorted derisively. "It's pure
prostitution! What kind of people are these
Omaha
?"

 
          
 
"Folks like most other folks, only a
sight more virtuous than a lot of 'em out hyar."

 
          
 
"Virtuous? That... that beast is using
his wife for a whore, Travis. That's hardly what I call moral rectitude!"

 
          
 
Travis squatted next to the fuming Richard.
"Tell me, why is it that you figger that every man otta be measured by yer
plumb line and level? One book of laws fits 'em all? Hell, it don't matter,
white, red, or black, every man's gotta live up ter Dick Hamilton's ten
commandments of philos'phy, or by God, he ain't even dirt! Must make life pure
hell, such a damn set of notions ter live up ter."

 
          
 
"There are universal criteria of proper
behavior, Mr. Hartman. Ethical rules by which men in society mutually govern
their behavior. It's not just my beliefs that are—"

 
          
 
"Wal, good. I'm glad ye thinks so. So do
most other folks."

 
          
 
"Evidently not the
Omaha
or they wouldn't—"

 
          
 
"Damn right they would! Tarnal Hell,
Dick, ye drives me ter the point of cutting my own throat so I don't gotta
listen to yer jaw flap! Now, shut up, or I'll fetch ye one."

 
          
 
"You don't have to get mad." Richard
scowled into the night, both hands gripping the trade rifle.

 
          
 
"Don't I? Yer more bullheaded than Adam's
off ox! Since ye got all the answers already, tell me about the
Omaha
. Go on, do her."

 
          
 
"Well, I..."

 
          
 
"Uh-huh. I'm waiting."

 
          
 
'Travis, I don't need to know about the
Omaha
to know that what he's doing—"

 
          
 
"Is plumb wrong! Son of a bitch! Imagine
that. Now, listen up, coon. Hyar's the way of it.
Omaha
is about the strictest Injuns out hyar,
except maybe fer the
Cheyenne
. They got their ways, and most is plumb persnickety 'bout who flirts
with who. They take pride in giving their word. A man don't lay with another
man's wife. He don't steal from his people. They take friendship all the way to
death ... a heap further than most white men I know. Ye wants ter talk morals,
wal,
Omaha
have got 'em by the barrelful."

 
          
 
"What about Blackbird?"

 
          
 
"What about trim?"

 
          
 
"He was a despot, a tyrant. He used
poison to make himself rich/'

 
          
 
"So'd King George. So'd Napoleon. Hell,
he's a chief, and a black-hearted one ter boot. And that makes my point. Folks
always got one or two bad apples in their barrel." Travis paused. "If
n 1 was ye, I'd wonder what in hell this
Omaha
's doing out hyar when all the rest of his
people are out hunting buffalo."

 
          
 
"All right, what's he doing here

 
          
 
"Banished for murder. That's why he's all
dressed up in them hides. It's punishment. He's been cast out fer four years.
Seems he got drunk and killed his father-in-law when the old boy caught him
beating his wife."

 
          
 
"And she went into exile with him?"

 
          
 
"Hell, no, she divorced his sorry arse.
No, this woman that's with him, she run away fer committing adultery. Her
husband caught her with a feller and she took to the brush before they could
beat her. The way the
Omaha
tells it, it ain't the first time, so her family was like to whup her
good and she didn't want no part of it."

 
          
 
"Good God." Richard cocked his head
as a nighthawk's wings buzzed in the night.

 
          
 
"Yep, wal, I figgered ye'd need the whole
story to get in a foaming philosphy mood and start preaching Roosoo or
something."

 
          
 
"But how do people get to be like
them?"

 
          
 
"Oh, just 'cause they's people, I
suspect. Why, I reckon thar be folks ye wouldn't be right proud of in
Boston
, neither." Travis stood, patting him
on the shoulder. "Now, keep yer eyes skinned, Dick."

 
          
 
"Who... who's he been trading her
to?"

 
          
 
"Trudeau mostly. Right after the boat
tied off, he started swapping fer whiskey. I reckon Trudeau's promised his
daily ration fer two months by now."

 
          
 
"It just makes me sick," Richard
said miserably. "A human being should be worth more."

 
          
 
"Should be. But most ain't, son. And
that's just the way the wind blows and the water flows."

 
          
 
"I think we got trouble," Travis
told Green as he ducked out of the evening shadows and through the hatch into
the cargo box.

 
          
 
They'd crossed the
Niobrara
earlier that day, and a freak wind from the
south had allowed them to make fifteen miles up the twisting
Missouri
. Now, after having satisfied himself with
the establishment of the camp, posted guard, and lined out the messes, Travis
had the opportunity to talk with Dave Green.

 
          
 
Green hunched over the flour barrels, a candle
in his burly right hand The oaken-plank roof wavered in the candlelight,
flickers chasing shadows behind the bales, packs, and tins.

 
          
 
Green had been squinting in the dimness,
inspecting his goods, searching for any water that might have pooled in the
bilge. Seepage could turn trade goods into disaster.

 
          
 
Green turned his eyes to Travis. "Trouble
how?"

 
          
 
"Trudeau's getting ideas about
Willow
."

 
          
 
"Tell him to leave her alone. What's the
matter? Didn't he get his fill of that Maha squaw?''

 
          
 
Travis pulled on his beard, tugging the scars
tight. "Some men just got themselves a passion, Dave. Fer some it's the
bottle, fer others a game of monte. Reckon fer Trudeau it's wimmen."

 
          
 
Green gazed at him thoughtfully. "You
know, I'm counting on that girl. She's a Snake. Seeing her home safely might
make for real good trade with her tribe."

 
          
 
"Reckon so." Travis lowered himself
to sit on the steps. "I warned Trudeau off. Don't know that it'll take.
Might have ter kill him."

 
          
 
"I suppose." Green leaned over
stacked kegs of gunpowder and reached out with the candle to stare down into
the blackness beyond. "And how'd your day's ride treat you?"

 
          
 
"I'm a mite stove up yet. A couple more
days and I'll have vigor back in my blood again."

 
          
 
"Enough to take Trudeau down?"

 
          
 
"Him and four others."

 
          
 
Green turned his head, his face sallow in the
candlelight. "You getting killed won't do me any good."

 
          
 
"He ain't gonna do nothing yet."
Travis braced his elbows on his knees. "I’m just a-warning ye, it's
coming. 'Sides, I reckon Trudeau'll tie into
Hamilton
first. They had words this morning. The kid
was grousing about the
Omaha
selling his woman, and Trudeau, he was a bragging about how good she
was. Sort of prickled old Dick's hide, I tell ye."

 
          
 
"And Trudeau didn't kill him?"

 
          
 
"I was too close. And, wal, I reckon
Willow
would'a drove an arrow through old Trudeau
if'n he hurt Dick. She's plumb smart with that bow, you know. But, yep, it's
a-coming between Dick and Trudeau. Matter of time."

 
          
 
"Well, it won't be much trouble burying
Hamilton
."

 
          
 
Travis cocked his head. "Trudeau sent a
shiver down Dick's back, all right. That Yankee pilgrim looked fer all the
world like he's a headed straight ter Hell."

 
          
 
"How come he hasn't jumped ship yet? He's
still figuring on that, isn't he?"

 
          
 
Travis chuckled. "So he claims. Just as
soon's I'm all healed. Reckon it'll be one thing after another. He ain't going,
Dave. He just don't know it yet."

 
          
 
Green set his candle on a crate before
dropping down to feel about under the plank decking. "Sonuvabitch!"
Green jerked back, banging his head on a whiskey tin in the process. Something
scampered in the darkness.

 
          
 
"What the hell?" Travis demanded.

 
          
 
Green shivered, rolled back, and stared
owlishly into the dark hole he'd just pulled his hand from. ' 'Grabbed a damn
rat in there!" In the candlelight, he studied his hand and then rubbed the
side of his head. "I hate rats. Did I ever tell you that?"

 
          
 
"Time or two. Find any leaks?"

 
          
 
"Nope. We're still tight, Travis. After
we grounded so many times the last couple of weeks, I was getting worried. Damn
rats! I hate 'em."

 
          
 
"Comes with the country, coon."
Travis fingered the worn oak steps. "We've done right fine, Davey. No
serious trouble."

 
          
 
Green retrieved his candle and picked his way
carefully through the cargo. "I don't call you getting gutted no
trouble."