Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (75 page)

 
          
 
"Honor among thieves?"

 
          
 
"Listen up, Dick. Ye camps in a Sioux
village, ye can leave yer possibles whar ye will. Nobody'll touch 'em. Or, if'n
they do, they'll bring 'em right back after they done used 'em fer whatever.
Ree and Crow, now, that's a sight different. They'll steal ye plumb blind given
half a chance. Most folks, they don't steal from their own kind. It'd be . ..
wal, it just don't happen."

 
          
 
"And if someone does?"

 
          
 
"They cast his arse out in the snow and
let him freeze. Sort of like that Omaha. That, or the thief's relatives whack
him in the back of the head some night rather than have the culprit bring down
shame on the family."

 
          
 
"Some sense of justice."

 
          
 
"Yep. Wal, I reckon it works a sight
better'n ours." Travis studied Richard from the corner of his eye.
"Now, when we get up ter the village, ye be on yer uppers. Anything I asks
ye ter do, ye do. And Tarnation, lad, do 'er with a smile. Ye don't know the
rules, and they can kill ye dead. Savvy?"

 
          
 
Richard nodded. The warrior returned with the
ax and muttered something to a woman who followed him with a bundle of furs on
her back. Then he took the ax to Green, and commenced haggling.

 
          
 
Richard began practicing his smile.

 
          
 
All men in the state of nature have a desire
and will to hurt, but not proceeding from the same cause, neither equally tobe
condemned. For one man, according to that natural equality which is among us,
permits as much to others as he assumes to himself; which is an argument of the
temperate man, and one that rightly values his power. Another, supposing
himself above others, will have a license to do what he lists, and challenges
respect and honor, as due him before others; which is an argument of a fiery
spirit.

 
          
 
—Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan

 
          
 
As Richard followed the dark trail over the
rim of the bench, Wah-Menitu's village greeted his eyes. It was a sight that he
would never forget. The village covered the flat—a series of conical skin
lodges, each three times the height of a man. Bonfires cast wavering light over
the tipis. The rows of illuminated lodges against the star-filled night sky took
his breath away.

 
          
 
Men and women stood around talking and
laughing, some highlighted by the fires, others mere silhouettes. Camp dogs
barked and growled while the trilling shrieks of happy children created a
benign chaos.

 
          
 
"Let's do her up!" Travis chortled,
a salt-glazed jug of whiskey riding on his shoulder.

 
          
 
Richard steeled himself, nodding resolutely,
and strode forward across the trampled grass. He'd expected nothing like this,
figuring the Sioux would be dour and stoic as Scotsmen. As he walked past the
fires, looking into the faces, he couldn't shake the notion that they looked a
great deal like ordinary people but for their barbaric dress. No one failed to
call a greeting, and flash them a smile.

 
          
 
"Wah-Menitu's lodge is up hyar."
Travis bulled his way forward, heedless of whether Green, Baptiste, or Richard
followed.

 
          
 
A roaring fire in the open space before the
chief's lodge crackled and sent sparks wheeling up into the starry night.
Around it were seated several rows of Sioux men, all older, all dignified.
Wah-Menitu himself rose from where he sat in front of his large tipi. The hide
walls had been painted with rude images of buffalo and horses, and with round
dots. Several hand shadows decorated the doorway. For ventilation, the lodge skirts
had been rolled up and tied on the poles. Richard caught glimpses of buffalo
robes, blankets, and hard leather cases on the inside, as well as what appeared
to be a backrest. A painted war shield stood on a tripod behind Wah-Menitu,
along with a bow, quiver, and rifle.

 
          
 
"Greetings, coons!" Wah-Menitu
cried, raising his hands. "Come, sit. We will smoke and say the blessings.
Then ye can share the hospitality of Wah-Menitu!"

 
          
 
"Where'd he learn to talk like
that?" Richard asked.

 
          
 
"Traders, Dick," Baptiste answered.
"Ain't nobody else out heah."

 
          
 
Richard followed Travis and Green to a blanket
spread beside Wah-Menitu. With great ceremony, the pipe was brought forth by a
young warrior. In the meantime, Richard studied the faces of the Indians, who
in turn studied him. Each man wore an elaborate headdress, finely worked
buckskins with dangling fringe, and bead-covered moccasins. Some held fans in
their hands, many made from the entire wing of an eagle. Others carried painted
sticks, and still others sat before long poles from which feathers and bits of
hair dangled in the wind.

 
          
 
They did indeed look noble, all except for one
who'd lost an eye and left the gaping socket uncovered. That one fierce eye
fixed on Richard with an unwavering intensity and filled his soul with ice and
horror.

 
          
 
Richard jerked his gaze away, heart hammering.
But why? I've never seen him before. Who is he?

 
          
 
Wah-Menitu was holding a beautiful pipe up to
the sky and had begun a singing chant. The others nodded then-heads, as if in
approbation.'

 
          
 
"What's he saying?" Richard asked.

 
          
 
Travis leaned over to whisper, "Telling
the story of White Buffalo Cow Woman, and how she gave the sacred pipe to old
Standing Hollow Horn back in the beginning of time."

 
          
 
At last the pipe was offered to the east,
south, west, and north, then to earth and sky. After Wah-Menitu puffed and
exhaled, he passed the pipe to Green, who repeated the ritual.

 
          
 
Richard took his turn, surprised by the pipe's
weight. As long as his arm, the bowl had been carved from some red stone and
fitted to a wooden stem. Feathers hung from the carved and painted wood.
Warily, Richard puffed, and exhaled. He could taste tobacco, but the other
odors defied him.

 
          
 
Person by person, the pipe was passed around.
When at last it had been returned to Wah-Menitu, he placed the pipe on its
beaded bag before him, and smiled at Green. "We have missed our White
brothers. Waugh, it is good to see you again. The trading was good, no?"

 
          
 
"Good, yes," Green replied, fingers
dancing in signs as he spoke. "I am pleased to have made such good
trades."

 
          
 
Wah-Menitu politely translated to the others
as Green spoke. At the same time, women appeared bearing horns of stew,
steaming joints of meat, and platters of roasted vegetables of a sort Richard
had never seen. He smiled up at the young woman who laid a bark platter in
front of him.

 
          
 
"What is this?" Richard poked at the
small animal on the platter. The pink flesh had been cooked until it slipped
from the bone, but what sort of...

 
          
 
"Just eat it," Travis growled.

 
          
 
"But what...?"

 
          
 
"Eat!"

 
          
 
Richard twitched his nose and pulled a piece
of the hot meat loose, blowing on his fingers to cool them. The tender meat
melted in his mouth, curiously sweet and satisfying. "I've never had
anything like it."

 
          
 
"Reckon not. Sioux delicacy, cooked just
fer us. Eat 'er all, Dick. Then suck the bones clean. Make like it's real
doings."

 
          
 
Following such instructions wasn't hard. His
stomach had been growling for hours. When he sucked the last of the juice from
the little bones, he sighed. "Excellent."

 
          
 
"Good, coon. Ye done ate yer first
dog."

 
          
 
"I... what?"

 
          
 
"Dog. Puppy. Just special fer us. Good,
ain't it?"

 
          
 
Richard's gut cramped and he started to stand,
only to have Travis fasten a hand like an iron shackle to his arm.

 
          
 
"Now, try this hyar," Travis
insisted, handing Richard a horn of stew. "She's buffler tongue chopped
ter bits and biled with onions and mint."

 
          
 
"Travis, I don't think I'd better eat
any—" The grip on his arm tightened.

 
          
 
"Eat 'er, Dick. They done this special
fer us."

 
          
 
Under Travis's hard eye, Richard sipped at the
stew, pronounced it tasty, and gulped down a swallow. The ugly one-eyed man
watched, his good eye half-slitted. Richard did his best to avoid that
vulture's gaze. Even the other Sioux seemed to shy from the old buzzard.

 
          
 
Green uncorked the whiskey jug, pouring the
clear contents into another of the buffalo-horn bowls and passing it around.
"For my friends, the Dakota!" Green cried.

 
          
 
Shouts of "Wash-te" raised from all
sides. The horn bowl was passed around as yet another was filled.

 
          
 
"Time ter shine!" Travis whooped,
and took a swig of the horn that passed his way. Richard sipped, made a face,
and passed it on. Bad whiskey on top of dogmeat was too much to contemplate.

 
          
 
"Good friends!" Wah-Menitu cried,
leaping to his feet. "Times is shining! The traders have come back!"

 
          
 
"Death ter the Rees!" Travis
bellowed, jumping to his feet and hopping from foot to foot.

 
          
 
Raised whoops and screams erupted from all sides,
men leaping up to cavort and whirl about.

 
          
 
"Get up!" Travis gestured to
Richard, who was finishing his stew.

 
          
 
Richard clambered up and Travis shoved him,
half stumbling, into the space before the fire. "Hyar's a coon what raised
a Pawnee warrior! Hyar's ter Dick!"