People of the Fire (45 page)

 
          
 
He scowled and slashed viciously at the Wolf
Bundle, watching it jerk and dangle on its carry strings. The tripod rocked
back and forth. The scarred stub of his little finger burned.

 
          
 
"And I had it all in hand. If Rattling
Hooves hadn't acted when she did, I could have skewered the old woman and we'd
have killed the Short Buffalo refugees. Then I could have taken Rattling Hooves
and her daughter. That old witch White Calf would have been out of my hair and that
foolish Hungry Bull would have drunk deeply of my dart."

 
          
 
But it had turned around so quickly. The
hunter had blocked his cast and everything shifted, just like a stampede of
frightened elk that veered at the last moment, dashing off to the side for no
reason.

 
          
 
"Oh, be quiet, Blood Bear, " the old
woman's words echoed in his mind. "You're almost finished. You've some
time yet. You '11 be able to delude yourself a while longer and your status.
Power s not with you . .

           
 
He remembered the prickling he'd felt as the
youth approached the Wolf Bundle. Curious how the boy's eyes had glazed over,
but then a lot of things had been curious that day. A "turning," the
old woman had said.

 
          
 
A turning of what?

 
          
 
He continued to brood, shuffling about on his
bedding, trying to get comfortable. "A turning of White Calf's power, for
one." He grunted an assent to his own words. The old witch had been far
too powerful among the Red Hand. There had to be a way to rid himself of her
meddling.

 
          
 
Nor could he forget the Short Buffalo People
who waited out on the plains like an upslope storm, ready to smash into the
Buffalo
Mountains
and the strongholds of the Red Hand.

 
          
 
"Ho-
yeh
!"
a voice called though the evening silence. "Have I found the camp of the
Red Hand?"

 
          
 
Blood Bear sneered at the Wolf Bundle and
grabbed his soft calfskin robe. He ducked out into the chill air and lifted his
hand, shading his eyes against the fierce glare of the setting sun. The light
burned yellow across the snowfields.

 
          
 
A man trudged across the white, back bent to a
pack that sat low on his hips. Other People emerged from smoke-browned lodges
to watch. The stranger bore the staff of a Trader, the thin wood bent in a hoop
and dangling with bright feathers and rattles.

 
          
 
"Three Rattles!" Blood Bear called,
jumping and whooping. "What brings you to the camp of the Red Hand so
early in the year? The trails have barely begun to melt out."

 
          
 
The Trader puffed and sighed, walking onto the
packed snow of the camp, where he picked his way cautiously over the dimpled
ice, careful of tearing the webbing of his snow-shoes.

 
          
 
"I don't trust the plains anymore. Too
many funny doings down there. We heard last year that a Trader from the
Squashed Rock People had been killed by Short Buffalo warriors. A Fire Buffalo
Trader was beaten and had his pack stolen. He barely got away with his life.
This new Dreamer they've got. He's an odd one. You don't know what he'll do or
why."

 
          
 
Blood Bear turned, clapping his hands.
"Green Horn! Have Tanager run some stew to my lodge. Throw some of that
deer on the coals. Three Rattles must eat. He brings news! And have Cricket
bring some more wood for my fire." To the Trader, he added, "Come to
my lodge and warm up. The Red Hand welcome you. Our camp is yours."

 
          
 
People called to each other, scurrying about,
chattering with excitement. Everyone wanted to hear the news.

 
          
 
Three Rattles grinned, though his cheeks
looked stiff with cold. Frost had frozen on his braids where foggy breath
touched. The collar of his fur-lined coat had gone hoary, obscuring the fine
fox-fur lining of his hood.

 
          
 
Ramshorn
and Never
Sweat already stood anxiously at Blood Bear's lodge flap. One Cast and Wet Rain
came walking across the camp, holding hands, talking with animation. Green Horn
ducked out of her lodge, a steaming haunch sagging between her gnarled fists.

 
          
 
"Come, warm up." Blood Bear held the
flap back and motioned Three Rattles to the place of honor next to the Wolf
Bundle. Someone handed a steaming bowl of stew to the Trader, who drank deeply.
Hot, roasted meat appeared on a carved wooden plate.

 
          
 
The rules of hospitality seen to, Blood Bear
looked around at his packed lodge. All the elders sat crammed, shoulder to
shoulder, taking up every bit of space. Expectant expressions filled their
faces, keen eyes on Three Rattles as they waited for him to eat and drink and
warm his hands by the fire.

 
          
 
"Tell us all," Blood Bear began with
a sweeping gesture of his hand as Three Rattles placed the empty horn bowl on
the ground before him and politely belched with gusto. "You said a
Squashed Rock Trader was killed last year?''

 
          
 
The listeners gasped, some placing hands over
their mouths to signify the horror of it.

 
          
 
Three Rattles nodded, taking his stone pipe
from his pack. He carefully packed it with red willow bark and snagged a
half-burned stick from the fire to light it. He puffed and passed the pipe to
Blood Bear. From his lips it went around the lodge.

 
          
 
"I don't know the particulars. I heard
the story among the Cut Hair People. Their leader, old Fat Dog, doesn't speak
highly of the Short Buffalo People—even if his mother was one of their women.

           
 
"Anyway, lightning strike me dead if this
isn't reported in the same manner as I heard it, but Fat Dog told me that Heavy
Beaver says his spirits have Dreamed to him that all the old Power is evil. And
that includes the special Power that Traders live under. He's told his raiders
that they can take what they will from Traders without fear.

 
          
 
"Apparently the Squash Rock Trader—who
I'd met and knew as Jay Bird—wouldn't let the Short Buffalo warriors take his
pack. Instead, he used his staff to slap one of the young men across the face.
That so angered the warriors that they darted him on the spot and left him
there in the sun after taking his pack."

 
          
 
A low murmur of discontent spread among the
elders, faces going grim.

 
          
 
Blood Bear stared at the fire through
slitted
eyes. "Doesn't the fool know that he'll cut
off trade along the mountains? How does he expect to get
Knife River
flint from up north? Or that salty
fish—like that stuff you gave me that time—from the south? How are people
supposed to know what's going on? Will the Traders start going west of the
mountains?"

 
          
 
Three Rattles shrugged. "I don't know.
Honestly, it's a hard journey to travel west of the mountains. The land is all
broken with sandstone walls and huge canyons and high mountains here and there.
The rivers run deeper and are more dangerous to cross. Water is harder to find
and I don't know all the people who live back there. I don't know if they would
honor a Trader's staff . . . and they don't know the signs to
communicate."

 
          
 
"Could they go through the mountains,
maybe?" One Cast wondered, pointing southward. "When I was a young
man, I went down the spine of the mountains. There are big open valleys that
run part of the way, but the passes are high, the trails irregular where they
run through the timber. Still, it's a way."

 
          
 
Three Rattles had listened, nodding as One
Cast spoke.

 
          
 
"It's a way. You're right. And I don't
know how to answer your question. For myself, I can say only that I wouldn't
want to try the high peaks. I think I'll try a different way, maybe go west
over the mountains and catch the trail that follows the Angry White Water River
to the Silver River to the ocean where Father Sun dives into the sea. The
trading is supposed to be good there. Seashells come from there, and smoked
fish, and good obsidian.

 
          
 
“I’ll miss the buffalo plains and a lot of old
friends, but even now, it's not the same. The Cut Hair have been pushed south
of the
Sand
River
. The Squashed Rock are nervous about the
Cut Hair fleeing south. Some say they've fought with each other over who got to
pushing who out of their lands. My people, the White Crane, have been raided by
the Short Buffalo till we've had to move our hunting territory far north of the
Big
River
to avoid the Short Buffalo People. Up
there, we've had to fight with the People of the Mask, who don't want us in
their lands. The Fire Buffalo People, who live where the
Big
River
runs south to the Father Water, have also
been raided. They've vowed to retaliate next year when they've purified their
young men and made a new Power for their darts.

 
          
 
"With all the raiding and war, I'm not
sure I want to be walking along by myself with nothing but a staff and Trader
Power. If Heavy Beaver dies suddenly, with his skin shriveling like the stories
say will happen to people who molest a Trader, then maybe I'll walk the plains
again. For the time being, nothing has happened to Heavy Beaver in spite of his
warriors killing a Trader."

 
          
 
"Maybe you could go all the way around
the Big River?" Blood Bear asked mildly. "Maybe you could follow it
clear down to where it meets the Father Water and follow that down to the salt
water?"

 
          
 
Three Rattles smiled wearily. "That, my
friend, is a long, long walk. I don't know the people on the Father Water. I've
heard stories about them, of course, since the Fire Buffalo People trade robes
and dried meat for their old-man fish and turtles and woven grass mats, but I
don't know the language or whether they honor the Trader's staff. No, I think
I'll go west to the
Silver
River
."

 
          
 
"But will we still have your trade?"
Green Horn couldn't help but ask. She'd been rocking from side to side,
jostling everyone around her. Her old legs couldn't take the cramp and had gone
to sleep under her. Nevertheless, she couldn't force herself to get up and
leave—not with the Trader there. First Man alone knew when they might get
another.

 
          
 
Three Rattles laughed, wiggling to get out of
his coat now that he'd warmed up. "I'll bring my trade to the Red Hand.
It's a little out of the way, but I'll come by here. I can tell you now that I
can trade for mountain-sheep-horn spoons, dried-root breads, pine-nut paste,
and lots of other things. I'll need to see what comes of this trip."

 
          
 
"How will you go?" Never Sweat
asked, rubbing at his crooked nose.

 
          
 
Three Rattles settled on his folded coat,
extending his moccasins to the fire despite the cramped quarters. As the heat
went to work on them, the water steamed off the beaver-fur outers of the tops.
The hard-smoked buffalo hide of the soles looked completely soaked.

 
          
 
"Most likely I'll follow the mountain
south to the basin. There I'll head west to the Warm Wind valley and up over to
the headwaters of the Angry White Water and then west. I don't know where the
trails go out there. Green Hammer-stone, my cousin's brother's sister's son,
has been going out there, but he won't be back until fall. Maybe I should wait
another year and go with him, but I think the time is now."