Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980) (18 page)

Slocum continued shoving the other man all the way into the tent where Snake Catcher waited like a grim sentry.

The interior walls were decorated by paintings and scorched black in the middle by all the fires that had been stoked there throughout the years. There was a fire going now, which was just large enough for the flames to be seen above a ring of stones and a wooden frame that held a small pot high enough to cook its contents without burning the wood. Fragrant smoke curled up from the pot, giving the air a vaguely dreamlike quality.

Inside, Flying Spear and three men from the hunting party sat talking in subdued tones to tribal elders with long, silver manes of coarse hair. The oldest kept his clouded eyes fixed upon the brewing pot while nodding as if to a faraway song that only he could hear.

“Sit there,” Snake Catcher said while motioning to an open space on the ground between Flying Spear and one of the other Apache who'd taken a large role in bringing down the pack of wolves using nothing but a tomahawk.

Jack held up a dainty finger and said, “I got a question.”

Tightening his grip on Jack's shoulder, Slocum pulled him close enough to fiercely whisper, “I swear to all that's holy if you ask about food, I'll stuff your head into that fire.”

After looking down at the fire, over to Slocum, and back to the fire again, Jack shifted his eyes toward Snake Catcher. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”

Slocum patted Jack's back with enough force to make him stagger the few steps required to get him to where they were supposed to sit down. Although the conversation didn't stop with their arrival, the rest of the men gathered in the tent did take a moment to size up Slocum and Jack with lingering glares. Even the members of the hunting party stared them down as if seeing the white men for the first time.

Motioning toward the old man with the faraway look in his eyes, Snake Catcher said, “This is our chief. Gopan.”

“Pleased to meet ya,” Jack said as he tried to stretch his body up enough to reach out and shake the chief's hand.

Slocum pushed him back down again while easing himself into a seated position and placed his hands upon his knees. When Jack turned to look at him, he took note of how Slocum was sitting and had enough sense to mimic it. “I'm John Slocum and this is my partner, Jack Halsey.”

As annoyed as Jack had been a moment ago, his countenance became much more agreeable when he was referred to as a partner. Appeased for the moment, he sat quietly and let Slocum do the talking.

Gopan's voice rumbled like a tremor emanating from the ground beneath the camp. His lips barely moved, and his eyes never strayed from the fire as he spoke in his own language. The man beside him looked older than the trees ringing the campsite, but still younger than the Apache chief. “He asks why you men joined the hunt for Cha'to.”

“We were already tracking the wolves when your hunters found us,” Slocum explained.

“The wolves hurt your people?”

Since the chief hadn't spoken, Slocum assumed the question came from the younger of the two elders. “The one you call Cha'to attacked my friend.”

Not needing any more incentive than that, Jack held out his right hand and tore at the bandages. When he finally pulled away enough of the bloody dressing to reveal his ravaged fingers, he displayed them proudly and declared, “That animal ripped the hell outta me! I hired John here to help make myself whole again!”

So much for respectful silence.

Although the Apache took time to examine Jack's hand, none of them seemed overly impressed by the damage that had been done. The man sitting beside the chief leaned over to speak to the eldest Apache while motioning toward Jack. Gopan didn't show much of a reaction, which wasn't a surprise considering his face looked as if it had been carved from a petrified tree trunk.

Flying Spear leaned over to Slocum and said, “The man beside Gopan is Ilesh. He is what you would call our shaman. He is not from our tribe, but he is a great help to us.”

“What's he saying?”

“He tells your words to our chief. Gopan knows much of the white man's tongue, but prefers to listen to the words of our people.”

Snake Catcher had taken the other seat next to Gopan. When the chief turned toward him and motioned for the hunter to get closer, Snake Catcher did so with great reverence.

“Now Gopan wants to hear the story from one who lived through it,” Flying Spear explained.

“Will you get a chance to say your piece?” Slocum asked.

“We all will. By the end of the night, you will grow tired of hearing about it.”

“Not all of us will,” Slocum said while nodding over to Jack.

Although Jack was obviously perturbed by being the butt of so many jokes, he was too nervous to speak up about it. Slocum had thought about easing up on the poor fellow, but saw how much the Apache archer enjoyed hearing those jokes. Sometimes, a man had to take a few short knocks to avoid the killing blows. And since that man wasn't him, Slocum felt even better about it.

After Snake Catcher was through, the chief looked at the rest of the men while opening his arms as if he meant to embrace them. Beads and feathers hung from his sleeves and rattled in his hair whenever he turned his head. As he spoke in his rasping monotone, his head continued to bob up and down.

Flying Spear leaned over again and said, “He asks to hear the story told by all of you.”

“Yeah, I caught that much.”

The archer looked at Slocum with newfound respect. “You understand our tongue?”

“Bits and pieces. I picked up a few words here and there.” In truth, most of what Slocum had acquired as far as Indian languages came from having to know when a raiding party meant to kill him or not. Since relations with this tribe seemed to be coming along so nicely, he decided to keep that part to himself.

Without needing to be asked, Flying Spear went first. Although he relayed his account purely in his native language, his expression remained stoic and his hands stayed upon his folded legs. Slocum could understand enough to recognize a bare-bones retelling of the hunt. The tales picked up a bit once the other members of the hunting party lent their voices to the mix. They waited for Jack to speak next, who looked over at Slocum.

“What are they lookin' at?” Jack asked.

“They're telling about the hunt,” Slocum reminded him. “Now it's your turn.”

“What should I say?”

“You were more than ready to brag to that lady outside. Now's your chance to impress the rest of us.”

Although Jack brightened up at that prospect, he sobered quickly when he saw the stern expressions worn by the tribal elders. Gopan especially took the wind from his sails as he stared expectantly at him with his clouded eyes. “All I did was try to shoot the damn things when I got the chance,” Jack muttered.

“You shot one?” Ilesh asked.

“That's right. One of them rushed me.”

“Which one?”

“The black one, I think.”

Half of the elders nodded approvingly, and the others followed suit once Jack's words were translated for them. Seeing that was enough to lift Jack's spirits again. “That was a mean one, all right. But not as mean as that flat-nosed son of a bitch.”

“You . . . faced Cha'to?” Gopan asked.

Hearing him speak English seemed to surprise the rest of the Apache as much as the two white men. Jack maintained his composure well enough to nod and say, “Yes, sir. I did.”

“Tell us.”

“I was in my camp. It was outside of a town called Rocas Rojas. Do any of you know where that is? Maybe you call it by some Injun name.”

“We know it,” Ilesh snapped.

“All right. Well, I was in my camp and this wolf ran up and attacked me. Chatto,” Jack said, slaughtering the pronunciation. “That's what you call him. I think that name must mean devil or demon in some language because that's what it was.”

Although many of the elders bristled at the loose translation that had nothing at all to do with their language, none of them bothered to correct him.

“It ran up like it was spat from the bowels of hell!” Jack proclaimed. “Charged at me, ran me down, and tore me up no matter how hard I fought back.”

“You fought back?” Ilesh asked.

“Well . . . like I said . . . it took me by surprise. What matters is what it done to me. Look for yerself! I ain't whole no more. That's why I had to come after that thing.”

Slocum had to give Jack credit. Even though he'd already admitted his story about needing to find the piece of himself that was lost was absolute bullshit, he stuck to it like it was gospel. When he got nothing but a bunch of blank stares from the Apache, Jack even had the gall to look surprised.

“You were wounded,” Ilesh said. “Like many of our men were wounded.”

“But . . . that wolf took away part of me.”

“And Cha'to took the lives of women and children. Do you expect to find their spirits in the bellies of those animals?”

“Not as such.”

“Then do not try to make the blood you spilled seem more important than what was spilled by others,” Ilesh scolded. “Tell us why you needed to hunt Cha'to. I look upon you and don't see the same kind of man as when I look at that one. John Slocum walks like a hunter and speaks like a hunter.”

“But he ain't even had his turn to speak yet!” Jack groused.

Slocum thought about telling Jack to quit before burying himself any deeper, but knew it wouldn't do a lick of good.

“I have watched him, and Snake Catcher has told me of his deeds,” Ilesh continued. “Even now I can see he is closer to our warriors than you could ever hope to be.”

Jack seemed genuinely offended by that. “But—”

“And do not try to tell me of how you must make yourself whole again. You have been speaking about rituals that mean no more to you than does the smoke rising from this fire.”

Jack looked at the fire and then to the smoke as if he actually needed to see the black wisps in order to comprehend what he was being told.

“So,” Ilesh said with a sober finality, “why would a man like you make it your business to pursue Cha'to?”

“I'm a hunter.”

Gopan's eyes narrowed with suspicion, and half of his wizened mouth curled into a grin to match.

“All right,” Jack said. “I'm after something else.”

Snake Catcher looked at Ilesh while Flying Spear looked at Slocum. When he saw the archer's questioning glance, Slocum merely shrugged his shoulders. He could have spoken up about the ring, but none of the elders seemed interested. Also, it was somewhat refreshing to see Jack get raked over the coals for all of his double-talking flimflam.

“What are you after?” Ilesh asked.

“That wolf took my fingers. Do you doubt that much?”

Ilesh and the chief looked at Snake Catcher. The leader of the hunting party nodded. “I believe that.”

Looking back at Jack, Ilesh said, “Then so do I.”

Jack sat up straight as if to accept high praise instead of the minor concession he'd been given. “When those wolves attacked me, I was wearing a ring. Ask him,” he said while waving toward Slocum. “He'll tell you!”

Every Apache eye turned toward Slocum, making him feel as if he'd been tossed into the pot that was cooking slowly over the fire in the middle of the room. “That's what he told me,” he said.

Again, Jack reacted as if he'd gotten a reprieve from on high. “There you go! You trust him, so you can trust me.”

“I trust that you told this same story to John Slocum,” Ilesh said. “I tell many stories to our children. That does not make them all true.”

Jack began to squirm. That happened to most weasels when getting called out on something, but lying about a rite to the people who should have held that rite as sacred was a whole different animal. When the ones he had to answer to were old men who looked as if they'd weathered more storms than Jack had ever known,
squirming
wasn't quite strong enough of a word.

“That wolf took something from me other than my fingers,” Jack said. “I'll swear on a stack of Bibles to that effect . . . or whatever you Injuns want me to swear on.”

“Good lord,” Slocum sighed.

Jack's ignorant talk barely made a dent in the Apache chief or his shaman. Gopan drew a breath, reached for a pouch on his belt, and handed it to Ilesh. The younger of the two elders opened the pouch and dropped something into his hand. “You say you are missing a ring?” Ilesh asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you will swear on your life to this?”

When Jack paused, Slocum whispered, “Just swear to it, for Christ's sake.”

Jack's mouth tightened into a grim line and his eyes fixed upon Ilesh's hand. Finally, he said, “Swearing on my life . . . may be a little drastic.”

“Drastic?”

“Yeah. It means harsh or—”

“I know the word, white man!” Ilesh bellowed in a voice that filled the teepee and caused even the strongest among the hunting party to recoil. “What about
disgraceful
? Do you know this word?”

“Yeah.”

“I know this word because your people have thrown it at mine for many years. You call us
savages
and
disgraceful
for raiding your towns and killing in retribution for all that has been done to us. I know what this word means, and now I want to make sure you know what I think of a sniveling little coward who tells lies to the same men who fought and bled against the wolves that would have killed you without a thought.”