Wilderness Giant Edition 3 Page 20

  “What did you do?” one of the listeners signed anxiously.

  “I just stood there,” White Calf answered.

  “And as the figure came lower, I saw that it was indeed a man and he was not flying or falling but was walking on the very air, walking right down toward me so fast there was no time for me to flee. I watched his legs move when my own should have been moving.” He tapped his head. “He hit me, and that was the last I remembered until I woke up with Sky Walker bending over me.”

  Nate was the object of attention again and pretended not to notice. He was more interested in the story. Now he knew how he’d survived the fall from the whirlwind; the medicine man had cushioned his descent.

  “I admit I was afraid,” White Calf signed. “I will admit I broke and ran, thinking he was an evil spirit come to destroy me. I fled to a stand of trees and there prayed to be spared. And it was while I called on Tirawa that I saw the truth.” He stopped signing a moment. “The man who walked from the sky had not tried to harm me after I revived. He had acted concerned, and tried to calm me when I panicked. I realized he was a friend, not an enemy.”

  Red Rock muttered in the Pawnee tongue.

  “Would you call me a liar?” White Calf signed.

  “No,” Red Rock answered in kind. “No matter what I might think of you, I know you always tell the truth. But there must be a rational explanation.”

  “I would be happy to hear it.”

  Nate had the answer and was mulling whether to reveal the facts when the medicine man took up the tale.

  “The answer came to me like a lightning bolt from above. This man was a sky walker, sent by Tirawa to help us in our fight with the Sioux just as Tirawa sent others from above to guide us in the early times. And Sky Walker, as I named him, was sent to me and not to Mole On The Nose as a sign that I had Tirawa’s ear and Mole On The Nose did not.”

  Nate had to stifle a laugh. That anyone could seriously mistake him for a spirit being was too ridiculous for words. Until he recollected that Indians were a highly superstitious lot, much more so than whites.

  Many tribes believed in a host of spirit beings believed to inhabit everything from animals to common objects such as trees and rocks. In order to stay on the good side of these spirits, the Indians conducted various elaborate ceremonies. They always sought good omens, shunned had medicine. And anything they couldn’t explain was chalked up to the supernatural spirit world. So perhaps, he reflected, it wasn’t so ridiculous after all that the medicine man had mistaken him for a creature from above the clouds.

  “I brought Sky Walker to our village for all to see,” White Calf elaborated. “Many of you scoffed. Many of you scorned him. But he proved his power by slaying the bear and saving the life of Black Buffalo Woman.”

  Whispers passed from warrior to warrior as each commented on the account.

  White Calf, though, was not done. “Now all of you must ask yourselves whether you will side with me or with Mole On The Nose. Will you sit on your backsides here in the village with him while the rest of us are off raiding the Sioux? Or will you add your bow and lance to the ranks of those who are true Pawnees?”

  Some members of the Bear Society began arguing in soft tones with their fellows.

  Nate gazed at the ground. Everything made sense now, from the panicked awe of the people to the reference to the Sioux, from the chief’s peculiar questions about his brain and heart to Red Rock’s mistrust and hatred. He had to decide what to do about it. Admitting the truth might earn him instant death since some of the warriors would think he had deliberately misled them. Or they might keep him prisoner until the next sacrifice. The situation being as it was, he figured he might be smarter keeping his mouth shut.

  “You have ten sleeps in which to decide,” White Calf was telling his audience. “Then we leave for Sioux country with Sky Walker at our head, and when we return we will bring more scalps than any Pawnee has ever seen at one time.”

  Nate’s head snapped up. Sioux country was due south of the Yellowstone, much closer to where he had last seen his family than Pawnee territory. It was in his own best interests to go along. Somehow he might contrive to sneak away during the raid so he could begin his long delayed search.

  “I have said all that needs saying,” White Calf signed. “Sky Walker and I will leave you to talk this over.” He moved toward the entrance.

  Taking that as his cue to leave, Nate nodded at the chief and rose. The medicine man had paused to wait for him. As he caught up, Red Rock called out to them. White Calf faced around to hear what the warrior had to say, and Nate, desiring fresh air, slipped outside.

  The crisp air was a wonderful antidote to the smoke filled lodge. Nate inhaled as he strolled a few feet from the entrance. A spark of hope had been rekindled within him, and he felt deliciously elated. So elated that he paid no attention to the soft rustle of moccasins in the night to his right. So elated that he would have perished had he not belatedly registered the metallic click of a pistol being cocked.

  Nate spun at the same split-second the flintlock spat flame and lead. Something tore at his ribs. And then a pair of husky figures burst from the darkness with knives upraised. Sidestepping a wild lunge, Nate seized the warrior’s wrist and heaved. Almost in the same motion he whipped into the second brave, blocking a blow with his forearms while delivering a punch to the stomach that doubled the man in half.

  A volcanic chorus erupted in the chief’s lodge. Footsteps pounded.

  Nate caught the second warrior on the tip of the jaw with a solid right that dropped the man to his knees, then grasped the brave’s knife arm to keep the man from burying the blade in his groin. The scrape of a sole in the dirt forewarned him the first warrior was almost upon him. Throwing himself to the right, Nate evaded a wicked downward swing that would have cleaved him open like an overripe gourd.

  The warrior on the ground was not so lucky. He pushed erect when Nate released him, rising straight into the arc of the swooping butcher knife. The blade struck him in the left cheek, splitting the cheek open, and sheared through his lips and chin, down into his neck. Screeching abominably, the Pawnee sprawled over and clutched at his gushing wounds.

  Nate only had one foe left to worry about. He pivoted. The blade hissed past his face. Lashing out with a leg, Nate heard the man’s kneecap crack. As the warrior buckled, Nate stepped in, gripped the Pawnee’s wrist, and pumped the arm as he might a pump lever, snapping the knife up, then down and in.

  The second brave yowled as the blade tore into his abdomen. Tottering, he let go of both the knife and the pistol in his other hand.

  Quickly Nate snatched the flintlock up. In the dim light streaming from the entrance he identified his own gun and he jammed it under his belt.

  Warriors streamed from the lodge, surrounding the three combatants. Confusion reigned as everyone shouted at once, trying to find out what had transpired.

  White Calf materialized in front of Nate. “Are you hurt, Sky Walker?” he signed urgently.

  “Just a scratch,” Nate replied, touching a new tear in his shirt. The skin had been broken, nothing more. “They ambushed me but they were too slow.”

  Bear Society warriors gathered around the stricken men to minister to them. Red Rock stood over the pair wearing a look of disgust.

  Meanwhile the medicine man’s backers flanked him, fingering their own knives and gazing expectantly at White Calf for the signal that would send the two sides flying at each other’s throats.

  Into the narrow gap between the two factions walked Mole On The Nose. He frowned at the writhing warriors, then at Red Rock. Whatever he said induced an angry outburst from the tall warrior. White Calf joined in, and for ten minutes they argued heatedly until White Calf turned on a heel and walked off. By then women had arrived and were helping staunch the blood.

  Protected by a phalanx of the medicine man’s supporters, Nate was escorted to the medicine lodge. He balked at going in, which was just as well since White Cal
f was letting off steam by walking in a circle again and again. In due course the medicine man halted.

  “You should have heard him, Sky Walker! Red Rock claimed he had no idea why those two warriors attacked you. Men who are close personal friends of his. Men who are members of the Bear Society.”

  “He spoke with two tongues.”

  “All along I have been saying you could not trust him. Now you have proof.” White Calf paused in his pacing. “I know what he was trying to do. He thought to show the people you are not Tirawa’s messenger by having you rubbed out. Ha! Like a snake that turns and bites the hand that feeds it, his plan has turned on him and will make him appear foolish in the eyes of the people. They are not stupid.

  They will guess who put the warriors up to it.” He winked craftily at Nate. “And if they do not guess, I will whisper words in the ears of those who will make it a point to spread the truth abroad.”

  “Do you think he will try again?” Nate asked, not relishing the prospect of having to keep one eye over his shoulder at all times until they left for Sioux country.

  “No. If he failed twice he would be the laughingstock of the village.”

  “Will he be punished?”

  “Who would dare? Without proof, no one can even formally accuse him. And there will be no proof because the two you fought would rather have their tongues cut out than talk.”

  “Red Rock plans well,” Nate signed.

  “In his blundering way, yes,” White Calf responded. “But I am far smarter and much more clever. And you are from on high. Between us we will put him in his place.”

  From the vicinity of the chief’s lodge a piercing wail split the darkness.

  “One of them has died,” White Calf signed. “Good. Now more people will come over to my side.”

  Nate turned away from the lodge, his dislike of the medicine man soaring to new heights. The loss of human life meant nothing to the Pawnee. All that mattered was power, more and more power. Those flowery words about the welfare of the tribe had been so much empty air.

  The comparison to a chess game was more accurate than Nate had realized. And he wasn’t the only chess piece. In White Calf’s estimation, everyone was to be manipulated so that he might attain his eventual goal of being undisputed lord and master of the Pawnee nation.

  Being allied with such a man was almost more than Nate could stomach. Almost, but not quite. He would do practically anything in order to see his family again. So he would rein in his conscience until they reached Sioux country, and then it would be every man for himself.

  A hand touched Nate’s arm.

  “I will go in and spread out the bedding,” White Calf signed. “Three men will keep watch over us until morning in case I am wrong about Red Rock.”

  Nate caught a whiff of the stale odor inside. “Bring me clean blankets so I may sleep outside tonight.”

  “It is too dangerous.”

  “You will do as I say,” Nate insisted, “or on my return to the clouds I will inform Tiwara that you refused to do the bidding of his messenger.”

  Surprise, and not a little fear, etched the medicine man’s features. “You have become very demanding,” he complained. “But I will do as you wish to show the depth of my devotion.”

  You do that, you damn hypocrite, Nate thought, his hand straying to the pistol. And when the time comes, I’ll give you your due.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The answer to Winona’s question came much sooner than she expected. The Minneconjous had hinted she would know in a month, but it was only a few days after her interrogation by Runs Against that several scouts thundered into the village at a gallop and shortly thereafter a delegation consisting of the high chief, Thunder Horn, Penis, Long Forelock, and several other notables showed up outside her lodge.

  Butterfly had taken to staying with Winona day and night. Winona was in great discomfort much of the time and was grateful for the old woman’s help. She feared the baby would be born much sooner than she had counted on, her fear compounded because Thunder Horn had made it clear he intended to take her into his lodge after the child came.

  On this day, a bright sunny morning with a light breeze blowing from the northwest, Winona had just laid down after taking a short stroll to relieve cramps in her legs when masculine voices alerted her to the visit. She sat up but needed Butterfly’s assistance to stand. Holding her hands on her belly, she went out.

  ‘‘Woman, we need you now,” Runs Against signed without preliminaries. “You will come with us and do as we say or you will be punished severely.”

  “Excuse me, great chief,” Butterfly surprised everyone by insinuating a comment. “She did not sleep well last night and has been in pain all morning long. Could you not use her another time?”

  Runs Against raised a hand as if to cuff her and Winona moved between them. “How dare you meddle in our business, old woman,” he signed gruffly. “Go back inside and do woman’s work and leave men’s work to men.”

  Butterfly sadly bowed her head, then obeyed.

  Thunder Horn moved forward to grasp Winona’s elbow and steered her across the village. He, like all the warriors, had an anxious air about him, as if an event of crucial significance was about to take place.

  Winona resented their treatment of Butterfly but did not provoke them. She had enough problems. She felt queasy, and the baby was kicking hard every so often. It was all she could do to keep her spine straight.

  Runs Against overtook them on the right, Penis on the left. “This is important,” the former signed. “You are going to translate for us.

  You must translate exactly. Nothing must go wrong. Nothing at all.”

  “I will do my best,” Winona signed.

  “We will tolerate no mistakes,” Runs Against warned. “Should anything go wrong, anything at all, we will hold you to blame.”

  Winona was guided toward a flat, rocky point jutting into the sluggish river. Many warriors were already there, scattered for scores of yards both up and down the shore. She was startled to see none were armed with any weapons except sheathed knives. She was even more surprised to behold a large red blanket had been spread out near the water, its ends weighted down with rocks. A battered tin pot containing pemmican and venison rested in the middle beside a water-skin.

  Thunder Horn brought Winona to the blanket and gestured for her to sit. “Keep this in mind too,” he signed as she did. “Soon you will be my woman. Should you humiliate me today by failing to do as we want, Runs Against’s punishment will be as nothing compared to mine. As your husband I will have the right to beat you to near death if I so want.”

  The bestial gleam in his eyes assured Winona more than words possibly could that he meant every word. “I will do my best,” she repeated, “but it would help if I knew what I was to do before I did it.”

  “And give you time to think of a way to trick us?” Thunder Horn responded. “We do not trust you enough yet to let you talk as you please.” He pointed at Long Forelock. “And if you should decide to betray us, just remember he will let us know the moment you say anything you are not supposed to say.”

  Winona glanced at Long Forelock, who had the look of a man who dearly desired to be anywhere other than where he was. He smiled at her, a sickly sort of smile no one else saw.

  Suddenly a warrior far down the river yipped and all the Minneconjous tensed. Runs Against, Penis, and several others stepped right to the water’s edge. They appeared nervous, fussing with their buckskins or their hair.

  Completely bewildered, Winona stared at the bend in the river everyone else was staring at. She saw the warrior at the far end of the line smile and wave like he was welcoming a long lost friend. A minute later the reason appeared, leaving her stupefied.

  Around the bend came a bull boat. A popular transport for whites, bull boats varied in size depending on the number of buffalo hides used in their construction. The hides were stretched over a circular frame of pliable willow limbs and then smoked
over a small fire. To render the craft waterproof, bear fat was smeared over the outer surfaces.

  This one held three trappers, judging by their buckskins, and their gear. They held rifles and were eyeing the warrior at the end of the line with suspicion. Not until they cleared the bend did they see the rest of the Minneconjous, and one of the whites immediately worked his paddle, bringing the boat to a stop.

  All the Minneconjous smiled and waved to demonstrate their peaceful intent. Some gestured toward the rocky point, trying to persuade the trappers to go on.

  Runs Against looked sternly at Winona. “Yell to them. Tell them we mean them no harm, that we are their friends. Ask them to pow-wow with us.”

  “And what happens when they step ashore?” Winona asked. Under no circumstances would she be party to wholesale butchery, no matter how severely she was punished. “Will you rub them out?”

  “Had we wanted their hair, they would have been dead when our scouts first set eyes on them yesterday morning,” Thunder Horn signed. He jabbed her in the side with his thumb. “Now do as we say and be quick about it or I will bloody your nose!”

  Winona still had no idea what the Minneconjous were up to, but she was fairly sure they wouldn’t have gone to so much effort to lure the whites into a trap, not when they could pick the trappers off at their leisure from the riverbank. And, too, the Minneconjous wouldn’t greet the whites virtually unarmed as they were if they planned to attack.

  Advancing, Winona raised a hand and called out, “Hello, the boat! I am the wife of Nate King, a trapper! I must spell my name for you: W-I-N-O-N-A. These are Minneconjous. Be on your guard!” She looked at Long Forelock and smiled sweetly.

  Runs Against likewise looked at the warrior. “What did she say?” he demanded.

  Long Forelock licked his lips. “She told them that we are their friends and they have nothing to fear.”