by Win Blevins
Hairy followed it, landing astride the shape with surprising agility. His knife slid into the throat in the motion of the jump.
Tal thought he was going to scream and wet his pants at once.
Tal looked up at the top of the boulder, and realized that the Cheyenne must have been there about to leap on him, and Hairy spotted it and…
Hairy stood up right in front of Tal, grinning lewdly at him. Hairy was now stark naked, glowing white with black stripes all over, even on his…thing.
Tal put a finger to the corner of his mouth, then realized that the finger was his knife and he’d cut himself.
Lordgodawmighty, let’s git before us fools get killed.
Hairy pushed Tal forward.
Tal started to whirl and use the knife on Hairy. He got hold of himself. All right, he would.…Step by careful step, Tal moved past one, two, three, four lodges, avoiding various ropes and poles.
He kept his eye on the horse. His main fear was that the beast would see them coming and make some sort of noise. He had a sudden fantasy of the horse flying to the top of the lodge and blowing the Judgment Day trumpet.
He didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow down, just moved quietly up to the horse. The animal was watching him.
Dad, what did I do to get here? He reached out and put his lead rope around the horse’s neck. No blare of trumpet. He was just getting the bridle on when the door flap scratched and opened.
Leg-in-the-Water himself stepped out. Naked.
Tal was crouched under the horse, clutching the lead rope.
Leg-in-the-Water stepped aside and started pissing.
A hand touched Tal’s shoulder. He wet his pants.
Hairy. Hairy’s hand, and Hairy’s face.
The face glowed in the moonlight. This goddam moonface is going to get us both killed, thought Tal.
Lord. Stark naked, painted glow-worm-white and crazy-black all over.
Leg-in-the-Water’s stream sound was slowing down.
Hairy moved swiftly around the horse. Rose. Raised the war club. Lunged. Slammed Leg-in-the-Water in the back of the skull.
Leg-in-the-Water fell like broken reeds. Hairy eased his way to the ground.
The blow had sounded loud.
Words came from the lodge. A woman’s voice, Cheyenne words.
Hairy grunted.
Tal squeezed the lead rope harder and tried to disappear into the ground. The horse was getting restless, moving its feet.
Hairy started pissing on the ground. Good thinking, Hairy!
The horse started pissing on Tal’s back. Tal jumped out of the way. The horse piss made a fine, loud sound.
A grunt came from the lodge.
Hairy switched his stream to Leg-in-the-Water’s body.
When Hairy drew his scalping knife and bent over the dead form, Tal fastened the bridle and started out. Fast. He was struggling not to run.
The horse’s hoofbeats sounded like drumbeats to Tal, but he kept walking back the way he came.
At the edge of camp he slipped up onto the horse and guided it toward the pony herd.
Suddenly he felt his heart bumpety-bumping again, and warm tears filled his eyes.
Tears of what? Heck, he didn’t know. He was soaked with horse piss. And his own piss. But he had Leg-in-the-Water’s war horse.
No sign of Hairy behind him, or of fifty warriors behind Hairy.
He tied the horse to a tree and checked the priming on rifle and pistol.
He waited. No sign of Hairy.
Well, Tal couldn’t bear to wait.
He moved quietly back toward camp. Past the herd. Past the first lodges. Into the clump of boulders. Past the body of the Cheyenne, now scalped. Up the big boulder. He sat on Hairy’s unfolded blanket, to see.
Just then Leg-in-the-Water’s lodge lit up like a candle, and burst into flame.
Hairy busted out of the lodge. He was carrying a woman. Laid her on the ground clear of the burning lodge next to Leg-in-the-Water. Then sprinted toward the boulders.
In the shadow of Tal’s boulder Hairy picked up his rifle. Godawmighty, thought Tal.
Hairy was kneeling and checking his prime.
No need to worry about being heard now. The fire was roaring, and shouts and calls were coming from all over camp. “Hi, Hairy,” Tal said mockingly.
“Thought you might come back, hoss,” said Hairy without looking up. “Now’s the fun.”
Indians were running toward the burning lodge and tree, exclaiming, hurrying back and forth. Some stamped out burning grass. Some stood over the prone figures of Leg-in-the-Water and his woman. Clearly it was too late to do anything for the lodge, and it looked like the fire would not spread much. Wails and cries of grief went up.
In the distance the horses were nickering and milling.
“Ain’t she fine, lad, ain’t she fine?” Hairy seemed transfixed by the blaze.
“What are you doing, Hairy?” Tal whispered urgently.
“Gathering me a crowd, lad.” Hairy lifted his rifle.
He had a crowd all right, three dozen men and a dozen women, two or three of them holding small children. Two women were trying to bring the unconscious squaw around.
“Look at the crotch of the tree.”
Tal couldn’t make out anything but a red spot, like a glowing coal. “What was in the blanket?” he asked nervously.
“We’re gonna have us a spectacle,” Hairy sang.
Then came God’s own thunder.
The loudest sound Tal had ever heard.
A flash of light that left him blind for a moment.
The dry-leaved cottonwood went up like a torch.
People backed away, or fell on the ground, their arms raised.
Hairy was reloading calmly. “A powder keg has its uses, lad,” he said lightly. “Ain’t she fine?” He gazed at the torch, a half-mad gleam in his eyes.
A chorus of screams and wails, as from the maw of hell.
“Scared more than hurt,” Hairy went on. “Surely does take the fight out of them, though.”
One Indian was running up to the wailing crowd, priming his gun. Hairy shot him and laid the rifle down.
He looked up at Tal. “Now’s the time to spook the herd, lad. Not that they’ll need much spooking. Wait for me at camp.”
Pistol in one hand, war club in the other, Hairy ran toward the crowd. He was bellowing a war-cry and whirling the club over his head.
In the tree-torchlight, naked and painted insanely, roaring like a ghostly griz, brandishing his club, Hairy looked like every man’s nightmare of death.
Any Cheyenne able to use his feet, or hands and knees, got up on them. Hairy whirled like a dervish. He reached to his own head and ripped off the fright wig and waved it. His scalp was painted red.
Half the remaining Indians ran, screaming in panic.
Hairy issued a long, cackling scream of triumph. The others scattered like leaves in the wind.
Hairy was standing alone and naked. He began to laugh. He bubbled with laughter. He roared with laughter, a gargantuan clown.
Bewildered and elated, Tal started for the pony herd, wobbling as he ran.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
excellent plot, very good friends
—Henry IV, Part 1, II.iii
They moved far and fast. Hairy insisted, though, that the chance of being followed was slim as a hair. This was meant as a tribute to his achievement, which he referred to as the rout of the Cheyenne nation.
“They shall long remember,” Hairy gloated, “the mighty magic of Shakespeare. They shall relate in story and in song how they quaked in their boots before the tree that burst into a torch.”
As a courtesy to Pine Leaf, Tal didn’t ride her new war horse on the way. He was moody. He didn’t feel like talking. Occasionally Hairy would slow down his whooping celebration to ask how come Tal had got sullen.
Sullen, yeah, that was it—he felt sullen.
How come? he wondered. Didn’t I get the war horse,
like I went for? Still, he was moody, and didn’t care who knew it.
They got to winter camp on the evening of the third day. The people left their cooking fires and watched and gave ululations of joy as the two rode into camp. Hairy held up the bushy, red-black scalps, and Tal trailed the war horse.
Tal and Hairy had painted their faces black. The eyes of the women shone with admiration and gratitude. The men were beaming with pride. Beckwourth followed the two through camp, gesturing at them and repeating over and over in the Absaroka language the same words. Tal imagined he was saying over and over, “My friends,” or “My brothers.”
Welcome home, thought Tal. A sort of home. No, my legendary home, he told himself, my mountain aerie. He half-believed it.
Only Pine Leaf did not come out to welcome the two heroes.
Watching and listening to Hairy, Tal was irked—half at himself for telling his part too simply, too modestly, and half at Hairy for his braggadocio.
Antelope Jim had explained to Tal beforehand that this sort of celebration, coup-counting, was not bragging at all. It was carried on in a different style entirely from the white style—anyone who spoke was taking upon himself to tell the most particular and scrupulous truth, omitting interpretation and exaggeration and simply telling what he saw, no matter who looked good or bad. You were on your honor not to tell stretchers.
And Tal had told—how he took a notion from Pine Leaf’s remark, though in truth she’d made no such promise to him. How they got Yellow Belly to point out the horse and the owner. How they’d followed the Cheyennes, and then just the band, on up the Tongue River. Exactly what they’d planned and exactly what they’d done. He was careful to give credit to Hairy for saving his life. Tal even included getting pissed on by the horse.
He’d quit with the part about getting the horse out of camp, because that was the end of his doings.
It wasn’t till he was finished with the telling that he saw Pine Leaf sitting quietly at the back of a group of women. She surprised Tal with her gravity. He’d never seen her without a hint of devilment. Now she was simplicity, attention, respect. Tal figured he should feel complimented.
Hairy also told the truth accurately, but he made it a show. He spoke theatrically. He grinned and grimaced, gestured with his hands, used a little body English to enhance a point.
The Crows loved it, evidently, especially the women. Which is what irked Tal.
“Tal didn’t know what devastation I truly had planned,” Hairy explained. “I traded Tulloch for some linseed oil and a keg of powder. Wanted to get a show going. Nothing distracts people, or horses, like a fire. Nothing we needed more than a little distraction.
“After I scalped Leg-in-the-Water”—he paused for the cries of joy, and encouraged them by pumping one arm into the air—“I slipped into the lodge. Figured his woman couldn’t tell between us in the dark.
“Knocked her on the head. Then had plenty of time in there all alone. Poured the oil all over everything. Got the blaze going with a stub of candle—it went up fine. Hauled the woman out of there.
“Stowed the powder keg in the crotch of the tree, lit a slow fuse, and cleared off to watch the fun. Found Tal come back to help me, like a brave lad.
“Lodge blaze drew a crowd, she did. They was hollering on account of finding Leg-in-the-Water dead, and his woman out cold, and their lodge destroyed. All by an unseen enemy!” Hairy swaggered, practically waggling his tail.
“That’s when I struck my real coup.
“When they was all there, ghoulish curious, the powder keg blew. Whooee! She blew!”
Cries of trepidation.
“The tree was all dead leaves, which lit up like candles. A sun in the night, we had, surrounded by many stars. The Cheyennes were staggered, struck in their hearts with fear. Such as were not knocked down, fled for their lives.”
Cries of joy! Cries of victory!
Then Hairy told about shooting the one, and scalping him, showing the actual hair.
Tal still thought scalping was revolting. He could see, though, it was a crowd-pleaser.
The drums started, calling for the main event. Tal, uncertain now, stepped aside to get the object of his quest, Leg-in-the-Water’s horse.
As Tal led the horse into the circle, Antelope Jim stepped close. Jim had the darnedest queer expression on his face.
“Give it to her proud, Tal,” Beckwourth murmured. Yes, proud. So why did Jim look so sad? Oh. Maybe he feared he’d lost Pine Leaf.
Tal took a deep breath and stepped right out into the middle, near the fire. Little cries rose, and the drums stopped.
The horse looked splendid. Tal had curried it to a fine gloss, and tied Leg-in-the-Water’s scalp in its red mane.
Tal looked around for Pine Leaf, and beckoned her forward. He seemed to have no words. When she came in front of him, he just handed her the lead rope. Then he remembered not to let his head hang, and lifted it proud.
Pine Leaf looked straight and deep into his eyes. She began to speak oratorically in the Absaroka language.
Antelope Jim, squatting behind Tal, translated softly:
“I thank my friend Tal for this fine horse, and Hairy for the scalp of its owner. They took great risk to get these prizes, and tricked the Cheyennes cleverly. I will be proud to ride the horse, and hope to honor Tal by killing many Blackfeet from its back.”
Tal now understood the saying, it was worth it.
“I must tell them, though, that this is not Leg-in-the-Water’s war horse, and the Cheyenne Shakespeare killed and scalped was not Leg-in-the-Water.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
What’s in a name?
—Romeo and Juliet, II.ii
Tal rocked on his feet, afraid of falling.
The people were hushed.
Antelope Jim stood up and said, “It’s my fault.”
Hairy pawed toward Jim, head down.
Yellow Foot stepped forward and spoke quickly in Absaroka. “I tell them,” he repeated in English, “The fault is of me.”
Hairy turned toward Yellow Foot, then toward Jim. He looked like a bull deciding which man to charge.
Yellow Foot continued, and Jim told the white men what he said. “When Tal said he wanted to steal the horse Pine Leaf had spoken of, I told Pine Leaf and we agreed that Leg-in-the-Water was too formidable an opponent.
“We spoke to Antelope.”
“I said,” put in Antelope Jim, chuckling, “that I didn’t want these brave white men to take out our only worthy enemy among the Cheyennes.” Laughter among the watchers.
“So we played a small trick on our friends,” Yellow Foot went on. “I pointed out the wrong warrior to them, who had another fine sorrel horse.”
A chorus of low exclamations from the people, mixed with smiles.
“I thought to protect them. I did not know they would prove so clever and so fierce. I am glad they are our friends, and ashamed to have deceived them.”
Yellow Foot lifted his eyes to Hairy and Tal.
“To make up a little for my bad mistake, I have put ten ponies of my own by their lean-to, all fine ponies.
“I beg their forgiveness.”
Yellow Foot hung his head.
Tal, swimming in a sea of strange feelings, stepped forward, grabbed Yellow Foot’s hand, and shook it. Then he ran off into the dark.
Jim found him in the lean-to. Tal was trying to read Scottish Chiefs by candle lantern, but couldn’t keep his mind on it.
Jim suggested they water the new horses, who were in a rope corral nearby. The two walked the dozen steps to the creek and back a few times, giving the animals water from their hats, not talking.
When they’d finished, Jim said, “Those are good horses. Extra good horses. Yellow Foot feels bad about what he done.”
“Yeah,” said Tal.
“He means to give you somep’n bigger’n horses.”
Tal just stared at the ground.
“Means to protect your tail come spring. Yo
u see, come spring, whole lot of Cheyennes gonna be after your hair. And Hairy’s more so. You boys plain embarrassed them.”
Tal couldn’t think what to make of this.
“You’re gonna need friends,” Jim added, “and you got em.
Tal scratched at the ground with one foot, then nodded.
“Best come back to the dance,” Jim suggested. “Somep’n more’s gonna happen for you. Somep’n nice.”
They moved off together. “Hairy’s already got what he wanted,” Jim said, with a lewd smile. “Off in the bushes. He could get plenty of it tonight.”
“When he gets a Crow name,” Tal ventured, “it will be Mighty Mating.”
“Don’t tell my wives that,” said Jim, tickled.
They were approaching the dancers around the fire.
“By the way,” said Jim, “don’t fret about Hairy’s brag. The people think he conducted himself all right for a white man.” Jim looked sideways at Tal. “You brought honor on yourself.”
Tal felt glad at his friend’s praise. Tal squatted to watch the dancing. The drums beat eternally. Tal thought drumbeats must fire the Indian soul. They made him feel queer, out of sorts with himself.
Soon Pine Leaf waved Tal into the center of the circle and called for quiet. The drumbeats faded to a pulse. Hairy put a big paw on Tal’s shoulder and smiled down at him. Pine Leaf had two skin-wrapped bundles.
“Because our Long-Knife friends have brought honor and glory to our people,” Pine Leaf called, “I wish to honor them in my own way.”
She unfolded one skin and brought forth a book.
“Shakespeare,” she said, “I give you Shakespeare.” Hairy stepped out and took it from her hand.
“Tulloch says it is songs of the singer whose name you bear,” Pine Leaf said.
Hairy held it up and roared, “The Tragedies of Shakespeare. The noblest lines in the English language speak from these pages.”
He grabbed Pine Leaf’s hand, bent low over it, and kissed it. She drew it back with an embarrassed smile, and a nervous titter was heard.
“Thank you, dear lady and comrade-at-arms.”
Hairy withdrew, hugging Shakespeare to his huge chest.
“And I wish to honor Tal,” she reached into the other bundle, “with this.”
