Native Wind

by A. M. Burns

  “Who said anything about your blankets?” She smiled coyly. “Mine are right over there.” She gestured toward the fire and the drummers. “Or if you prefer, right here in the bushes would be fine. Trey need never know. It could be our little secret.” She ran her hand down the smooth, hard planes of his stomach.

  “Pine Ermine, there you are.” Gray Talon had never been so happy to hear his mother’s voice as Laughing Hawk came into view. “I’ve been getting all the women who are awake to start cleaning the hides. The sooner they are cleaned and smoked, the sooner they can be rolled for the trip.” Laughing Hawk swooped in and took the maiden by the arm, then looked at Gray Talon with a gleam in her eye. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “No, Laughing Hawk, we were just about to head back to camp,” Gray Talon replied, knowing full well his mother could see the relief etched on his face.

  “Well, you go get some more rest before you and Trey head out. Don’t want to start out tired, now do you?” She winked and led the sullen Pine Ermine back to camp.

  Gray Talon stifled a laugh and headed back to Trey.

  Trey was sitting up on the blanket when he got there. Gray Talon groaned remorsefully. He had been hoping for a bit more sleep, but once Trey was awake, he stayed that way, no matter how little sleep he had gotten the night before.

  “How soon do you want to head out?” Trey asked.

  Gray Talon bent over to kiss Trey before sitting down on the blankets next to him. “I was hoping for a bit more sleep.” Gray Talon tried to give Trey his most tired face.

  “Sorry, but we may be in for a long journey. If we want to make it to the winter camp by midwinter, we should start as soon as possible,” Trey responded with a feeling of urgency in his voice. “But if you want, I guess you can sleep a bit while I get all our stuff ready to go.”

  Gray Talon really wanted to accept the offer, but that would mean listening to Trey go on about it for a week at least, if not the whole journey. He kissed Trey again. “I guess we should get going pretty soon.”

  Trey flashed him a big smile, bright as the rising sun. “That’s my man,” he said cheerfully before pushing Gray Talon aside and starting to roll up their blankets.

  Over the next hour, they gathered the supplies they needed. They opted not to take much spare feed for Spot, Trey’s horse, since it was late summer and the horse could graze when they stopped for rest. That lightened the load too. Singing Crow presented them with a large number of trade beads and a few spare skins they could use as trade either for things they needed or information. The white men they were bound to encounter on their journey were always looking for more skins, even if they weren’t prone to paying a fair price for them. Trey took a few minutes and oiled his father’s old rifle and made sure he had powder and shot. He hadn’t used the gun in over a year, and then only for a bit of target practice to make sure it still fired correctly. They gave Laughing Hawk the rest of their meager belongings and their tipi. She promised to take care of everything until they arrived at the winter camp.

  Laughing Hawk hugged both men fiercely. “You two take care of each other. I couldn’t bear to lose either of my sons.” There were no tears in her eyes, but Gray Talon could tell they were close.

  “Good hunting, my friends,” said Singing Crow, the only other member of the tribe who had walked with them out to the edge of the hunting camp as they turned toward the open prairie that would lead them west toward the Valley of the Mist.

  Gray Talon glanced over his shoulder back at the camp. The rest of the tribe stood watching them go. Fulfilling the debt the tribe incurred from the Old Man of the Storms was serious business, but leave-taking was always a solemn thing for the Comanche People. Only a few wished them well, although they all hoped for the best since if he and Trey failed in their commitment, then other hunters would have to try until the debt was either paid or passed off to someone else.

  “Safe journey and clear trails to the winter camp. We’ll see you there in a few moons,” Gray Talon said as Trey swung up into Spot’s saddle. Then Gray Talon shifted into a hawk to fly ahead and scout the trail.

  As he circled into the sky, Gray Talon saw Trey look back over his shoulder toward the camp too. He knew his lover was leaving the only family he had left in the world, and after the loss of his parents, he must fear never seeing Gray Talon’s people again. At least Gray Talon would be there at his side, and maybe as they settled the debt with the dragon of Bald Peak, they would find justice for Trey’s parents.

  Gray Talon caught a thermal and soared higher into the sky. At least it was a clear sky for the start of the journey.

  4

  LIKE MOST of the younger members of the tribe, Trey had been protected from white settlements and towns. Over the past couple of years, he and Gray Talon had been allowed to accompany Laughing Hawk and Singing Crow into smaller towns, like Pueblo and Tascosa, but this was the first time he’d been in one without elders along. As they walked into town, the noise and smell of the place assaulted him. It amazed him that whites could live with the stench that always covered their settlements. He’d heard rumors of much larger cities in the east and had no urge to go there.

  “The general store is over there.” Gray Talon pointed across the street to a large window that proclaimed it to be Murphy’s General Store. Several large barrels sat on the boardwalk in front of the store, and a slender old man relaxed in a chair, leaning against the barrel closest to the door.

  Trey angled Spot across the dusty street. It looked like Cheyenne, Wyoming hadn’t received any of the rains the Old Man of the Storms claimed to have brought to the area. Just outside of town, the land slowly browned and dried as they moved west. It made him wonder what caused the problem.

  “Behave yourself,” Trey told Spot as he tied the horse to the hitching post. He rubbed the horse’s head before turning toward the store. Gray Talon came around from the side, a couple of buffalo hides in his arms that he’d pulled from the saddlebags.

  “What can I do you for?” the old man in the chair asked as they stepped onto the boardwalk.

  “Is this your store?” Trey asked.

  “It is,” the man replied. “I’m Murphy.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Murphy.” Trey extended a hand the way he’d observed white men greeting each other. It went against how the Comanche did it, but he knew better than to stand out too much. That was the big reason they needed to stop in at the general store. “We need some supplies and have a couple of hides to sell.”

  The store owner glanced nervously up and down the street. “Let’s get in the shop and take a look at those.” He hurried into the store, not looking behind to see if the two men followed.

  Gray Talon placed the hides on the only empty spot on the counter. Murphy reached out and ran his hands through the thick brown fur before unrolling the first one.

  “Nice hides. Looks like they could still use a little curing.”

  Trey waved his hand over them. “We brought them down about a week ago. Smoked them quickly before a storm hit.”

  “No major holes.” The man turned the hide over so he could inspect the back of it. “Let’s look at the other one.” Gray Talon unrolled the second hide for the store owner to look at.

  “I can give you fifteen for the two in cash, twenty in trade,” Murphy said.

  “I don’t think we need twenty dollars’ worth of goods,” Trey said. “Can we find what we need, then work out some cash for the rest?”

  “I suppose so.” The store owner rubbed his chin. “Buffalo are getting harder to find. Where did you get these?”

  “Out in Apache lands.” Trey turned from the counter. A rack of clothes caught his attention, and he walked over to it. He needed something that would allow him to blend in more with the whites. His buckskins marked him as an Indian sympathizer. The whites in Wyoming were determined to drive the Indians out. So his normal clothes would make it harder for him to get the information he needed to find the d
ragon’s daughter.

  He was so used to buckskins that the plaid flannel shirt felt strange under his fingers. It felt weak, like it wouldn’t protect his body from the elements. From what he’d seen on his limited visits to white “civilization,” it would do for his temporary needs. He held up one, but it appeared too small for him. After several tries he finally found one that seemed to be large enough for his broad shoulders.

  “What do you think?” He looked at Gray Talon.

  The Indian flashed him a grin but shook his head. “You’ll look too much like a white man.”

  Trey glared over the collar of the blue shirt. “I thought that was the point.”

  “It is. But you’ll still look odd.” Gray Talon shrugged.

  “I’ll need some pants too.” He looked around.

  “Those would be over here,” Murphy said, walking up to a shelf of folded clothes. His brown eyes passed up and down Trey for a moment; then he turned and riffled through the pile. It took a couple of minutes of shaking his head before he finally pulled a pair from the stack. “I think these will work just fine.”

  Trey unfolded the brown pants. They were a couple of shades darker than his buckskins but had several pockets and even loops for a belt. He held them up and decided they looked like they would fit.

  “You should have a hat too,” Gray Talon said. “Something with a wide brim, but not like what those cavalry men wear.”

  “I just got these in a couple of weeks ago.” Murphy pulled a tan, wide-brimmed felt hat from a stack. “Here, try this on.”

  The hat felt stranger on Trey’s head than the flannel shirt had under his fingers. It was like a tight band around his skull. He couldn’t see how men wore these things all the time.

  “Is it supposed to be this tight?” he asked.

  “Let’s try a larger one.” Murphy snatched the hat back and handed him another one.

  This one felt like it would fall off if Trey moved too fast. “Nope, too loose, I think.”

  “So something in the middle, then.” It took Murphy longer this time to find an appropriate hat. “Here, this should work.”

  The new hat was just tight enough that it would stay on and just loose enough that it wasn’t squeezing. Trey looked in the mirror that sat on the counter near the pile of hats. He didn’t see his own reflection very often, but a stranger stared back at him. It was odd seeing his eyes shadowed by the hat’s brim.

  “That should work.” He took the hat off and handed it to Gray Talon.

  “So anything else, sir?” Murphy moved back toward the buffalo hides.

  A jangle of spurs from the front door drew Trey’s attention before he could answer. Four men stood in the entryway. Three were tall, lanky men covered in trail dust. One was large and bulky. Three were white men, the other dark skinned, Trey wasn’t sure if he was African or Mexican. All four wore pistols at their sides. He now wished he hadn’t left his father’s rifle on Spot’s saddle out in front of the shop. The men’s eyes covered the store before settling on Trey and Gray Talon.

  “Murphy,” called out the large one. He wore strange leather straps with glass over his eyes. “I didn’t realize you let their kind in here where good, decent folk might have a problem.”

  “Their money’s as good as anyone’s,” Murphy replied, a nervous note entering his voice. “What can I do for you, Martin?”

  The man pulled the leather off his eyes. Pale skin shone against the darker tan of his face. “We just need the usual. You got our standing weekly supplies?”

  Murphy nodded and walked back around the counter. “I have it ready. The cavalry came through last week and took all my beans, but there will be more coming in on the stage tomorrow. That’s all that’s missing.” He hefted a box onto the counter next to the buffalo hides.

  “No beans?” Martin sneered. “Boss won’t be happy, but put it on his bill. He’ll send someone into town next week for more supplies.” He stared over his shoulder, more at Gray Talon than Trey. He handed a piece of paper to the shopkeeper. “Here’s some new items we are going to be needing from now on. Get them as fast as you can. The boss’ll pay going rate for them.”

  Murphy read over the list. “I can get all of this by the end of the month.”

  “If you can get any of it faster, the boss’d be much obliged.” The man lowered the leather back over his eyes. “You might want to make sure these kind of folks aren’t around when the boss comes in. You know how he feels about redskins.” Martin handed the box to the darker-skinned man. “See you next time, Murphy.” The four men retreated from the store.

  “I’d heard that folks in this part of the country had issues with the tribes,” Trey said once they cleared the door.

  “Most do. Martin’s got an extra chip on his shoulder due to that war with the tribes a few years back. He’s one of Mr. Dabinshire’s men.”

  Trey stiffened. The massive tribal gathering days before he joined the Comanche tribe had occurred due to a war with a Dabinshire and a man called Rockwall. It was said that Rockwall had earth magic. They needed to get out of the area as quickly as possible. They didn’t want to come under either man’s scrutiny. Trey wasn’t sure his magic was strong enough to take on a powerful earth mage. He thought about the men’s pistols.

  “Do we have enough trade for pistols and bullets?” he asked, looking at the guns sitting on the shelf behind the counter.

  “Do you have another of these nice hides?” Murphy replied. “You’ll still have a bit left over, even if I throw in a belt.”

  A quick glance at Gray Talon rewarded him with a quick nod from his lover. “Give him a second to go get our last one.”

  “Very good,” the storekeeper said. He turned and scanned over the shelf for a second and pulled down a couple of guns as Gray Talon walked out the door. “Here, try this one first. See if you like the weight.”

  From some of the other guns Trey had seen, this one was fairly simple and unadorned. The handle was wooden, but the barrel appeared straight, the weight lighter than Trey expected. He didn’t use a gun very often. Between him and Gray Talon, they managed to do most of their hunting without firearms, but going up against white men, it might be a good idea to have more than just his father’s old rifle.

  “It’s a new steel,” Murphy said as Trey sighted down the barrel. “One of the local guys makes them. Says they are just as good as any Colt you’ll find but cheaper and lighter.”

  “I like it,” Trey replied as Gray Talon reappeared with the last of their hides. Luckily they still had some beads and other trade goods in the saddlebags. He handed the pistol to his lover once the Comanche hunter set the hide on the counter. “What do you think?”

  Murphy paled and glanced around nervously. “Now I can’t be seen selling guns to redskins.” He tried to reach across the counter to snatch the gun back.

  Gray Talon turned just out of reach and glared. “For a pistol, it’s not bad.”

  Trey outwardly ignored Murphy’s outburst while inside he cringed. He’d been with the tribe so long, he thought of himself as one of them. He didn’t see their skin color as a problem, and he knew they didn’t see him as anything other than another part of the tribe. But then the People saw the world much differently than whites; he’d known that since the day he became an adopted Comanche.

  “So how much will I have left over from the three skins, between the clothes and the pistol with ammo and belt?” he asked with a tight smile.

  “I can give you five dollars back,” Murphy replied.

  “How about eight?” Trey countered. He’d never done any bargaining on his own but had seen Laughing Hawk do it. His foster mother had it down to a fine art.

  “Six dollars.”

  Trey smiled. They had talked about stopping in at the saloon for a meal and having a little spare change in their pockets. “Seven dollars, twenty-five cents.”

  “Six dollars fifty cents.”

  Trey thrust his hand across the counter to the man. “Deal.�
��

  Murphy’s palm was sweaty as his fingers closed around Trey’s. “Don’t tell anyone where you got the pistol,” he whispered as they shook. “I don’t sell guns to injuns.”

  “Do I look like an injun?” Trey raised a blond eyebrow. “Now do you have somewhere I can change?”

  Murphy handed him seven silver coins. “You can use the storeroom.”

  Trey scooped up the clothes from the counter and strolled back to the curtain that covered the doorway to the storeroom. He returned a couple of minutes later with his buckskins in hand. He’d tucked his long blond hair down the shirt collar. That, along with the cotton fabrics, felt odd.

  Gray Talon gave him a look and frowned.

  “Is something wrong?” He stepped over so he could see his reflection in the small countertop mirror.

  “The look suits you,” Murphy said with a grin. Two of the three hides had already disappeared from the counter. A cardboard box of ammo sat in their place, alongside a gun belt.

  “Too white” was all Gray Talon said.

  After strapping the gun belt on, Trey offered his hand again to the store owner. “Thanks, Mr. Murphy. If we’re through Cheyenne again with goods to trade, we’ll stop in.”

  “Thank you, young man.” The man dropped his voice again as Trey slid the revolver into the holster. “Just remember.”

  With a heavy, sad sigh, Trey nodded. “I know.” Then he and Gray Talon walked out into the glaring afternoon sun.

  5

  EVEN THOUGH it was midafternoon, a lot of noise emanated from the saloon. Gray Talon paused as they cleared the swinging doors. He’d never been in a saloon before. His mother said they weren’t places most people should go unless they wanted to succumb to the spirit madness the whites pushed on the People. Trey assured him it was also a good place to get a meal. Anything had to be better than Trey’s cooking. Although his partner could prepare a meal, it was never as good as his mother’s cooking, or even some of the meals the younger women of the tribe kept forcing on them in hopes of catching them for husbands.