There had been stone mountains west of Gardens, the girls said, but trees had covered them into high green hills.
That evening, Jack knotted a strip of brown woven cloth around his head to cover his worst eye, the left, and wouldn't let Catania tend him any more. When she tried, he pushed her hand away, spilled the boiled water.
They lay that night side by side in silence, though he let her take his hand and hold it until moonset. In the morning, though, Jack went apart, and Catania saw he intended not to be close to her anymore. She supposed he thought that would be a kindness.
They broke camp, and travvied out into the warmest morning they'd known ever, the warmest even the Garden girls had known, so the Trappers wore only their trousers and moccasin-boots.
At midday, a line they'd been watching across the eastern horizon slowly became darker. As the sun tilted west, this line moved toward them, broke into tiny pieces ... then became banners and many men riding through the grass.
The dogs began to yelp and whine.
There was no spring, no grove of trees for cover. Nothing but the grass and openness.
"Circle," Jack said, and although two Garden girls began to weep, the Trapper women didn't. They hauled their travvied sleds into a low barricade, and staked their teams to a single circling line around it, so as to be able to cut the dogs quickly free when the time came…. Then they settled into this slight fortress with their longbows strung, arrows nocked, and lances standing ready beside them. The Garden girls sat together at the center, some still weeping. All, except Garden May, held their axes across their knees. She cradled the baby in her lap.
Catania went to stand beside Jack, though he said nothing to her. She had a favorite arrow, the last of favorites—its shaft special Salesman ash, turned, warmed, then soaked and dried again, perfectly straight and heavier than a hunting arrow's. It was a war arrow, its head small, bright as jewelry, and too sharp to test for sharpness. It was a pleasure to put to the string.
"I can see to hit horses," Jack said, without turning to her. "You kill the men."
Then Catania felt the pleasure of a third wisdom's coming to her—deeper knowledge than the Running-dog bus, deeper than Mary's nasty flying—and she understood how a good death's moment may balance the longest life.
The line of horse-riders came on. Some carried long staffs, with big woven-cloth banners ruffling in breezes blowing over the open country. The banners were white, with a round blue flower painted in the middle. There were many horse-riders, more than a hundred. More than two-hundred.
"Different!" Newton called out. "Different..."
And they were different from the ones at Sad Spring. These were bigger men, and, it seemed to Catania, riding bigger horses. They wore odd leather hats with the brims turned up in front— pinned up; she saw little metal sparkles as they came. More metal shone and twinkled on their shirts. Their arms were bare.
The riders were carrying long lances; a few had bows in cases by their riding-seats. They all had long straight sword-knives hanging at their sides.
Suddenly, a mountain-ram's horn—or more likely something of metal—made a long, bright, hard sound, and the horse-men stopped all together a distant bow-shot away.
"Map-Texas cavalry," Newton said—then said it louder, so everyone could hear. "Map-Texas cavalry! I've seen them at Market."
Catania saw the word 'cavalry' come from copybooks and stand before her.
The Trappers and Garden girls waited and were silent, as the many horse-riders waited and were silent, so only wind made sounds in the high grasses, stirred and rumpled the cavalry banners.
After a while, two men came riding nearer. They rode without guiding their horses, with their hands held out and open to show they carried no weapons.
"Don't kill them," Newton said.
The men rode near enough to be shot. Then they stopped their horses, and each swung a leg over the low riding-seat he sat in, and slid down to the ground. It was a surprising thing for the Trappers to see that the animals then stood still and began to eat grass. They didn't wander as dogs would have; didn't lie down, either.
The two men walked closer, then stopped. One—a short wide person wearing a big hat—called out: "Speak book-English?"
"Yes, we do," Jack called to him. "Now, you go your way, and we'll go ours."
The man smiled at Jack. He was close enough that smiling could be seen. "We'll talk a little, first," he said. "Come out and speak with us."
"Newton?" Jack said.
"I know these people," Newton said. "—Know about them, anyway. We have nothing to lose by talking."
"All right," Jack said. He lowered his bow, stepped out past a staked team, and he and Newton walked off into the grass.
Then Jack turned and called, "Catania." She slid her heavy arrow into her quiver, and went after them.
"We'll kill those two big-hats," Torrey said as she went, "—if they act a trick."
The two horse-riders were waiting.... Catania saw that the short wide man was even wider than he'd looked from a distance, and seemed very strong. He wore trousers, boots, and a long leather shirt with no sleeves and many little iron rings sewn on it. He had a fighter's face, heavy and weatherworn, with pleasant and unpleasant mixed together in it. He reminded Catania of Sam Monroe.
The man standing beside him also wore a big leather hat and an iron-ring shirt, but was thinner and younger. He looked like someone who thought more than he fought. Both riders— cavalry-men—were unarmed. They'd left their long sword-knives hanging on their riding-seats.
"Who the hell are you people?" The wide man said. He had eyes with no color but the black pupils in them. "Where do you come from?"
"Who the hell are you people?" Jack said. "Where do you come from?"
The thoughtful-man made an impatient little click with his tongue, but the fighting-man smiled. "Fair enough," he said, "I suppose courtesy's in order. I'm Colonel—you know what a colonel is?"
"We are book people," Catania said, and was interested to meet a colonel—another copybook thing come alive. She was interested, and being interested, supposed it was not her time to die, after all.
"I see." The fighting-man looked at her. "Of course, Lady. Well, I'm Colonel Maitlan of the Texas Arm; this is Minister Robinett... and those people," he turned his head to the cavalrymen, "—are mine. We are fighting Kipchak Russians, come over the northern strait and down the west ocean coast."
"I'm Jack Monroe," Jack said. "We fought some of those, probably, five days ago."
"Well," the Colonel said. "Did you now...."
"He said so." Newton, standing back a little, gave them a bad look.
Both riders looked more closely at Newton then—and the Colonel said, "Jesus Christ!" Minister Robinett said, "Sir, we didn't realize."
"Nothing to realize," Newton said, and seemed angry with them. "These people want to be left alone."
"Well, we won't trouble them," the Colonel said. "We respect Middle Kingdom, and have ambassadors there, and they send ambassadors to us."
"I understand," Newton said, but still seemed angry.
"Well... well, so you people fought the Kipchaks. It must have been a scouting party—and I suppose they thought you were scouting for us." The Colonel bent, picked a stem of winter grass, and chewed on it. "Those sons-of-bitches have come to lower Texas all the way from Map-California. How many did you kill?"
"Thirteen," Jack said. "And one riding dying."
"Proper!" said Minister Robinett. "Oh, very proper! And do your people depend on Lord Jesus?"
"Yes," Catania said, "—but not day to day." The Colonel laughed as if she'd said something funny, but Minister Robinett didn't laugh.
The Colonel and Minister Robinett sat on their heels in the grass as if they were the Trappers' friends, and the Colonel asked where they'd come from, and why.
"I'm not being rude, sir," he said to Newton. Then he looked at Jack, and said again, "I'm not being rude. I'm asking to be aware
of unpleasantness."
It made good sense to Catania, so she told him about fighting and running from the Cree. But she didn't tell him about Gardens. "My," the Colonel said, "—if it isn't one thing, it's another," and looked proud to have recalled such an apt Warm-time phrase. "Very nice, Harvey," said Minister Robinett. "—And you're going ... where? I'm not being rude." "Map-Arkansas," Jack said.
"But that's all Middle Kingdom, now." The Colonel looked at Newton.
"It wasn't," Newton said.
"Yes," said Minister Robinett, "—but now it is. There was a fair agreement."
No one said anything for a while. They squatted or knelt on one knee in the grass, the sun warm on their shoulders. Then one-of the cavalry-men called out to the others, and all the men got down from their riding-horses at the same time. They stood staring at the Trappers and dog-teams, and the Garden girls.
Newton stood up. "Jack," he said, "—come and talk with me." And he walked away.
Catania stayed with the two cavalry-men, and asked where their women and children were, and whether their women rode horses and were cavalry-people.
"My wife is dead," the Colonel said, and said nothing else. "Our women stay and hold our farms and stock," said Minister Robinett. "They wind crank-crossbows like Boxcar-men, and shoot them very well—but they don't ride with us and fight. They stay safe in our homes, and care for the children."
"What lucky women!" Catania said, and supposed it must be true, since they had no reason to lie to her.
... When Jack and Newton came back, Jack said to the cavalrymen, "We've decided our people aren't going to Map-Arkansas."
"That's probably best." The Colonel threw his chew-straw away, and he and Minister Robinett stood up. "Middle Kingdom is for Middle Kingdom subjects only."
"Yes," Newton said.
Then they all stood without saying anything for a while. It was so quiet, Catania could hear the wind and little spring insects in the grass, could hear the riding-horses grazing.
"We have some tobacco," the Colonel said, "—if you'd care for it."
When no one said they'd care for it, Minister Robinett said, "There's going to be fighting all over this country out here. We have five thousand more horsemen coming to join us. There are a number of these Kipchak Russians, and they're quick movers. ..."
"Perhaps you people could go north," the Colonel, said. "No fighting past the Handle up there—winter will be back soon enough, and then you could use those sleds your dogs are dragging."
Newton and Jack said nothing.
"Could we make a home?" Catania said. "Are there mountains?"
"No, Lady," the Colonel said. "It's rough country, but fairly flat. Grass tundra. Good for sleds in winter, though, and very good for horses in spring and summer."
"I'll tell you what," said Minister Robinett. "We had to put some of our cattle herds up there when these Kipchaks came over from Map-California. And I'd say if your people—what do you have, about thirty of you? If you'd agree to watch our cattle through the winter, keep wolves and bears, panthers and cow thieves off—if you'd move the stock where winter grass will grow and keep them out of piled-up drifts—then that would be a favor."
"If the Selected Men say yes," the Colonel said.
"They'll say yes," said Minister Robinett. "It makes good sense, and spares the herd guard to come down to fight."
"Arid if these people go north to watch your cattle," Newton said, "—what do they get in return?"
The Colonel glanced at Catania in a friendly way, then reached out and put his hand on Minister Robinett's shoulder. "Well, Charlie, will you and the Selected say, 'a home'?"
"Yes," said Minister-Charlie Robinett, "—I'll say that, and on my honor." He made a little bow to Newton, then a little bow to Jack. "Sirs, for that service—say for three years watching the northern herd—these people will be Map-Texas people as much as any of us, and our country will be their country."
"And you will give our people horses," Jack said. "And teach them, through this spring and summer, how to ride."
The Colonel stood thinking—making the mouth of whistling, without whistling. Then he said, "Be more useful, at that. And we have the remounts to spare.... Yes. We'll send horses with you, and two men to take you up to the herds and teach you riding."
"Then I agree," Jack said, "—if our people agree."
"And if they say bargain-yes," Newton said to Minister-Charlie Robinett, "—be sure you hold to it."
"We will," the Colonel said.
* * *
It was not until Catania was sitting on a travvy listening to the Trappers argue, their shouts and quarrels, that she realized Jack would not be going north to watch Map-Texas cattle.
Our people, he'd said, and Them. Not My people. Not Us.
Jack was not going north. And Newton would not be going north, either. Lucy was dead, and the cavalry-men had known something about him that spoiled his being a Trapper.
Joan Richardson was shouting. "Monroe, you have led us rotten! Are there more of us than there were, or less? Where is my son?" She ground her teeth so the sound could be heard by everyone. "I won't follow you to sit and look at cattle all the day and night."
Jack answered her as if she'd been polite. "I don't think you'll find herding easy. I think you'll find it hard to do. These Texas people are making a bargain; they are not giving us a gift."
"No gift at all," Joan said, "—to go north with bad-luck you!"
"No," Jack said, "—not with me. I go differently." Then he walked away as he always walked away, so it was settled.
No one said anything as he went, though Catania, if she had not been holding the baby, would have stood to call Joan a bottom-hole, dead son or not.
"—And what about you, Spotted-face?" Joan said to Newton. "Are you afraid to go and look at cows and make them walk here and there? Is that more than you can do?"
Newton smiled at her as he always smiled at her, as if he knew a secret—and Joan spit, but only near his moccasin-boots.
"I'm not going north, either," Newton said. "But what these Texas people offer you is a good offer, and not a lie."
Then the others said nothing, not even Joan. Though Jack and Tattooed Newton were men it was more comfortable to hear tales about, than to live with—still, the Trappers had leaned on them since the Cree came down.
"I'll be going with Jack," Catania said, and thought how Mary One-eye would have despised her for it, and believed her weak in duty to go with a man only because she loved him, and he was going blind.
"But then we'll have no doctor," Rod Sorbane said, and Catania saw bleak faces.
"You will have a doctor," she said. "A learning doctor, but probably a better doctor than I have been."
"No," said Garden May.
"Yes," Catania said. "And by that quick 'No' before I called your name, you proved yourself."
"I won't do it."
"You will do it. You will put down your ax, and go to Torrey's travvy for my medicine books, and begin to read them. You will learn to make some happiness out of sickness-sorrow, and ease the Sunday anger of lonely men."
"I won't."
"Be quiet," Catania said. "Do as you're told. And we will see if your mother was right or wrong about you."
Garden May, who had been so rough and jolly, grew red in the face, then began to weep. She struck her ax into the ground as if the ground had offended her.
Catania stood, and settled Small-Sam in his blanket poozy on her hip. "I have been a selfish doctor," she said. "Now, you will have a better one."
She walked away—not to follow Jack, just then, but to follow herself as she had been, to take a last look at that Catania, who had been a Trapper and a Doctor, and now was only a woman with a scarred face.
What she had been was gone, as what the Trappers had been would soon be gone. They were too few, now. They would go north, and guard the cavalry herds, and they and their dogs would grow older, then old, and their children and their child
ren's children would ride horses wherever they went, and be Map-Texans.... The last of the dogs, white-muzzled, would long since have died, lying like a hug-pet at the hearth. The long sleds would hang in their smoke-sheds for a life or two, then be broken and thrown away, and there would be no Trappers, anymore....
Jack came to Torrey, and sat on the travvy beside him. "I won't be going north—Newton won't be going either—so you'll be the leader now."
"No, you come with us. Stay with us, Jack."
Jack shook his head. "I won't be going with you. But you'll do very well," he smiled, "—though not at pick-up sticks, unless you find another sick-eyed man to play against."
Torrey didn't smile. "I'm not the leader."
"You will be. Now, listen, Torrey—are we friends?"
"Yes."
"Then be a friend, and lead them. You would have to anyway; I have only a little looking-time left."
"No." Torrey sat with his head bowed, then wiped tears with the back of his hand. "... All right. All right, I'll do it."
"Good friend," Jack said. "Now listen, May will be the doctor, and you will have to share her."
"Yes, I know that."
"I wouldn't share Catania, and it made bad feelings. Now, there are too few of you for bad feelings."
"I understand," Torrey said.
"Then also understand that there are men and women you can't be sure of killing in a fight—as I could have, even Newton."
"Don't tell him so," Torrey smiled.
"No," Jack said. "Even if it were still true, I would never tell him so—as there will be many truths you cannot tell people, anymore. And you'll have to expert them to do what you wish them to do—and expert so surely, that they'll do it."
"Not easy," Torrey said.
"No, not easy, and will never become easy. Don't suppose they'll like it; don't suppose they'll like you as they used to. Lean on yourself, and May, and no one else."
"Good advice," Torrey said, and sighed.
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