by Win Blevins
Tomás turned to face Sam with a hard expression. “So? I don’t have nobody now, I won’t have nobody then.”
The men looked at each other and at Tomás.
The talk took all evening, with Sam, Tomás, Hannibal, Flat Dog, and Julia. Esperanza toddled around and played in the dirt. Azul crawled around and sometimes ate dirt. The adults talked. Tomás didn’t get to say much, and his sullen look didn’t help his cause.
In the end it all came down to—well, why not?
“All right, you can hang around. If Red Roan doesn’t kill me.”
Hannibal said, “If Sam’s dead, I’ll be glad to have you along.”
But Sam had to ask Tomás straight. “Why do you want to be with me?”
“Too soon to separate a colt from its mother,” Tomás said with a crinkly smile.
This was a little fraud. Paladin’s colt could suckle any of eight or ten mares.
Sam frowned. “Look, I’m a Crow.” This was half true. “My daughter is a Crow. I’m a member of the Kit Foxes. I speak the language. I carry the sacred pipe. Don’t be fooled by my skin.”
“Or your hair?” Tomás asked with a sly smile.
Sam tugged at his white locks. He thought about it. He realized what Tomás’s fantasy was. “I think you don’t understand. If I survive, I’m not going to be a trapper and roam the country. I’ll live in another Crow village. I’ll be a warrior like the other young men, and a buffalo hunter.”
“¿Verdad?” When Tomás got surprised, he slipped back into Spanish sometimes.
“Yes, true. I want to see my daughter. If I live with another village, I will. Pretty often. Maybe I’ll make another family. I like the way the Crows live.”
Flat Dog said, “Tomás, I think you like the trapping life. You have no idea if you’ll like the Crow life.”
Tomás glared at him.
Sam reached out and picked up Esperanza. Coy tapped his tail—maybe he was jealous. “I left Pennsylvania,” Sam said, “and found a new home. I made a new family. Now the only family I have is Esperanza.” He could hardly believe he was saying this, barely even knew he thought it. “But she’s my family, not yours. Why would you want to be around my one little kid?”
Tomás jumped up and ran off. Sam couldn’t tell, because he was so quick, whether he was in tears or in a rage.
Nobody spoke for a while. Sam looked at them guiltily.
Flat Dog said, “You have almost no family.”
“And she’s an infant,” Julia said.
“But Tomás,” Flat Dog said, “he doesn’t have any.”
Sam didn’t see the boy again until he woke up the next morning. Tomás lay right there, between Hannibal and Sam, looking at Sam.
“I want to go with you,” he said. “I bet I can get a Crow girlfriend.”
Sam nodded. “Glad to have you.”
Tomás grinned.
Coy growled. Sam wondered what the devil that meant.
Twenty-Four
ACROSS THE MOUNTAIN to the Siskadee, over South Pass, down Wind River and through Wind River Canyon. Now they had to do some guesswork. August. Flat Dog, Bell Rock, and the Foxes thought the village would still be up against the mountains. Not until the next moon would they go downriver to join the other villages for the big autumn buffalo hunt.
So the party went up Owl Creek and over the divide to Goose Creek. Sam was saying these names to himself like a litany. Though he barely knew them, really, he had camped on them with Rides Twice’s village, he had courted Meadowlark on them, he had given a sun dance on one of them, and for him they were legendary.
He was nervous. At the evening camp on Goose Creek, Flat Dog shot a deer. He was at home now, a man in his own country, and he acted like it. He was expansive and at ease. All the Crows were.
At breakfast, while they roasted fresh deer meat on sticks, Flat Dog said, “What’s wrong?”
Sam didn’t answer. Julia kept her head down. The two children whined.
“Everybody’s on edge,” said Beckwourth. “Julia, she meets her new in-laws. She finds out what it’s like to live where there ain’t no one to empty the chamber pots, not even any chamber pots.”
“I gave that up long ago,” said Julia. “I wipe dirty baby bottoms all day every day.”
“Wouldn’t be right if you weren’t uneasy.” Beckwourth tossed a big grin at Tomás, and handed the boy a strip of tenderloin. Tomás took it and stuffed it into his mouth.
“This boy, he’s got a big story, hardly anybody treat him right. What he’s gone through…”
Sam was about to give Jim a warning look, but the mulatto stopped himself. “Remember, boy, you need someone to side you, I will.
“Now Sam, he’s another case. He’s just plain afraid. He…”
“Jim, that’s enough,” said Sam.
Beckwourth opened his mouth again.
“I said enough.”
Hannibal smiled at Sam.
When they got packed and started for the Gray Bull River, no one’s mood was good except Jim’s and Hannibal’s.
THE VILLAGE WAS right where the Crows expected, where the Gray Bull River came out of the mountain and plunged across the plain toward the Big Horn. They camped on top of the last hill above the camp, and Flat Dog waved his blanket as a signal to the camp. Now people knew the party came bearing news of a death. Sam could think of nothing but the time he and Flat Dog had done this before, reporting the loss of Blue Medicine Horse. It was unbearable.
In due time three Foxes came out. Flat Dog told them the news very factually. Though they were curious about why Meadowlark had gone far west to the big-water-everywhere, they did not ask questions about the death itself. Everyone knew death in childbirth. Soon they and the other Foxes carried the report to the village.
Needle would grieve wildly and cut her hair off, Sam knew, and her mourning would not end until her hair was back to normal length. Gray Hawk might cut a joint off his little finger. But mourning for a passing in the normal course of life—that would not be like mourning for the killing of a young person by an enemy. And the family would carry the grieving, not the entire village.
Sam’s task was not to grieve for Meadowlark, not any longer. He and Robert Evans dug themselves graves in the sand of the great desert west of Salt Lake on a blistering afternoon, and he left the blackness of his heart in that hole.
Bell Rock walked back up the hill. With a grave face he said to Sam, “Gray Hawk refuses your gift of horses.”
Fine. No surprise. Done.
Sam had one job now—to make himself ready for Red Roan.
THE EVENING FELT never-ending. All through the lingering twilight Red Roan circled the camp, chanting out his plaint like the village crier. “The white-haired man is a coward. The man with white hair is a ghost.” This was a great insult. “The white-haired man has brought us only grief. The white man has brought death into our lodge. I challenge him to a fight tomorrow. I challenge him to meet me, the son of the chief of the village of Rides Twice. I challenge the barbarian to come against a war leader of the Absaroka nation and fight until one of us is dead.”
He beat out these words over and over, like music to march to. A funeral march.
Hannibal said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Though Sam couldn’t make out the words from here, he knew what was being said. His mind flitted to Gray Hawk and Needle. Like a raven perched high on their lodge poles, he tried to hear what was being said in their lodge, imagine what was going on in their hearts and minds. Nothing good, he knew. Twice now he had brought them death, and they would return to him only death.
A few people in the entire village, perhaps, bore him goodwill. Julia and Flat Dog, Bell Rock and his wife. All other hearts, he knew, were set hard against him.
“Let’s get going,” Hannibal said again.
Sam got up, The Celt in hand, ready to follow. So did Tomás and Coy.
Hannibal led the way to the river. The three of them sat in the shallows, na
ked. Coy watched them from the bank and whined. Sam didn’t know why Tomás wanted to be with him tonight, but he didn’t care.
In the distance Red Roan’s caterwauling stopped. Sam smiled at Hannibal. “Flat Dog has done it.” Sam asked his friend to go to Red Roan, after his foe had sounded off sufficiently, and tell him that Sam would meet him at dawn.
Sam and Hannibal talked about that easily, comfortably. Then they talked about other things. The two men told stories of their youth, memories of particular pleasure. Hannibal talked about gathering berries with his mother. Sam spoke of wrestling with his younger brother Coy. Hannibal told of his father reading Ovid to him aloud, translating the thoughts into awkward English, and then reading the Latin again, sonorously. Sam recalled his mother’s apple pies spiced with cinnamon, left in the warming oven so he could go back for a second piece before bed. On and on they talked, remembering only joys, or transforming sorrows into a kind of joy through the alchemy of understanding.
Sam noticed that Tomás sat fixed on them, completely absorbed, but saying nothing. Sam didn’t know why Tomás cared about these stories—he didn’t know what stories Tomás himself might have to tell—but tonight he didn’t care. He was simply enjoying his own life.
Eventually, they got very tired, arose, wrapped themselves in blankets, and slept on the bank of the Gray Bull River, the water shur-shurring by.
Sam rose with the first hint of light. He and Hannibal made a few preparations. Tomás watched, and Sam could not read the boy’s face.
Eventually, the people assembled, a great circle in front of the lodges, every man, woman, and child come to see what might happen.
With his friends Sam walked to the circle with a blanket wrapped over his head, as many of the women came. Hannibal carried his weapons.
Red Roan rode his warhorse into the center of this circle, stripped to a breechcloth, lance in one hand, war club in the other, the shield on the forearm above the club. Again he began to call out the words of challenge.
Sam was ready, and he didn’t want to indulge his foe.
He dropped the blanket and reached for the weapons.
“Everything is a roll of the dice,” said Hannibal. “Go for it whole hog.”
Sam chuckled. He looked into the eyes of his friend. He set the club and shield on the ground and stuck the lance into the earth. Then he turned and stepped into the circle, excited.
Exclamations burst out of the crowd. The white-haired man had come without his mount and without his weapons. People couldn’t believe it. An unarmed man on foot stood no chance. Red Roan would ride him down and stomp him under his warhorse’s feet.
Sam walked around the circle in the direction the sun went, his eyes on Red Roan. When he started to see impatience on his enemy’s face, he whistled.
Paladin galloped into the arena and toward Sam. Hubbub ran through the crowd. The mare was naked of saddle, naked of bridle. Did the white-haired man intend to ride her like this?
As she neared him, Sam whirled one arm from the shoulder and Paladin galloped past him and around the entire arena. Children exclaimed and pointed at the beautiful animal.
This time she stopped beside Sam, and he vaulted onto her back. Paladin went into her show-ring canter, gentle and rhythmic. Sam felt a rush of elation at being on her again. He thought, By God this is the way to go out!
Immediately, he was on his feet, riding bareback and standing. He began to sing to Paladin the song that helped them feel the motion together, the lope of horse and—now!—the somersaults of the man. Singing at the top of his voice, Sam leapt into the air, somersaulted, landed with both feet on Paladin’s rump, and somersaulted again. Round and round he went, rump to air to rump, bawling out his ecstasy.
The children shouted with glee, and the women covered their gasps with their hands.
Sam could have bounded forever.
Red Roan ended the display with his war cry. Screeching, he spurred his horse directly at Paladin.
Sam dropped into a forked seat and cried to Paladin for speed. Red Roan had speed, but not enough to catch Paladin quickly, or perhaps at all. As Sam rode by his lance, he yanked it out of the ground, turned Paladin hard into the center of the ring, and faced his enemy.
Startled, Red Roan stopped. Sam laughed and hollered in English, “No way can you ever have seen anything like this. What on heaven and earth am I going to do next?”
He charged.
Lance level, eyes on Red Roan’s breast, he goaded Paladin forward at full speed.
Red Roan reacted late, but he reacted. He raised his war club and spurred his mount. He would teach the foolish, unshielded white man. He would get even for the white man’s stupid antics, for the way he got the people—Crows of Red Roan’s own village—to admire him. He would flick the lance aside and smash the white man to a pulp.
At the last moment Sam kneed Paladin, and she swerved in front of the warhorse.
Red Roan found his club on the wrong side! He tried to screw his body around for a swing across his mount, but was too late.
Sam whirled Paladin hard left and rammed her straight into horse and rider.
For a moment Sam’s world was topsy-turvy.
Red Roan’s horse went down screaming, the warrior under it.
Paladin regained her balance. Sam wheeled her in a desperate turn and bellowed for speed.
Red Roan got to his feet, limping, bewildered.
Sam thundered down on him, lance poised.
At the last instant Red Roan dodged to Sam’s left. Sam hurled the lance, but Paladin’s neck kept him from changing his aim fully. The lance missed and sank into the earth, its butt quivering.
Sam ran Paladin straight over Red Roan, human and equine limbs flying.
Quickly, Sam brought Paladin full circle and sprinted down on Red Roan again.
Red Roan tried to gain his feet enough for a swing. Sam edged Paladin to the off side, then brought her back and bumped Paladin’s shoulder into the warrior hard. He went head over heels, and the war club went flying.
Now Sam circled Paladin wide, watching the stumbling figure. He jumped to his feet on Paladin’s back and spoke to her. She sprinted toward Red Roan, who stood gape-mouthed. Just before Paladin ran over him, Red Roan slid sideways.
Sam leapt and kicked Red Roan full in the chest with both feet.
Each man landed on his back, but Sam was up like a flash.
Red Roan barely stirred.
Sam pounced on him and sat on his belly.
They looked at each other, wide-eyed.
Red Roan squeezed out a gargly laugh. “You lost your weapon, white man. What are you going to do, scratch my eyes out?”
Sam reached for the belt around his waist, the one that seemed to hold up his breechcloth, and popped the buckle. In front of Red Roan’s face he held as sharp and fine a knife as had ever been smithed.
Darkness entered Red Roan’s eyes. He gazed at Sam. Finally, he said, “Kill me, white man.”
Sam saw moccasins and looked up. Hannibal stood there. So did Gray Hawk. So did Rides Twice, his face grave.
Hannibal nodded yes. So did Gray Hawk.
Red Roan said to his father, “I want to die.”
Rides Twice turned away.
Straight and hard Sam drove the blade deep into Red Roan’s throat. Blood bubbled around the handle. Sam drew the blade out, and blood welled.
A long rasp of death eased from Red Roan’s mouth.
Sam put the buckle back, looked around, and heard.
Dozens of Crow women were trilling for him.
Scores were silent, glaring.
He walked off. He bent down and petted Coy. He looked into the eyes of Tomás. He felt…amazed, incredulous—words couldn’t get near it.
Hannibal touched him on the shoulder,
Sam stood back up.
“You were astounding,” said Hannibal.
Sam just nodded.
“We’d better get out of here.”
“I
’ve got something to do,” said Sam.
“I’ll get your back,” said Hannibal.
Sam walked around the circle of villagers, sunwise. He weaved a little as he went. About a third of the way around he saw Flat Dog and Julia. He padded up to them.
“Thank you, brother,” he said to Flat Dog.
“You are welcome, brother.”
Sam reached to Julia and took Esperanza. He held her at arm’s length and looked at her. The little girl wiggle-waggled her head.
“Hi, Papa,” he said in English.
“Hi, Papa,” she said, and chuckled.
“Come along too, please,” he said to Flat Dog and Julia.
Sam held her close, and the five of them made their way on around the circle. Sam looked at the faces of people he knew. His friend Bell Rock and his wife. Owl Woman, his enemy but a good woman. Her husband Yellow Horn, his enemy and a dangerous man. The boys he competed with once, when they won all his arrows.
At last he came to Gray Hawk and Needle. Gray Hawk stood rigid, his face fixed. Needle held her blanket wrapped over her head against the morning chill.
He looked into their eyes, wanting to be sure he didn’t miss anything. Gray Hawk’s were dark, impenetrable. Needle’s…he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he saw a hint of warmth there.
He held Esperanza out at arm’s length. “I love you,” he said. “What I’m about to do, it hurts, but it’s for you.”
He held her now to Needle. “This is your granddaughter,” he said, “Esperanza. I am alone, and a child needs a mother. I give her to her uncle Flat Dog, to her aunt Julia, to you, her grandparents, and to all the people of this village to raise in a good way.”
Needle took the child and clutched her close.
Esperanza turned in her arms. “Papa?” she said and reached toward Sam.
He quelled the pain and turned away.
Sam and Hannibal walked the rest of the way around the circle. Sam looked at the faces. When he got back to his blankets and to Tomás, he said, “Now we can go.”
Twenty-Five
THEY RODE TOWARD the Yellowstone country. Hannibal had heard about the hot springs and wanted to sit in them. Beckwourth told wild stories about how there were devils just barely under the ground, and they made it tremble, and shot geysers of boiling water into the air. Tomás looked around wild-eyed, uncertain what to believe.
