One Man, One Gun

by Matt Chisholm

  This time, however, he managed to land properly and, as Harrison came to drop on him, Jody met him with his feet and drove him off with judicious use of the heels. Harrison circled rapidly and came in from the left, but Jody rose quickly to one knee and dove forward with his head, taking Harrison in the belly and back-pedaling him frantically. They both went down in an untidy heap with the squawman underneath. He hit Jody with the ball of his hand in the face, then managed to get a foot into his belly and kick him clear. Jody came down on his feet and jumped back into the attack. He knew he couldn’t afford to let up until this man was out of the fight.

  Harrison dove forward, shoulder driven hard into his knees, his powerful arms wrapping themselves around his legs. Once more Jody went down. Maybe the older man was beginning to tire a little, but he rose from the tangle more slowly than before and Jody kicked him smartly on the left temple and put him down again.

  Jody rose to his feet, breathing hard, the sweat pouring off him. He became aware of movement out of the corner of his eye, but there was no time to investigate before Harrison charged him once more. Jody tried to hit him with his left again, but his hand was seized and bent backward almost to his wrist, sending such a flame of intense agony up his arm that he could not prevent a cry of pain issuing from his lips. He knew that his wrist could be snapped with little effort on Harrison’s part. The man was watching him, eyes eager, teeth bared.

  “You beat?” the man demanded.

  Jody was tempted to agree that he was. Instead, he kicked the man in the groin. He half-expected his wrist to snap in that moment, but it did not. Harrison let go his grip and doubled up with pain. Jody nearly lifted him from his feet with a hooked left. Harrison staggered back a few paces and Jody went after him. He never made a bigger mistake in his life. As he drove forward with his left, his wrist was gripped, Harrison turned and hurled him over his head.

  Jody was almost stunned by the fall. He rose slowly, but Harrison was showing his tiredness now and came into the attack slowly. The boy had time to brace himself. He managed to get in a stabbing left to the heart that stopped the man in his tracks, then he brought the right, which he had neglected up to now, into action. It crashed into Harrison’s jaw. The man fell back, seemed to trip on his heels and went down. Jody dropped on him, driving blows into his face. Harrison heaved him off him with a gigantic effort and they staggered groaning with the effort to their feet.

  I have to finish him now, Jody thought. He didn’t have the strength to go on much longer. He attacked and Harrison gave way before him.

  Jody never knew what happened. Harrison did something the boy neither understood nor even saw. He was only dimly aware that he was flying through the air. As he landed it was as if he collided with a hurtling rock. His head exploded. Blinded, he made a titanic effort to rise. Then his mouth was full of dirt and grass and he collapsed.

  When he came to, he found that he was lying on his back. Above him was the azure dome of the sky. A small wisp of feathery cloud moved almost imperceptibly across it. Jody was aware of two things — the aching of his body and head; the soft murmur of voices.

  A shadow fell across him and he turned his head. Prescott Harrison stood between him and the sun.

  “That purely was a dandy, son,” said the squawman. He reached down a hand and Jody grasped it. He was hauled to his feet, where he stood swaying. The murmuring of voices stopped. He looked around and saw that they were no longer alone. They were, he saw with a panicky swoop of his heart, surrounded by Indians. They stood around in a loose scattered circle, watching him. He didn’t know much about Indians, but he guessed from that Harrison had said that they were Utes. Their eyes were made fierce by the paint which decorated their faces. There were traces of white influence in their dress, but for the most part they were garbed in skins. One wore a cavalryman’s hat with feathers all around the crown. He wore it straight on his head like a man unaccustomed to hats and it gave him a slightly ridiculous look. The face under it was haughty and not at all ridiculous. They made a colorful sight, splashes of red, blue, yellow and white. Everything was decorated with feathers that could be. They fluttered in the light breeze.

  Harrison chuckled.

  “Lucky I put you down,” he said, “or I’d of never bin able to look ’em in the face again. They never seen me throwed afore.”

  “Glad to oblige,” Jody said with what he thought was pretty sophisticated irony.

  “They bin sayin’ purty nice things about you, son,” Harrison told him. “They sure do admire the way you fight.”

  Jody mentally examined himself, walked a few paces and braced his arms and legs, unable to reassure himself that nothing was broken. He felt as if he had been broken into a thousand pieces, dumped on rock and been trampled by a Kentucky mule, iron-shod.

  “If it’s all the same to you,” he said, “I’ll jest get on my horse an’ ride now.”

  “Cain’t be did,” said Harrison. “My boys is curious. They like to see more of you. ’Sides, you nigh shot one of ’em to death this mornin’. You have to make some kind of reckoning afore you go on your way.”

  Jody looked at the Indians again. He didn’t see his getting past them too easily. In fact, it was impossible. With some foreboding he wondered what their reckoning would amount to. He didn’t like the look of their impassive faces. The weird paint that obscured their features seemed to stand between him and them as human beings. It was a mask that distorted their feelings.

  “Don’t look as if I have much choice,” he said.

  “Glad you see it that way,” Harrison said amiably. He turned and spoke to the Indians in a language that sounded to Jody like all gutturals and gobblers. Then he told Jody: “Go git on your horse, boy.”

  There were two Indians between him and his horses. He headed toward them. The two bucks with cockcombs of feathers, quills and bear claws all over them, stood their ground to the last moment, gazing at him gravely, then stepped unhurriedly aside. Jody smelled Indian as he passed them, a pungent indefinable smell that he would never forget as long as he lived. He was wobbly on his legs and he was glad when he reached Blue and pulled himself up into the saddle. The Indians were scattered out, vaulting lightly onto the backs of their ponies. Jody looked at their accoutrements with interest, the wooden and iron stirrup-pieces, some of them home-made; the native saddles, some hide-covered, some naked wood; the saddle-blankets of skins. A few rode bare-backed. The ponies were small and sturdy, active and bright, all of them rolling a wicked eye at the white man and his horses. God help a white man who tried to mount one from the wrong side.

  Harrison leapt agilely astride the pinto, the only sign of his having been in a fight was his bloody nose. It was as if the violence had refreshed and stimulated him. He roared jovially to the Indians, but their faces stayed grave in the presence of the stranger. Jody went to follow the man as he rode off over the shoulder of the hill, but he found Indians between them. Warriors closed in on either side of him. When he turned in the saddle, he saw that they were behind him too. He had never felt more like a dead duck in his life.

  They headed north through the hills for more than an hour, riding mostly in silence, when a curious thing happened. Suddenly, as if their mood had been switched magically the Indians’ mood changed. In a moment, they seemed to have become accustomed to the white man in their midst. A fellow in front of Jody shouted something, Harrison turned and bawled back in reply. The men around Jody broke into laughter. He looked at them in amazement. In that moment, they were transformed from strange outlandish creatures into human beings. Suddenly, they joined his race, as it were. Laughter is universal. He saw that under the paint there were men like himself. It was as if his eyes focused on them properly for the first time. These were men with loves and hates, with family ties, worries, weaknesses and strengths. Some of the fear that had been gathering in him, faded. He found himself smiling with them.

  One of them pointed to him and called out something in his unintelligible
tongue. The others laughed again. The fellow was obviously a known wag. Jody didn’t know that he liked being the butt of a joke, but he reckoned it was better than having a knife in your gizzard. He laughed along with them.

  The tension had gone. He didn’t fool himself that it would not return, but for the moment his nerves settled down and his anxiety left him. He was a fighting man trotting his horse along a mountain trail with a crowd of other fighting men. They looked different and they smelled different, but somehow they were the same breed.

  In a bunch, they swept out of the rugged country onto rolling meadow land and eventually came to a pasture of lushest green, sloping gently down to a wide creek that flowed through the trees. And in this timber, the lodges of the Utes were pitched, gaily-colored conical homes of buffalo hide, standing like geometric flames amid the green. Jody saw before him a bustle of men, women and children, dogs, horses. Smoke rose from cook-fires and drifted. Dogs barked and children ran hither and thither. Young boys came running to greet the returning warriors, their elders stalked with dignity from the tents, an old woman screamed and pointed when she saw a white man coming in. Jody found himself the center of attention. If he had not been so struck by the colorful scene before him, he would have felt embarrassed. Harrison turned his horse and joined him, chuckling.

  “You sure caused a stir, boy,” he said. “I think maybe I’d best tell ’em you’re my nephy or some sech. You bein’ kin’ll maybe turn the trick.”

  “They seem friendly enough,” Jody said.

  “That’s now,” said Harrison. “You look wrong or act wrong an’ you’ll see the change. Boy, I been nigh on twenty years with these fellers an’ I don’t know ’em a damn. Jest when I think I have ‘em clear in my haid, they go an’ do the thing I ain’t reckoned on. Purty much like white folk when you come to think of it.”

  They were among the lodges now. The men who had ridden in were scattering out through the trees. Individuals were called to, jokes were exchanged, there was laughter. It still seemed strange to Jody, an Indian laughing. This wasn’t the picture of Indians he had grown up with in his mind.

  A sturdy man in his prime stood at the entrance of a lodge, raising his hand in greeting to Harrison. The squawman wheeled his horse toward him, saying to Jody: “The big wheel around here. Name’s Arrow. Great reputation among the whites for burning and pillaging, but I never saw him do much myself. Best manners now.”

  Jody looked at the man with interest, taking in the stocky powerful frame, the steady dark eyes that watched him with intelligence. He was well-dressed in highly-decorated doeskin that had been dyed different colors, but his neatly-plaited hair was unadorned by feathers.

  Harrison slipped from the saddle. Arrow came forward, smiling, and they shook hands. They spoke together in Arrow’s tongue. Harrison gestured toward Jody and said a few words. Arrow’s face became grave and he shook with Jody, grunting a word or two. Jody felt a mite stupid and said: “Mighty pleased to know you.”

  Arrow said in English: “Goddam. Good.”

  “That’s just great, chief,” said Jody.

  Arrow nodded several times, his face wooden for the stranger, saying: “Good, good, good.”

  They then said their farewells and walked through the camp. Jody’s attention was fully taken by all that he saw going on around him. He couldn’t believe that he, Jody Storm, was right here in the heart of an Indian camp with his hair still on. He had been told since he’d fallen out of the cradle that you shot an Indian on sight. Before he shot you. He knew that he was not out of danger, but he wasn’t dead yet.

  They approached a large lodge almost at the edge of the creek and here a woman hurried toward them. She wasn’t old, but the bloom of youth had been rubbed off by the hard life of the Indian women, by exposure to the elements. She was still handsome though and, in spite of her approaching stoutness, she moved with great dignity and grace. At the sight of Jody, she stopped in her tracks.

  Harrison spoke to her in her own language and she smiled. She took their horses and led them away.

  “My woman,” Harrison said and headed for the lodge.

  Jody noticed that there was a second woman stirring a pot over a fire in front of the tent. She looked up with an exclamation of pleasure and ran to greet them. Harrison spoke to her, gestured toward Jody and the woman smiled and spoke to him in Ute. She then returned to her pot and commenced stirring. Harrison led the way into the lodge.

  “My other woman,” he said.

  Jody stood and gaped at him.

  “You mean you have two?” he said.

  Harrison turned and looked at him and said: “They’re sisters. Didn’t have the heart to part them. Always a good idea to marry sisters. Don’t have no trouble that way. Good as gold them two. God, they make life easy for a man.

  Jody looked around the interior of the lodge and was amazed at the comfort displayed there. It was barbaric, but there was no doubt that it was wilderness comfort. Everywhere he looked there seemed to be rich bearskin rugs, buffalo robes, trade blankets On the far side of the lodge was something that looked like the back of a chair placed on the ground with a bearskin placed in front of it. Harrison sank down on the skin and rested his back against it, sighing with relief and heaving off his moccasins.

  “Christ,” he said, “my feet’re killin’ me. Ain’t as young as I was.” He roared something in Ute and the woman hurried in from her pot. To Jody he said: “Rest yourself. Make yourself at home.”

  To one side, Jody espied a backrest similar to the one Harrison was using. He sat down and lay back against this. He found it very comfortable. He heaved his boots off and watched Harrison being ministered to. The woman washed his feet, then rubbed some ointment into the flesh. Harrison sighed with pleasure.

  “This is the life,” he declared. “Man, there ain’t nothin’ like it.”

  The close warmth of the tepee hit Jody and he started to feel sleepy. Something like a reaction to the previous events set in and he felt wonderfully relaxed. The other women entered carrying Sox’s packs. They were of considerable weight and Jody marveled that she was able to lift them. She laid them down by him with a smile and spoke for a while with Harrison. He was apparently teasing her. She giggled behind her hand and gave him some quick answers. The other woman slipped a pair of soft slippers on her man’s feet and Harrison patted her head like he would a good dog. Jody wondered what it would be like to make love to an Indian woman. The thought made his flesh creep a little. It also excited him. Maybe the chief would offer him a beautiful princess in marriage like he’d read in the story-books.

  The women went outside, Harrison yelled after them. Jody started to doze.

  He woke when his foot was shaken. He opened his eyes to find one of the Indian women leaning over him. She tugged at his pants’ leg and beckoned. He sat up and a wonderful smell hit his nostrils. In the center of the tepee was a large pot with steam coming from it.

  “Stir your butt,” Harrison told him, “afore I finish up.”

  Jody crawled forward and received a wooden spoon from a woman. His stomach juices were playing hell with him. He started to ladle food into his mouth. It was a tender meat of some kind and it was delicious. Maybe some kind of deer-meat, he thought, some kind that he had never eaten before.

  “This is good,” he told his host. “What is it?”

  Harrison said: “A great delicacy, my young friend. Most Indians can’t afford to eat it often, but seein’ I’m a kinda big man around here and accounted rich by abergoin standards, I eat it purty often.”

  “What is it?” Jody repeated.

  “Pup,” said Harrison.

  Jody didn’t feel so enthusiastic about the meal.

  “What kinda pup?” he said. “Wolf?”

  “Dog,” said Harrison.

  Jody laid down his spoon. His stomach heaved.

  Harrison stared at him accusingly.

  “What in tarnation hell’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

 
Jody felt shamed.

  “Nothin’,” he said. “Nothin’ a-tall.”

  “Go ahead then,” his host said. “Eat.”

  Jody tried hard to attain control of mind over body. He dipped into the bowl again, spooned up the meat and stared at it. There came a vision of a small rolling puppy into his mind’s eye. He was no sentimentalist, but who ever heard of a man eating a puppy?

  “I guess I ain’t so hungry as I thought,” he said. Harrison started to laugh. He fell back against his back-rest, holding his sides. “Jesus God,” he said, “if you could see your face. Boy, you’re green.”

  “That ain’t so,” Jody maintained stoutly, his stomach heaving. “I jest ain’t hungry is all.”

  That only set Harrison off laughing some more. He shouted for the women and they came running. He no doubt recounted the joke to them in Ute. They stood there and giggled, pointing at Jody. He reckoned the story would be around the whole damned camp within the hour. He could see men, women and kids laughing at him. Harrison was shoveling food into his great mouth as fast as he knew how. He chewed, gulped and chuckled, managing to find time to belch splendidly in between. “By crackey,” he would cry, clapping his leg, “by crackey, if that don’t beat all.”

  Jody lolled back, fuming, watching Harrison eat on, throwing a conspiratorial nod, wink and chuckle his way every now and then.