King Blood by Jim Thompson Page B

loudly, would never have been served in the lodge of Old Ike King. The most humble beverage a guest might drink in Old Ike's lodge was mescal or tequila, and for honored guests – the equals of Ike and himself – there was real whiskey.
    The old men around the fire squirmed in shame, and Geronimo murmured embarrassed apologies. Still, despite a reproving frown from Ike, Tepaha would not desist.
    'In the lodge of Old Ike King,' Tepaha said, 'there is always meat. A guest may always fill his belly with good fat beef, and take as much with him as he will on departing. Mush is fed only to papooses, and toothless old dogs.'
    'I am sorry,' Geronimo murmured. 'It has been a bad winter. There is no meat in camp.'
    'Very bad planning,' Tepaha said reprovingly. 'Such could never happen with Old Ike King.'
    'Sorry,' Geronimo repeated stiffly. 'If there was meat, you would be more than welcome to it.'
    Tepaha gave him a jeering stare. He said he was beginning to understand Geronimo's reputation for craftiness.
    'Yes, now it is clear to me. You save your meat for yourselves, and serve mush to your guests.'
    It was the most terrible insult of all. For a moment, Tepaha thought that he might have gone too far. Then, at last Geronimo smiled enigmatically and stood up.
    Leaving the tent, he went out into the blizzard, returning after a few moments to announce that meat was indeed available. Not enough for his entire village, but an amount more than adequate for his honored guests.
    'And you and Old Ike King shall have it all, O, Tepaha. My people and I will not eat as much as a single bite.'
    _… So that was when it had happened, Ike thought. That was how it had come about that he and Tepaha had been fed the Osage prisoner._
    'Why, that old son-of-a-bitch!' he bellowed, his voice echoing through the hotel's bar room. 'God damn you to hell, Tepaha – '
    'Osage good eating,' Tepaha patted his stomach. 'All Osage good for, eat and screw.'
    Then, the doors of the hotel lobby rolled open, and Arlie and Boz entered with their wives. *d*
    The two young men were dressed in approximately the same fashion as their father, even to the long knives in their boot-tops. Their squaws, each of whom took up a position behind her husband, wore levis, brightly colored flannel shirts, and buckskin moccasins and jackets.
    Joshie was not quite a year older than her sister, Kay, and except for a somewhat more serious expression – a reflection of her life with Boz – might have passed as Kay's twin. Both girls had small full bodies, and were virtually the same height. Both wore their hair long, and so tightly braided as to tauten their faces, giving them a perpetually wide-eyed expression.
    As their grandfather stared at them sternly, watchful for any error in deportment, the girls kept their eyes demurely downcast, their lips firmed to erase any semblance of giggling. Satisfied with his inspection, Tepaha rolled open the doors to the dining room and curtly beckoned to his grandson, I.K.
    I.K. came in, hands jammed into the pockets of his mail-order suit, his bright yellow shoes tapping the floor in a kind of jaunty swagger. His brightly greased hair was parted in the middle, in the dudish fashion of the day. Despite the ominous air of the bar room, he was smiling. For he could not really believe that anything truly bad would happen to him.
    He was Tepaha's youngest grandchild, and Old Ike's favorite. Both had pampered him, laughing at his fop's dress and mannerisms, only scolding him mildly for laziness and general no-accountness. So why, then, should they suddenly turn severe?
    'Hi'ya, Gran'pa, Uncle Ike,' he said. 'How's your hammer hangin'?'
    'Silence,' Tepaha said. 'You are in great disgrace.'
    'Me? Aw, now, Gran'pa – '
    Tepaha suddenly slapped him. As I.K. let out a pained howl, Tepaha slapped him again. The youth clenched his teeth, his eyes tear-filled. Tepaha drew the gleaming knife from his boot-top and handed it to him.
    'You will hand this to your