Lord Grizzly, Second Edition by Frederick Manfred Page B

interpreter.
    The two of them were standing near the mast, with General Ashley a good head shorter than ugly horse-faced Rose. Pain and shock crimped the general’s blue eyes. The general waved quick hands as his thin trembling lips mouthed the words. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it. Grey Eyes specifically promised me yesterday that there’d be peace between us, that he’d forget they’d lost a couple of their men at Fort Kiowa. That extra gunpowder I gave him was supposed to make up for that loss. Even though it was the rival fur company that did the shooting.”
    â€œIt did,” Rose grunted, looking at the wounded men. Rose’s dark skin glowed bluish red in the sun.
    â€œWhat?” General Ashley snapped. “Oh. Yes.” General Ashley’s eyes flicked toward the wounded too. “Yes.” General Ashley looked at the golden sky overhead. “And anyway, what were they doing attacking Fort Kiowa, the fools? What did they expect, the other cheek?”
    Rose’s heavy guttural voice came in surges. “Never believe an Indian chief right after he’s just lost some of his men. It’s a disgrace for a chief to lose men, and he’s going to be an ornery cuss until he’s had himself some revenge.” Rose coughed up some Missouri water; spat over the side. “And he’s going to be specially ornery when he loses ‘em over a slave squaw.”
    â€œA what?” General Ashley’s voice rose a little.
    â€œA Sioux squaw. She was a slave of one of his men and she got away.”
    â€œOho! So that was why they dared tackle Fort Kiowa then.”
    â€œThat was why,” Rose grunted, thick lips drawn up in his usual habitual sneer.
    â€œGood Lord.”
    â€œGrey Eyes said they didn’t mean to shoot at the white men at Fort Kiowa. They only wanted the slave squaw back.” Rose’s eyes were evasive. He couldn’t quite look the general in the eye.
    â€œAll that fuss over a squaw. A slave squaw at that.” General Ashley stamped around in blue indignity, gold epaulets glistening in the morning sun. General Ashley looked with grief at the wounded men underfoot. “And we had to get the hell shot out of us because of another Sabine woman raped and ravaged. Damn.”
    â€œGrey Eyes said she was a good squaw. Grey Eyes said his brave was very sad he’d lost her, that he had to have her back in his roundhouse to cook and sew for him. He said the white man was wrong to hold her. Bending Reed belonged to him.”
    Old Hugh jerked up. What? Bending Reed.
    Old Hugh called out. “Gen’ral, did Rose there say her name was Bending Reed?”
    General Ashley gave Rose a look. “Was it?”
    â€œBending Reed,” Rose said, sullen redblack cherry eyes holding Hugh’s for a moment and then sliding off.
    Hugh’s gray eyes lighted up with joy. “You say she’s at Fort Kiowa now?”
    â€œThat’s what Grey Eyes said.”
    â€œWhaugh! So!” Hugh’s old eyes rolled. “But how in tarnation did she get in with them Rees? When I last saw her she was down on the Platte with the Pawnees. Well I never. That’s some, that is.” Hugh shook his head in amazement. “Well, well. This child is going to be mighty glad to see her again.”
    â€œYou know her?” General Ashley asked, inclining his head in friendly manner.
    â€œKnow her? By the bull barley, man, yessiree! I womaned up with her for three years when I was a half-slave myself on the Platte. She’s my wife. And there never was a better, white included. She cooked and made clothes for me with never a complaint or a sigh. Whaugh! Well I know how that Ree brave felt losin’ her. She was some, she was. Graybacks or no.”

2
    I T WAS the Moon of Cherries Blackening, July. The minute Hugh stepped into her tepee within the gates of Ft. Kiowa, he knew it wasn’t the same