bend, opposite a cutbank. Both the ropes that held up the front end of the lean-to stretched across the creek to a tree on the cutbank.
“I’m gonna sneak over and cut those ropes,” he said, pointing. “That’ll bring the front down and give them trouble coming out. May subdue them pretty good. You get cover over there. If they come out fighting, shoot their lights out.”
Tal nodded. He’s never shot a person before. Except Hairy.
“Keep your eyes open for a guard.” Hairy eased off.
Tal primed his pistol, checked the priming on his rifle, and moved downhill in the other direction. He didn’t like any of it.
It took Hairy a long time to circle and come out on the cutbank. Finally Tal saw him steal out of the trees. Immediately he reached out and slashed one rope, bounded over and slashed the other one.
The lean-to collapsed. Iron Kettle screamed.
Hairy stepped to the edge of the cutbank and roared. Roared like a griz, shook his fists, and jumped up and down.
The bank collapsed. Hairy crashed into the water on his back.
Iron Kettle was still screaming. And battle cries were coming from somewhere.
Three Indians, probably teen-agers, ran out of the trees and jumped down the cutbank and grabbed Hairy. Hairy was still on his back, maybe stunned. They held him down in the shallow water.
Tal dropped to his knees and lifted his rifle.
An arm circled his throat. A knife point pricked the underside of his chin. A woman’s voice snapped, “Put it down.”
Tal laid his rifle down. A foot went onto it. A hand undid his belt, let belt and knife and pistol drop to the ground.
“Watch!” the woman’s voice commanded in Tal’s ear.
Iron Kettle crawled out from under the lean-to. She was bent over, holding her belly. She pointed at Hairy and the boys, yelling something in Crow. Then the English words, “Scalp him, scalp the bastard.”
Heck, she was laughing, uncontrollably.
The arm around his neck dropped away. The knife backed off.
One of the boys made a sweeping motion with his knife, held up Hairy’s luxuriant brown wig, and yelled, “Hi-yi-yi-yi!” The boys were whooping and slapping their thighs.
Hairy’s scalplock hung pitifully beside his ear, and his naked scalp gleamed in the sunlight.
A hand grasped for Tal’s right hand. He faced a woman, young, handsome, teeth gleaming in a big smile, eyes alight.
“Hello,” she said. “I am Pine Leaf, warrior woman of the Absaroka people.” Stupidly, Tal shook her hand.
Now Hairy was sitting up in the water, feeling of his sticky, shaven head, and staring at the face of Iron Kettle, who was cackling.
Pine Leaf modelled Hairy’s wig, and said she had no intention of giving it back. “If you keep a guard so poor,” said Pine Leaf, “you deserve.”
She picked up a rib and started gnawing, enjoying herself hugely. “Deserve?” She looked at Iron Kettle. Pine Leaf felt uncertain about the English she’d been picking up from Antelope Jim. Iron Kettle nodded. “Deserve.
“Sure, if’n I have such horses,” Pine Leaf went on, “I beg the Siksikas to steal them.”
The four boys were gorging themselves, and making eyes about the wonderful joke. They still had the Blackfoot moccasins on their feet. “I take what I like from the Siksikas, moccasins included,” said Pine Leaf casually.
She was a tall, strapping woman with broad, blunt features. A scar made a vertical line from one cheek to the corner of her mouth—it made a pucker when she talked. Some men would have thought her plain, mannish. Tal thought hers a face of barbaric magnificence.
She flipped the wig back to Hairy. “What’s a scalp without blood?” she said. She tried to rub the glue off her hands.
The fire was popping with the fat dripping from a spit full of deer ribs. The evening light in the valley of the Greybull River looked lavender, and long shadows lay on the grass. Does and fawns grazed on the benches above the river. Tal would have been stupendously happy except
“I’m gonna sneak over and cut those ropes,” he said, pointing. “That’ll bring the front down and give them trouble coming out. May subdue them pretty good. You get cover over there. If they come out fighting, shoot their lights out.”
Tal nodded. He’s never shot a person before. Except Hairy.
“Keep your eyes open for a guard.” Hairy eased off.
Tal primed his pistol, checked the priming on his rifle, and moved downhill in the other direction. He didn’t like any of it.
It took Hairy a long time to circle and come out on the cutbank. Finally Tal saw him steal out of the trees. Immediately he reached out and slashed one rope, bounded over and slashed the other one.
The lean-to collapsed. Iron Kettle screamed.
Hairy stepped to the edge of the cutbank and roared. Roared like a griz, shook his fists, and jumped up and down.
The bank collapsed. Hairy crashed into the water on his back.
Iron Kettle was still screaming. And battle cries were coming from somewhere.
Three Indians, probably teen-agers, ran out of the trees and jumped down the cutbank and grabbed Hairy. Hairy was still on his back, maybe stunned. They held him down in the shallow water.
Tal dropped to his knees and lifted his rifle.
An arm circled his throat. A knife point pricked the underside of his chin. A woman’s voice snapped, “Put it down.”
Tal laid his rifle down. A foot went onto it. A hand undid his belt, let belt and knife and pistol drop to the ground.
“Watch!” the woman’s voice commanded in Tal’s ear.
Iron Kettle crawled out from under the lean-to. She was bent over, holding her belly. She pointed at Hairy and the boys, yelling something in Crow. Then the English words, “Scalp him, scalp the bastard.”
Heck, she was laughing, uncontrollably.
The arm around his neck dropped away. The knife backed off.
One of the boys made a sweeping motion with his knife, held up Hairy’s luxuriant brown wig, and yelled, “Hi-yi-yi-yi!” The boys were whooping and slapping their thighs.
Hairy’s scalplock hung pitifully beside his ear, and his naked scalp gleamed in the sunlight.
A hand grasped for Tal’s right hand. He faced a woman, young, handsome, teeth gleaming in a big smile, eyes alight.
“Hello,” she said. “I am Pine Leaf, warrior woman of the Absaroka people.” Stupidly, Tal shook her hand.
Now Hairy was sitting up in the water, feeling of his sticky, shaven head, and staring at the face of Iron Kettle, who was cackling.
Pine Leaf modelled Hairy’s wig, and said she had no intention of giving it back. “If you keep a guard so poor,” said Pine Leaf, “you deserve.”
She picked up a rib and started gnawing, enjoying herself hugely. “Deserve?” She looked at Iron Kettle. Pine Leaf felt uncertain about the English she’d been picking up from Antelope Jim. Iron Kettle nodded. “Deserve.
“Sure, if’n I have such horses,” Pine Leaf went on, “I beg the Siksikas to steal them.”
The four boys were gorging themselves, and making eyes about the wonderful joke. They still had the Blackfoot moccasins on their feet. “I take what I like from the Siksikas, moccasins included,” said Pine Leaf casually.
She was a tall, strapping woman with broad, blunt features. A scar made a vertical line from one cheek to the corner of her mouth—it made a pucker when she talked. Some men would have thought her plain, mannish. Tal thought hers a face of barbaric magnificence.
She flipped the wig back to Hairy. “What’s a scalp without blood?” she said. She tried to rub the glue off her hands.
The fire was popping with the fat dripping from a spit full of deer ribs. The evening light in the valley of the Greybull River looked lavender, and long shadows lay on the grass. Does and fawns grazed on the benches above the river. Tal would have been stupendously happy except