Fair Land, Fair Land (32 page)

Summers rose, favoring his leg. "We will talk
again, my brother."

The air grasped at his lungs when he stepped outside.
A skim of snow, fallen during the day, cried underfoot. The northern
lights rose and fell and rose and wavered through the frost of his
breath. What did coyotes cry for?

Teal Eye was waiting for him, sitting by the side of
the fire. Nocansee had his face turned toward it as if he could see.

"What does Heavy Runner say?" Teal Eye
asked.

"
Nothing new."

"
Every night he wants to talk to you, and every
day nothing happens."

"
He is afraid and wants not to be. He thinks he
sees soldiers coming, then tells himself no."

"
He is an old woman. He could move camp across
the Medicine Line."

"
No use, it is said. It is agreed the soldiers
could cross the line. General Sully said so."

"
What do you think? Tell me," Teal Eye
asked.

"
Not to worry. If soldiers come, I reckon they
won't bother us.

"
You speak soft for me."

"
Now. Now. You asked, and I told you."

Nocansee said, "I feel things wrong."

"
A good rest, and you'll feel different. Let's
all get to bed."

He went to sleep thinking of good buffalo meat and
happy camps and old days on the beavered streams.

A shout woke him up, the end of a shout. It sounded
like "Wrong camp."

He scrambled to the flap of the tepee and looked out
into the gray dawn. Heavy Runner was trotting out there, waving his
friendship paper. He jerked to a halt and turned and fell as a shot
sounded. His paper fluttered away.

Figures sprouted up along the high rim of the river.
Fire flashed along it, and powder smoke puffed up to the crack of
rifles. Voices cried out in the tepees, voices of alarm, fear and
pain. A child screamed. A bullet tore a hole in Summers' lodge.

"
Down!" he shouted. "Down, both of
you!"

He crawled back. At the rear of the tepee he strained
to lift up the hide. "Get out, Teal Eye."

She didn't move. He saw eyes wide with fear, not for
herself.

"
Out through this hole. Quick!" He pushed
at her.

She said, "But you?"

"I"m white. You love me, you go."

"
Nocansee?"

"
Goddamnit, go, woman! Stick to the river bank.
Stick to the brush. Take the horse. Find Lije."

Nocansee said, "My mother, please go."

Summers threw a blanket over her shoulders, then
another. He pushed her through the hole. Above all the noise he heard
the faint rustle of her clothing against the brush. Summers saw that
his rifle was loaded and hid it under the robe that he sat on. A
soldier poked his head in the tepee and strained to see.

"
What the hell, a white man."

"
Yep."

The soldier's eyes found Nocansee. "There's one
that ain't."

"
He's blind."

"
Why waste a bullet?" The soldier reversed
his carbine and swung. The butt of it crushed Nocansee's skull. He
went over without a sound.

The soldier stepped back. He started to change his
hold on the rifle. Summers shot him in the head just above the eyes.

The soldier fell backward, half in and half out of
the tepee. His carbine skittered ahead of him.

No time to reload. Christ, for a repeater. Maybe he
could make it to the soldier's carbine.

A voice outside said, "Good God, one of our men
dead."

A head appeared.

Summers said, "He killed my blind son."

The soldier stepped in and fired. The bullet caught
Summers high in the chest. It knocked him back. The second shot went
in his belly.

A second soldier came in. "I got me a turncoat
son of a bitch," the first one said. "Killed his own kind."

"
Finish him off."

"
He's dyin'. Let him die miserable, long and
miserable."

They went out.

He didn't hurt, not much, not more than a man could
stand. The firing had died down to a shot now and then. There was the
sound of crashing and the smell of burned things, and he knew the
soldiers were yanking the tepees down over the live fires and the
dead bodies. Over all the sounds rose the wailing of squaws and the
crying of children and the voices of soldiers proud of themselves.

One of the soldiers shouted out, "Jesus Christ,
smallpox. Let's get the hell out." Pretty soon there was no
sound at all except the keening of squaws and the hard pound of
hooves.

Roundup of the horse herd.

He said, "Well, Nocansee . . ." not looking
at where Nocansee lay. The words came back to his ears in a whisper.
He couldn't bring the thought to his tongue. Now the thought was
gone. He said, "Well . . ." again.