Sidewinder (10 page)

“Big hill. Make fire. Green wood. Make smoke. Village see. Bring horses. Bring braves. Pull travois. Take snakes to village.”

“I understand,” Brad said. “You were going to make me a map.”

“Wading Crow make map,” he said, and leaned the tied end of the travois against the trunk of a tall pine tree.

Brad wondered if he was going to use an animal skin to draw the map, the underside of a rabbit skin or a patch of deerskin, perhaps. Instead, Wading Crow walked over to a dry spot beneath a tree, scuffed away the pine needles until he had a patch of bare earth about two or three feet in circumference. He drew his knife from its scabbard. He cut a small branch from beneath a spruce tree, skinned it down to a bare stick. He sharpened one end to a point. Then he knelt down before the bare patch and, with the pointed end of the stick, drew a crude map. For their present position, he drew an inverted
V
. Then he drew a line and on either side he inscribed landmarks, ridges, passes. At the other end he drew a number of inverted
V
s to represent the Arapaho village.

“Three sleeps walk. Six sleeps drive cattle.”

“Six days,” Brad murmured. “Just follow the valleys and low ridges.”

Walking Crow nodded. “No big mountain on trail.”

“You want me to remember all this? I thought you were going to give me a map I could hold in my hand.”

“Secret village. No map in hand. Only here.” He tapped a finger to his temple, indicating that Brad should memorize the map.

“You don’t want people, white men, to know where your village is?”

“No. White man take red man to camp. Big camp. Make red man slave.”

“A reservation?”

“Big camp. No game. No fish. Bad place.”

Brad knew that a number of Indian tribes had been moved to so-called reservations, given a house, a hoe, and maybe a mule. Trouble was most of the places were where no white man would or could live. The Indians could not grow crops. They could not hunt or fish, and were entirely dependent on the white man for subsistence. So Wading Crow and his people must have been hiding out from white men for some time. He wondered how they survived the brutal winters in the Rocky Mountains.

Brad studied the crude map. Then Wading Crow took the stick and drew a large
X
on his dirt map and then a small scraggly line to another place where he put an even larger
X
. Then he drew a line from the big
X
to the path he had marked for Brad to follow when he drove the ten head of cattle to the Arapaho village.

Wading Crow pointed at the little
X
. “Albert,” he said. Then he jabbed a finger into the center of the large
X
. “This Sidewinder.”

Brad saw it all then, the Albert Seguin place where his cows had wandered, his own ranch, and a way to drive his cattle without coming back up the mountain to where the Arapaho and the Hopi had built their hunting camp.

“Good,” Brad said. “How did you know where my ranch was?”

“Me know. Me know heap.”

“You’ve seen my property?”

“Hunt long ago. Hunt deer. Kill many.”

“What about Seguin? Albert? Did you know him well.”

“Albert good friend.”

“I hope I can be your friend, Wading Crow.”

The Arapaho smiled.

He dropped the stick and gave Brad a hug.

“You good friend, Sidewinder.”

Wading Crow obliterated his map with the sole of his moccasin, kicked pine needles and dirt over the spot.

“Deer scrape,” he said.

Brad laughed. Then Wading Crow opened his fly and urinated on the spot.

“Deer scrape,” Brad said, and Wading Crow chuckled.

They walked back to the shelter together. Julio was digging out the saddles and bridles.

“I did not bring oats or corn for the horses,” he said. “Do we go home now?”

“Yes,” Brad said. “I’ll help you saddle up, Julio, after I awaken Felicity.”

“She is awake. She talks to Gray Owl.”

“I see you and your pistol survived the night,” Brad said.

Julio’s face twisted and collapsed in puzzlement. But Wading Crow got the joke, and he grunted what might be taken as a chuckle in his society.

“Never mind,” Brad said, and walked off with Wading Crow.

Gray Owl was teaching Felicity how to make sign. He showed her a man on horseback, and Felicity was delighted. Gray Owl made the sign for sun and water and mountains.

“Brad, why haven’t you taught me to speak in sign language?”

“I don’t know. Never thought of it I guess.”

“I know you learned from Red Bonnet, that Oglala drover you hired.”

“Some, yes.”

“I guess I was too busy being a cook when we came up here.”

“It’s not something you use all the time,” he said.

“But, it’s a wonderful way to talk.”

“Maybe more women should learn sign,” he said, and instantly regretted it.

“You mean you want women to keep their mouths shut?”

Brad held up both hands in surrender.

“I didn’t say that,” he said.

“That’s what you meant.”

“I’m sorry. It was a slip of the tongue.”

“At least now I know how you really feel about women,” she said.

“Whoa, Felicity. That’s not how I feel about women. Have I ever clamped a hand over your mouth to shut you up?”

“No, but you’ve told me to shut up often enough.”

“Only when I was losing an argument with you,” he said.

Felicity smiled.

“You’re forgiven,” she said, and jumped to her feet, wrapped both arms around him, and peppered his neck with kisses on both sides.

Brad’s face turned the color of a ripe peach as he pushed her away.

“Enough of that,” he said. “I’m going to help Julio saddle up. We’re riding back home.”

“I almost hate to leave,” she said.

“I’m going to pick out some good cattle for Wading Crow when we get back. Then Julio and I will drive them to his village.”

“So soon?”

“Probably leave in a week. Take us better’n a week to drive them there and get back.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said.

He waved a hand at her and walked out to help Julio.

They had the horses saddled within ten minutes, then led them back to the hut. Felicity was waiting outside. So, too, were Gray Owl and Wading Crow. Brad shook their hands and said good-bye.

Felicity said good-bye.

Julio just stood there, a blank expression his face.

“Aren’t you going to say good-bye, Julio?” Felicity asked.

“
Adios
,” he said, begrudgingly, Brad thought.

“
Adios, hermano
,” Wading Crow said.

Gray Owl said something in Hopi. Brad took it to mean either “good-bye” or “may the bad spirits take you to the Lower Place.”

The three mounted up and turned their horses. Felicity and Brad turned and waved good-bye and got waves in return.

“Julio, you were rude to those Indians. They saved Brad’s life.”

“I did not mean to be rude,” he said.

“So, you don’t like Indians.”

“No, I do not like them much.”

“Those were nice men. Weren’t they, Brad?”

“Very nice,” he said, hoping Felicity would drop it. She knew better than to argue with one of his hands.

And, to his surprise, Felicity said no more, and as they rode back to the place where the brindle cow had run off from the other cattle, the pain in Brad’s hand and the one on his head began to recede. There was sunshine, and the grass gave off a heady scent. The air smelled fresh-scrubbed and there were wildflowers all through the valley, giving off their aromas.

Just before they reached the ranch later that afternoon, Felicity broke her silence.

“Brad, Carlos and Julio found fresh horse tracks down by the creek and up in the timber before we left. Shod horses.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Somebody’s been watching the place.”

“Or counting the cattle,” Julio said, eager to be part of the family again.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Brad said, too sharply, he knew.

“What good would it have done? There was nothing you could do about it.”

“So, why are you telling me now?”

“I just wanted you to know. Oh, dear, I hope all our cattle are still there.”

Brad snorted.

“You could have waited all week to say that,” he said.

But the worry was on his mind now. After learning about the Seguin family, he didn’t feel so secure. He had picked a place far from city life so that he would not have to worry about cattle rustlers and such.

It seemed now that he had not settled far enough away from civilization and the greed of men who preyed on others for their livelihood.

He said nothing, but a feeling of dread began to filter into his senses. And, with the dread, perhaps a small amount of fear.

A pair of buzzards circled overhead as Brad, Felicity, and Julio rode toward the Storm house. The buzzards rode the air currents as if they were on wires, wings extended, heads moving from side to side. They were low and flapped their wings only to gain more altitude. But they kept circling.

“Something’s dead,” Brad said as he pulled on the reins, brought Ginger to a halt.

“
Conejo?”
Julio ventured.

“No, not a rabbit. Something bigger. They’d be on the ground picking a rabbit clean.”

Felicity climbed down from Rose, handed the reins to Julio.

“I’m going to let Curly out,” she said. “Take care of Rose for me, will you, Julio?”

“And see if you can find Carlos,” Brad said, stepping down out of the saddle. He pulled his rifle out of its boot and handed Ginger’s reins to Julio.

“I see him,” Julio said. “He is down by the creek. He is riding toward us. I will put the horses away.”

“Give them each a hatful of grain and a good rubdown, will you?”

“I will do this,” Julio said.

Felicity trotted to the house, climbed the porch steps, and opened the front door. Curly romped out and stood on hind legs to lick her face. Felicity laughed and pushed him down. She ran down to greet Brad and jumped up on him, tail wagging furiously. Then the dog ran to the well and lifted a hind leg.

Brad was relieved to see the cattle. They were grazing peacefully. He even saw the brindle cow, alone, separated from the others. She was still the independent spirit among cattle. That would be one he would take to Wading Crow’s village, he decided. She had already cost him much. But he had to admit, she had also given him new friends and, perhaps, a different perspective on life. He had felt at home in the Indian camp, oddly serene, in the world but not a part of it. Maybe the brindle was that way herself. There was a good deal to say for the simple life, away from civilization, away from greed and rage, competition and war.

He walked over to the porch and sat on the second step. He watched Carlos on his horse, picking his way across the field, passing through clumps of cattle that seemed indifferent to his presence, all contentedly grazing on good grass. Brad looked up and watched the buzzards dip and glide and swirl on their invisible carousels. The birds were graceful and silent as they sniffed and hunted for carrion.

“
Hola, patrón,”
Carlos said as he rode up. “
Qué pasa contigo
?”

“It is a long story,” Brad replied in Spanish. “What passes with you?”

“The three dogs they are dead.”

“All three? How?”

Carlos described how the dogs had behaved and said that he had to shoot two of them.

“Sounds like strychnine.”

“Yes. I think so.”

Felicity walked onto the porch and opened the door.

“What’s this I hear about the dogs and strychnine?”

“Pilar’s dogs are dead,” Brad said. “Poisoned, I reckon.”

“Oh my god.” Then she began calling Curly in a frantic voice. “Curly, here, Curly.”

Curly came loping around to the front of the house, ran up on the porch, tail wagging. “You get in this house right away.”

She and the dog went into the house.

“Did you find the poisoned meat, Carlos?” Brad asked, getting to his feet.

“No, I do not see the meat anywhere.”

“What’s this about horse tracks down at the creek and up in the timber?”

Carlos told him what they had seen.

“The tracks wash away in the rain,” he said.

“So, no fresh tracks today?”

Carlos shook his head.

“Did it look like someone was scouting out our cattle?”

“I think so,” Carlos said. “They sit in the timber for a long time. They do not ride by like travelers.”

“We’ll have to keep a sharp lookout. I see you’re wearing your pistol and have your rifle with you. From now on, we’re all going to be armed and ready.”