Longarm - Longarm. Part 15

"On what charge, ma'am? If there was a law against religious notions I'd have to start with arresting Christian missionaries, which just might not be such a bad idea, considering some I've met."

"But this Paiute's selling crazy charmed shirts he says can stop a bullet!"

"Well, who's to say they can't, as long as no Indian does anything to get his fool self shot at? The danger as I see it ain't in wearing a lucky shirt. It's in wearing it on the warpath."

Caldwell shook his head and said, "My Ute are a pragmatic people. Besides, who'd buy medicine made by another tribe?"

"The Pine Ridge Dakota for openers. This Paiute priest, prophet, or whatever has been selling his shirts mail-order."

"Oh, the d.a.m.ned Sioux can't be serious about it. They've been whipped too many times. And besides, why should they think the magic of another tribe would be any good to them?"

"Don't know. I ain't a Dakota. Sitting Bull has said much the same about the crosses and bibles the Catholic mission at Pine Ridge has been distributing."

"That's not the same. Christianity is not an Indian superst.i.tion."

"You're right. It's what us whites call good medicine."

"Longarm, if you intend to start another religious argument..."

"I don't. I'm outnumbered two-to-one, hereabouts. I've pa.s.sed on my information. You folks can do what you've a mind to with it."

"I thank you for it, and I'll keep an eye peeled for those crazy bulletproof medicine shirts, but I'm certain we've seen the last of Indian uprisings in this century."

"Maybe. 'Bout thirty, forty years ago another white man collected some information on another kind of Indian. He was an Englishman named Burton, but he was sensible, anyway. He told Queen Victoria's Indian agents about some odd talk he'd picked up from some heathen informants. They told him they knew better. British India had seen the last of Indian risings, too. Couple of years later the Sepoy Mutiny busted wide open and a couple of thousand whites got killed."

He excused himself and got up from the table to let them ponder his words of cheer as he left. Outside, the night was filled with the monotonous beat of a dog-skin drum as Longarm sauntered back to where he'd left his "guests."

A circle of Ho women were around the fire, arms locked, as they shuffled four steps to the left, followed by four steps to the right. Longarm hunkered down by the widow Stover's blanket and observed, "I told you there wasn't all that big a shucks to it, ma'am."

"How long do they keep that up?" she asked.

"Till they get as tired of it as we already are, I reckon. I've seen it go on all night."

"Is that all there is to it? Neither the beat nor the dance step varies. If you could call dragging your feet like that dancing."

"Indians set great store by repeating things, ma'am. The number four is sacred to the spirits. They think everything either should or does happen in fours."

"Where'd they get such a fool superst.i.tion?"

"Don't know. Where'd we get the notion of the Trinity and everything happening in threes?"

"I'm not a Roman Catholic, either. You said this was a fertility rite. I expected something... well, more pagan."

"Oh, they're pagan enough. But Indians don't act dirty about what comes natural. That drum beat's calculated to heat things up, if you'll listen to it sharp."

"What is there to listen to? That fool medicine man just keeps whacking it over and over, b.u.mp, b.u.mp, b.u.mp."

"You missed a beat. He hits it four good licks and starts over. The normal human heart beats just a mite slower than that drum. After a time, though, everybody listening sort of gets their own hearts going with that drum. Hearts beating faster heats the blood and, uh, other things. The fertility part just comes natural, later, in the lodges."

"You mean we're likely to see an all-night Indian orgy?"

"Nope. You won't see or hear a thing. They don't show off about such matters."

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I'm bored as well as tired and I'd like to get some sleep."

"I figured as much. If you'll allow me, I'll take you over to the agent's home and they'll bed you in a spare room."

"Oh? That's right thoughtful of you and your friends. I was afraid I'd have to spend another night on the ground in my blankets."

"No need to, ma'am. If you ask her, Portia Caldwell might work out a bath for you, too. Let me help you UP."

He rose, hauling Kim to her feet, and took her by an elbow to guide her toward the agency. Timberline suddenly appeared in front of them to demand, "Just what do you think you're up to, d.a.m.n it?"

"Don't think nothing. I'm carrying this lady over to the agency to put her to bed."

The big ramrod swung, saying something about Longarm's mother that he couldn't have possibly been informed about. Longarm ducked the roundhouse and danced backward, drawing his.44 as he sighed and said, "Now that's enough, old son."

"d.a.m.n it, if you was any kind of man at all you'd fight me fair."

"If I fought you with fists I'd be more fool than any other kind of man worth mention. You're too big for me and I'm too fast on the draw for you, so I suspicion we ain't able to have a fair fight, either way."

Kim Stover got between them and soothed, "Don't be silly, Timberline. He was only taking me over to stay with the married couple at the house."

"Oh? I thought..."

Longarm knew what he'd thought, but a man was wasting time to jaw with a fool. So he said, "We'd best get over to Portia Caldwell, ma'am. I got other fish to fry, this night."

Timberline tagged along, muttering under his breath, but he didn't do or say anything until they had all reached the porch of the agency. Kim Stover turned to him and said, "You'd best stay out here, Timberline."

"I mean to see you're safe, little lady."

"Safe? I'm under arrest, thanks to going along with this foolishness. If you're talking about this other man trifling with me, n.o.body knows better'n you I can hold my own on any front porch."

"I ain't leaving you alone with him."

Longarm said, "Yes you are. I'll go along with some showoff for the diversion of a lady, but she's just asked you to git, so you'd best do it."

Timberline didn't move away, but he stopped following as Longarm escorted the redhead up the steps. As he was about to knock, she put a hand on his sleeve and said, "One moment, sir. You didn't disagree when I just said I was under arrest!"

"Ain't polite to correct a lady, ma'am."

"May I ask what I'm under arrest for, now that you have your prisoner and the rest of us are left out in the cold?"

"You ain't half as cold as my prisoner is on that bed of ice, ma'am."

"I'm right sorry he got killed, but you know I never fired a shot at anyone!"

"Somebody did. Hit him twice, too. I ain't charging you with killing him, ma'am. Let's say you're a material witness."

"Dang it, I don't know who's bullets. .h.i.t that boy! Half the men with me were shooting at Cotton Younger!"

"I know. Obstruction of justice and killing a federal prisoner under a peace officer's protection could be taken seriously, but I'd be willing to overlook past misunderstandings, if that was all that happened."

"You mean you're still investigating the missing law men and the killing of Sailor Brown?"

"Don't you reckon I ought to?"

"Of course, but none of us knows anything about any of that!"

"There I go, correcting ladies again, but you're wrong, ma'am. Somebody either with you or headed this way knows more'n they're letting on."

"That may well be, but I don't see why you're holding me or the other innocent folks."

"Funny, Hungry Calf did, and he ain't been herding cows as long as you. What we're having here is a tally and cut, ma'am. My Indian deputies are still rounding up the herd. I suspicion some will come in willingly, on their own. By this time tomorrow I hope to be done marking and branding."

"And then my innocent friends and me will be riding out?"

"Maybe. Depends on who gets arrested. I'd best knock now. I've other ch.o.r.es to tend to."

As he knocked, the redhead demanded, "Are you accusing me of... something?"

The door opened. Longarm introduced the two women, and before he had to answer more questions, left them to work things out.

Timberline was still waiting, and this time he had his old hogleg out and pointing. Longarm said, "Oh, put that fool thing away, kid. No gals are watching."

"G.o.d d.a.m.n you! I ain't scared of you!"

"That makes us even. You'd best get back to the dance. The squaws'll be pa.s.sing drinks and tobacco in a while. They ain't supposed to have no liquor, but you'll likely get some pa.s.sable corn squeezings."

Timberline kept the pistol trained on Longarm as the lawman walked right past him. Timberline called out, "Stand still, G.o.d d.a.m.n it! I ain't done with you!"

Longarm kept walking. Timberline followed, bl.u.s.tering, "Turn around, G.o.d d.a.m.n it! I can't shoot no man in the back!"

Not looking back, Longarm said, "Not here, you can't. Ain't showing off without no audience, Timberline. We both know you're stuck on a reservation filled with friends of mine. You got no horse. You got no nerve to go with your brag. You keep pestering me and you'll have no gun. I'm coming to the conclusion you ain't grown up enough to wear sidearms, the way you keep carrying on."

Timberline holstered his gun, muttering, "One day we'll meet where you ain't holding all the winning cards, Longarm."

Longarm didn't bother to answer. He went near, but not all the way, to the fire, and took up a position where he could watch, standing back from the glow and the shifting shadows. He didn't watch the dancers. Once you watched the first eight steps of most Indian dances you'd seen about all that was about to happen. He watched the vigilantes and the little bounty hunter, Hanks, long enough to see that they didn't seem to be up to anything interesting, either. Foster wasn't near the fire. Across the way, Timberline had hunkered down by some of his sidekicks, scowling fiercely.

A soft female voice at his side asked, "Has Longarm a place to sleep this night?"

Longarm turned to smile down at a pretty, moonfaced girl of perhaps eighteen summers. Like other Ho women she wore a shapeless, ankle-length Mother Hubbard of cotton, decorated with quillwork around the collar. Longarm said, "Evening, Dances-Humming. Is my brother, your husband, well?"

"This person is no longer the woman of Many Ponies."

"Oh? Something happen to him?"

"Yes, he got older. This person is not a woman for a man who'd gotten old and fat and lazy. Many Ponies was sent home to his mother's lodge."

Longarm nodded soberly. He knew the marriage laws of the Ho well enough not to have to ask foolish questions. Some whites might say they were sort of casual about such things. He considered them practical.

On the other hand, while the man he knew as Many Ponies might be getting fat, he was big for a Ho and inclined to brood. The girl called Dances-Humming, while very pretty, had learned English from the last agent, the one arrested for mistreating the Indians. If there was one woman to be trusted less than a Denver's Street play-pretty, it was a squaw who spoke perfect English.

He said, "How come you ain't dancing with the other gals?"

"This person is tired of the old customs. They mean so little when our men grow fat and drunk on the Great White Father's allowance."

"Some healthy young cowboys, over by the fire?"

"This person has seen them. None of them look interesting. The last time you were here, this person was younger and you laughed at her childish ways. Since then, this person has learned how white women make love. Would you like to see how Dances-Humming can kiss?"

"Like to. Can't. It's against the law."

"The Great White Father's law, not ours. Come, we can talk about it in my lodge."

Longarm was about to refuse, but a sudden suspicion made him reconsider. Dances-Humming giggled and took his hand, tugging him after her through the dim light. He allowed himself to be led, muttering, "Sometimes there's nothing a gent can do but lay down and take his beating like a man."

Dances-Humming's lodge was not a tent. Like most of her people on the reservation, she'd been given a frame cabin neatly placed along the gravel street leading to the agency. The indians were furnished with whitewash, with the understanding that the Indians would paint their cabins. They never did so, not because they were shiftless, but because they thought it was silly to paint pine when the sun soon bleached it to a nice shade of silver-gray that never needed repainting.

Dances-Humming led him inside and lit a candle stub, bathing the interior in warm, soft light. The cabin was furnished with surplus army camp furnishings. The walls were hung with painted deerskins and flat gathering baskets woven long ago. Dances-Humming seldom worked at the old skills. Reservation LIFE was turning her and her people into something no longer Indian, but not yet white. Prost.i.tution had been unknown when the various bands of Ho had roamed from the Rockies to the Sierras in a prouder time.

Dances-Humming sat on a bunk, atop the new-looking Hudson Bay blanket. She patted the creamy wool at her side and said, "Sit down. This person's guest looks puzzled."

"I reckon I am. Last time I was here you said something about a knife in my lights and liver."

"This person was angry. You arrested a man who had been good to her and they made her marry an old man. But that was long ago, when this person was a foolish child."

She suddenly drew her legs up under her and was kneeling in the center of the bunk. She pulled the loose Mother Hubbard off over her head and threw it aside. She laughed, stark naked, and asked, "Has not this person grown into a real woman?"

Longarm said, "That's for d.a.m.n sure!" as he stared down at her firm, brown b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the candlelight. Then he sniffed and said, "My medicine don't allow me to pay a woman, Dances-Humming."

"Did this person ask for presents? What do you take her for, a wh.o.r.e?"

Longarm did, but he didn't say so. He said, "If Agent Caldwell caught us, he'd report me to the BIA."

"No, he wouldn't. He owes his job to you. Besides, how is he to know?"

"Well, you might just tell him."

"Why would this person do that?"

"Maybe to get a white man who riled you in trouble. You did say you'd fix me, last time around."

Dances-Humming cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in her hands and thrust the nipples out at him teasingly, saying, "Is this the way you're afraid this person will fix you?" Her voice took on a bitter shade as she added, "You are a white man with a badge. Do you think they'd take this person's word against yours?"

He saw that there were tears in her sloe eyes and sat beside her, soothing, "Let's not blubber about it, honey. You're just taking me by surprise, is all. I mean, I didn't know we were friends."

"You men are all alike when it comes to a woman's mind! Don't you know that a woman is a cat? Don't you know why a woman, or a cat, spits most at those who ignore her?"