Deborah Camp (3 page)

While checking her traps, Copper had watched Pierre’s slow approach astride his handsome U.S. cavalry mule. She’d spied him riding on the snowy valley floor, the mule picking its way over rocks and boulders before Pierre reined the reddish mount toward the ice-covered trees. The area she had chosen for her home had many advantages, the primary one being its natural fortress of cliffs and towering pines. The lay of the land provided numerous lookout points. The rock faces amplified sound. She could always hear or sense the approach of white men. Only soft-footed Indians surprised her from time to time, but usually they kept their distance, for the power of her medicine was known in every encampment.

A creek ran fifty paces from her door. During the winter months there was always enough snow to melt for water. A ways beyond twisted the Snake River and the big Yellowstone or Elk River. Rimming the valley below her perch were the mountains—the Crazy or Birdsong Mountains, the Rockies, the Tetons—all those jagged, snow-streaked peaks that her eyes never tired of seeing, admiring, loving. For she was of the mountain people; the Absaroka, the Crow, the People of the Great Bird.

Carrying the two rabbits she’d trapped, she
plunged through the snowstorm toward her cabin to receive her visitor. Pierre rarely stopped at her place, and she knew he must have news to make a trip in such weather. He was a lazy sort and usually hibernated during snow or rainy days, leaving work and daily chores to others.

He was buried in a collection of skins, and only his eyes peeked out at her as he reined Major before the cabin. Snow swirled, collecting in Major’s mane and in the furs covering Pierre. Copper pointed toward the stables. Pierre nodded his thanks and guided the mule to the protective stalls.

Copper waited for him. She stamped her feet and bowed her head so that the snow wouldn’t blind her. It was the first measurable snowfall of the winter. Copper guessed that this October storm would lay down five inches before it blew itself over to the Rockies and Tetons. More would come soon, making travel nearly impossible. It was always so when Father Winter visited the high country.

“Hiyah! Hiyah!” Pierre greeted her, trudging forward. “I bring somezing for you from zat Grizzly mon!”

Copper opened the cabin door and motioned for him to follow her inside where the fire in the hearth gave warmth and salmon light. Pierre bolted the door, then began removing his skins and dropping them into a furry heap. Even without the many coverings, little of his face showed around his full beard, mustache, and long hair. Bright eyes glinted from beneath heavy, dark brows. His lips were totally obscured by his droopy, damp mustache. He was a slight man, mostly bone and sinew, with a hook nose and oily skin. Copper poured hot cider into tin cups. She sat near the fire and set the cups on the stone hearth.

“Come, Pierre, and warm yourself. I didn’t expect
visitors today, but I’m glad to see a friendly face.”

Pierre’s squinty black eyes located the lump in the bed. “So, the mon lives?”

“He does. Getting better, I believe. He still has fever, but he’s been resting peacefully today.” She listened to her charge’s regular breathing, punctuated by an occasional snore. It had been three days and he hadn’t regained consciousness. But this was the first day he’d snored, and she took this as a good sign for it meant he was sleeping, not drifting in that netherworld. “You’ve seen Grizzly Gus?” she asked, surprised. Pierre usually camped near his wife’s Gros Ventre people to beg for scraps and favors.

Pierre rummaged through the furs he’d discarded. “My lodge is weezen shouting distance of him. We will trap together zis winter.”

“Why aren’t you camping with the Gros Ventre?”

He made a bitter face. “Zose savages! Zey getting uppity. Zink zey can tell Pierre how to live his life. Who needs zem?”

Copper smiled to herself. So, the Gros Ventre had finally told Pierre to provide for his own family during the winter. It was about time. She was amazed it had taken the Gros Ventre council this long to reach such a decision. Scavengers themselves, they traveled light and were not in the least hospitable.

“Gus, he send you somezing. Ah, here it is!”

Copper released a cry of joy when Pierre held up the silver wolf skin for her inspection. She reached out, her fingers wiggling, craving a touch. Pierre handed it over. Copper rubbed her cheek against the soft hide and stroked the thick fur. Gus had done a good job tanning it.

“It’s beautiful. Just what I hankered for.” She folded the skin carefully and laid it aside. “I have
the knee-high boots Gus wanted in trade, but I’m still working on the mitts. I’ll send them later.”

“I tell him.” Pierre grinned, displaying tobacco-stained teeth. “You ready for zis long winter,
cherie
?”

Copper looked around at the cabin she’d stocked. “I believe so. Ready as one can be. How’s your trapping? I’m mostly getting rabbits. Haven’t seen a buffler, elk, or deer in days.”

“Zee trapping, she is slow,
cherie
.”

“Where’s Floating Flower?”

“Zat Gros Ventre woman is at zee lodge. She will give me anuhzer son in zee spring. Pierre keeps her busy,
oui
?”

“That’ll be your fifth child.” Copper pictured Floating Flower’s tired, young face. “You’ll have to add another lodge for your children soon, Pierre.”

“Zat’s right!” His black eyes twinkled. “Zee wife, she is sewing another.”

“Or you could build a cabin for your family.”

Pierre wrinkled his nose in distaste and scratched at his thick, black beard. “Zat would tie me down. Pierre likes zee freedom.” His gaze shifted to the man snoring softly in Copper’s bunk. “Zee Gros Ventre Injuns want zat mon, cherie. Zey would make good trade for him. Zey counted coup on him, but zen he vaneeshed!”

Copper sipped the hot cider. “They know I have him. Two scouts followed my trail after I dragged him here.”

“Don’t you want to know what zis mon did?”

“What did he do?”

“He and some uhzer white men, zey stole horses from zose big belly Injuns. Zey snuck into camp and zey take ten, twenty horses.”

“Then they’re stupid, stupid men.” Copper blew on the cider, cooling it. “Did the others die?”

“Zey did. Not pretty. Floating Flower says her
people wonder why Copper Headed Woman wants zis mon.”

“I don’t want him, but I couldn’t leave him out there.” She eyed the snoring bundle, her spirits lifting hopefully. “But maybe finding him like that is good fortune for me. I could use a man this winter.”

“What if zis mon is a bad mon?”

“Then he’ll have to leave. His choice.”

“Zis mon, it is said, escaped from prison.”

Copper took a moment to mull over this information. “And who gave you this news, Pierre?”

“Zat Crazy Clint at zee trading post. He heard zis from zee army officers. Zat mon and zee uhzers, zey are deserters and were put in zee prison, but zey got out and head for zee hills.” Pierre downed the last of the cider and smacked his lips. “Zere is a reward,
cherie
. Zee army will pay it.”

Copper sniffed at that. “If the army wants this man, they can track him themselves. I won’t do their work for them.”

Pierre slapped his leather-covered thighs. “Tell you what. I will take zat man to zee fort for you. I will split zee money wiz you.”

She studied Pierre’s crafty expression over the rim of the cup and saw more than Pierre wanted her to see. “I didn’t give the man my medicine so that the army could kill him, Pierre. If I wanted him dead, I would have left him for the Gros Ventre warriors.”

“You can use the reward money,
oui
?”

“I can live without it.”

Pierre twisted around to scowl over his shoulder at the other man again. “Why do you want to keep zis man? He will be trouble for you zis winter. He will eat your food, sleep in your bed, take up your time. He will probably beat you when he is able to stand.”

She averted her face to stare at the leaping
flames. Pierre had come to make money off her discovery. She’d wondered why he had traveled to her hovel on such a day. A lazy man, he would have sent his Indian wife on any errand, unless money might change hands. She felt sorry for poor Grizzly Gus, having Pierre as a neighbor this winter. It couldn’t have been Gus’ idea to trap with Pierre, for Gus was a lone wolf who needed no constant companion.

“Zis mon was in prison. He can’t be a good mon,
cherie
. I take him today, so you be rid of him.”

“No, you’ll leave him be. I’ll hear his side of the story before I decide what to do with him.”

“He won’t tell zee truth to you.”

“He might.” She gathered her blanket shawl more closely about her shoulders. “I’ll hear him out and then I’ll trust my gut.”

“Zee Gros Ventre will be watching.”

“I think it would be good to whisper in the wind that this man died.” She slanted Pierre a meaningful glance.

Pierre tugged at his beard. “Zey would want proof. A scalp. An ear. Somezing personal.”

She nodded. Yes, he was right. A sign … what could she …? She smiled as an idea took root. “I will give them proof.”

“What?”

“They’ll see it and know,” she said, keeping her own counsel. “If he gives me trouble, I’ll set him to wandering. You can have him then, but not before.”

Pierre lowered his thick brows, thoroughly exasperated with her. It rang in his voice. “You don’t have enough to keep you busy wizout tending to zis mon?”

“Like I said, maybe he’ll help me this winter.”

“Me and Gus will help you,
cherie
.”

“Gus is old, and you should tend to your own wife.” She stood and fetched the knee-high moccasins
she had made for Gus. “Tell him I’ll have the other goods ready soon.” As she’d hoped, Pierre took this as a farewell gesture.

“You are one stubborn woman,
cherie
.” He pushed to his feet and yanked the footwear from her hand. “I hope zis mon does not bring you much woe.”

“I’ll be fine, especially if word is carried that he’s dead. You think you could whisper this in the right ear?”

Pierre sighed and began burying himself in his many skins. “I will tell zis to my wife. She is good at flapping her lips and will carry zis story to her people.”

Copper smiled. She opened the cabin door for the swirling snow and Pierre’s departure. He collected his army mule, which he had found wandering in a coulee last year. He was careful not to ride Major near the fort. Pierre twisted around in the saddle to wave, then snow swallowed him and his confiscated mule.

When she had bundled herself against the elements, Copper stomped from the cabin to the shed for her shovel and pickax. She carried them with her, stepping off fifty paces from the cabin. Gritting her teeth against the cold, she located two sturdy sticks and lashed them together with a leather thong to fashion a crude cross. She squinted against the blowing snow and carefully surveyed the area, watching for any sign of other humans. When she was satisfied, she pounded the cross into the ground. She hoped it snowed inches and inches to cover the area and discourage close investigation. Like most Indians, the Gros Ventre stood apart from the dead, reluctant even to speak their names for fear of calling back evil spirits. Copper counted on that fear of bad medicine and vengeful ghosts. With luck, they wouldn’t notice until spring that the ground in front of the cross had not been disturbed.

*  *  *

Minutes before sunup they came snooping around her cabin. Patrol scratched at the door, his signal to his mistress that something or someone stirred outside. She had named him well, for he slept most of the day and patrolled at night, sniffing out intruders, alerting Copper to anything on the property that shouldn’t be there.

Rising from her warm cocoon of skins, Copper spoke through the door, sending Patrol to the stables to protect the stock. Sentry, the black-and-white herding dog, bristled and paced. Copper let him outside to stand guard at the door. She had trained him to keep quiet on command, emitting a low growl only when directly challenged. He crouched in front of the door, ears back, teeth glistening as he caught scent of the interlopers, who were moving on silent feet through the copse of trees.

Inside, Copper went to one of the holes she’d bored in the cabin walls. Shifting aside a metal disc to reveal the hole, she peered through it while her hands busily loaded a repeater rifle. Her heart hammered, but she kept her hands steady, her fingers nimble. She released an easy breath when the rifle was fully armed. Uncovering a lower hole, she poked the tip of the barrel through it and curled her finger around the trigger.

The man in her bed snored softly. Copper knew the dawn visitors had come for him.

She counted five figures floating in the morning mist, darting light-footed from tree to tree for cover: Gros Ventre scouts, dressed in winter leggings and shaggy buffalo shirts, symbolic feathers woven into their thick braids, red chevrons painted on their cheeks and chins to ward off her legendary powers. Their breath escaped in puffs of white smoke, making ripples in the sparkling mist. Sentry thumped the door with his wagging tail, showing no fear.

It was a game to him, Copper thought, but not to her. She caressed the trigger with her index finger and hoped the braves wouldn’t provoke her. The man snoring in the bed behind her wasn’t worth a war with the Gros Ventre. But she knew these people, and that knowledge made her increasingly wary. The Atsina, Gros Ventre, were thieving dogs. She couldn’t imagine them not trying to steal her stock.

The eerie morning light poured over the tallest brave’s face, and Copper narrowed her eyes in recognition. Feet Like Wind! His name had risen among these wandering people, and many thought he would be the next Gros Ventre chief and perhaps their last hope, for their tribes were growing poorer and poorer in this changing land. While the white people fought their bloody war, brother against brother, more and more trickled into the land of the red man to find peace. In this, the white man’s year of 1864, it was said that the war would soon be over. It was also said that even more white people would pollute the high country once the cannons in their own lands fell silent.