Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (65 page)

 
          
 
"Easy, coon. That's the fever a-coming on
ye. Breathe easy, now. That's it, slow and careful. Relax, hoss. Take yer time
and think."

 
          
 
Richard swallowed hard and watched the
buffalo. His electric heart refused to still its pounding. The cow took a step,
lowered her head, and continued grazing. Richard could hear the grass tearing,
the grinding of her jaws, and the puffing of her breath.

 
          
 
Another step, and another, and he could see
most of her above the mat of grass and flowers.

 
          
 
"Cock the hammer," Travis whispered.

 
          
 
The click should have deafened God.

 
          
 
"Take aim," Travis continued.
"Set yer sights right ahind the shoulder joint. Low down ... way down.
Buffler hearts sit low in the body."

 
          
 
Sweat trickled down Richard's flushed face.
The heavy rifle seemed to waver like a snake in his grasp.

 
          
 
"Shoot!"

 
          
 
Richard flinched and jerked the trigger.

 
          
 
Nothing happened.

 
          
 
"Figgered that," Travis grunted.
"Now that ye got all the foolishness outa ye, pull the back trigger to set
the front one. And remember, when ye gets yer shot, she'll Hash in yer face.
Don't move a breath. Recoil ain't gonna hurt ye, and it all comes after the
bullet's been shot."

 
          
 
Richard settled himself, watching the front
sight blade in the V of the rear. It settled behind the cow's shoulder. There,
right there . . .

 
          
 
Pffft! Fire erupted in his face. Boom! The
Hawken butted his shoulder. Spat! He heard the bullet hit home.

 
          
 
"Don't move!" Travis growled, his
heavy hand already on Richard's shoulder.

 
          
 
"Are they running?"

 
          
 
"Nope. But ye hit her high, Dick. Lung
shot."

 
          
 
"Lung shot.''

 
          
 
Travis reached out and slipped the Hawken back
from Richard's grip, then slowly raised himself, heedless of the vicious
prairie rose.

 
          
 
Richard eased up, barely aware of the needling
thorns tracing angry patterns across his flesh. Travis was reloading, a crooked
grin on his face. Several calves who were close grunted and turned to look at
them.
Willow
reached out to pat Richard's leg, the
action more rewarding than a chorus of huzzahs.

 
          
 
The buffalo cow trotted off a few paces and stopped,
head down, the shod tail up.

 
          
 
"I didn't kill her?'' Richard asked
frantically.

 
          
 
"Reckon ye did, coon. But listen close,
Dick. Larn this. If'n ye shoots a critter and she don't drop dead, ye settles
down fer a second shot. The last thing ye do is go a-charging down there like a
runaway stallion, 'cause if'n that animal gets its blood up, it'll run halfway
to Mexico afore it falls over."

 
          
 
''So you wait?''

 
          
 
"Yep. Let the critter lay down and
stiffen up. Hell, I seen a feller chase a gut-shot antelope nigh onto five
miles once And if'n he'd just set tight for a short spell, that prairie goat
would a been dead in minutes."

 
          
 
"So we're waiting?"

 
          
 
"Yep. Not long, Dick. Ye hit her plumb
solid."

 
          
 
The other buffalo switched their tails and
watched the wounded cow for several minutes before dropping their heads to
graze. From where he sat, Richard could see bright red blood draining from the
cow's nose. She grunted, took another wobbling step, and dropped to her knees
before sinking onto the grass.

 
          
 
"Good shot,"
Willow
whispered happily, and took Richard's hand
"First buffalo?"

 
          
 
"The first." And Richard watched,
torn with remorse and an unquenchable pride. "But, Travis, shouldn't we
shoot her again?"

 
          
 
"What? And waste the powder? Dick, she's
dead. Ye gotta larn, thar ain't no store around hyar no place. Use only as much
as ye needs ter get the job done. There's times a mite of powder has to last a
coon fer a long spell."

 
          
 
The cow lifted her head, then dropped it.

 
          
 
"She's nigh gone under, Dick. Ye done
made meat."

 
          
 
The fever had drained away to leave him oddly
empty.

 
          
 
The cow's last hoarse gasp carried to his
ears; then she was still.

 
          
 
Travis rose to his feet, and as Richard and
Willow
stood, the other buffalo turned to stare,
some raising their tails and defecating.

 
          
 
"That's a warning," Travis said.
"Watch their tails. The more nervous a buffalo gets, the higher it puts
its tail. Like a warning flag that there's trouble."

 
          
 
As Travis spoke, the animals whirled, charging
away with a pounding of hooves. How many were there? Seventy? A hundred?

 
          
 
Richard followed Travis forward. To one side
lay the mounded shape of Travis's buffalo. It had pitched forward and fallen on
its side.

 
          
 
Reverently, he walked up to his cow.

 
          
 
"Careful, coon," Travis warned.
"Foller me. Cain't never tell when a critter's dead. I remember old Jonas
Farb. Why, he walked up and grabbed ahold of a bull's head that he'd shot. That
bull come to, flipped his head, and old Jonas, he had no place to go so he
jumped right a-straddle that bull's back. Let me tell ye, that bull stood up
and took off lickety-split fer parts unknown ... and there was old Jonas,
a-hanging on that hump fer all he's worth. By the time he got shut of that
bull, he's five days' walk from camp."

 
          
 
Richard nodded soberly, failing to see the
twinkle in Travis's eyes.

 
          
 
The cow lay dead, eyes wide, her nose planted
in a pool of foamy blood.

 
          
 
''My God, look how big she is!" Richard
spread his arms and gaped.

 
          
 
''Reckon yer a gonna find out just how big she
is, all right. Now the work starts." Travis poked the cow in the side with
his rifle. "Let's get her guts out. Hump roast and boudins fer dinner
tonight!"

 
          
 
Willow
placed a caressing hand on the buffalo's
back, then raised her arms to the sky and sang softly, the Shoshoni words
lilting in the air. When she finished, she walked over to Travis's animal and
repeated the gesture.

 
          
 
''What’s she doing?'' Richard asked.

 
          
 
''Praying fer the buff, or this child don't
know sign. Injuns figger that critters got souls. They thank 'em for the gift
of meat."

 
          
 
"I guess there's something to that."

 
          
 
Travis gave him a sidelong look.
"Rational, huh?"

 
          
 
Richard grinned and looked away. But inside,
he, too, said a prayer for the animal.

 
          
 
''Now what

 
          
 
Travis handed Richard his knife. "Slit
her around the neck just back of the ears and horns. Then cut her right down
the back to the tail. No, not that way. Yer just a-cutting hair. The edge has
to be under the skin, that, or ye'll dull yer blade till it won't cut a dry
fart."

 
          
 
Willow
had already begun work on the cow Travis
had shot. Glancing over, Richard couldn't help but admire the way she used a
knife, so practiced and efficient. Bent like that, her buckskin dress emphasized
the roundness oher hips and the slender lines of her back.

 
          
 
''Uh, reckon ye wouldn't mind watching what
yer a-doing? She's a right smart woman, I'll agree, but I'd rather ye kept yer
eyes on what yer cutting ... my fingers being so close to that blade.
Dick." Travis pulled the thick hide down while Richard blushed and severed
the tissue.

 
          
 
"Easy, coon. Cut along the hide, not into
the meat like a Yankee would."

 
          
 
"I've never done this before." The
exposed flesh was hot against his skin, the muscles still quivering. White
patterns of fat contrasted to the warm red of the meat.

 
          
 
When they had peeled the hide down, Travis
took the knife and began slicing cuts of meat. These he placed on the grass
until only strips of meat hung on the bloody bones.

 
          
 
"I'm gonna fetch the hosses and a
hatchet," Travis said before he turned and trotted away.

 
          
 
Richard picked at the clotted blood drying on
his hands. The flies buzzed in excitement around the carcass. How ephemeral
life was, the scavengers drawn so quickly to the dead.

 
          
 
He walked over to
Willow
, who still labored on the other cow.

 
          
 
She gave him a radiant smile, and he noticed
blood on her lips. "Meat!" she cried. "You are a hunter now, Ritshard.
You have killed a buffalo. Today is a special day for you."

 
          
 
"Special?"

 
          
 
"Special among my people." She
sliced another thin strip of meat and handed it to him.

 
          
 
He shook his head and she shrugged before
popping the treat into her mouth. He watched her jaw muscles working under
smooth brown skin. The sparkle in her eyes, the happiness reflected in the set
of her mouth, made his soul sing. "You don't cook it?"

 
          
 
"Of course." With a dainty pink
tongue, she licked a bloody morsel from her finger. "But for now, it is
food."

 
          
 
He bent down to help her. Unlike Travis, who
cut across the grain, she severed each muscle individually, cutting it loose
from the bone. Her deft abilities had already stripped the backstrap, hump, and
ribs.

 
          
 
She glanced at him, a curious smile playing
along her lips. "Do you always help women butcher?"