Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 (35 page)

"A few days at most."
 
He turned to his brother and took him by the shoulders, "But you must swear one thing to me.
 
If it takes more than a few days, even if I do not return at all, you must get home.
 
Do you understand?"

"But you will join us," Thathanka-Ska said.
 

It was time to stop treating him like a child,
Haienwa'tha thought.
 
"If I do not return, you will take these women back to our tribe.
 
You will tell the elders of what took place here.
 
And you will be a great Chief someday.
 
Better than Hoka-Psice, better than Thasuka Witko, even."

Thathanka-Ska pushed him back and said, "No!
 
That is your fate.
 
You were the one in the vision."
 
The boy's voice broke as tears formed in his eyes.
 
"After everything we've gone through?
 
I won't listen to that."

Haienwa'tha grabbed the boy's hands and held them to his chest, "Listen to me.
 
If there is one thing I've learned from all this it's that visions are flexible things.
 
Maybe going through the fire meant what I did, or maybe it meant you running through the lightning.
 
Maybe it meant something that hasn't happened yet.
 
I do not know, and I do not care.
 
Chasing visions around is something I no longer have time for.
 
In the end, I can only do what is right.
 
That is what I am asking you to do as well.
 
Only what is right."

"I will try," Thathanka-Ska whispered.
 

Haienwa'tha embraced the boy and said, "Go now, and do not look back."

***

Jem waited for him at the end of the path, giving him the respect of not intruding on his goodbyes with the others.
 
The young warrior kept his head down as he rode toward Jem, using his long dark hair to cover his face.
 
"I reckon I ain't gonna call you Squawk no more," Jem said.
 

He sniffled and said, "You gave me another name?"

"I like Haienwa'tha better.
 
Seems disrespectful to call you something else."
 

"Would you prefer I call you Jem Clayton instead of El-Halcon?"

"Absolutely not."

Haienwa'tha shook his head in wonder but did not speak.
 

"I know.
 
Wasichu, right?" Jem said with a quick smile.
 
"That's the thing about us.
 
We're full of complications."

Haienwa'tha pointed at the woman riding ahead of them and said, "I am surprised you let her come.
 
She could have gone with the others."

"There wasn't no
letting
her do it," Jem said.
 
"She basically told me what was going to happen and she put it in a way that I couldn't bring myself to argue."

"As you say.
 
You are full of complications."

"No, that ain't a wasichu thing, my friend. That's a regular man and woman thing.
 
You'll learn all about that in the near future, I bet."
 
He looked over at the Beothuk and said, "One thing's for certain, you're talking a lot more.
 
Last time I saw you, you wouldn't do much more than grunt a few words I could understand."

"I have been practicing," he said.
  

"That's good.
 
It shows, too," Jem said.

Haienwa'tha frowned as he looked the group over.
 
"There are so few of us.
 
If Toquame Keewassee has joined with the man who covers his face we will all die quickly."

"Maybe, maybe not," Jem said.
 

"What makes you so sure?"

Jem winked at him, "I been practicing too."

***

When the blood trail dried up, they searched for hoof prints on the shifting desert floor.
 
Jem stayed behind Haienwa'tha to let the boy cut sign.
 
The tracks followed the stream where the boys had first met the Hopituh-Shi-nu-mu, taking it all the way out until the patches of tall green weeds appeared along the banks.
 
Jem got down from his destrier to let his animal drink and he bent down to study the flow of the water.
 
"I bet this bottoms out at the Wabash."
 

"Does it come out this far?" Ichante said.
 

"It might.
 
I heard of an old miner's camp off the Wabash too."
 
He looked up at Haienwa'tha, who nodded grimly.
 
"If I'm right, it's probably only about four more miles away."

No one moved.
 
Father Charles cleared his throat, "If you all don't mind, I'd like to say a quick prayer before we go."
 
Everyone shook their head and the preacher closed his eyes and said, "Heavenly father protect us in our righteous endeavor to rid this land of something evil.
 
Make our hearts pure and our aim true.
 
In your name we pray, amen."
 
He looked around as everyone opened their eyes and said, "How was that?
 
Wasn't too bad, Jem, now was it?"

Jem clapped him in the shoulder on the shoulder and said, "You know, padre, I think you really put your finger on it."

"I hope you got a plan to go along with all them jokes.
 
Or were we just gonna waltz in there and start shooting?"

"I got a plan," Jem said.
 
He looked up at Ichante as she unloaded her guns and inspected them for debris by spinning the cylinders and pulling the trigger over and over.
 
"But she ain't gonna like it even a little bit."

"Whatever it is, I want to be right up front for it.
 
I want to look in that man's eyes and ask him what he did with my little girl right before I kill him."

Jem scratched his head, "Not to sound crazy or anything, but what good are you going to be in a gunfight?
 
It's not like you can shoot."

"Give me your shotgun and I'll be fine."
  

Jem looked at him and frowned, "I don't think so, old man.
 
By the time you get a shot off, we'll all be dead."

"Wanna bet?"

Jem folded his hands on his hips, "Bet what?"

"I bet I can hit any targets you set up faster than you can snap your fingers ten times."
 

"Any targets?"

"That's right."

"And what do I get if I win?"

"I'll stay out of your way until I'm needed."
 

Jem looked at Ichante who nodded slightly.
 
"And what if you win?"

"You have to let me stay up front."

"In the shit?"

"In the shit," Father Charles said.
 
"And you have to go to church with me."

"Forget it."

"Just once.
 
What are you saying no for if you're so convinced I'm gonna lose?"

"Fine.
 
Crazy old coot."
 
Jem walked around looking for things to serve as targets.
 
He found a few rusted cans and a discarded plate in the weeds and handed one each to Haienwa'tha and Ichante.
 
"We'll use these."
 
He walked toward the trees and set his can on the lowest branches.
 
"Can you see that far, grandpa?"

Father Charles shook the gun and said, "What's that, sonny?
 
You want me to shoot it while you hold it?"

Haienwa'tha put his can on the ground farther back from the tree, and Ichante stood holding hers.
 
"I'm going to roll it across the ground," she said.
 
She looked at the preacher and smiled, "I have faith in you."

Jem pulled his shotgun out of his saddle and said, "This here's a Winchester pump-action.
 
Once you pull the trigger, you gotta rack that slide back all the way and throw it out again.
 
It's got eight shells inside it."
 
He handed the gun to Father Charles, "Now everybody stand behind him before he starts shooting."
 
 

The preacher held up the gun and said, "Since I can't use my trigger finger, I'm gonna have to use an alternate."
 
He extended his middle finger in the air at Jem and said, "Guess I'll rely on this one."

"Real nice, preacher man," Jem said.
 
"In front of a lady and everything."

Ichante smacked Jem on the arm, "How dare you call me that."

"Say when, Sheriff," Father Charles said.
 

"Go!"

The preacher budged the butt of the shotgun's stock against his right hip for balance and hunched forward over the weapon, keeping it tight against his body as he fired the first round.
 
The first can exploded as he racked the slide back and shot at the second one, sending it ten feet into the air.
 

Ichante stepped forward and rolled her plate across the dirt, sending it past Father Charles' feet like a wheel.
 
"How many snaps you up to, Jem?" he said over his shoulder.

"I don't know."

The preacher racked the gun back and forth and fired three more times, leaving dozens of small holes in the plate as it skipped and skidded along the flat, dusty surface.
 
Father Charles lowered the weapon and turned around with a triumphant smile, "I guess that means you and me are going to church, boy.
 
Come on now, don't look so glum.
 
It's a lot of fun.
 
You get to sing hymns and join all your fellow worshippers in prayer.
 
It only takes about four hours.
 
Best of all, when you're dressed up in your Sunday best in a hundred and ten degree weather standing nut to butt with an hundred other folks inside a room no bigger than a shoebox you don't even mind the sweltering heat and flop sweat because it just makes you feel so good to be there."
   

Jem tipped his hat back on his head and said, "Suddenly it don't feel like surviving the day is the best outcome anymore."

Father Charles took a deep breath and started singing,
"Prayer is the key for the bending knee, to open the morn's first hours.
 
See the incense rise to the starry skies, like perfume from the flowers!"