The Devil's Paintbox (14 page)

The Indians debated a long time over “The Grasshopper and the Ants.” Yes, they agreed, one had to store up food over the summer to last the winter.

“But the grasshopper was playing music,” Tupic pointed out. “The ants should have been grateful for that. It makes their work easier. What good is just living without music and celebrations?”

“Well, what if he wasn't playing music for them?” Aiden said. “What if he was just playing for himself?”

Clever Crow spoke and Tupic translated. “He says—it is
not the job of human being to live long, but to live well. If the spirits give you music, you must live music, and if music becomes your death, it is a good death.”

“What about the ants?” Aiden pressed. “Are they bad because they only wanted to work and live through the winter?”

“No,” Clever Crow said. “They are just ants.”

When they finally lay down to sleep, Aiden's head was spinning. He wondered what Maddy was thinking right now and whether she could sleep. In all his life he had never spent a night away from her. He had watched her grow up, the only baby he'd ever known to grow up and not die. He shifted around on the bed of grass and stared at the stars. Did the Indians miss their families? Did Jefferson J. Jackson miss his? Aiden knew nothing at all about Jackson's family, or whether he even had one. He lay awake a long time with his brain churning, thinking he would never sleep, but suddenly he awoke to blazing sunshine, a rough shake on the shoulder and an urgent whisper in his ear.

ake up!” Tupic knelt beside him. He looked tense and worried. “Get up now, be ready,” he said quietly. Aiden squinted at the sun. It was at least two hours after dawn. He never slept this late in the wagon train.

“Ready for what?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Something is coming,” Tupic said. “Silent Wolf says it is army. Clever Crow says maybe buffalo.”

“What do you mean?” Aiden sat up. “How do you know?”

Tupic looked puzzled. “Don't you feel the ground?”

“No,” Aiden said, still groggy.

“Can't you feel it here?” Tupic patted his chest. “Or here?” He put his hand on his jaw.

“I don't think so.” Aiden yawned.

“Trust me, then,” Tupic said. “Hurry. If it is army, we must hide.”

“Why?”

“So they don't shoot us!”

“The army won't just shoot you.”

“We will go into the water. The old riverbank will hide us. Hurry.”

Aiden pushed aside the blanket and got up. Whatever the threat was, buffalo or army, he felt especially vulnerable half-naked, in nothing but his tattered pants. He saw Silent Wolf packing up the horses and Clever Crow covering up the ashes
from their fire, working fast to obliterate any traces of their camp.

“Why are you afraid of the army?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Have you done something?”

“Yes, we have done something,” Tupic said sharply. “We were born Indians.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Soldiers don't need a reason to shoot us! Now come on!” He grabbed Aiden's arm.

“Stop!” Aiden wrenched free, his worry turning quickly to fear. What were these three actually doing out here? “Wait—why were you at the crossing yesterday?” he asked. Was it really just coincidence? What if the Indians had planned to lure them off the trail all along? Aiden thought. What if they had led them down here to rob them? Or worse?

“I told you, we are traveling.”

“From where? Your land is hundreds of miles from here.” Aiden backed away. “Is this some kind of Indian trick?”

“Yes,” Tupic said coldly. “Big Indian trick. We make the river flood so you can't cross in the usual place. Then we bring you here, where a hundred savages hide behind all the trees.” He waved his hand toward the empty prairie. “We want to steal your mules because our horses are too fine, and your ugly white women so we can breed stupid children! Like you!”

Clever Crow hissed an admonition. Aiden didn't know what to think now. The Indians had treated him well, but they were still Indians. Maybe they hadn't been planning to ambush the wagon train, but if soldiers were after them, they might get desperate. Still, what could he do? Fighting would
certainly be useless, and he could hardly outrun their horses. Maybe he could get to the river—even partway across he might be safe. The river was exposed and the Indians wanted to hide; they wouldn't risk being seen chasing him. Compared to his struggles yesterday swimming across here would be easy. The low morning sun sparkled on the water. Before he could run a step, Aiden was flat on his back with Tupic's knee on his chest.

“Now, that
is
Indian trick!” Tupic snapped. Out of the corner of his eye, Aiden saw Clever Crow and Silent Wolf leap on their horses and ride toward them with Tupic's pony alongside. There was a quick, angry exchange. Aiden squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for the blow that would kill him.

“Leave him!” Clever Crow said. Tupic jumped up. With his back pressed against the ground, even Aiden could feel the vibrations now. Whatever was coming was almost upon them. Tupic threw himself into his saddle and glared at Aiden. In his eyes Aiden saw no anger, only sadness and confusion.

Suddenly a herd of pronghorn, a dozen or more, burst over a rise nearby. They startled at the sight of the horses and darted toward the river, then turned again at the water, scattering along the bank in confusion. The Indians reined in the ponies. Tupic shouted something at his cousin. Aiden did not have to understand their words to feel the wave of relief.
It was only pronghorn!

Silent Wolf pulled out his bow, expertly turned his pony, galloped alongside one pronghorn and quickly fired an arrow cleanly through its chest. Tupic fumbled for one of his own
arrows as he followed. Silent Wolf whipped out another arrow and his nimble pony turned easily toward a second target. Tupic shot but missed. Then Clever Crow gave a short, shrill whistle of alarm. Aiden turned and saw four soldiers galloping over the little hill.

One of the soldiers, caught up in the hunt, chased wildly after the pronghorn, firing shot after shot, but the others quickly reined in their mounts when they saw the Indians. Aiden saw alarm and fear on their faces. Tupic's horse, frightened by the gunshots, began to rear and jump. Tupic struggled to control it. Clever Crow reined his horse to a stop, and Silent Wolf rode to his side. The first soldier shot one prong-horn cleanly through neck. A jet of bright blood shot out of the wound. The soldier gave a great whoop of triumph and fired at another pronghorn. That animal fell with a terrible cry, merely wounded. Only then did the soldier notice the Indians. He yanked his horse around and galloped up to the other soldiers. He was a small, thin man with broad, knobby shoulders and a sharp fringe of greasy black hair stuck to his forehead. There were sergeant's stripes on his filthy uniform jacket. The other soldiers were all privates and looking to him for orders.

“Well, lookee here, boys!” he crowed. “We got us some Injuns.”

“We do not fight,” Clever Crow said calmly, his hands in the air.

The sergeant looked surprised to hear him speak English. “No? What about you, scar face?” he taunted, riding in close to Silent Wolf. “You wanna fight? You ugly enough I might put a bullet through your head just to save any more looking at
you!” One of the other soldiers laughed. Clever Crow spoke to his son, and Silent Wolf reluctantly raised his hands. Tupic's horse shied and he patted its neck. Two soldiers immediately pointed their guns at him.

“Get your hands up, boy!” the greasy-haired sergeant shouted.

“I calm the horse,” Tupic said. “We do nothing wrong.”

“Yeah, well, I know your Injun tricks!”

Aiden winced to hear the same ugly accusation he had made himself just moments ago.

“Keep your hands up where I can see them!”

As Tupic slowly raised his hands, the sergeant jabbed him hard in the ribs with the muzzle of his rifle. Tupic almost fell off but made no sound and showed no sign of pain. Then a commanding voice thundered from the bluff behind the soldiers.

“Halt!”

Galloping over the rise were a dozen more soldiers, led by a lieutenant atop an enormous and stunning chestnut horse. The lieutenant was a plump little man with a face pink as a boiled ham and shocking orange hair that frizzed wildly from beneath his hat.

“Lower your weapons, boys,” he said calmly, his deep, booming voice incongruous with his physique. He looked for all the world like a gnome out of a picture book, Aiden thought. While most men were fat in certain places, in the belly or the face, this man was plump all over. His fingers were sausages, his wrists like bread rolls. His calves oozed over the tops of his shiny boots. There were pads of fat behind his ears, which pushed them out slightly. Despite his odd and somewhat comical appearance, however, he rode very elegantly.

“Looks like we've gone a bit sideways here, boys,” he said
calmly. “So let's all catch our breath and live awhile more, what do you say?” No one said anything, but the tension did ease somewhat. He looked very intently at the Indians, like a dressmaker sizing them up for fit and style. The silence was pierced by the terrible cry of the dying pronghorn.

“Sergeant Todd,” the lieutenant said, “see to that animal, please.”

The black-haired sergeant reluctantly left off tormenting Tupic and rode over to the wounded antelope. Now the lieutenant turned to Aiden, quickly surveying him from head to toe with eyes pale as milk.

“What are you doing here with these Indians, lad?” he asked. “Have you been captured?”

“Captured? No!”

The dying pronghorn gave one last cry; then a shot echoed across the prairie. “Don't be afraid, lad. We're here to help you. Are your people nearby? Have they been hurt?”

Aiden remembered the sound of Silent Wolf's arrow zipping inches from his head the day before. He knew all he had to do was say the word and the soldiers would arrest the Indians, if not outright kill them. More soldiers began trotting over the rise, alerted by the shots. All of them grew visibly tense at the sight of the Indians.

“No,” Aiden said. “No one is hurt. These Indians are—” He hesitated. Trust them or not, he had to decide now. The soldiers looked twitchy and eager to shoot at the slightest movement. “They're friendly. They're guides,” he said. “For our wagon train.”

The lieutenant looked around. “What wagon train?”

Aiden waved his hand toward the river. “They're on the way. They should be here by noon, I expect.”

“I'm not sure I understand, boy. If you're with a wagon train, what are you doing out here all alone with these Indians?”

Aiden scrambled to make his explanation work. “We tried to cross at the usual ford yesterday, about ten miles upriver. Only, the water turned out to be too high. I swam across with the rope, then didn't want to swim back. The Indians knew the river had broken out the banks here.”

“And how did they know that if they were already with your wagon train?”

The lieutenant had tripped him up already.

“Well, they suspected, I mean. They know the land and how the river is, they suspected it would break out down here. That's why they're our guides.”

“Why were you swimming when these men could cross on horseback?”

“They couldn't,” he said. “I mean, ah, we didn't believe them at first. We thought we should use the regular crossing place. I—uh, I said I could make the swim, but it turned out the water was too fast. I got stuck on the other side, so they rode down on that side, crossed here, then rode back up to fetch me.” Aiden felt woozy with the tension of trying to make his fabricated story fit right.

“And they never thought to bring you a coat? Your shirt or boots?”

“No,” he said lamely. “They're Indians.” He rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated shrug, as if to say
What do you expect?

“Guides, you say?” The lieutenant's piercing gray eyes did not give away what he was thinking.

“Yes, sir. They're Nez Perce, sir. Nez Perce are peaceful,” he added.

“No Indians are peaceful out here these days, lad.” The lieutenant's mouth made either a slight smile or an involuntary twitch, showing a tiny ridge of very white teeth. “What's your name?”