The Canyon of Bones Read Online Free PDF Page B

advise?”
    â€œI would suggest to them that you are a storyteller, sir. That you want to see everything so that you can tell true stories to your own people. That you keep a journal, just as they keep their histories painted onto a sacred buffalo robe. They call it the winter count, and each year is named and remembered. One year, when there was a great meteor shower that awed us all, they remember as the winter of the falling stars. That’s what I propose.”
    Mercer smiled, revealing even white teeth in the chiseled, lively face. “Good, sir. Maybe they’ll put down this year as the winter of the storyteller.”
    Skye smiled. The man was not without a certain conceit.

    â€œVery well, then.” He eyed the teamsters. “By all means, join us,” he said.
    Skye hiked across the meadow, feeling the thick grass tug at his steps. Or was it just a sudden weariness or reluctance? He wasn’t sure he wanted to introduce this amazing man to anyone.
    But the headmen saw Skye coming and waited in their circle to welcome him and the other Europeans. Skye paused. It was necessary that he be summoned or invited before he proceeded. The Big Robber examined Skye’s entourage, and addressed Skye: “You have brought strangers to us?”
    â€œI wish to make them known to you so that the People will know who is among us.”
    â€œThat is good. Bring them forth.”
    Skye brought them to the edge of the circle of the elders and chiefs, and in the Absaroka tongue introduced each man.
    â€œMister Mercer comes from across the big water, where I come from, and is a storyteller. He makes it his business to see this world, which he has not seen, and meet your people, learn their ways, and then tell these stories to his people. He records what he learns. He is eager to learn of your people.”
    â€œAnd we will be eager to hear his stories. Welcome them. Let them live among us. Tell them to come and tell us stories this night. We will listen. You will translate.”
    Skye turned to Mercer and his teamsters. “They welcome you. They give you the freedom of the village. They ask that you come this evening and tell them stories.”
    â€œI will do that. I will tell them about Africans, or Asians, or crossing the waters in a sailing ship, or a dozen other things. I take it you’ll translate?”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œWe’re in your hands, Mister Skye.”

    With the introductions concluded, Skye returned to Mercer’s camp and then excused himself. The truth of it was that in the space of an hour, Mercer had worn him out. Skye could think only of a nap, a rest, an escape from that crackling energy that had engulfed him from the moment he approached the explorer.
    He wandered across the meadow intent on rest. Jawbone spotted him, cantered up, and started to butt Skye.
    â€œAvast!”
    Jawbone snorted. Someday this free-ranging horse would get himself into serious trouble with these people, Skye thought. But the animal simply would not stay in the herd.
    Skye plodded to Victoria’s lodge and stumbled inside. Jawbone poked his nose in, checked to see what was what, and retreated. Skye tumbled into the robes, utterly drained and not knowing why. It was not yet evening. Nothing had happened other than an encounter with a man who radiated energy, yet seemed to draw energy out of Skye. What was it about Graves Mercer? Skye couldn’t say. Mercer was one of those men who walked along the knife edge of life and yet was rarely in trouble. But there was always a first time, and maybe Mercer’s plunge into this world would be a first time.
    Skye felt almost drugged, and lay gratefully on the robes until Victoria slipped in, squinted at him, knelt beside him, and pressed a hand to his forehead.
    â€œDammit, are you sick?”
    â€œNo, just worn-out.”
    â€œThat ain’t like you.”
    â€œI just am, that’s all.”
    â€œI saw you with