corral.”
“You don’t s’pect trouble from them Injuns camped down in them trees?” he asked as Rankin followed the cannon through the darkened entry way.
“Naw. That’s Gray Thunder’s band,” Rankin’s voice echoed through the low, shadowy entry way. “They come in a week or so back—soon as they heard Charlie Bent was kill’t by the Mexicans. Offered to go kill greasers if William wanted ’em to.”
Bass waited till the three were swallowed by shadows, then reined his horse away. “C’mon, woman,” he said in English to his Crow wife. “We’ll settle in for the night. Come morning, I’m fixin’ to pay a call on that Cheyenne camp. Maybeso scratch up some news ’bout a old friend of ours.”
“I will stay behind with the children when you go,” Waits spoke emphatically. “Cheyenne are not so much friends with my people.”
“Better I go down there by myself anyway,” he agreed. “See what sort of mood them Cheyenne are in afore I go asking up about that ol’ friend.”
“Who is this?”
“You ’member the one about as tall a man as you ever seen?”
She thought a moment as they brought their ponies to a halt outside the narrow east gate. Then a grin crossed her face ruddied by the cold. “Shad-rach,” she said slowly, deliberately, in her husband’s tongue.
“Shadrach Sweete,” he repeated as the gate was drawn back against the icy snow and Rankin was there with a candle lantern spilling its yellow patch on the snow around his feet.
“So where’s this Titus Bass?” a loud, deep voice boomed in the dark behind Rankin.
“Who’s asking?” Scratch demanded as he dropped from the saddle onto the snow and started his horse through the corral gate.
“Dick Green,” the voice said as a shadow took shape andthe huge, muscular man stepped up to the old trapper. He turned to hurl his voice over his shoulder, “As I live an’ breathe—if it ain’t him, Charlotte!” Then he was grinning at the old trapper, yanking on Bass’s arm as he trudged backward into the corral. “C’mon in here, bring them folks all in here now!”
The blacksmith’s big hand quickly seized hold of Bass’s mitten and pumped heartily as Green pounded Scratch on the other shoulder.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” a high voice squealed as a woman squirted out of the kitchen door, a low rectangle of light behind her. “It
is
the puppy man! An’ he brung him his fambly, Dick! Lookee if he didn’t bring his fambly—” Suddenly Charlotte Green lumbered to a halt on the ground trampled by moccasins and many a hoof, staring slack-jawed. “Why—is this them two tiny puppies you buyed from me?”
He watched her crumple to her knees in the snow, her ankle-length broomstick skirt fanning out around her as she began to pat the tops of her thighs and whistle as good as any St. Louis wharfside stevedore. “C’mere! C’mon over here, you li’l whelps!”
“This the woman who traded me for the dogs,” Titus explained to Waits as the dogs bounded over to the black cook.
“That is easy to see.” She turned and signaled through the open corral gate for the children to dismount, pointing them off to the right in this triangular-shaped corral strung along the full extent of the easternmost wall.
Watching the dogs lick the cook’s face, Scratch grinned, saying, “They sure as hell remember you!”
“What brung you back here for such a hoo-doo season?” Dick Green asked him as Rankin took the reins from Bass’s hand.
“We was down to Taos when the blood started running in the streets,” he explained in a near whisper. “Got out by the skin of our teeth.”
The big blacksmith wagged his head dolefully. “Figger to lay low here till it blows over, then head south again?”
Titus shook his head as Waits and the children came up beside him. “We’re here for a night, maybeso two at the most, then we push on.”
“Middle of winter the way it is?” Charlotte whimpered as she slowly brought her bulk
“You don’t s’pect trouble from them Injuns camped down in them trees?” he asked as Rankin followed the cannon through the darkened entry way.
“Naw. That’s Gray Thunder’s band,” Rankin’s voice echoed through the low, shadowy entry way. “They come in a week or so back—soon as they heard Charlie Bent was kill’t by the Mexicans. Offered to go kill greasers if William wanted ’em to.”
Bass waited till the three were swallowed by shadows, then reined his horse away. “C’mon, woman,” he said in English to his Crow wife. “We’ll settle in for the night. Come morning, I’m fixin’ to pay a call on that Cheyenne camp. Maybeso scratch up some news ’bout a old friend of ours.”
“I will stay behind with the children when you go,” Waits spoke emphatically. “Cheyenne are not so much friends with my people.”
“Better I go down there by myself anyway,” he agreed. “See what sort of mood them Cheyenne are in afore I go asking up about that ol’ friend.”
“Who is this?”
“You ’member the one about as tall a man as you ever seen?”
She thought a moment as they brought their ponies to a halt outside the narrow east gate. Then a grin crossed her face ruddied by the cold. “Shad-rach,” she said slowly, deliberately, in her husband’s tongue.
“Shadrach Sweete,” he repeated as the gate was drawn back against the icy snow and Rankin was there with a candle lantern spilling its yellow patch on the snow around his feet.
“So where’s this Titus Bass?” a loud, deep voice boomed in the dark behind Rankin.
“Who’s asking?” Scratch demanded as he dropped from the saddle onto the snow and started his horse through the corral gate.
“Dick Green,” the voice said as a shadow took shape andthe huge, muscular man stepped up to the old trapper. He turned to hurl his voice over his shoulder, “As I live an’ breathe—if it ain’t him, Charlotte!” Then he was grinning at the old trapper, yanking on Bass’s arm as he trudged backward into the corral. “C’mon in here, bring them folks all in here now!”
The blacksmith’s big hand quickly seized hold of Bass’s mitten and pumped heartily as Green pounded Scratch on the other shoulder.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” a high voice squealed as a woman squirted out of the kitchen door, a low rectangle of light behind her. “It
is
the puppy man! An’ he brung him his fambly, Dick! Lookee if he didn’t bring his fambly—” Suddenly Charlotte Green lumbered to a halt on the ground trampled by moccasins and many a hoof, staring slack-jawed. “Why—is this them two tiny puppies you buyed from me?”
He watched her crumple to her knees in the snow, her ankle-length broomstick skirt fanning out around her as she began to pat the tops of her thighs and whistle as good as any St. Louis wharfside stevedore. “C’mere! C’mon over here, you li’l whelps!”
“This the woman who traded me for the dogs,” Titus explained to Waits as the dogs bounded over to the black cook.
“That is easy to see.” She turned and signaled through the open corral gate for the children to dismount, pointing them off to the right in this triangular-shaped corral strung along the full extent of the easternmost wall.
Watching the dogs lick the cook’s face, Scratch grinned, saying, “They sure as hell remember you!”
“What brung you back here for such a hoo-doo season?” Dick Green asked him as Rankin took the reins from Bass’s hand.
“We was down to Taos when the blood started running in the streets,” he explained in a near whisper. “Got out by the skin of our teeth.”
The big blacksmith wagged his head dolefully. “Figger to lay low here till it blows over, then head south again?”
Titus shook his head as Waits and the children came up beside him. “We’re here for a night, maybeso two at the most, then we push on.”
“Middle of winter the way it is?” Charlotte whimpered as she slowly brought her bulk
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