like children around most white men.”
“Sure they do. That’s probably because every time they haven’t acted like children, lately, somebody’s shot at them! You take away my gun and smack me alongside the head every time I try to think for myself and I’ll act childish, too. But I wasn’t sent up here to tell you how to do your job for the B.I.A. I ain’t buttering up your, uh, charges, to steal your job, neither. You see, I ain’t about to track down a renegade hidden out amidst all these folks unless I get some of ‘em on my side.”
“You think you can talk the Blackfoot into turning the renegade in?”
“Well, one Indian did it. Now that I’m here, it’ll only take one more.”
“In other words,” Durler said, “you think some of the Indians are hiding him from us?”
“He has to be hiding somewhere. What else are the Blackfoot hiding from you?”
“Hiding from me? I don’t know. What would they be keeping from me?”
Longarm shrugged and said, “A reservation’s like a jail in some ways. There’re always things the cooped-up folks don’t want the warden, or the Indian agent, to know. If Real Bear was working for our side, Johnny Hunts Alone would be on the other.”
Durler nodded and said, “You mean the troublemakers might be hiding him from you. If only we knew who the troublemakers were.”
Longarm’s eyebrows rose a notch, then he frowned and asked, “Don’t you know which Indians are bucking you, Cal?”
“Not really. All of them seem a little sullen and none of ‘em come right out and say they aim to scalp me. I think some of ‘em might be drinking when I ain’t looking.”
“I smelled firewater when a couple passed me to windward, but you always have drinking on a reservation. It’s as natural as small boys smoking corn silk behind the hen house. How about Dream Singing? Gloria Two Women made mention of some Ghost Dancing her daddy was worried about.”
Durler laughed and shook his head, saying, “Oh, I’m not worried about that crazy new religion of Wovoka and his raggedy Paiutes. We got a notice about it from headquarters. The army says it’s not serious.”
Longarm looked disgusted and said, “Army didn’t think much of Red Cloud’s brag over in the Black Hills, either. ‘Fess up, Cal. Do you know if there are any Ghost Dancers on this reservation?”
Durler shot a sheepish glance at his wife, who seemed very interested in her fingernails at the moment. Then, seeing she wasn’t going to help or hinder, he sighed and said, “Damnation, Longarm, I’ve got over fifteen thousand sections of damn near empty prairie to cover!”
“I know. How much of it have you ever really looked at?”
“Not one hell of a lot, as you likely suspicion. But it ain’t as if I haven’t been trying to do my job! I’ve got six villages, a model farm, and more damn paper work than ten Philadelphia lawyers could handle! I’m putting in a sixteen-hour day and I’m still swamped, as Nan can tell you!”
His wife looked up to nod grimly as she muttered, “He’s up past midnight, every night, with those infernal books of his!”
Longarm looked away, uncomfortable with the message he thought he might be reading in Nan’s upset eyes. To steer the conversation away from a topic he thought might be getting under both their skins, he said, “I know you’ve a lot of corn to shuck, Cal. How are you getting on with the other white folks?”
“What white folks? We’re up to our necks in Blackfoot. They hate us for being white and the whites in town and over at the army post hate us for feeding the rascals. The only white who ever comes out here is the sutler who owns the trading post across the way. He comes when the spirit moves him, which ain’t often. I’m supposed to issue cash to my Indians, but Washington’s slow in sending it and the sutler doesn’t give credit.”
“I know the type. He likely has an uncle in Washington, too. It’s all cash and carry? No swapping for furs and hides or-? Never mind, that was a fool notion.”
Durler smiled thinly, glad to be able to pontificate on something he knew better than his visitor. He said, “Yeah, the Shining Times are gone and so are most of the buffalo. The Indians still hunt a mite. Not enough game left for trading the old ways. We give each Indian family a small cash allowance and the trading post sells ‘em the most expensive salt and matches this side of the Mississippi. Like you said, somebody likely has an uncle.”
“That council meeting Real Bear never made it to was something about missing livestock, wasn’t it?” the marshal asked.
“Some of the Indians complained of white cow thieves. Don’t know if it’s true or not. Along with the demonstration farm, which grows mostly weeds, we have a reservation herd, which sort of melts away as you look at it each sunup. It’s a toss-up who’s worse as a farmer—a Blackfoot or a cowboy. I know for a fact some of ‘em have run steers for private barbecues. There are a lot of hard feelings between us and the local whites, so it wouldn’t surprise me all that much if a few government cows wind up wearing a white man’s brand.”
“Surprise me more if they left you alone. What reservation brand have you registered with the territorial government?”
Durler said, “Oh, most of ‘em are delivered with U.S. stamped on their hides. I haven’t been able to teach my Indian herders all that much about branding, and as to a registered brand, well …”
“Good night!” Longarm exclaimed. “And you’ve still got one cow left! You sure live in the midst of Christian neighbors, Calvin!”
“Look, I’m an Indian agent, not a cowhand. I thought I was a farmer, before I tried to grow stuff in this prairie sod. They told me the Indians would help us, but-“
Longarm shoved himself away from the table and got to his feet, saying, “I’ve got to get over to the fort and borrow a horse from the remount sergeant. I’ll be back before sundown and we can jaw some more. You got an ice house or something we can store the body in?”
“Store it? Ain’t I supposed to bury Real Bear?”
“Sure, after I get a sawbones to look him over and tell me what he died from.”
