“Sure you do. They speak Algonquin, which is about the easiest Indian language there is for a white man to pick up. Damn near every Indian word we already know is Algonquin.”
“I tell you, I don’t know word-one!”
“How about squaw, papoose, moccasin, tomahawk, or s or possum?”
“Those are Algonquin words?”
“So are tom-tom, pow-wow, wampum, and succotash. I’ll bet you know what every one of those words means, don’t you?”
“Sure. I reckon they must have been the first Indian words the white folks learned when they got off the boat.”
“There you go. You’re halfway to learning the lingo already. You don’t have to learn to speak it perfectly, but they’ll respect you for trying. My Spanish is awful, but most Mexicans brighten up when I give ‘em a chance to laugh at me, rather than the other way around. A little gal in a border town once even helped me learn a bunch of new words.” Longarm smiled. “The lessons were purely enjoyable.”
The agent chuckled. “I’ll see if we can get Deer Foot to teach us some Blackfoot. Meanwhile, supper should be almost ready.”
They went inside and found Nan Durler as good as her husband’s word. The fare was simple, but well-cooked, and like most country folk, the three of them ate silently. It was something they didn’t think about; witty dinner conversation is a city notion. Nan had made a peach cobbler for dessert and insisted on Longarm’s having two helpings before she’d let him step out onto the porch for an after-dinner smoke. He’d expected his host, at least, to join him. But he found himself alone on the steps, puffing a cheroot as he watched the stars come out over the distant Rockies.
It was peaceful outside, now. The Indians had drifted off home after jawing about the murder of their chief all afternoon. Somewhere in the night a medicine drum was beating softly, probably to keep the Wendigo away. Longarm judged the drum to be a good two miles distant, so he decided Rain Crow could tell him, later, what the fuss was all about.
He was halfway through his smoke when Nan Durler came out to join him. She said, “Calvin’s at his books again. Sometimes he spends half the night on those fool papers for the B.I.A.”
Longarm nodded without answering as the blonde sat beside him on the steps. After a while she shuddered and said, “They’re at that old drum again. Sometimes they beat it half the night. I don’t know if I hate it more when the Indians are whooping it up or when they’re quiet. Back home we had crickets and fireflies this time of year.”
“Night noises are different on the prairie. I sort of like the way the coyotes sing, some nights.”
“It wakes me up. It’s no wonder the Blackfoot think the Wendigo walks at midnight out here. Some of the things I hear from my window are spooky as anything.”
“Well,” Longarm observed, “you’re pretty high up for rattlers, hereabouts. I can’t think of much else that can worry folks at night.”
“The other night, I heard the strangest screaming. Calvin said it was a critter, but it sounded like a baby crying.
“Thin, high-pitched hollerings? Sort of wheeeeee wheeeee wheeeee?”
“Yes! It was awful. Do you know what it might have been?”
“No ‘might’ about it, ma’am. It was a jackrabbit.”
He didn’t add that jackrabbits screamed like that as they were being eaten alive by a silent coyote. He didn’t think that part would comfort her.
She shuddered again and said, “I guess it could have been ‘most any old thing. Sounded like it was getting skinned alive … oh, dear …”
“I’ll be hauling the body into town, come morning, ma’am. I could wrap him in a tarp and leave him out in the buckboard overnight if it frets you to have him in your root cellar.”
Nan grimaced and said, “Leave him be, but let’s not dwell on it. I’m going to have to take at least two of the powders the doctor gave me if I’m to sleep a wink tonight.”
Longarm asked cautiously, “Oh? You take sleeping powders often, ma’am?”
Her voice was bitter as she said, “Just about every night. My husband seems more interested in his books than in sleeping and I get so, so lonely when the wind starts to keen out on the prairie!”
“Most folks get used to the prairie after a time, ma’am.”
“Most folks have neighbors, too. The Indians look through us, and you know we’re outcasts to the other whites around here, don’t you?”
Longarm shrugged and said, “Well, who wants to butter up to the grudge-holding kind, ma’am? There are likely others over in town who aren’t so narrow-minded.”
“I doubt it. You should see the looks they give us when we ride in from the reservation! You’d think the Indian Wars were still going on!”
Longarm noticed that she’d somehow moved closer to him and decided she was probably too upset to have realized it. He shifted away a little and said, “The Blackfoot were hostile Indians and it hasn’t been all that long, ma’am. Some folks are sore about the Civil War and those memories are almost old enough to vote. You’ve got to remember some of your neighbors, red and white, were swapping lead not five years ago this night.”
She moved closer, as if uneasy at the gathering dusk and asked, “Have you fought Indians, Longarm?”
He saw that there wasn’t much room left for his rump, so he stayed put as he answered, “Yep. You name the tribe and I’ve likely traded a few shots with ‘em.”
