Longarm grinned and said, “That should be interesting. These Blackfoot get to kill their old enemies all over again, right?”
“No, when the dead rise, they shall rise as brothers. All the old fighting will be forgotten. Indian shall greet Indian, as his fellow man.”
“That sounds reasonable. Wouldn’t it save a lot of fuss if such whites and live Indians as are left just shook hands and called it quits right now?”
“You mock the message I bring. My brothers, here, are not taken in by your twisting of my words!”
“Now, that ain’t fair. I ain’t twisted word-one. It was you who said they had to make friends with a mess of damn Pawnee. How about Snakes? Does Snake Killer, over yonder, get to keep his coup feather when his dead Snake brothers come to call? What if a dead Blackfoot pops out of the ground in the middle of some Crows? Does he shake hands with them, or run off with their ponies, like in the Shining Times?”
“If you won’t let me speak, I will go.”
“I’ll be quiet, seeing as how you don’t seem to know what your message is.”
In the crowd behind him, someone snickered. Longarm didn’t know if the laugh had been with him or at him. Neither did the Paiute. He waved the medicine shirt again and shouted, “As I was saying, your young men shall be immune to white bullets in these shirts.”
Longarm asked, “How come? I mean, I don’t doubt for a minute that those raggedy buckskins are bulletproof. What I don’t understand is why in thunder you need live Indians to do your fighting if Wovoka has all these dead ghosts ready to fight the army?”
The ghosts must know our people are sincere. Would you expect the spirits to fight for weaklings afraid to stand up for their rights?”
“I don’t know what a spirit might do. I’d be scared as hell to charge a Gatling gun with nothing on but a magic shammy shirt, though.”
“That is because you have a white man’s heart. The medicine only works for those who believe.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Longarm said amiably. “Put the shirt on and let’s see how it works for you.”
“What do you mean, white twister of words?”
“Well, I thought, as long as you’ve got those magic shirts, and I’ve a gun, we’d see how good your brag is. Put on the shirt and I’ll bounce a couple of .44 slugs off it.”
The Paiute’s face clouded over threateningly, but Longarm thought he detected a quaver in the Indian’s voice as he responded, “Are you threatening to kill me, white man? I have come in peace, unarmed. The Blackfoot have extended me the protection of their hospitality!”
“Well, sure they have. I’m hospitable myself. I’d never in this world gun a man I thought was likely to die from it. But you said your shirts were bulletproof. So what say we have some fun?”
Longarm heard a murmur of agreement around him from the Blackfoot as the Paiute paled and stammered, “It would not be a fair test. I am not initiated as a warrior!”
The lawman allowed a larger-than-life expression of shock to appear on his face as he said, “You mean you’re standing there telling all these folks to go to war, and you’re not a proper soldier? Well, I did fight a war one time, and I ain’t about to tell these old Dog Soldiers or Turtle Lances whether they should go to war or get married! Hell, I’m not ashamed to admit I never had the nerve to go through the Sun Dance as a full warrior. By the way, that’s likely why I see no scars on your chest, huh?”
“We Paiute never danced the Sun Dance.”
“I know. Never did all that much fighting, either, now that I think on it. Likely that’s why Wovoka’s so hot and bothered about another Indian war. It’s the men who never fight that start our white man’s wars, too.”
An old Indian near Longarm muttered something in a jeering tone and this time, when some other Indians laughed, Longarm knew they weren’t laughing at him!
The Paiute licked his lips and said, “Don’t listen to him, my brothers. Can’t you see what he is trying to do?”
Longarm let a little scorn creep into his voice as he said, “I ain’t doing anything but saying my mind. This may be a foolish time to bring it up, but I’ll tell one and all I’ve fought Indians in my time. I mean, I’ve fought real Indians, not ghosts.” He got to his feet, threw his hat down, and pounded his chest, shouting, “Hear me! I count coup! I have killed Dakota! I have killed Cheyenne! I have taken captives back from Apache and taken Comanche alive to be hanged by the government!”
Old Snake Killer asked in an interested tone, “How many Blackfoot do you count coup on?”
“None. I don’t say this because of where I am and who might be listening. I say it because I wasn’t here the last time you rose against the army.”
“Would you have killed me, had we met in battle?”
“You’re damned right I would have, unless you’d killed me first. We’re both men, ain’t we?”
Snake Killer smiled broadly. “Ye. I think it would have been a good fight. I like a man who says what is in his heart, too. But Wendigo-“
“The Wendigo has nothing to do with Wovoka’s Ghost Dance, Snake Killer. I’m a white man, not a Dream Singer, so I’ll not insult you by disputing about spirits. I just want to see this jasper’s medicine shirt turn a bullet before any of your young men put one on to ride against the army!”
The old Blackfoot nodded and told the Paiute, “His words make sense. Why don’t you put the shirt on and prove him wrong?”
The Paiute stammered, “I am not allowed to. Only a true warrior can wear the Medicine Shirt.”
Old Snake Killer got to his feet, peeling off his old wool jacket to reveal the Sun Dance scars on his bony chest as he said, “I am a warrior. Give me the shirt.”
