“About a year ago. He was a soldier at the fort. He said—he said he loved me.”
“Yeah, most men do, when they marry up with someone. What happened to him? He get transferred out?”
“Of course. There’s not much you don’t know about Indian matters, is there? My father warned me it would happen, but I thought Roger meant it. You know what my father tried to tell me?”
“Sure I do. The new army regulations say no soldier can trifle with a reservation gal unless his intentions are honorable. Your Roger had to marry you or leave you be, and seeing you’re so pretty.”
“Roger said he considered me a white girl! He said he’d take me with him when he left the fort. He said he’d told his folks about us and that they’d be proud to have me back East. He said … he said … God damn it, you know what he said. You men all say the same things when you mean to do a woman wrong!”
“Well, he likely meant it at the time, honey. I know what it’s been like for you, but-“
“You know nothing, white man! You don’t know what it’s like to grow up wishing you were white, or even black, for God’s sake, if only you could belong somewhere!”
“You seem to be accepted by your tribe, Gloria.”
“A lot you know! Why do you think they call me Two-Women? If my father hadn’t been a chief-“
“Now just back up and study what you’re saying, honey. Your father is a chief.”
“Perhaps, but if he’d been just another brave-“
“If? If? Hell, if the dog hadn’t stopped to pee he’d have caught the rabbit. Everything in life’s an ‘if,’ and we have to make do with the ifs the Good Lord gives us. Try ‘if’ another way and your mama never would have been taken by Blackfoot. Or you could have been born dead, or a boy, or some other Indian kid named Mary. You know what you’re doing, honey? You’re picking a fight with it—instead of living with all you got!”
“That’s easy for you to say. But if you’d been born a breed …”
“Well, I wasn’t born a breed. Or the Prince of Wales, either. I was born on a hard-scrabble farm to folks too poor to spit. I’d have settled for being a Hindu maharaja with elephants and dancing gals to play with, and my complexion could be damned. So don’t go cussing me for being white. It wasn’t my idea and it ain’t been all that easy.”
“What would you have done if you’d been born an Indian, or colored?”
“Can’t say. It never happened. I’d likely be another jasper, but I’d likely have managed to make do with what I was. Those ifs don’t give us much choice.”
“You’d have made a terrible Indian. You think too West Virginian.”
“Likely you’re right. Seems to me your own head’s screwed on funny, though. If you don’t like the name Two- Women, how come you almost got me shot by insisting on it over at that other hotel this evening?”
“It’s my name, the only name I have.”
“What’s wrong with your mother’s name, Witherspoon?”
“Those people rejected me. My father’s people accepted me, however grudgingly, as at least a half-person.” She shuddered as she added, “Not that I don’t have to put up with sly remarks on the reservation. Some of the older squaws got quite a laugh when my soldier boy deserted me as the cast-off squaw he must have considered me.”
“Gloria, I suspicion you fret too much over things. Your Daddy must think highly of you or he’d never have sent you on a mission for his tribe.”
She fondled him almost painfully, as she asked, “How am I as a lover? Am I really the best you’ve ever had?”
Longarm was only half-lying as he nodded and ran a hand over her moist flesh, assuring her, “I don’t like to brag, but I’ve been with some nice gals in my time and, yes, you are purely the best I’ve ever got next to.”
“Do you think you’ll always remember me as the best lay you ever had?”
“I’ll have to. Anything better would kill me, but what’s this about remembering? We’re just getting started.”
“No. After this night, you’ll never be able to touch me again.”
“I won’t? Well, sure, we’ll have to be careful once we’re near the reservation and all, but-“
“Never, she insisted, adding, “You can do it all you want tonight, if you’re man enough, but one night of love is all I give. To anyone. I suppose you think I owe you an explanation?”
He said, “No. I suspicioned it was too good for you to be really enjoying it. I heard about an actress back East who plays the same trick. She’s had men duelling over her, lowing out their own fool brains and beating on her door at all hours with flowers, books, and candy.”
The beautiful breed’s voice was downright nasty as she asked, cruelly, “Are you suggesting you’ll be different, Mr. Longarm?”
“oh, I’ll want you. I’ll likely remember this night as long as I live and some night, alone on the trail, I’ll do some hard wishing, most likely. But I don’t reckon I’ll play your game.”
“Pooh, you don’t even understand my reasons.”
“Sure I do. You’re a pretty little thing all eaten UP inside with hate for us menfolks. One fool man betrayed your love and now you reckon you can get back at us all by turning the tables. You’re playing love ‘em and leave ‘em ‘cause you got loved and left. Your revenge is to drag us poor old boys into bed and pleasure us crazy, leaving us with nothing but the memory of the best lay any man could ever dream of, and no way to ever get it again. I’ll allow it’s mean as hell, but it ain’t original.”
She sat up suddenly to snap, “I suppose, now, you’re going to try and say you lied before? I suppose you’re going to pretend it won’t bother you never to have me again.”
