Bull Bear was in a magnificent meadow fringed with a sprinkling of majestic pines that lent a delicate aroma to the grasslands where the conical, gaudily decorated teepees were scattered. Bull Bear’s camp was in the hereditary upland of his people. From its slight eminence, the Indians could see the prairie around them for hundreds of miles. They could see the great dust clouds caused by the hump-backs, hours, sometimes days, before the buffalo would be close enough to kill. It was a favorite camping grounds of the Crows and in the rank, coarse grass at their feet and the top two layers of mulch could be found the discarded artifacts of their ancestors, indicating how ancient was the camp site.
Bull Bear’s teepee was somewhat larger than the others, being, in fact, a combination home and council lodge. Impressive symbols of the Crow tribe and Bull Bear’s fighting and hunting prowess were daubed with Neolithic candor over the high structure. Four horses were tied to a crude hitch rail in front of the teepee and a heraldic coup stick was planted firmly in the ground in front, and a little to one side, of the teepee opening. Caleb dismounted under the curious glances of the Indians, who knew him by sight, and entered the Great Plains home of the Crow chieftain.
Inside, a caressing coolness swept over Caleb. He stood respectfully just inside the flap, accustoming his eyes to the shadowy gloom. A resonant voice boomed out at him in English. “Silent Outcast, I have been expecting you. Sit.”
Caleb, who had a genuine affection for the scarred, dusky man before him whose piercingly fierce eyes were also genial and friendly, sat. Another man was sitting beside Bull Bear. He was younger, with twin streaks of red paint daubed horizontally across each cheek, stretching from his nose to the area just below each ear. He nodded with slight reserve and Caleb nodded back. “Bull Bear, I am always glad to find my welcome in the teepee of my brother. Why were you expecting me?”
Bull Bear snorted. “Because my scouts told me early this morning that a Texas herd was riding into the Big Sink.”
Caleb was mildly surprised. If the Crows knew the herd was coming, they must have scouts completely around Lodgepole and far out on the plains south of town. “Why would I come to you because of a Texas herd?”
Bull Bear’s face was touched by a faint smile. “Be-cause you would want to get my permission to let the Texans cross Crow land. It is simple, Silent Out-cast. Unless the Texans cross Crow land, there will be a fight with the Lodgepole cowmen. You would try to avert this.”
Caleb looked for a long silent moment at the Indian. He had encountered perspicacity before, but never, that he could recall, had he run into an Indian who thought through to the end of a situation. Curious to see how far Bull Bear’s reasoning had gone, he spoke again. “You are a wise man. What, then, is in the end?”
Bull Bear leaned forward a little. “There will be a fight among the white cowmen. Some will be killed. Some will give up and go back beyond the mountains. Others will hunt new ranges and new ways of driving their cows into the north country.” He straightened up and smiled slightly. “The white men, who will stay in the land, are my brothers.”
Caleb nodded solemnly. “This will happen unless you allow the Texans to cross Crow land.”
“They cannot cross.”
“Many men will die.…”
“White men, not red men.”
“I see. You want the white men to fight among themselves. Even this small war might take some of the growing pressure of the whites off the Crows.”
“Yes, Silent Outcast. The Indian has little left, but what he has, he must plan to keep.” The powerful shoulders rose and fell eloquently and Caleb grudgingly admitted that, in reversed places, he, too, would act the same way. “Without our hunting lands and our hereditary homes, we are a lost people.”
Doom nodded sadly. “This is so.” He arose slowly and the two Indians looked at him in impassive silence. “I am sorry.”
As he turned to leave, Bull Bear spoke softly. “Silent Outcast, you are the Indian’s brother. You, alone of your race, understand their side. May your God protect you in trouble ahead.” Caleb nodded in salute, and left the teepee. As the gentle sound of his horse’s shod hoofs sent back a retreating dull echo, Bull Bear turned to the younger man at his side. “In these troubled times, the Crows must stay out of trouble. When the white skins fight, they are like blind snakes. They strike out at anything. See that the fighting clans are told of this.” He looked broodingly out the teepee flap where Caleb had so recently left. “Remember Silent Outcast well, Running Horse. He is the true friend of the Indian and a great fighting man. His coups are many and his gun never misses. He is your white brother.”
II
When Caleb rode back into Lodgepole, dusk was falling. There was a small knot of loafers hanging around the livery barn when he put up his horse. When he walked past them on his way to the Lincoln House, he heard a snatch of conversation: “Well, they can’t stop here. The boys are orga-nizin’ to run’em off.”
Caleb’s face was bitter when he strode into the hotel. Jack Britt motioned him to a chair beside him, looked inquiringly into Caleb’s face, and read his answer. He shook his head gravely. “You don’t have to tell me. I can see it on your face.”
“I don’t blame the Indians, in a way.”
Britt’s blunt jaw locked irritably. “To hell with’em. It wouldn’t hurt nothin’ if them cattle went through their lousy huntin’ ground.” He shrugged. “But if they say no, then that’s it, I reckon.”
Doom could sense the tension in the air. “Any-thin’ interestin’ happen while I was up at the Indian camp?”
Britt swore irritably in a low voice. “A little flurry o’ excitement. Some o’ the boys heard about the Texas herd an’ come a-roarin’ into town spittin’ fire and damnation. I collared’em an’ told’em to sit it out an’ we’d see what happens next. No sense bustin’ into trouble when it’s comin’ anyway.”
“That all?”
“Not quite. The Texas critters are bedded down on this side o’ the sink. Feller name o’ Chandler, big raw- boned, rawhide sort o’ fellow, is their trail boss. He rode into town this afternoon an’ the boys sent him Tome. I told him the situation an’ he sort o’ laughed.”
“What’d he say?”
“Bout what I figgered he’d say,” Britt answered. “He didn’t have enough men to fight the whole damned Crow nation, but that he had more’n enough for me to see that his cows weren’t run off the range by a bunch of local cowboys. An’ if he couldn’t go through the Crow land until he had worked up a big bribe for’em, he’d have to feed his critters offen our feed. Said he was sorry as hell about it, but that’s the way it was.”
Caleb got up and stretched. It had been a long day for him. “I’m goin’ to get some sleep. Tonight’ll probably be about the best for sleepin’ for the next few days.”
Brit nodded wryly. “You’re more’n likely right at that, Caleb. Well, I’m goin’ back out to the ranch to-night, but I’ll be back in Lodgepole by the time you’ve eaten breakfast. Don’t want to miss nothin’, y’know.”
Caleb ate at Sally Tate’s cafe. It was a very frugal place with hard puncheon benches along a low counter of new fir. Sally was the orphaned daughter of some emigrants that didn’t make it. She was a honey blonde with level, violet blue eyes, a luscious full mouth, and a figure that made all the Lodgepole cowboys sigh. Her nose wrinkled across the tiny saddle of freckles when she saw Caleb enter.
He smiled back. “Sally, you’re the prettiest woman in this cafe, y’know it?”
Her laugh was disturbing in a throaty way. “An’ you’re the prettiest man. Chili beans?”
“I reckon.”
Caleb ate slowly and Sally leaned over the counter. “Caleb, is there something wrong in Lodgepole?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Every cowboy who’s been in here today acts like he’s afraid to kid me.”
Caleb’s deep eyes squinted in amusement. “Well, I’d say that was the best sign in the world. There’s a Texas herd camped on this side of the sink.”
“Oh.” It sounded very small and the large violet eyes were on him with an unusual gravity. “Are you mixed up
