he’d been concerned that it was after the chickens, but it never tried to get into the coop or attack the rooster and hens when they were roaming about during the day.
Zach took aim, then noticed that the wolf was just standing there, staring. It showed no fear or alarm. He noticed, too, that it was uncommonly old; it was mostly hide and bones, its muzzle almost entirely light gray while the rest was darker. It had a white mark that reminded him of the wolf cub he’d raised when he was young. Curious, he said out loud, “Blaze?”
The wolf pricked its ears and whined. It took a few steps in his direction, limping.
Zach lowered the Hawken a little. “It can’t be,” he said. Years ago his wolf had gone off to answer the call of the wild. He’d always reckoned that it was long since dead. “Blaze?”
The wolf whined again and came haltingly forward, its limp more pronounced.
The dun snorted and pranced. Zach spoke to it and patted its neck, then climbed down, keeping a firm grip on the reins. He held the Hawken ready to shoot as the wolf came to within a few yards and stared at him as he was staring at it. “Blaze? Is that you, boy?” He couldn’t be sure. “After all these years?”
Zach held out a hand as he used to do, his fingers extended.
The wolf slowly came up and sniffed. It whined and licked his fingertips.
Zach carefully touched the white mark. He was coiled to defend himself should the wolf attack, but all it did was lick him some more. “Well, what do you know?” He decided to put it to another test. Sinking onto his knee, he said, “Do you remember what you used to do?”
The wolf’s jaw was so close that with a lightning snap it could rend Zach’s throat. Instead, it dipped its muzzle and pressed its forehead to his chest as Blaze used to do when he wanted to be petted. Zach rubbed its head and its neck and ran a hand over its side; he could feel every rib.
“Blaze, is it really you?”
The wolf raised its head and licked him.
Zach scratched and petted its chin. “Has to be you. No wild wolf would let me do this.” It licked him again and he beamed. “I can’t wait for my wife to see you.”
Chapter Twelve
The four young women wore their best dresses, their lustrous hair freshly washed and braided.
As they wound down the last stretch of trail to the mercantile, Chases Rabbits glanced back, his gaze lingering on Raven On The Ground. To his mind, she was the most beautiful, but he had to admit they were all lovely. He hoped the whites would be pleased.
Chases Rabbits was resplendent himself. He wore his new white buckskins and the new moccasins his mother had made. His rifle gleamed in the sun. He imagined that he was as handsome as a man could be.
The trail widened and Raven On The Ground brought her mare up next to him. Her eyes were lively and excited, her full lips spread in a smile. “I am proud of you.”
Chases Rabbits’s cheeks burned. “What have I done?” he asked.
“You know very well. You are doing more to help our people than any warrior since Long Hair. You are to the Apsaalooke as Grizzly Killer is to the Shoshones.”
Chases Rabbits thought it should be as Grizzly Killer’s wife, Winona, was to her people, but he let it pass and gloried in the compliment. “I do what I can.”
“You will be one of the great ones. Everyone says so.”
It had long been Chases Rabbits’s secret dream to be just that, but he didn’t reply.
“The woman who takes you for her husband will be envied above all others.”
Among the Crows, it was the custom for a man who married to move into the lodge of his wife’s mother. Chases Rabbits was not overly fond of Raven On The Ground’s mother; she complained too much, about everything. But he would not have to talk to her. Another Crow custom was that once a man married into a family, he never spoke to his mother-in-law again, and she was never to speak to him.
“I would not say no were you to ask me,” Raven On The Ground said.
Chases Rabbits felt a flutter in his chest. There it was, out in the open. “You could not be a wife and be away working for the whites.”
“No,” Raven On The Ground conceded. “My place would be in my lodge with my husband. But I will not work for the whites long. Only enough time for a new blanket and a few other things I want.”
“We will talk of marriage more then,” Chases Rabbits said, hardly able to believe his wonderful fortune.
“I see a happy life for us. You will be high in the council and we will have many horses and dogs.”
Chases Rabbits almost bit his tongue to keep from responding. The Crows had more dogs than any other tribe. It wasn’t unusual for a warrior to have several. He didn’t own a single one. He would never say so, but he didn’t like them. He didn’t like how they smelled, didn’t like how they panted and barked and sniffed and scratched themselves. And he really didn’t like it when a dog licked him. Dog slobber made his stomach churn. Suddenly he was aware that the love of his life was still talking to him.
“…saw great promise in you that the others did not. You are a friend of Grizzly Killer, and he is thought highly of by all the tribes.”
“Not all.” Chases Rabbits could think of a few who would like nothing better than to count coup on Nate.
Ahead, the mercantile and the outbuildings rose out of the basin like squat fingers thrust at the sky.
Chases Rabbits sat straighter. He was conscious of the gazes of Crows already there, and of men and women from other tribes who had likewise come to trade. All were from friendly tribes, so there was no danger. He rode to the hitch rail, but it was full, so he reined to the side and slid down. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than Geist was there, pumping his hand. Behind him were Petrie and the man with the gray hair and floppy hat.
“Chases Rabbits! You came just like you said you would. And you’ve brought four beauties with you.”
Chases Rabbits introduced the women. He didn’t mention that Raven On The Ground was his sweetheart. These were whites, after all, and while he liked them, his personal life was none of their affair.
“Ladies, I am right pleased to meet you,” Geist said. “Tell them for me, will you?”
Chases Rabbits complied.
“Say that we will make their stay here well worth their while. Tomorrow I will explain exactly what it is they’re to do, and until then they’re free to roam around and look at all the merchandise.”
“You need me stay to speak your words?” Chases Rabbits asked.
“That’s not necessary,” Geist said. He indicated the gray-haired man with the floppy hat. “Dryfus here knows sign language.”
This was news to Chases Rabbits. He had the impression they did not know much about Indian ways. “Where him learn?”
“He was a trapper once,” Geist explained. “I take it your squaws can use sign?”
“Raven On The Ground good at finger talk,” Chases Rabbits proudly revealed. They often signed affection to each other.
“Good. Then we’ll communicate through her. You can go back to your village and leave the rest to us.”
Chases Rabbits was surprised that they wanted him to go so soon. “I stay. Make sure all go well.”
“There’s no need,” Geist said, and clapped him on the back. “I’ve imposed on your goodwill enough as it is.” He crooked a finger at Petrie. “My pard here will take you inside and let you pick whatever you would like for bringing the women. Within reason, of course.”
“Of course,” Chases Rabbits echoed as he had heard whites do, although he was not quite sure what he was agreeing too. Reluctantly, he followed Petrie into the mercantile while Geist and Dryfus escorted the women toward the new structure.
“What is it you’d like?” Petrie asked. “A knife? Ammunition? What?”
“I have new knife,” Chases Rabbits said, and patted it. “I not sure.”
“Then look around. There’s no rush. I’ll be having a drink. Give a holler if you need me.”
“I give.” Chases Rabbits moved down an aisle, absently fingering clothes and blankets and tools. He was thinking of Raven On The Ground. He would rather be with her.
Someone nudged him, and Chases Rabbits turned. “Toad,” he said, and the stout man put a finger to his lips.
