good three days hard ride from the outlaw town, but he wanted to sort out all his options, and considering where he was going, they were damn few.
And once again, the question entered his mind: Was he being a fool for doing this?
And the answer was still the same: yes, he was. But if he didn’t settle it now, it would just happen again and again, and with a child coming, Smoke did not want to run the risk of losing another family.
So it had to be settled now; there was no question about that.
And, if the truth be told—and Smoke was a truthful man—there was yet another reason for his challenging the seemingly impossible. He wanted to do it.
He followed an old Indian trail that cut between Cordova Pass to the east and Cucharas Pass to the west. He found what he hoped was White Wolf’s Ute camp and approached it cautiously. They seemed curious about this big strong-looking white man who dressed and behaved like a fool.
Smoke asked them if they would like to share his food in return for his spending the night. They agreed, and over the meal, he explained where he was going but not why.
The Ute chief, White Wolf, told him he was a silly man to even consider going into the outlaw town.
And Smoke could not understand the twinkle in the chief’s eyes.
He asked them what they could tell him about the town called Dead River.
Smoke was stunned when White Wolf said, “What does the adopted son of my brother Preacher wish to know about that evil place?”
When he again found his voice, Smoke said, “For one thing, how did you know I was not who I claimed to be, White Wolf?”
Dark eyes twinkling, the chief of the small band of Utes said, “Many things give you away, to us, but probably not to the white man. The white man looks at many things but sees little. Your hands are as hard as stones. And while you draw well, that is not what you are.”
Smoke did not offer to sketch the Indians, for many tribes believe it is not good medicine to have their pictures taken or their images recreated.
Smoke told them of his true plans.
They told him he was a very brave man, like Preacher.
“Few are as brave and noble as Preacher.”
“That is true,” White Wolf agreed. “And is my brother well?”
“Slim Dugas just told me that Preacher and a few other mountain men are well and living up near Montana.”
“Thank you. That is also truth. Preacher is living with the children of my sister, Woman-Who-Speaks-With- Soft-Voice. Because she married Preacher, the children are recognized as pure and are not called Apples.”
Red on the outside, white on the inside. Indians practiced their own form of discrimination.
“It is good to know they are true Human Beings.”
“As you are, Smoke Jensen.”
“Thank you. I have a joke for you.”
“A good laugh makes a good meal even better.”
“I was told that most people believe there is but one way in and one way out of Dead River.”
The Indians, including the squaws, all found that richly amusing. After the laughter, White Wolf said, “There are many ways in and out of that evil place. There are ways in and out that the white man have not now and never will know, not in our lifetime.”
Smoke agreed and finished his meal, belching loudly and patting his full belly. The Indians all belched loudly and smiled, the sign of a good meal. And the squaws were very pleased.
Smoke passed around several tobacco sacks, and the Indians packed small clay pipes and smoked in contentment. Smoke rolled a cigarette and joined them.
“You still have not told me how you knew I was the adopted son of Preacher, White Wolf.”
The chief thought on that for a moment. “If I told you that, Smoke, then you would know as much as I know, and I think that would not be a good thing for one as young as you.”
“It is true that too much knowledge, learned before one is ready, is not a good thing.”
White Wolf smiled and agreed.
Smoke waited. The chief would get to the matter of Dead River when he was damn good and ready.
White Wolf smoked his pipe down to coals and carefully tapped out the ashes, then handed the pipe to his woman. “It has been a fine game for us to slip up on the outlaw town and watch them. All without their knowing, of course,” he added proudly.
“Of course,” Smoke agreed. “Anyone who does not know the Ute is as brave as the bear, cunning as the wolf, and sharp-eyed as the eagle is ignorant.”
The braves all nodded their heads in agreement. This white man was no fool. But they all wished he would do something about his manner of dress.
“A plan has come to me, White Wolf. But it is a very dangerous plan, if you and your braves agree to it.”
“I am listening, Smoke.”
