Del Rovare began a gradual descent off the ledge, his odd bowlegged gait almost a swagger. He was a bull-like man who had learned to move his tremendous bulk across the mountains without making a sound, somehow. His moccasined feet barely made any noise through difficult snowdrifts where most men would have had trouble remaining quiet. Part French, he spoke Ute and Lakota and Shoshoni fluently. His fierce appearance often made outsiders fear him, when in fact he was most often a gentle giant who avoided difficulties whenever he could. But when he was challenged by man or beast, including rogue grizzly females protecting their cubs, he could be deadly, dangerous with a gun, a knife, or his bare hands.
Smoke walked toward him, and when they met in a small open spot between trees, they embraced like the longtime friends they were.
Del grinned again. “I seen you was headed back to Puma’s old cabin like you was worried. Don’t fret over that woman of yours. She’s fine, an’ there ain’t nobody else around.”
“Did you talk to Sally?” he asked, noticing streaks of gray in Del’s hair and beard, and a milky spot over the pupil of Del’s left eye.
“Naw. Didn’t want to scare her none. I jest watched fer a spell an’ come looking fer you. She come outside once to gather a load of firewood. She’s okay. I came down after I talked to Mo-pe an’ his hunters. They told me you give ’em a deer fer them hungry kids they got up in Wyomin’. Damn nice of you. I give ’em six wild turkey hens I shot the other day. When Mo-pe said you was named after a cloud of smoke I knowed right away who it was stayin’ here at Puma’s summer lodge. I reckon you miss ol’ Puma much as I do. Hell, all of us who live up here miss the ol’ bastard, even cranky as he was sometimes. A man never had no better friend than Puma Buck if he took a likin’ to you.”
Smoke turned Del toward the cabin with a motion of his head as he tried to forget about the way Puma had died, in a fight that was Smoke’s, not his. “Puma took a killin’ that was meant for me,” he said, trudging through snow, remembering in spite of himself. “If it had to happen, I wish it could have happened another way.”
“You can’t blame yerself, Smoke. Puma knowed what he was up against. an’ there’s another thing. Puma never was himself after his Ute woman passed away. Used to climb up high all by his lonesome an’ sit fer days, starin’ at the sky like he was thinkin’ real hard ’bout her. He’d git kinda choked up if you was to mention her name.“
Smoke thought about Sally. “Every man has his soft spots, Del. I’ve got the best woman on earth and she’s changed me, to some degree. I get lonesome when I’m away from her too long, and I never figured that sort of thing would ever happen to me.”
Del changed the subject quickly as they crossed over a low ridge. They could see the cabin down below. “I come to warn you ’bout somethin’, Smoke. It ain’t no kinda trouble, maybe just an aggravation. There’s this long- winded feller ridin’ a mule all over these mountains. Says his name’s Ned Buntline, an’ he says he’s aimin’ to talk to you. He writes books. A nosy son of a bitch too, askin’ all sorts of dumb questions ’bout what it’s like to live up here, askin’ if Preacher is still alive, wantin’ to talk to him if he is. I run the bastard off after he come up with too goddamn many questions. But he’s lookin’ fer you, so I figured I’d better warn you. He’s already talked to Griz, an’ ol’ Griz wouldn’t hardly tell him nothin’. He offered Huggie a jug of whiskey an’ Huggie tol’ him some things he hadn’t oughta.”
“Like what?”
Del needed a minute to form his reply. “Like where we all figure Preacher is, if’n he ain’t dead by now. Nobody’s seen him fer years, I reckon you know. But I was up at Willow Creek Pass this summer an’ I found a footprint beside a stream. Ain’t a livin’ soul up there… never has been. Too damn high fer most anybody. Air’s so damn thin a man can’t breathe it right. I wouldn’t have gone up there myself if it hadn’t been I wounded a big elk bull an’ followed his blood sign fer damn near five miles straight up, nearly to the tree line. That wounded bull wanted water, an’ when I come to this creek, there it was, a print made by a man with a foot half a yard long. Ain’t no such thing as a big- footed Injun, an’ Preacher always had to make his own rawhide brush moccasins. Now, I ain’t sayin’ that footprint was his, but it was fresh, maybe a few hours old, an’ it sure as hell reminded me of his tracks.”
“He’d be close to ninety years old by now, Del, if it was him.”
“Ain’t claimin’ it was him. Just sayin’ how unusual it was to find that big footprint at Willow Creek Pass. I told Huggie ’bout findin’ it. A few weeks back, Huggie told me he’d made some mention of it to that book-writin’ feller whilst Huggie was dead drunk on that whiskey.”
“I suppose Buntline headed for Willow Creek Pass to see if he could find Preacher.”
“That’s what Huggie claimed when I talked to him.”
Smoke wagged his head as they neared the creek. “Preacher is just as liable to kill him as talk, if he’s still alive. He won’t have changed much in the disposition department. I’ve made up my mind not to talk to Ned Buntline either. He can find some other way to write his books. I’m spending the winter up here with Sally. Any son of a bitch who shows up who isn’t an old friend of mine will get shown the trail out of here in one hell of a hurry.”
“Griz told me the bastard was nice enough. I got tired of all the damn questions mighty quick, so I pointed to the way he rode up to my cabin an’ said to clear out now. He got right back on his mule an’ I ain’t seen him since. It was Huggie who told me Buntline was headed up to Willow Creek.”
“If Preacher’s alive, he’ll handle it. Now let’s see what Sally has got cooked up for lunch. She was makin’ brown sugar bearclaws in the Dutch oven when I left.”
“I’d claim them bearclaws was callin’ to my sweet tooth, only I ain’t got any teeth left.”
Smoke chuckled as they crossed the stream, stepping ever so carefully on a walkway of flat, slippery rocks, “You won’t need any teeth for Sally’s bear-claws. Damn but it’s good to see you, Del. It’s been awhile.”
“Good to see you too, Smoke. We had some good times, an’ a few that was bad when lead was flyin’.”
“We’ll talk about some of them tonight. Sally cleaned that other room across the dogrun, and we’ve got plenty of blankets to keep your old ass warm.”
“My ass an’ everything else is gettin’ old,” Del replied. “I get these powerful aches in my joints when it gits cold, and can’t hardly see nothin’ outa my left eye. Got this white stuff over it so it looks like it’s snowin’ all the time. Makes everythin’ fuzzy as hell, too. One of these years I’m gonna have to corne down outa the mountains, when I can’t see to aim this rifle no more, or climb a mountain without it hurtin’. Till that day comes, I’m gonna enjoy every minute I’ve got left I figure I’m goin’ blind, Smoke, an’ that’s about the worst thing that can happen to a man who loves the looks of high country.”
“I’d rather lose a leg than lose my eyes,” Smoke said on their way to the cabin door. He noticed smoke curling from the chimney and something else, a delicious smell coming from inside that made his belly growl.
