He sat still for a moment, gazing across the little cabin at the girl on the bunk. She was watching him from under the edge of the blanket, her sloe eyes unreadable. Longarm nodded and said, “‘Morning.”
“This person has been trying to understand you. Even for a white man, you act crazy.”
“It was your idea to do it that way. I’m damned if I can see what that French feller got out of it. Can’t change position worth a damn.”
“This person wasn’t talking about that. It was very exciting to be taken as a captive. Now the tales of the old women make more sense. What makes no sense at all is the way you acted after you made this person tell you the truth.”
“Would you rather I’d have spanked you?”
“No. Many Ponies tried to beat me, once. I sent him home to his mother’s lodge. I thought you’d go after the man who paid me to betray you.”
“And miss all the fun we had? Along with being dumb, you lack the imagination of your people, Dances- Humming. The Ho are famous hunting and fighting folks. The Dakota call ‘em their favorite enemies; it’s hard as anything to outwit the Ute band of the Ho.”
He got up, stretching and moving his holster over to his left hip as he came over and removed the blanket to untie her. Dances-Humming rolled over and writhed invitingly on her back, asking, “Would you like to do it the old-fashioned way this time?”
“I’d like to. Can’t. Got too many chores to tend to. I’ll be leaving now, with some parting words of advice. If you repeat ‘em to the BIA I’ll have to call you a liar, but you ain’t making it as an Indian, gal. If I was you, I’d move down to Salt Lake and take up the trade near the U.P. station. You’re a pretty little thing, and you could make your fortune off railroad roustabouts and whisky drummers looking for what you’re so good at. You stay here on the reservation, selling half-ass treachery along with what you’re good at, and some night one of the decent folks hereabouts will surely cut your throat.”
He left as she was still protesting her inborn goodness. Outside, the air had a bite to it, but tasted crisp and clean. The girl’s cabin, like most Indian dwellings, was unventilated and smoke-scented, for folks living close to nature with few warm clothes valued warmth more than their tears, and Indians could put up with more smoke than you’d think was good for their eyes.
As he walked toward the agency, he wondered if Caldwell would notice the squaw-smell clinging to his unwashed hide. He probably wouldn’t. The whole little town smelled Indian. It wasn’t a bad smell, just different. White towns smelled of coal smoke, unwashed wool, and horse shit. Indian villages smelled of burning dung, greased rawhide, and the dry, cornhusk odor of Indian sweat. By now, Caldwell and his woman smelled that way themselves.
As he approached the agency, a young Ho fell in beside him and said, “I am called Spotted Bear. Hungry Calf had me watching the dead man in the smokehouse.”
“I know, brother. How long ago did the man in the red coat steal the body?”
“Many hours ago. He took his own and one of our ponies, too. He rode out just after midnight, but his sign is easy to read. When shall we go after him?”
“We’re not going to trail him, brother. I’ll see that the owner of the stolen pony gets paid double. You and your friends did well.”
The Indian smiled at the compliment. “We did as you asked, but we don’t understand it. Wasn’t it your plan to let the red coat do a bad thing so you could kill him?”
“No. He was not a bad man. Just a fool pest I want to get rid of. I knew he wouldn’t leave without the dead man as a present for his she-chief, so I let him steal the body.”
“Does the crazy red coat’s she-chief eat human flesh?”
“No. She wants the dead man’s, uh, scalp. She thinks he did a bad thing to one of her people.”
“Oh. What did the dead man do to the red coat’s tribe?”
“Nothing. But he don’t know that. He’s likely huggin’ himself right now for being so all-fired foxy. We can forget about him. He’s a good woodsman, and since he thinks we’re tracking him, he’ll make sure nobody sees him again till he gets where he’s going. Did anybody else try to get away during the night?”
“No. All the white men are sleeping in their blankets by the fire. Some of them had firewater and got drunk. The reservation police are watching them, but your orders were not to interfere, just watch, is this not so?”
“You are a good and clever warrior, Spotted Bear. I’ll leave you now. I don’t want the other white men to know we’re close.”
As the Indian dropped back, Longarm went on up to the agency. He smelled ham and eggs, so he knew the Caldwells were early risers, like their charges. Someone had been watching from a window, because the door opened as he came up the steps and Caldwell said, “We’ve been looking for you. Sent a Ute out to fetch you when the wire came, but he said he didn’t know where you were.”
“I sleep private. What wire are we talking about?”
Caldwell handed him a piece of yellow paper, explaining, “This came in right after the Mountie telegraphed his own report. Your own outfit was likely listening in.”
Longarm held the telegram up to the light and read:
TO: DEPUTY LONG OURAY RESERVATION STOP
#ONE WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN UTAH TERRITORY STOP #TWO WHAT HAPPENED TO KINCAID STOP #THREE DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE STOP
Longarm chuckled and folded the telegram away, following the agent inside. He nodded to the two women seated at the breakfast table and when Portia Caldwell invited him to some ham and eggs, he said, “In a minute, ma’am. I have to send a message to my chief. If he doesn’t find one waiting for him at his office, he’ll be hard on the help.”
