Indians, even enjoined against giving the stuff away.
But dammit, Longarm wasn’t doing any of those things. He was sitting there having a friendly talk while behind his back his friends stole him blind.
More or less. And if the reality was something on the “less” side of that ledger, well, what of it? The important thing right now was to get some tongues oiled to the point that these fellows would open up and talk to him. About grazing rights and white cattlemen. About special commissioners and bombs and shit like that.
But not yet. The Indians weren’t up to that quite yet, and neither was Longarm.
He belched and reached for a cheroot, offering one to Bad Eye, and then putting it back in his pocket when the tribal leader’s eyes glazed over and the man commenced to take a decided list to starboard, leaning further and further to the side until gravity got the better of equilibrium and Bad Eye toppled over and began to snore.
Longarm snorted and helped himself to another drink of the raw whiskey he’d manufactured with alcohol, creek water, and an assortment of flavorful additives. It wasn’t entirely bad stuff if he did say so. And got better and better the more he drank of it.
He searched on the ground for some dried grass that he could use to light his cigar, but when he found what he wanted, prepared it, and leaned forward to hold it in the fire, a small hand appeared in front of him with an already flaming twist. Longarm accepted the light, then turned to see who it was.
His eyes went wide with surprise at the sight. “Spotted Fawn. I … I looked for you earlier. Didn’t see you. I thought you weren’t with Bad Eye’s band anymore.”
“I saw you, Long Arm. My heart was big, but I was afraid you would not want to see Spotted Fawn again. I went away to think. Then … I could not stay apart from you. I came back. Will you hate me now, Long Arm? Will you send me away?”
Longarm’s brows knitted into a scowl. “Whyever would I do a thing like that, Spotted Fawn? I couldn’t hate you. No matter what you’ve done, I couldn’t ever hate you. I thought you’d know better’n that.”
“I am not … as you remember me to be, Long Arm.” The girl’s eyes dropped, and he wasn’t sure because of the uncertainty of the firelight and the natural duskiness of her skin, but he thought she might have been blushing as well.
“You’re still the prettiest thing I ever saw on two legs, Spotted Fawn,” he said. Which was damn near the truth, actually.
The girl was slim and pretty, a cascade of gleaming black hair reaching past her waist. She had a face that any artist would crave to paint, with huge, dark eyes and prominent cheekbones. Her chin was small and her lips large and sensuous. And, as Longarm remembered almighty well, soft and yielding too. She was prettier than any picture, and he said so. “But truly, Long Arm, things have changed.” He raised an eyebrow. “You will not hate me?” she asked.
“Never,” he promised, meaning it.
Spotted Fawn reached down at her side and picked up a doeskin-wrapped bundle. He didn’t know what the object was at first. Then the pretty girl—he tried to think how old she would be now; twenty? Something around that if he remembered correctly—pulled her calico blouse open and held the bundle to her breast, a little bigger and more rounded now than he’d remembered, but still shapely.
“I’ll be damned,” Longarm said as the front of the bundle erupted into gurgling, gulping noises. Spotted Fawn had her a kid. A tiny nit still sucking at its mama’s tit.
“It is a boy child,” Spotted Fawn said, pride and affection in her voice. “His small name is Rabbit. Someday he will choose a warrior’s name for himself. His father is Smoking Tree. Do you remember him, Long Arm?”
“I do. Tall fellow, strong and handsome.”
“Yes.”
“You married Smoking Tree, did you?”
“No, Long Arm, we did not marry. We could not even though, forgive me, even though we fell much in love. Smoking Tree and I are of the same clan. When we knew that I was with child, Smoking Tree left our band. I have not seen him since that day. I will not see him ever again. But he gave me Rabbit. I will always love him. Do you hate me now that you know these things, Long Arm?”
“I told you, Spotted Fawn, I don’t hate you. I couldn’t. I reckon in my own way, I kinda love you too. You know?”
“Yes, Long Arm. I know. As in my way I too still love you, although I love Smoking Tree more. He knows this. I told him about you. It was only right that I do so.”
Longarm nodded and puffed on his cigar, blowing smoke rings into the still night air. The pale wreaths drew a round of laughing excitement from the few children who were still awake and crowding close around to watch the grown folks at play.
Spotted Fawn nodded and stood, the boy child named Rabbit still noisily sucking at her distended nipple. “I have no man of my own, Long Arm. I sleep in a brush arbor, Rabbit and me. It is there.” She pointed. “When you are ready, come to us. I will make a place for you on my pallet.”
“I’ll be along directly,” he promised.
“Whenever you wish, Long Arm. I will wait there for you.” The girl—damn, she was still young and gorgeous— stood and walked away, her posture proud and dignified even though her liaison with a clansman had shamed her among her people. She had not, he noted, tried to avoid censure by running away to another band as Smoking Tree had done. The girl had guts. But then he’d always known that about her. It was one of a great many things about her that he admired.
Besides, the pretty Ute girl was an almighty good fuck. And that was something else that a man just plain had to admire when he came upon it.
Longarm watched her until Spotted Fawn and Rabbit disappeared into the darkness outside the circle of light created by the fire.
Then he turned his thoughts back to the business at hand.
