“It’s true enough, Cloud Talker,” Longarm said.
“With my own eyes I saw the police try to shoot our friend in the back,” Tall Man added. “If Longarm were not a warrior to be reckoned with, he would be dead now.”
Cloud Talker shook his head. “I do not know. I do not know what to do now.” He looked beyond Longarm, grimaced, and looked down toward the ground.
Longarm glanced around. The girl Angelica was there behind him. And the big white dog. For some reason Cloud Talker seemed unwilling to look at the girl.
“Hello,” Longarm said. He smiled. “Do you know you’re even prettier in daylight?”
Angelica ignored the flattery and approached Cloud Talker. She lightly touched Cloud Talker’s forearm, a small gesture which aroused a pang of jealousy—stupid but undeniable—in Longarm’s chest. Damn, the girl was gorgeous. She went way the hell past being merely pretty. She was so beautiful there ought to be, maybe was, a law against screwing her.
“You are a good man, Cloud Talker,” she said. “But you are not your father. You cannot be shaman. Not such a one as he was.”
“But you …”
Angelica nodded. “Yes. For our people.”
Longarm realized that this, then, was the major battle for domination. Not between Cloud Talker and Short Tail Rabbit as he had thought. The larger confrontation had nothing to do with leadership in council. This, for the future of the Piegan tribe, was of much greater importance because this contest of wills to determine who would become shaman had to do with the tribe’s health and their spiritual survival. And until now Longarm had not recognized either the importance of the choice … or who the players were.
“You ask too much,” Cloud Talker said.
“I ask nothing for myself. It is the good of the people that I want. Can you say the same, Cloud Talker? Can you come with me to the high place to fast and seek the guidance of the spirits? Will you do that, Cloud Talker? Will you let the spirits choose between us?”
Cloud Talker winced. It was a challenge that a shaman could not duck. After a moment, thoroughly miserable, he nodded. “When this is done,” he said. “We will go to the high place. We will fast. We will know the will of the spirits.”
“That’s good for the Piegan nation,” Longarm put in, “but it doesn’t do much to take care of the problem between you an’ the Crow. There’s still the renegade police to worry about an’ the fact that so many of your people think the Crow killed John Jumps-the-Creek.”
Angelica looked down at the dog, which had parked itself by Tall Man’s ankles and was contentedly allowing the Crow chief to scratch its ears. “He likes You,” she said.
Tall Man rubbed the dog’s muzzle and said, “Fine dog. I would buy it. Use it to breed fat puppies.”
“An’ then put them into the stew pots,” Longarm injected.
“Of course,” Tall Man said. “What else?”
“He is a spirit wolf,” Angelica said, “and he is not for sale.”
“Tell me if you change your mind,” Tall Man said.
“I will not change my mind.”
Tall Man shrugged.
Longarm recalled that the girl had once said something about the dog—wolf, whatever—taking a part in this, but he couldn’t remember what that was supposed to be about.
Nothing important, apparently. The creature looked like a happy, mild-tempered pet sitting there with its tongue lolling and eyes drooping sleepily while Tall Man continued to scratch and pet it.
“I think,” Longarm said, “we should go talk to the Reverend MacNall an’ see what he thinks we should do to get the police force cleaned up, an’ see can we figure out who actually swung the club that killed John Jumps-the- Creek.”
“You will know,” Angelica said. She pointed off toward the sun, which was sinking inexorably toward the distant horizon. “Before the fire of the sun touches the hills to the west,” Angelica said, “the murderer of the shaman will meet his death.”
“You’re sure of that?” Longarm asked. Angelica’s prediction was bold, sure, but foolhardy. Whoever had killed the old shaman wasn’t likely to jump up and shout out a confession. And the process of proving responsibility was apt to be a long and difficult one, even knowing full well who was ultimately responsible for the act.
“I am sure,” Angelica said. “The spirits have told me. The spirits do not lie.”
“If you say so. Tall Man? Cloud Talker? If you boys are ready, I think we’d best go now. Before, uh, sundown.”
He glanced back at Angelica, but the pretty girl quite obviously was unaware of any sarcasm that might have been implied.
The small party set off on foot to accommodate Cloud Talker and Angelica, while several of the Crow warriors came along behind leading the horses.
Chapter 36
The usual group of Piegan tribal police was gathered outside the agency headquarters. Perhaps it was only his recent experience that was influencing Longarm, but he thought the whole damn bunch of them looked like a bunch of sullen, insolent thugs. The truth, of course, was that for all he really knew, these might be the best and the finest and the most honorable of all the Piegan warriors.
