get up and leave once he was done in her. Because he realized he would be done all too soon.
It was always that way when he went so long without—
Then he was exploding inside her in great rushing waves of relief, flinging himself against her, almost whimpering that it hadn’t lasted longer.
Slowly, slowly he sank atop her, filled both with regret and immense satisfaction, savoring these few minutes while his breathing slowed and his heart quieted itself, listening to her breathing and the night sounds so close around their crude shelter. When he grew soft, the woman slid out from under him, then scooted back against his body, nestling her head on his shoulder as she reached out for her dress and that blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders when she’d followed him there.
He unfurled her blanket over them both and closed his eyes.
How warm was the night air, despite that hint of a chilling cloudburst carried in from the horizon on an occasional breeze.
After completing his purchases and carrying his supplies back to camp, Scratch and the others had carved up the remains of an elk cow shot two days before and put the steaks over the fire. As the meat sizzled at the end of sharpened
Scratch near choked with that first great gulp.
Sputtering, he found the others guffawed and knee-slapped at his fit of coughing.
“Ain’t smooth as lightning, is it?” Hatcher asked, grinning so widely one could see all of that rotted tooth.
No, it sure wasn’t smooth. Nor had Bass chosen to sweeten the liquor’s raw bite with Mexican brown sugar as he had learned to do with the Taos
“Ye be back afore morning?” Hatcher cried.
But before Bass himself could answer, Elbridge yelled, “Shit, Jack! His blankets and robes is gone!”
“Eegod! Ye got yerself a little hidey place picked out, don’t ye?” Jack asked before Scratch could utter a word.
He was really beginning to feel the numbing tingle radiating across his forehead now that he was standing, doing all he could to remain standing. “My night to let the wolf loose, boys!”
“See you tomorry,” Caleb replied with a slur and a wave.
He weaved past their merry fire as some of the rest grabbed their crotches and hooted profanely. An exuberant Hatcher blew him a kiss before Bass turned toward the banks of the Popo Agie.
That’s when he heard the loud voices of men mixing with the lighter giggles from women. Instead of wading on into the creek, Scratch decided to stay with the east bank. After crossing less than fifty yards he came upon an open piece of ground within the willow and cottonwood, where more than two dozen people milled about in the light of the rising half-moon. Trappers sauntered among the warriors and squaws who had come across the Popo Agie with one thought in mind: no two ways about it, there were treasures to be bartered from those white men hungry to lay with their dark-skinned women. Cloth and coffee, beads and bells, knives and awls, vermilion and ribbons.
And all these beaver men wanted was a few minutes’ time to rut with a woman!
Were there no females back in the land of these white men?
For a few minutes Scratch stood shuffle-footed on the fringe of that merry gathering, watching the company men and a handful of free trappers mosey in and out through the group. They circled, appraising, then circled again, stopping now and then to have themselves a close inspection of this or that woman beneath the moonlight. He ought to have himself a look, Titus decided, just so the others wouldn’t pick over all the best there was before he got around to choosing.
The warrior warily watched the white man approach, saying something quietly to his woman from the corner of his mouth. She nodded as she looked Bass up and down. Then smiled faintly. He set down the cup of brown Mexican sugar at his feet and asked How much? in sign, ending with that simple gesture of male readiness: a stiffened index finger on one hand sliding back and forth between the wide-spread Y of the first two fingers on the other hand.
“A knife and some powder too?” he asked when the warrior gave his answer.
He showed the man the calico, but it was the woman who fingered it with approval.
“Listen—you go and offer ’em too much,” one of the company men growled as he lunged up to Bass’s elbow, “gonna make it miserable on the rest of us here on out!”
“This free man giving these red whores too much?” grumbled another who lumbered up to stand at the other elbow.
In the meantime the squaw knelt and retrieved the cup from the ground. Sniffing it first, she plunged a finger into the sugar.
“Lookee thar’. He offers her a bunch of that smooth cloth, and see? She’s took her a shine to that cup of his,” the first man snorted. “What’s in that damn cup?”
“Sugar.”
“Shit—you’re giving ’em sugar!” the second trapper shrieked, and turned away, throwing his hands up in disgust. “Better get your whore quick now, boys. That free man’s riding up the price of a man’s poke but good!”
The first warrior had snatched the cup from his wife and stiffly handed it back to Bass, wagging his head and pulling the woman away toward the other side of the clearing. Pursing his lips in frustration, Scratch began to circle again, feeling the glares of the company men hot between his shoulder blades. A second time around the glen he stopped before another warrior who had a woman stationed at either arm.
“You have two wives?” he asked as he watched the plain-faced woman bend to retrieve the cup.
But the warrior signed that he had one wife. The other—and he gestured to the woman who licked the brown sugar from the finger she had plunged into the tin cup—was the sister of his wife.
“How much you want for her?” Scratch asked aloud as he signed, then indicated the warrior’s wife. She was clearly the better-looking of the two.
The Shoshone put his arm on his wife’s shoulder and shook his head. Next he laid his arm on his sister-in- law’s shoulder and pointed to the cloth on Bass’s shoulder. And the tin cup. And then he used a finger to tap against the butt of the new pistol Titus had stuffed in his sash.
“No,” Scratch said emphatically.
The warrior glowered, turning both the women away so quickly, Titus had to lunge to snatch his tin cup back. But he promptly stepped in front of the warrior and stood his ground, forcing the trio to stop.
“Here.”
He handed the cup to the sister-in-law and freed the antelope-skin bag stuffed beneath his belt. From it he pulled a handful of the big pony beads. First he pointed to the beads, then to the cup the squaw held, and finally to the calico.
“That’s too goddamned much to pay for a quick hump in the brush!” a voice snarled somewhere close behind him.
Ignoring the grumblings of those around him, Bass inched his hand closer to the wife, holding the beads right under her chin, then slowly moved the hand so he could hold them right under the nose of her sister.
“It ain’t too much for a goddamned woman,” Titus said, flinging his words over his shoulder at those behind him, the men he knew were watching his negotiations.
The Indian shook his head again, tightening his arms around the shoulders of the two women and saying something to his wife’s sister. She handed the cup of sugar back to Titus.
“You ain’t getting my pistol,” Bass snapped at the warrior. “Now, here’s a fair trade.”
But the Indian pulled the women away again. This time he let them go, standing right there watching their backs, his hands filled with beads and sugar, his heart despairing.
“Serves you right, nigger!”
