Willis washed blood off the rock and refilled the bucket to wash the area down again, keep the flies and mosquitoes away. He quickly skinned the calf, picked the hide clean and nailed it to the door of the mine, a southern exposure for tanning. He spread tanning oil over the hide and put the oil into the shed.
Using a hatchet, he split the calf down the center of the spine then washed off jelled blood, inside and out. He returned the tools to the shed and took down half of the calf. John Crow would come down for the other half.
Something in the air grabbed his senses. He looked toward the village.
They’re here.
JOHN CROW HAD GROWN used to Helfred Jacobsen’s ire. It didn’t bother him much anymore, considering what she’d lost. Still, blaming him didn't seem right.
He'd had this feeling for two days now, they’d be coming today. He wanted to be here but he’d also wanted to avoid Helfred. Her glares and scolding tongue made him uncomfortable, why he’d waited until after lunch to set up his Indian crafts at the far end of her porch. From here, he could see up River Road toward Sonora Pass. He hoped Helfred wouldn’t see him, kind of hidden from inside the store.
With Olen’s prodding, she'd allowed John to set up on weekends for that occasional tourist who might accidentally take the turnoff and drive down here, a beautiful drive. They'd always stopped for directions, sometimes buying John’s crafts.
Olen had argued it was good for business. When they saw a tall Indian selling stuff from Olen’s stone window ledge, they’d always go into the store.
Today being a weekday, John hoped she wouldn’t chase him off.
Maybe these new Potters would put him back to work. The Ralstons, Pendletons and some of the others still hired John whenever they got a new horse, even Jim Embry. None of them liked breaking horses. Breaking horses had always been easy for John. They nearly never bucked.
The Gilpins had never hired John. They had always broken their horses the hard way, using steel bits that sometimes hurt the animal. They didn’t care. John doubted if they ever gave it a thought.
After Kidro’s death, Jim Embry had taken the Potter horses over to his place. Otherwise, Gilpin would have snuck in there and taken Stoner, leaving the barn door open. He’d say Stoner came back home and now belonged to him, range law.
Lot of thieving nonsense.
John’s neck itched. Helfred’s stare burned through the storefront window at his back. He didn’t need to look.
Why did she hate John, anyway? She’d been blaming him for ten years for something he had no control over.
John had been here longer than most. He knew the way of this place. They all knew the truth of John’s knowledge. Maybe that was why she hated him. Maybe it was where he lived, up near the Perch. Maybe she thought he could have done something to stop it.
Like what?
He felt her walking onto the porch. He pulled his hat low over his eyes and pretended not to notice.
MOM SAID, “LOOK, HERE’S Jacobsen’s Emporium.” Jason woke up, sitting in the front seat with Barnabas leaning forward from the backseat, licking Jason’s face like that, telling Jason how excited he was.
“Cool.” He pushed Barnabas into the back and used his sleeve to wipe dog slobber from his face.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” She parked in front of an awesome looking store, built of stone masonry and heavy timbers, the kind of architecture Jason’s father had liked. “This is where they said to get directions.”
“Huh.” Jason opened his car door and Barnabas scrambled over the top of him getting out, too fast and strong for Jason to stop him.
Barnabas rushed up the stone steps under a deep overhang from a second floor and charged a tall man standing back in the shadows near a window.
Jason ran after his dog, hoping he wouldn’t hurt anybody. The dog wouldn’t bite but he was very big and strong and he liked jumping on people to say hello.
Barnabas stood on his hind legs with his front paws propped against a man’s stomach, tongue hanging out, getting his head and neck scratched.
The tall, lean man wore a brightly colored shirt, neatly tucked into worn blue jeans, wearing a wide belt with a polished silver buckle. His long white ponytail flowed over his shoulders from under a wide rimmed, black cowboy hat with a colorful beaded hatband, a feather poking up from it, tall as the hat.
Indian jewelry, beaded shirts, wood carvings and other beaded leather goods were displayed along the window ledge behind him.
“Wow! Are you a real Indian?” Jason had never met a real Indian before.
“Yes, I guess I am.” He had a friendly smile and a face like leather. “This your dog?” Barnabas leaned into the man with his tail wagging like they were best friends, smiling his dog smile like that, tongue hanging out the side of his face.
“Yes, sir. His name’s Barnabas. He’s an American Pit Bull Terrier.”
“Jason.” Mom sounded worried about something, standing right behind Jason. “Keep your dog under control.” She smiled her apologetic smile at the Indian. “I’m sorry. Our dog’s too strong for a leash. He drags us wherever he wants to go.” She clapped her hands but Barnabas ignored her, getting his ears scratched like that.
“It’s okay, ma’am.” The Indian lifted Barnabas’s front paws off his belt and dropped him to the porch. “Me and animals get along fine.” He leaned down and rubbed Barnabas’s shoulders.
Barnabas liked it.
“I’m John Crow.” The tall Indian smiled and tipped his hat.
“I’m Jason and this is my mom.”
“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Nice to meet you.” Mom shook his hand then he shook hands with Jason. His long fingers wrapped Jason's hand, skin
