"What’s he saying?" Ruth whispered.
"He’s telling them we mean them no harm," Willard said. "He’s showing them we have no weapons and half of us are women."
Wally slammed his hand against his chest several times and shouted something that ended in the word "Pwatsak."
A group of men emerged from the nearest ledge overlooking them, and the one who came to the forefront looked down at Wally with angry, flashing eyes. His chest was bare under a whiteman’s torn suit jacket and his entire head was shaved except for a long braided ponytail. "I will not speak your filthy language and it hurts my ears to listen to you mangle mine," the man sneered. "And I wouldn’t say it was brave of you to come here, Motsai scum."
"How much," Wally said.
The man looked down at the cart and rubbed his chin. Finally, he smiled and said, "Free, I think."
One of the men next to him raised his rifle at Wally, who threw up his hands and said, "There are more! I bring you these ones just to show you what I can do. This is just the first group!"
Everyone inside the cart began shouting, and Willard grabbed for Wally’s hand, "What are you saying? What group?"
Wally slapped Willard across the face with the back of his hand and said, "Be silent, wasichu!"
The men on the ledge wound down the path toward the cart, surrounding it with weapons. Willard wiped tears from his eyes that were brought on by the slap and said, "None of this makes sense. We came to join you!"
"What?" the man said.
Willard pushed his way past the rest of the group, even as they grabbed onto him and begged him not to go. He lowered himself down and stood before the tall Beothuk and said, "We are from the Church of the Great Spirit. We travelled across the stars to come and be with you. All we are seeking is to learn your ways. We want what to live as you do. To have what your people have, don’t you see that?"
The man’s eyes narrowed and he said, "Oh yes, wasichu. I have always seen that." He snatched Willard by the blonde curls of his hair and twisted, ripping him forward. The people in the cart screamed behind him as Willard fell to his knees in the dirt. The Beothuk drew a long, curved knife from his belt, "So you want to learn the ways of my people?" He pressed the edge of his knife to Willard’s scalp and started to saw.
Chapter 4: Thasuka Witko’s Vision
At long last, he ran.
Free of the wracking cough that had plagued him for months, free of the ache in his knees and back. Finally, he ran. As a boy, Thasuka Witko scouted for his tribe’s warriors, able to outrun any of them before even his Ayawisgi rite of passage. Now, his bare feet flew across the dry red clay of the Crimson Hills. It was land he had not seen in the forty years since his father Hoka-Psice led their evacuation from it.
He ran so fast that he stumbled but as he fell he found he could run on all fours. Ahead of him, a sleek, muscular animal leapt across a creek of running water and Thasuka Witko raced to catch up to it. The animal turned to look back at him and smiled, its silver fur turned blue in the sunlight.
"Faster," the animal said.
Thasuka Witko lowered his head into the wind, feeling it swirl around him as he dove across the creek. His claws bit into the clay as he landed, allowing purchase to hurl himself forward even faster. The animal laughed over its shoulder and said, "That’s it!"
He lunged forward, just close enough to swipe the animal’s back leg and trip it. Both of them rolled across the ground, red clay dust sticking to their fur like paint. The animal got upright and thrust out its wide neck and chest at him, showing the strip of soft white fur that below its chin as it slowly circled Thasuka Witko. "Well done, little one," the animal said.
"What are we?"
"We are that which has been lost. The noble animals of the Beothuk before they came to this place."
"Like the werja?"
The larger animal snarled, "Nothing like those things." He stamped his paw at Thasuka Witko, making him flinch backwards. "You do not ask me who I am, though."
Thasuka Witko recovered and moved with the beast, careful to keep distance between them. "I already know who you are."
"And who is that?"
"You are Hoka-Psice. Or at least, you would like me to think you are."
The beast nodded thoughtfully, "And what makes you doubt it?"
"Hoka-Psice is dead. And I am not."
The beast charged forward, his mouth open to reveal shining white fangs as he snapped at Thasuka Witko, making him scurry away. "What makes you so sure, little one?"
"I have not received the final vision telling me who will lead the tribe after I am gone. Until I know, I cannot depart from this world."
The creature snarled at him and said, "What do you think this is, my son?"
Mahpiya the Elder squeezed a wet cloth over Thasuka Witko’s forehead and frowned. He touched the Chief’s face and dug into his medicine bag. "What is the root that brings down fever?"
The boy sitting in the tent next to him squeezed his eyes shut and said, "The one shaped like a bent over old lady."
"Its name?"
"Is it hobblebark?"
Mahpiya nodded, "Go find me some."
Lakhpia-sha jumped to his feet and raced out of the tent, nearly colliding into the Chief’s youngest son, Thathanka-Ska. "Watch out! I have to get something."
Thathanka-Ska hurried after him, trying his best to keep up. He moved like a baby leaper, wobbling on long, thin legs it was not used to. Only a year ago, the boy had barely come up to Lakhpia-Sha’s chest, and now he was just two inches shorter than his older brother, Haienwa’tha. "How is he?" Thathanka-Ska said.
"His fever is worsening. Mahpiya thinks he is going to cross over tonight."
"What?"
Lakhpia-Sha looked back and realized the younger boy had stopped in his tracks. He turned around and put his hand on his friend’s arm, "I am sorry. I know you are upset."
"What about the tribe? There is no Chief if he dies. We’ll be all alone."
"Mahpiya said that no Chief has ever crossed over without designating a new leader."
"But what if he does?"
"He won’t."
"How do you know?"
"He doesn’t," someone said from the shadows. Haienwa’tha came forward, wearing a blanket around his shoulders that he clasped under his chin. "He is just repeating what the old man told him." He looked at Lakhpia-Sha, "Why aren’t you with Mahpiya? An apprentice belongs at his master’s side."
"I need to find something for him."
"So? Go find it." Haienwa’tha nodded to his brother and said, "I am going to stand outside of the tent to be there if he passes. I want his spirit to see us and know that it is safe to leave this world. You must put on a brave face if you want to come with me. Can you do that?"
The boy nodded and wiped his eyes and cheeks. He followed Haienwa’tha up the hill toward their father’s tent and said, "Are you scared?"
"No. Our ancestors will greet Thasuka Witko with open arms. He will enter the circle of Great Chiefs and not be in any pain anymore."
"I meant about being the next Chief," Thathanka-Ska said.
Haienwa’tha laughed sharply, "What gave you that stupid idea?"
"You are his oldest son. That is the way of things."
"I’m too young. The women’s council would never allow it and I would not expect them to. A Chief needs qualities that I do not possess yet, or else no one will follow him."
"I’d follow you," Thathanka-Ska said softly.
"Then follow me up to the tent then and remember, no looking sad." He smiled at his younger brother and put his arm around his shoulder as they walked.
At midnight, Mahpiya emerged from the medicine tent and said, "It is time. Gather the people."
The women came down from the encampment, escorted by the warriors of the tribe. Young mothers bounced their little ones to keep them quiet as their husbands stood next to them, standing on their toes to see what was happening. Mahpiya held the tent flap back
as ancient Agaidika, the oldest woman of their kind, made her way through the crowd to enter. Mahpiya waved his hand at the Chief’s sons and said, "Come."
Thathanka-Ska winced at the site of his father shivering on the soft fur rug. He was pale as the moons and sweat poured off of his body like fat raindrops. Agaidika touched her lips and pressed her fingers against his forehead. "Be at peace, brave warrior. Your sons are with you."
Mahpiya smacked this long wooden staff against the ground and said, "Chief Thasuka Witko! The people are gathered to hear your vision. Speak it before you cross."
Thasuka Witko’s eyes fluttered open and his mouth worked reflexively with nothing but a long, soft moan emerging. "I have…seen the future."
"What is it?" Mahpiya said.
"A Chief…who walks through the flames. Who leads our people out of the desert and into the new lands."
Agaidika leaned forward and said, "Who is this man you speak of, Thasuka Witko?"
"To the land of the Hopituh Shi-nu-mu, my oldest son must travel." He looked up at Haienwa’tha, his large brown eyes filling with tears as he plead, "You must find him. You must find him and bring him back to us before it is too late."
"Too late for what, father?" Haienwa’tha said.
"…too late," Thasuka Witko whispered.
Haienwa’tha bent to one knee and took his father’s frail hand in his own. "I will find this man and bring him back no matter what."
Thasuka Witko waved for his younger son to come closer. Thathanka-Ska took his father’s hand and kissed it. "Please stay," the boy whispered. "Please do not leave us. I beg you."
Haienwa’tha glared at his brother, but Thasuka Witko dismissed the look and smiled gently at the boy. "You must go as well, but…ugk…will not believe." The great chief laid his head back against the rug and closed his eyes.
Mahpiya gasped aloud and looked up at the tent’s roof as if something had shot up into the air that only he could see. He spun and tore open the tent flaps, staring into the dark sky in wonder and pointed. "Thasuka Witko is now with his ancestors, and will hunt the hills of this land no more."
Chapter 5: The Devastator
"A government man says he'll get me out of here if I set you up," Bob Ford said.
"Come on now, Bob. Would you do that to your old partner?"
"You ain't come get me out like you promised. You weren't there when the sons of bitches came to…" Bob's voice died in his throat.
Gentleman Jim sighed and put his arm against the bunk, shaking his head sadly as he said, "Why do you think I never came to get you, Bob? You think I can have some sissy boy riding with me? What would people say?"
"It wasn't my fault!"
"Yeah, but you're spoiled now. You been turned."
"No I haven't."
The bandit leaned down over Bob and said, "Then let me ask you a question. Why in the hell are them bastards still breathing?"
Bob Ford stood up from his bunk and went over to the sink to run the foul yellow water over his hands. He dunked his head under it and started to scrub until it was soaking wet. The prison staff only gave the inmates safety razors and greasy lard cream to shave with, so it took Bob a fair amount of pulling and ripping to cut off all his hair and get himself bald. He picked up the safety razor and inspected it in the darkness, feeling the small but sharp edges housed in plastic.
The next morning, he got out of his bunk and draped his towel over his arm, keeping his hand hidden as he headed for the showers.
"Boy, look at the shiny dome on young Bob," someone hollered.
"Looks even more like a walking pecker than he did before, if that’s possible."
He stopped at the edge of the concrete floor, feeling the slippery tile with his toes. He stripped out of his loose shirt and pants and headed for the stall. Bob dropped a bar of soap into his towel and wound it in his hand and held it by its tail.
"Shower time again, Bob?" someone said from behind him.
"Ain’t seen you in here in two weeks. Where’s your guard friends? Thought you weren’t coming in here without them anymore."
"I don’t need them," Bob said. He heard the shiver in his own voice and cursed it. He sucked in enough air to fill his chest and turned around to face the other men. There were three of them. The same three it always was.
The fat one looked at the towel in Bob’s hand and sneered, "What you gonna do with that, Bob? Towel us off when we’re done?"
The men came forward around the edges of the shower, surrounding Bob. Bob remained still.
"We been nice to you so far, boy. Gentle as lambs. Why you wanna change up the arrangement?"
"There is no arrangement," Bob hissed. "You all are going to leave me alone!"
"Sure there is," the tallest one said. "You belong to us and nobody else messes with you. There’s a lot of angry people in here, Bob. It’s best to have friends."
"We are not friends," Bob said.
"No," the tall one said. "I suppose not."
They all rushed forward at him at once, coming from every direction, expecting him to start swinging his makeshift weapon. Bob flung the towel and soap bar at the tall one and hit him with a lucky shot that smashed him right in the mouth.
The other two grabbed Bob, the fat one putting his beefy arm around Bob’s throat and the other taking hold of his wrist. Bob relaxed, letting them move his body, letting them get close enough to him. He felt the fat one’s rolls of flesh against his back and reached back behind his legs with his free hand, the one with the modified safety razor.
"Hold that son of a bitch," the tall one sputtered. His mouth was black with blood and he stormed forward with both fists clenched, spitting spat chunks of sharp tooth fragments onto the floor, when the man behind Bob started to scream.
The hold around his throat loosened and Bob whipped his hand around in a wide circle, spraying the shower walls crimson as he swung for the man holding his wrist. The edge of his razor caught the man across the right eye, splitting the orb in two.
Bob pushed both men away from him and held up the razor, showing it to the tall one. He passed through the hot jets of water in the shower, feeling it washing him clean even as the other man tried to back up and get away from him.
Johnny Saringo leaned against the damp, mildewed doorframe and looked through the slotted window at the beaten, naked figure on the muddy floor. Bob Ford lifted his head slightly, squinting at the bounty hunter between two swollen eyes, and then laid his head back down.
"They’re all gonna live," Saringo said. "You cut that one fool’s nose almost completely off. He’s gonna be able to breathe a lot easier without either of his nostrils getting in the way. The other one’s blind in one eye. And the fat one, well, let’s just say his baby making prospects just went down significantly if he should ever get out of here."
Bob pushed off of the floor and clutched his stomach, groaning in pain. "What the hell do you want, Mr. Saringo?"
"The guards want you gone, boy. For one thing, they think you’re crazy and after they put the whooping on you, they’re afraid you’ll start cutting them up next."
"I wouldn’t do that," Bob said. "They were just doing what they’re supposed to."
"Fair enough," Saringo said. "But now they’re also worried about what the other inmates will do to you, including the three you mutilated once they get back from sickbay. They don’t want any dead bodies on their hands, Bob. It’s bad for business."
"But everything else that goes on here is okay?"
"Everything has its limits, Bob. People too, which I think we’ve all seen pretty clearly here today. So, they intend to ship you out at the next flight. I have no idea what rock they’re going to bury you under, but I god-damn-guarantee you it will make this place look like a playground. That’ll be the end of your days, my friend."
"I guess that’s it, then."
"I guess it is," Saringo said. "Unless, of course, you changed your mind about helping me."
"They aren’t going to
let me walk out after all this," Bob said.
Saringo smiled and said, "You’d be surprised, Bob. The men I work for are what you might call the influential type."
"Influential enough to make all this go away?"
Johnny Saringo reached down and twisted the cell door handle, then pulled it open enough for Bob to walk through. "That’s putting it mildly."
The space freighter bounced them up and down in their seats like rubber balls, but Johnny Saringo paid it no mind as he held up the display screen. He pointed to the masked figure at the center of the screen and said, "This is footage of Gentleman Jim during the Sandy Hill Bank Robbery. He shot the female clerk in the face when she told him she couldn’t open up her register, then he killed the bank manager just for sport. That’s what finally got him into the big leagues as far as bounties go."
Bob Ford leaned forward in his seat and squinted at the grainy photograph. "Can I see that?" he said.
Saringo handed the screen to Bob and sat back. The seats were made of molded plastic and Johnny stuck his hands under his rear end to give his tailbone a rest. "Word is that he’s getting into darker stuff than just knocking off banks and robbing stage coaches. We have intelligence that he’s trafficking humans, snatching women and smuggling them off planet to sell them to the highest bidder."
"Selling them for what?" Bob said.
"What do you think, Bob?"
Bob Ford handed him back the screen and said, "I can’t help you, Mr. Saringo. That isn’t Gentleman Jim."
Saringo took the screen back and looked down at it, seeing the masked man holding a cocked revolver in his hand. "The hell are you talking about, Bob? It most certainly is."
"No it isn’t," Bob said. He tapped the screen with his finger and said, "Gentleman Jim was three inches taller than me and had a square chin. This man is hardly taller than the woman he’s standing next to, plus he’s got an inverted chin, like it stopped growing early or something. See that mask? It’s all crooked and cheaply made. The man I rode with wouldn’t have used that mask to wipe his boots off with. Anyway, Jim never hurt a single woman in all the time I knew him and never let anybody else do it either. You’re looking for the wrong man."
Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4) Page 24