On the day Eli Jumper died an early chinook softened the crusted snow. By sunrise the eves of the ranch buildings began to drip, and the warming air raised vapor from the backs of the horses in the corral. Sunlight on the snow reflected with a blinding intensity, affecting horses, cattle, even the coyotes, whose prowls were frequently interrupted by paws drawn across sore eyes. The world gleamed.
In his gimcrack hide shelter Jumper drew charcoal stripes across his cheekbones as he readied himself for the day’s hunt; he dried his bowstring, loaded the quiver and sharpened his skinning knife before taking a few bites of jerked antelope. He would ride east, hoping to cut the trail of elk, buffalo or antelope driven toward the Platte in recent snowstorms.
He had heard the drunken cheers and laughter in the main ranch building late last night… so much for Cutter’s drinking embargo. What Jumper did not hear was Tabonneau’s silent rise from his blankets in the predawn hours to gather jerky and biscuits, or his stealthy advance into the storeroom to slit the throats of the sleeping prostitutes.
Nor as he stepped out of the stable into the sunlight did Jumper see the half-breed waiting for him just outside.
The Osage did not hear the bowstring release, but the arrow struck him between the shoulder blades, and he went to his hands and knees in the snow and saw his blood, bright and frothy from the lungs, blossoming red in the whiteness beneath him. A loud ringing surged in his head and a shadow passed over him, arms raised.
Down came the axe.
Minutes later Tabonneau saddled his horse and tethered the others together to be led out of the corral. Then he went back to the main building, quietly opened the window of the whores’ room and lit a fire on the bloody blankets covering their bodies. He returned to the corral, mounting his horse like a man with nothing better to do. He led the string of horses out of the corral and rode north to join his mother’s people.
The wet conditions inside the sod building slowed the fire’s progress; it took a few minutes before the smoke roused Cutter. He put on his boots, a shirt, trousers, and a buffalo coat, then took up two pistols before he shouted at Cole.
Open yer eyes, son of a bitch.
Huh?
Ye’ll cook in another minute.
Cutter kicked open the door and stepped into the sunlight, smoke trailing him out the door. Shielding his eyes, he turned and backed away from the building, watching more smoke roll out of the whores’ window.
Cole stumbled out of the doorway, coughing, a blanket around his shoulders, his left hand holding his unbelted trousers. His right held a shirt over his nose and mouth.
He coughed hard.
What about the whores? he said.
The wind shifted, bringing the smoke toward them. With it came the smell of burning flesh.
Don’t guess we have to worry about them, said Cutter.
Cole coughed again. What about Tabonneau?
Cutter shrugged.
And Jumper… where’s the damn Indian?
Cutter turned his head, saw the empty corral and recognized the answer: There, tied by its hair to the top of one of the gateposts, was Jumper’s head.
Cole followed his gaze.
Aw hell.
Well now, said Cutter, let that be a lesson…
What? What lesson?
Just then the snow-covered section of roof over the whores’ room collapsed, raising a large plume of steam as wet snow came down on the burning contents. Cutter shoved his pistols into the waistband of his trousers and looked at Cole.
Whoremaster is no longer our line, he said.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
A Hard Winter
Life slowed for the Lakota.
A cold wave descended upon the plains, and many bands moved to winter camps sheltered in the leeward corners and valleys of the Black Hills. Snow began to drift against the lodges, and the ponies’ coats grew shaggy. Under the frigid temperatures their breath condensed to form blankets of ice pearls on their backs as they pawed crusted snow in search of forage.
The boy spent most days huddled in his wikiup, wrapped in hides, his eyes stinging from small, smoky fires. Hurried walks to the cooking pot and to answer nature’s call, and occasional, brief rabbit hunts constituted the only intervals spent outside his small shelter.
His appearance deteriorated; despite the low temperatures lice infiltrated his robes and small sores erupted on his unwashed body, face and scalp. Nor was the damage confined to his physical mien: The cold and insuperable isolation began to affect his mind. The fragile connections that defined his identity as a being among other beings were dissolving, and in the absence of other communication he began to hold conversations with himself, at times in anger, sometimes laughing until tears came.
His world was shrinking, but the Lakota paid small attention; madness, especially when induced by seasonal hardship, was not uncommon and was considered intensely personal - mystical, perhaps visionary, always solitary. Unless he became violent, there would be no intervention.
Then came the time called the Hardship moon, Tehi wi, and the boy’s misfortunes multiplied as the cold deepened its hold on the land. Frigid darkness seemed to swallow everything, and daylight snuck upon the camp like an enemy, the color of ashes, concealing the line between earth and sky. Freezing gales flogged every living thing. Women and children stripped bundles of willow and cottonwood bark for the ponies, yet many died in the drifts, the boy’s gray among them.
---
Winter confinement brought trouble to the outlaws’ road ranch as well. Quarrels erupted. Cole and the two whores were the first to become prickly, the cause being Cole’s unceasing pursuit of sexual favors sans compensation. Their spats grew combative under the influence of whiskey, until finally Cutter drew a pistol and declared a moratorium on the consumption of spirits without his personal say-so.
And no more free rides, Teddy, he added, or I’ll nip off your pizzle and feed it to the roosters.
But Cutter’s difficulties were far from over: Unknown to him, ancient enmities presaged the finish of his Laramie scheme.
Eli Jumper’s tribe, the Osage, the Wah-Zha-Zhe, were a plains people, and by the 1850’s their relations with the I’n-Shta-Heh, the heavy eyebrows, as they called the whites, led many warriors like Jumper to scout for army expeditions against enemy tribes – the Kiowa, the Cheyenne, and, when the opportunity presented itself, the Lakota.
Edwin Tabonneau had been raised among the Oglala, and from the moment he saw the murdered woman’s shell ornament on Jumper’s ear, he knew how the Osage had acquired it. Worse yet, subtle details told him it had likely been fashioned by a woman of the Bad Face clan, his mother’s family.
Not a word had passed between Tabonneau and Eli since Ft. Laramie, but Jumper knew the risks his presence in Lakota country imposed.
Unfortunately the snow that curtailed visits of soldiers and emigrants to the ranch also forestalled the extended hunting trips that kept distance between the two men. Now, instead of supplying meat for the ranch, Jumper tended the stock, keeping himself separate from the others, even sleeping in a special hide shelter in the dugout stable. He prepared his own meals and seldom entered the main building, yet his presence was marked.
Tabonneau had for some time committed himself to the murder of Eli Jumper; furthermore, he reasoned that Jumper’s wasichú collaborators should suffer as well.
The fact that Tabonneau himself had joined with these men to kill and rob carried no favor; he was, after all, a Lakota - never truly partnered with his mother’s enemies.
A cold wave descended upon the plains, and many bands moved to winter camps sheltered in the leeward corners and valleys of the Black Hills. Snow began to drift against the lodges, and the ponies’ coats grew shaggy. Under the frigid temperatures their breath condensed to form blankets of ice pearls on their backs as they pawed crusted snow in search of forage.
The boy spent most days huddled in his wikiup, wrapped in hides, his eyes stinging from small, smoky fires. Hurried walks to the cooking pot and to answer nature’s call, and occasional, brief rabbit hunts constituted the only intervals spent outside his small shelter.
His appearance deteriorated; despite the low temperatures lice infiltrated his robes and small sores erupted on his unwashed body, face and scalp. Nor was the damage confined to his physical mien: The cold and insuperable isolation began to affect his mind. The fragile connections that defined his identity as a being among other beings were dissolving, and in the absence of other communication he began to hold conversations with himself, at times in anger, sometimes laughing until tears came.
His world was shrinking, but the Lakota paid small attention; madness, especially when induced by seasonal hardship, was not uncommon and was considered intensely personal - mystical, perhaps visionary, always solitary. Unless he became violent, there would be no intervention.
Then came the time called the Hardship moon, Tehi wi, and the boy’s misfortunes multiplied as the cold deepened its hold on the land. Frigid darkness seemed to swallow everything, and daylight snuck upon the camp like an enemy, the color of ashes, concealing the line between earth and sky. Freezing gales flogged every living thing. Women and children stripped bundles of willow and cottonwood bark for the ponies, yet many died in the drifts, the boy’s gray among them.
---
Winter confinement brought trouble to the outlaws’ road ranch as well. Quarrels erupted. Cole and the two whores were the first to become prickly, the cause being Cole’s unceasing pursuit of sexual favors sans compensation. Their spats grew combative under the influence of whiskey, until finally Cutter drew a pistol and declared a moratorium on the consumption of spirits without his personal say-so.
And no more free rides, Teddy, he added, or I’ll nip off your pizzle and feed it to the roosters.
But Cutter’s difficulties were far from over: Unknown to him, ancient enmities presaged the finish of his Laramie scheme.
Eli Jumper’s tribe, the Osage, the Wah-Zha-Zhe, were a plains people, and by the 1850’s their relations with the I’n-Shta-Heh, the heavy eyebrows, as they called the whites, led many warriors like Jumper to scout for army expeditions against enemy tribes – the Kiowa, the Cheyenne, and, when the opportunity presented itself, the Lakota.
Edwin Tabonneau had been raised among the Oglala, and from the moment he saw the murdered woman’s shell ornament on Jumper’s ear, he knew how the Osage had acquired it. Worse yet, subtle details told him it had likely been fashioned by a woman of the Bad Face clan, his mother’s family.
Not a word had passed between Tabonneau and Eli since Ft. Laramie, but Jumper knew the risks his presence in Lakota country imposed.
Unfortunately the snow that curtailed visits of soldiers and emigrants to the ranch also forestalled the extended hunting trips that kept distance between the two men. Now, instead of supplying meat for the ranch, Jumper tended the stock, keeping himself separate from the others, even sleeping in a special hide shelter in the dugout stable. He prepared his own meals and seldom entered the main building, yet his presence was marked.
Tabonneau had for some time committed himself to the murder of Eli Jumper; furthermore, he reasoned that Jumper’s wasichú collaborators should suffer as well.
The fact that Tabonneau himself had joined with these men to kill and rob carried no favor; he was, after all, a Lakota - never truly partnered with his mother’s enemies.
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