man,” Mountain Calf pronounced. “Many scalps hang from their lodge poles. All are not white scalps.”
“What is this Sand Creek?” Tamsin asked.
“A disgrace,” Ash said, as he scanned the trees for movement. “In early winter of ’64, John Chivington led an attack on a peaceful camp of Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho and massacred men, women, and children. No one knows exactly how many were murdered, maybe hundreds. But it was pure butchery. I’ve fought Indianswhen I had to, but it sickened me when I heard of the brutality and senseless killing.”
“You would do well to walk wide of those my nephew speaks of,” Mountain Calf said. “Men who have lost everything have nothing to lose. They would shoot you down like a rabid wolf.”
Ash nodded. “I value my scalp as much as you do, my friend.”
They stood watch until morning light turned the forest from black to a shimmering gray-green. Once they heard the puma cough, but it came no closer to the camp.
Later, he and Wrestler searched the far side of the stream. They found cat tracks, larger than Ash had ever seen, and they located a tree with shredded bark.
“The cougar wait there,” Wrestler said, pointing to a limb about ten feet from the ground. “She watched us.”
“She?” Ash questioned.
The Ute nodded. Crouching a few feet from the tree, he brushed aside the bushes to reveal fresh scat and stains of urine. “A female. In her prime. This man believes she craves the taste of horseflesh.”
Ash wondered. The puma had stalked Tamsin’s fire on the far side of the mountain, as it had here. It was unnatural behavior for a mountain lion and growing stranger all the time.
“Mountain Calf does not like this place,” Wrestler confided. “We had planned to go on north to trade with others of our own kind, but now …” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Now I think we will take our trade goods and return to our village.”
Ash waited, certain that the Ute brave meant to say more.
“I think I am fortunate that you did not accept my offer for the woman.”
“My wife, you mean?”
Wrestler smiled with his mouth, but his hooded eyes remained cool. “The red-haired woman. I think she brings danger with her. You must not trust her too much, whoever she is. She has power, this female who talks to horses. And this man, for one, would not sleep easy with her at his side.”
“I slept easy enough last night. What did you put in that whiskey?”
A smile spread over Wrestler’s face. “Trouble is, white man, you no can hold liquor.”
Tamsin accused him of the same vice once the three Utes rode off through the trees. “We’ve venison and some sort of roots for breakfast, if you’re not too hung-over to eat. I traded Shadow a pack of sewing needles for enough food to last us through the day.”
Ash rubbed his forehead. “I’ll admit I had more spirits than I should have. I apologize for offending you last night.”
“In more ways than one.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“But you don’t believe I’m innocent. And now you’re accusing me of having an immoral attachment with someone that you say is an outlaw.”
He pulled his hat low on his brow. “Don’t talk to me about Cannon unless you can tell the truth. And hear it.”
“I didn’t know him that well. He came into the store where I worked and seemed pleasant. Mr. Cannon escorted me to a church social and to eat in a public hotel. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You’ve got my sympathy, lady. People keep makin’ up lies about you.”
“I’ve heard what kind of women you’re accustomed to associating with. Doubtless you’re used to their fabrications, but I can assure you that I’m not—”
“Peace, MacGreggor. Your yammering is hard on my aching head. We’d best talk about something else, if you insist on talkin’.”
“How can I convince you—”
“I’ll put the coffee on if you’ll tend to the cooking,” he said, ignoring her argument.
“What is this Sand Creek?” Tamsin asked.
“A disgrace,” Ash said, as he scanned the trees for movement. “In early winter of ’64, John Chivington led an attack on a peaceful camp of Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho and massacred men, women, and children. No one knows exactly how many were murdered, maybe hundreds. But it was pure butchery. I’ve fought Indianswhen I had to, but it sickened me when I heard of the brutality and senseless killing.”
“You would do well to walk wide of those my nephew speaks of,” Mountain Calf said. “Men who have lost everything have nothing to lose. They would shoot you down like a rabid wolf.”
Ash nodded. “I value my scalp as much as you do, my friend.”
They stood watch until morning light turned the forest from black to a shimmering gray-green. Once they heard the puma cough, but it came no closer to the camp.
Later, he and Wrestler searched the far side of the stream. They found cat tracks, larger than Ash had ever seen, and they located a tree with shredded bark.
“The cougar wait there,” Wrestler said, pointing to a limb about ten feet from the ground. “She watched us.”
“She?” Ash questioned.
The Ute nodded. Crouching a few feet from the tree, he brushed aside the bushes to reveal fresh scat and stains of urine. “A female. In her prime. This man believes she craves the taste of horseflesh.”
Ash wondered. The puma had stalked Tamsin’s fire on the far side of the mountain, as it had here. It was unnatural behavior for a mountain lion and growing stranger all the time.
“Mountain Calf does not like this place,” Wrestler confided. “We had planned to go on north to trade with others of our own kind, but now …” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Now I think we will take our trade goods and return to our village.”
Ash waited, certain that the Ute brave meant to say more.
“I think I am fortunate that you did not accept my offer for the woman.”
“My wife, you mean?”
Wrestler smiled with his mouth, but his hooded eyes remained cool. “The red-haired woman. I think she brings danger with her. You must not trust her too much, whoever she is. She has power, this female who talks to horses. And this man, for one, would not sleep easy with her at his side.”
“I slept easy enough last night. What did you put in that whiskey?”
A smile spread over Wrestler’s face. “Trouble is, white man, you no can hold liquor.”
Tamsin accused him of the same vice once the three Utes rode off through the trees. “We’ve venison and some sort of roots for breakfast, if you’re not too hung-over to eat. I traded Shadow a pack of sewing needles for enough food to last us through the day.”
Ash rubbed his forehead. “I’ll admit I had more spirits than I should have. I apologize for offending you last night.”
“In more ways than one.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“But you don’t believe I’m innocent. And now you’re accusing me of having an immoral attachment with someone that you say is an outlaw.”
He pulled his hat low on his brow. “Don’t talk to me about Cannon unless you can tell the truth. And hear it.”
“I didn’t know him that well. He came into the store where I worked and seemed pleasant. Mr. Cannon escorted me to a church social and to eat in a public hotel. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You’ve got my sympathy, lady. People keep makin’ up lies about you.”
“I’ve heard what kind of women you’re accustomed to associating with. Doubtless you’re used to their fabrications, but I can assure you that I’m not—”
“Peace, MacGreggor. Your yammering is hard on my aching head. We’d best talk about something else, if you insist on talkin’.”
“How can I convince you—”
“I’ll put the coffee on if you’ll tend to the cooking,” he said, ignoring her argument.
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