It was her turn to hesitate. Finally she signed, you good. He tugged at his beard, frowning; sometimes sims' statements were oracular in their obscurity. At last he decided she was telling him that the most important thing was his own happiness, a curious mirroring of his own feelings toward her. And if that wasn't love, what else was at even if it was, was it worth abandoning the Commonwealths for good? He knew a fair number of men who had given up the lives they had known to stay with one whom they had fal en in love. Once the first lust faded, most came to regret it.
something else occurred to the trapper. He was the first to enter this part of the wilderness, but he would not be last. He did not have to wonder what the newcomers would think of him: just what he would have thought before the bear wrecked his leg. Tales of Quick the sim-lover would get him remembered forever, but not in a way he wanted. What else he, thought he did not even think of taking Sol back to the Commonwealths with him. He knew the ostracism that would bring, the more so as she carried his child. She did not deserve to face that.
Apart from it, too, he doubted she could adapt to life east of the Rockies. She was a creature of wilds, no less than the marten or the spearfang. If he had to live with her, it would have to be here.
He bit down on his lip till he tasted blood, then slowly made himself relax. As Sol had reminded him, winter was long way from over.
Nothing he decided now could be fit he would be rehashing it endlessly for weeks to come. He decided to put it aside as well as he could, and wait to see what the weeks would bring.
That sadly indecisive and unoriginal conclusion was enough to grant him rest at last.
Whenever the weather was clear enough and wa enough to let him, Quick kept exercising, working to bring strength back in his long-inactive legs.
He got to the point where he could stump about on his crutches lending him strength and balance. Then, a good many days later, he managed to hobble along with but a single stick Most of the time, though, he spent as he had the begining of the winter, under cover.
Martin stayed on good terms with the trapper. That partly because of the bows and arrows Quick kept turn out. By now the sims'
products, especial y the arrow heads, were as good as anything he could make, but he had more leisure than they in which to make them. Moreover Martin must have realized that without Quick the band never would have known of bows and arrows in the first place.
The sim kept drawing the trapper out, hoping to pick up more ideas the band could use. Quick racked his brains, came up with little. No matter how free-ranging a life lived in the wild, most of what he knew depended in some part on civilized techniques he could not match here, or domesticated plants and animals that were equelly unobtainable.
He had never thought of things as basic as wheat and corn He tried to change a way of life without
them. most of the other males let Quick alone. That was not so hostility as uncertainty over where he fit into the band, his status could hardly have been more confusing: he went from being a powerful outsider to a helpless cripple.
As if that were not bad enough, as a helpless cripple come up with a notion none of them could have they been men, he knew he could have expected over Sol. He had already seen, though, that that sort exssiveness was much weaker among sims. The males, did not object when he took his share of the meat they brought in, and let it go at that.
Among themselves, they jockeyed for position as they My had. Quick was just as glad not to be involved in the males' squabbles reminded him of nothing so much as small boys squaring off to fight. Even perfectly healthy, he would not have relished the prospect of getting t face-to-face screaming match with a wild male, not without his pistol handy, at any rate.
But for al the shrieks and gestures, for al the fury and teeth, few tiffs actual y ended with the combatants punching and kicking and biting. Like a lot of small-boy fights, most were games of bluff and counterbluff, good for letting off steam but not Ping the status of either participant.
Through the winter, Martin stayed atop the hierarchy.
only was he in his physical prime, but he also enjoyed dded prestige the success of Quick's devices brought The band had fared well in what was usually a time ivation, and the sims recognized that and gave credit fist did, at any rate. Like humans, some were unwilling do anything for which they were not responsible. Three or four males, of middling to fairly high Shin the hunting party, began hanging around toer. They had been the last ones to start using the bow.
If sims, that was plenty to settle things. Martin would tun uli his back and swagger away, satisfied he was still cock o' the walk.
Henry Quick shared the big male's exuberance, but aS to a point. He could not help noticing that the members , the hunting party who backed Martin were nowhere near so closely knit as Caesar's followers.
Caesar by himself was no match for Martin; Caesar and several comrades probaij were.
Rain came more and more often. Black patches of dirt began to appear. The evergreens lost their white mantle while buds grew on branches bare for months. Quick the geese crying far overhead, and on clear days saw V's of black, specks flying north against the blue sky.
He wondered, as he had once in a while through winter, if anyone missed him back in the Commonwealth Trapping was a risky business, and every year many tried it never came back. If he did return to civilization he would be a nine days' wonder. Was that reason enough make the trip? He doubted it. He also doubted whether he could finish his life among the sims, even loving one. For better or worse, he and they were different. Unable to decide what to do, he let day follow day, hoping events would solve his problem for him. He got strong with his stick, he was not much slower or more awkward than an old man. He could even hobble a couple of steps without it, though his left leg had to take almost al of the weight.
With that success, he began thinking hard about what travel would mean.
The idea of depending on archery to feed himself was appal ing. His powderhorn was stil half full. He had done his best to keep rifle and pistol dry through the winter, greased them with animal fat, and used dirt and gravel to scour away the rust that did appear. He began substituting the rifle for his stick. The extra weight t tired him, but he managed. He hated to burn powder and waste bullets on test shots but he would sooner find out whether his guns worked in practise, where his life did not depend on the answer. When he loaded them, he pointed the pistol into the air. Big noise, he signed, warning the females Youngsters in the clearing.
Noise-stick Sol amplified. The sims had learned the year that Quick carried noisy weapons that could slay at tance. Few except the hunting males, though, had hem. Of course, the trapper thought as he squeezed bigger they might not hear one now.
He felt Pike cheering when the gun went off. The recoil was easier to take than he'd expected, easier even than he rembered; his arms had become very strong from bearing so much of his weight through his crutches.
sims shrieked. Some clapped hands to ears. Young ran to their mothers. "Big noise" was easier to say than erience. Even Sol jumped, though she recovered y. Noise-stich good? she signed.
Good, Quick answered. He fired the rifle. It also worked and almost knocked him over. The report was louder he pistol shot had been, but the sims did not make such a fuss over it, this time they knew what he was doing.
After he reloaded both guns. If he did decide to leave, they would make al the difference in the world.
The females and youngsters had a great deal to tell the when the hunting party returned. Hands fluttered, in their excitement the sims hooted and yelled to add asis to their gestures.
After the commotion died down, Martin came over to Quick. He asked the same question Sol had: Noise good?