Today, however, the tribal police seemed cordial enough. At least to the point of not shooting at him. Longarm reined Straight at a dark-complected Piegan with scars on his cheeks that were too symmetrical to have been inflicted by accident.
“I’m looking for Cloud Talker.”
The Piegan scowled and shook his head, pointing to one ear as if to indicate he either couldn’t hear or couldn’t understand.
“You understood English just fine yesterday. Heard just fine too,” Longarm told him. Not that Longarm had paid any attention to the Piegan at all the day before. It was a shot in the dark, but one he figured couldn’t do any harm. Hell, if the guy really couldn’t speak the language, then none of this was making any sense to him anyhow and the bluff would pass unnoticed. “That lodge,” the policeman said, pointing.
“Thank you very much.” Using the spur on the side of his horse that the Piegan couldn’t see, Longarm gigged his horse sharply in the ribs, causing the animal to jump as if skittish. It “accidentally” bumped into the policeman and caused the sullen Piegan a small loss of face by making him scurry to get out of the way. “Sorry.” Longarm made a show of bringing the horse back under control, then put it into a trot toward a squat, wide-based lodge that was decorated with zig-zag lightning bolts, sun shapes, and bright red chevrons.
He brought the horse to a halt before the lodge door and called out, “I have come to talk with the son of my friend.”
After a moment the door flap was thrown open and Cloud Talker stepped outside, followed by two very handsome young women who Longarm took to be Cloud Talker’s wives. If there were children, they remained out of sight in the lodge.
“Welcome, Long Arm. Get down. Let my woman take your horse.” He said something over his shoulder, and the younger of the women came forward to take the reins from Longarm and lead the horse away. Cloud Talker said something else, and the older woman bobbed her head and went into the lodge. She returned moments later carrying a pair of mats, which she unrolled beside a now-cold ash pit where at night the men could sit in comfort to talk and scratch.
Longarm found it interesting that Cloud Talker did not invite him inside the lodge for meat and serious hospitality. Still, Cloud Talker only knew Longarm by reputation. It was John Jumps-the-Creek who had been Longarm’s friend.
Thinking about the old man, Longarm wondered what had happened to his wives. Longarm had liked them, the one known as Juanita Maria in particular. Longarm had given her a comb of honey once, and the toothless old thing had fawned over him ever afterward.
“Where are your father’s wives?” Longarm asked without thinking as the two men settled onto the mats.
Cloud Talker frowned, then said, “My father’s wives went back to their families, as is right and proper.”
“That’s good,” Longarm said. “Before I leave the agency I would like to see them again and bring them presents. They were kind to me when your father was alive.” He didn’t bring up the fact that it was most definitely not a right or proper thing for Cloud Talker to turn the old women out of his lodge after his father’s death. But then, obviously Longarm wasn’t supposed to know that.
“I will see that my father’s wives receive whatever you would give to them,” Cloud Talker said. Which, of course, was not at all what Longarm had offered. Curious, Longarm thought. Damned curious.
“Thank you for receiving me today,” Longarm said. He pulled out a twist of tobacco he’d gotten from the agency sutler on his Way over and handed it to Cloud Talker. “Will you smoke with me?”
“Yes, Long Arm.” Cloud Talker said something to his wife, and she went into the lodge for a pipe and burning glass, which she presented to her husband. Cloud Talker drew his knife and shaved tobacco into the pipe, tamped it lightly with the ball of his thumb, and lighted it using the magnifying glass. He smoked in silence for several moments, then handed the pipe to Longarm.
Longarm adopted a solemn and serious mien as well, and sat cross-legged and silent for long minutes while he smoked and contemplated. Or pretended to. If Cloud Talker wanted seriousness, then seriousness the Piegan leader would jolly well get.
Eventually Longarm grunted, signifying absolutely nothing, and returned the pipe to Cloud Talker.
Cloud Talker sent puffs of smoke to the four ends of the earth, then said something in a low, singsong chant and carefully laid the pipe aside. “What is it my father’s friend Long Arm would seek from me?” he asked.
“Information,” Longarm said. “If I’m gonna find out who it was that killed my friend, I must first know how he died.”
“The Crow murdered my father,” Cloud Talker said.
“Yes, so you say. But I have to determine that on the record so the agency and the Crow will believe it too.”
“The Crow,” Cloud Talker repeated. “They are the ones who murdered my father.”
“Which particular Crow do you think did it, Cloud Talker? Tall Man? Some other? Tell me what you believe to be true.”
“Does it matter which Crow struck the blow? The Crow are no good. None of them. They should not have been brought to this that is our land. They should be sent away, Long Arm. They are all guilty.”
“But who is it should hang for the murder, Cloud Talker?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Cloud Talker. It does.”
“They are all guilty. Send them away. Leave us in peace while still there is peace to keep, Long Arm. Tell the Great Father this. Tell him to send the Crow from our land and there will be peace. If the Crow remain”—Cloud Talker shook his head—“I see war between our peoples. Tell this to the Great Father, Long Arm. Tell him there must be war if the Crow do not pay for the death of my father.”
“Tell me about the death of your father, Cloud Talker. Tell me about the murder of this man who was my friend.”
“I have said what I wish to say to you, Long Arm. I welcomed you as a friend and I gave you the pipe to smoke. Now go. Tell the Great Father what I, Cloud Talker, shaman and chief of the Piegan, said to you. Tell him all this that I have said.” Cloud Talker made a chopping motion with his right hand, then abruptly stood and strode off away from Longarm and his own lodge.
“Shit,” Longarm mumbled. But there wasn’t any point in chasing after Cloud Talker. The man had said all he was likely to. This time, anyhow. Longarm stood too, reaching into his pocket for a cheroot. Dammit anyhow, he thought.
Chapter 21
The horse had been staked out on a patch of sparse grass behind Cloud Talker’s lodge. Longarm flipped his near stirrup onto the seat of the saddle and reached for the latigo, intending to tighten the cinch and head back to the Crow camp. He paused before pulling it snug, however.
He was already among the Piegans, and still had tied behind his cantle the rest of the presents he’d expected to give to Cloud Talker. Before, that is, the Blood shaman had stalked off in a huff.
In addition to the twist of tobacco that he’d given to Cloud Talker, Longarm had earlier bought and brought along two more twists of molasses-soaked tobacco and one pint of sugar and another of coffee. It seemed a shame to haul those around when they could serve to bring some smiles to the old women who once were married to John Jumps-the-Creek. And hell, Longarm was here now and had some time to spare. He might just as well look up Juanita Maria and … what was the other wife’s name? Teeth, tooth, something about teeth. Of course. Bad Tooth. But then, as he remembered it, Bad Tooth at least had some teeth left in her head to be bad. Juanita Maria didn’t.