Vail shrugged and asked, “Aren’t you the daughter of Real Bear, the Chief of the Blackfoot, ma’am?”
“My father was war chief of the Turtle Clan. MY mother was Gloria Witherspoon, a captive white woman. There are no hereditary titles among my father’s people, and even if there were, no woman could inherit the rank of war chief.”
Vail looked annoyed but managed a wan smile as he nodded and asked, “Just what is your title, then, ma’am?”
“I’m a half-breed. On rare occasions, I’m called miss.”
Longarm ignored the bitterness in her almond eyes as he leaned against the back of another chair and suggested, “I don’t reckon your family tree is what you’ve come to Uncle Sam about, is it, Miss Two-Women?”
Vail cut in before she could answer, saying, “I’ve got the lady’s complaint down, Longarm. It’s your next job.”
Longarm didn’t think it was the time to point out that he rated the day off. He knew it wouldn’t do any good and the odd little bitter-eyed woman interested him. So he nodded and waited for Vail to fill him in.
The marshal said, “This lady’s daddy sent her to see us, Longarm. A bad Indian’s gone back to the blanket. I got his wanted papers here somewhere … anyway, I want you to run up to the Blackfoot reservation in Montana Territory and-“
“Ain’t you assigning me to a job for the B.I.A., Chief?”
The girl said, “The man my father is worried about isn’t a problem for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, sir. They don’t know he’s alive. My father reported him to the Indian agent at Fort Banyon. They told him they’d file a report on the matter, but of course we know they won’t. Like myself, Johnny Hunts Alone is nonexistent.”
Longarm asked, “You mean he’s …”
“A half-breed. You don’t have to be so delicate. Half-breed’s one of the nicer things I’m used to being called.”
Vail found the “wanted” flyer he’d been rummaging for and said, “He may not exist to the B.I.A., but Justice wants him bad. Matter of fact, we don’t have him down as an Indian, half or whatever. We’ve got him as one John Hunter, age thirty-six, no description save white, male, medium height and build. When he ain’t hiding out on reservations he robs trains, banks, and such. We got four counts of first degree on him in addition to the state and federal wants for armed robbery.”
Longarm pursed his lips and mused, “I remember seeing the wanted flyers, now. Funny, I had him Pictured in my head as just another old, uh-“
“White man,” Gloria Two-Women cut in, stone-faced. Both men waited as she continued, “Like myself, Johnny Hunts Alone is a Blackfoot breed. In his case, his mother was the Indian. They say his father was a Mountain Man who, uh, married a squaw for a trapping season. She gave him his half-name of Johnny, hoping, one would presume, his father might come back some day.”
Longarm asked, “Was he raised Indian, then?”
“To the extent that I was, I suppose. I’ve never met him. They say he ran away to look for his white father years ago.”
Vail explained, “The way I understand it, this Johnny Hunts Alone, John Hunter, or whatever, can pass himself off as white or Indian. He sort of raised himself in trail towns, hobo jungles, and such till he took to robbing folks instead of punching cows. The reason he’s been getting away with it for years is that we could never find his hideout. According to this little lady’s daddy, the jasper’s up at the Blackfoot reservation right now. Miss Gloria, here, will introduce you to her daddy and the chief’ll point the owlhoot out to you. Seems like a simple enough mission to me.”
Longarm sighed and said, “Yeah, it always does. Do you mind if I ask a few questions? Just a result of my suspicious nature.”
Without waiting for permission, he stared soberly at the girl and asked, “How come your Blackfoot relations are so suddenly helpful to Uncle Sam, Miss Two-Women? Meaning no disrespect, the Blackfoot have a reputation for truculence. Wasn’t your tribe sort of cheering from the sidelines when Custer took that wrong turn on the Little Big Horn a few summers back?”
“Like the Cheyenne and Arapahoe, they were allied with the Dakota Confederacy, if that’s what you mean. Since you’re so interested in the history of my father’s people, you probably know the survivors have been penned like sheep in one small corner of Montana.”
“I read about it. Did this Johnny Hunts Alone take part in the Great Sioux Uprising of ‘76?”
“of course not. Do you think my father would inform on a fellow warrior?”
“There you go. So why is your daddy so anxious for us to arrest one of his people?”
“Honestly, don’t you know anything about Indians? The renegade is not a Blackfoot to my father and others like him. Johnny Hunts Alone ran away before he was ever initiated into any of the warrior lodges. When our people were fighting for their lives against the Seventh Cavalry he was off some place robbing banks.”
“So your dad and the other chiefs don’t owe him much, huh?”
“Not only that, but the man’s a known thief and a troublemaker. Thanks partly to my mother, Real Bear speaks English and can read and write, so perhaps he’s more aware than the others of what a wanted fugitive on our reservation could mean to us.”
“What’s that, ma’am?”
“Trouble, of course. Our tribe is … well, frankly, licked. Most of us are resigned to making the best of a bad situation. But there are hotheads among my father’s people who’d like another try at the old ways. Some of the Dream Singers have been having visions, and meetings have been held in the warrior lodges of which I don’t feel free to tell you the details. My father is one of the more progressive chiefs. He’s trying to cooperate with the B.I.A. He’s trying to lead his people into the future; he’s man enough to face it. An outlaw hiding among the young men, boasting of how many whites he’s killed.”
“That makes sense, ma’am. As you were talking just now, it came to me I’d heard your daddy’s name before. Real Bear was one of them who voted with Red Cloud against the big uprising. Though, the way I hear tell, he did his share of fighting once his folks declared war. You mind if I ask you some personal questions, ma’am?”
Vail cut in to point at the clock above Gloria’s head as he snapped, “She might not mind, but I do, dang it! You folks have a train to catch, Longarm! You can jaw about the details along the way. Right now I want you to get cracking. I’ll expect you back here about this time next week, with Johnny Hunts Alone, John Hunter, or whomsoever, dead or alive!”
It wasn’t until he’d escorted Gloria Two-Women aboard the northbound Burlington that Longarm gave serious consideration to her race. Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t have given it much thought, for she was a pretty little thing and his mind was on the job ahead.
As the conductor nodded down at the railroad pass they were traveling on, Longarm asked, “What time are we due in Billings? I make it about twelve hours before we have to change trains, don’t you?”
“We’ll be getting into Billings around ten this evening, Marshal. Uh, you mind if I have a word with you in private?”
Longarm glanced at the girl seated across from him, gazing stone-faced out the window at the passing confusion of the Denver yards, and got to his feet to follow the conductor with a puzzled frown. The older man led him a few seats down, out of the girl’s earshot, before he asked in a low whisper, “Is that a lady of color you’re traveling with, Marshal?”
“You’re wrong on both counts. I’m only a deputy marshal and she’s half white. What’s your problem, friend?”