"Squeekie," Gideon said, and closed her hand over it once more. She tried it herself, and the worn, blind old face shone with pleasure. "Kweekee!" she crowed. "Kweekee!" She squeezed it some more, holding it up to her ear and emitting great peals of laughter, which exhibited a set of gray gums barren but for one nub of a brown molar on each side. Gideon laughed with her, and soon the others were laughing too. Astoundingly, even Big Cheese smiled slightly, and for a moment his feline eyes seemed to glow with something like warmth.
Pleased with their progress, Gideon presented the cigarette lighter. As expected, it brought gasps when he used it to ignite a few twigs at the edge of the fire. Only two of the Yahi could be coaxed to try it, however, and neither Keen Eagle nor Shy Buffalo could get it to work. Their fingers were clumsy on the unfamiliar object, and they held it upside down, or in both hands, or dropped it altogether, in spite of Gideon’s patient guidance. Both grew frustrated and sulky within minutes, and Gideon thought it best to put the lighter in the pocket of his jacket.
This caused a sensation. Pockets, it appeared, were as intriguing as clear plastic wrapping. Gideon was made to take the lighter out of his pocket and put it back in a dozen times, and soon Keen Eagle, Shy Buffalo, and Gray Sparrow were trying it. Startled Mouse hung skittishly back, as usual, and Big Cheese, who had threatened neither action nor speech since the affair of the turtle, was disdainful, miles above this saltu claptrap.
All in all, the presents had been a success. Most of the Yahi now milled about Gideon and even touched him with no apparent fear. Gideon thought it might be time to try to do what he had come to do.
"Chief," he said, using the Yahi honorific to address Big Cheese, "we talk now."
Big Cheese pointed at Shy Buffalo with his chin. "He is the chief," he said surprisingly.
Shy Buffalo smiled diffidently. "Yes, I am the chief." His manner of speaking was halting and slow, and Gideon could follow the intent of it, which was more than he could say for the throaty, rapid speech of the other older Yahi. Before they could talk, Shy Buffalo said, the saltu must also have gifts. He gestured for them to follow, turned, and walked slowly toward the larger of the two huts.
Inside, the hut was about twelve feet in diameter, larger than the ones on Pyrites Creek and tall enough to stand in, but otherwise like them. The curving walls, made of rushes tied over a framework of scouler willow poles, were smoke-blackened and greasy with the fires of many winters. The sweet and pungent smells of smoke, human beings, and not too finically preserved meat were strong, but on the whole it was not unpleasant. Near the low entrance was a pile of baskets, some finished, some incomplete, some with the stepped Yahi design, some plain. There were cooking baskets, sifting baskets, and open-weave carrying baskets; all Gray Sparrow’s handiwork, no doubt.
Along the wall was more basketry: lidded storage hampers. Some were open, showing plentiful supplies of dried, nearly black meat cut in strips, dried whole fish, and seeds and roots Gideon didn’t recognize.
"I can stop worrying about them going hungry," Julie said. "There’s enough right here for them to live on for three months."
Around the ashy fire pit in the center there were three rumpled, comfortable-looking blankets of sewn-together, brown rabbit skins. Other objects were scattered over the floor: a fire drill hearth with the drill upright in its hole, a scruffy deer’s head filled with grass-hunting decoy, probably-two stone hammers, a few spears and harpoons leaning against the wall, stone knives, hand adzes, some unfinished notched wooden hafts. And an atlatl.
"Not exactly shipshape," Julie said. "I’ll bet Gray Sparrow doesn’t live here. It looks like bachelors’ quarters."
"You’re probably right," Gideon said, "but it really isn’t too bad; kind of lived-in. It’d be cozy on a rainy day with the fire going. I could think of worse ways to spend a cold, dreary day than lying on one of those rabbit-skin rugs and munching dried fish around the fire."
Through gestures and words, Shy Buffalo told them that they were welcome to anything the Yahi possessed.
"I suppose we ought to take something to be polite?" Julie asked hopefully.
"Absolutely," Gideon said, smiling. "We wouldn’t want to offend them."
She chose a beautifully woven, richly decorated little basket of the kind referred to by anthropologists as trinket baskets. Gideon asked for one of the stone axes, which greatly pleased Shy Buffalo, who said with hesitant pride that he had made it.
Julie was not so pleased. "You’re thinking," she said, frowning, "that might come in handy before we get out of all this?"
"Am I?" he said absentmindedly. Was he?
Outside, Gray Sparrow, still clutching Squeekie, smiled when Shy Buffalo told her what Julie had chosen, but went into the hut and came out a moment later with a large, pitch-smeared basket, undecorated and ugly. She thrust this on Julie and snatched back the smaller one, chattering all the time. Julie, the big basket in her arms, looked confusedly at Gideon.
"I think," he said, "that she’s telling you the one you picked wasn’t good for anything. Too small, impossible to cook in, useless for holding water. The other one is much more sensible."
Gideon interceded with his elementary Yahi, and Julie got to keep her trinket basket. Gray Sparrow grumbled good-naturedly at the foolishness of it.
Now, at last, with dinner done and gifts exchanged, it was finally time to talk. Evening was coming on and it was growing cool; they would talk in the big hut. Among the Yahi of a century before, serious talk would have meant man-talk, and, from the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the men when Julie entered with Gideon, it still did.
Shy Buffalo began to explain in his hesitant, deferential way that she could not stay, but Big Cheese cut him off brusquely, speaking directly to Gideon. "Men talk with men," he said, again using a kind of simpleton’s speech. "Women go in the woman’s house."
Julie looked at Gideon for a translation.
"No dames," he said.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"I think you and Gray Sparrow are supposed to have a nice gossip in her house while we boys work things out. Julie," he said, suddenly serious, "be careful."
"Of Gray Sparrow?"
"Of everything. People have been killed, don’t forget. For all we know, they’re all involved."
His words seemed to startle her. "Do you know, I think I actually did forget? You be careful, too. Don’t let Big Cheese get in back of you. He’s always hanging around off to the side, as if he’s waiting for his chance."
"Believe me, I won’t. Besides, I have my trusty war club now." Actually, Gideon, too, had to keep reminding himself there was danger. The Yahi were not convincing murderers. Even Big Cheese, with all his surliness, hardly seemed about to assault him with his ax. Could the previous attack have been a misunderstanding? An error? Gideon touched his still-sore head. Some misunderstanding.
Inside the hut, with grunts and wheezing sighs, the three old Yahi sat down facing him across the fire: Keen Eagle supporting his turnip sack of a body against a bundle of spears, Startled Mouse with his ruined foot twisted under him, and Shy Buffalo, dignified and courteous. Big Cheese, as usual, lounged about to the side. Gideon shifted to keep him in view.
The jollity of the gift exchange had worn off, and the old men waited with nervous but circumspect expressions for him to speak. Gideon was suddenly and strongly put in mind of three aged and infirm rhesus monkeys, grave, scarred, and ill used by time, patiently awaiting whatever new indignities and abuses were to come.
"Noble Yahi," he said, politely, using the old, dignified form of address. "Noble people." So much for correct Yahi. "I have come to help you," he went on in his own fractured version. "The saltu are your friends, not your enemies."