Squint Peterson figured it was pure luck the wounded, half starved boy had picked him to ambush. Most any other white man would probably have shot him right off instead of patching him up. The boy healed rapidly. Squint found that a little rest and nourishment was really all that was needed once the bullet was removed and the infection staved off. He was lucky. The bullet had lodged in the fleshy part of his shoulder instead of smashing bone and costing him the use of his arm. Squint’s clumsy surgery had left a huge hole that would in time heal but would leave one hell of a scar. The boy didn’t seem to care about that as long as the arm was all right.
You could say the two of them hit it off right from the start. Yet Squint could still detect an air of mild distrust on the part of this white boy turned Injun. It was as if the boy appreciated what Squint had done for him but he was half expecting him to revert to the ways of the other whites he had recently come into contact with. Squint didn’t blame him. The boy had nothing but hard times every time he had run into whites. There was little doubt where the lad’s loyalties lay. Still they got along due to a certain amount of respect they held for each other. Of course some ground rules had to be established. Right off, the boy let Squint know that he was Arapaho and “not no damn white man” and his name was Little Wolf, not Robert. Squint allowed as how that was fine with him. He could be Pocahontas if he wanted to as long as he swore he would never tell anybody the location of his secret camp.
“I got to have your word on that,” Squint demanded.
At first the boy thought he was joking, but one look at the mountain man’s stern countenance convinced him he was dead serious. “I ain’t gonna tell,” he shrugged.
“I got to have more than that,” Squint pressed. “I don’t know what you consider holy—God, the sun, Man Above or what. But whatever it is, I want you to swear on it. I saved your bacon when I brung you here and I don’t want nobody else knowing where this camp is.”
“All right, dammit, I swear!” Little Wolf was getting his hackles up a little. If he said he would do something, he would do it. If he said he wouldn’t tell something, he wouldn’t tell it. He didn’t appreciate anybody doubting his word. Arapaho warriors didn’t lie. “I swear on the name of my father, Spotted Pony,” he added, still testy. “If that ain’t good enough for you, you can kiss my Arapaho ass.”
They glared at each other for a long moment before Squint burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, son, I forgot who I was dealing with.” From that moment forward, they got along perfectly.
As each day passed, Little Wolf grew stronger. His shoulder soon healed to the point where he regained complete use of it. Had it not been for the heavy snows that had sealed up the river valley, he might have been on his way. As it was, travel would have been extremely difficult, if not impossible. So he had little choice but to remain as Squint’s guest for a while longer. After the first few days of bad weather, Squint would track out through the snow to check and reset his traps, leaving in the morning and returning usually by early afternoon. He never invited Little Wolf to accompany him. He figured if the boy wanted to go with him, he would say so. He knew he was taking a chance on losing his horses and everything else by leaving the boy alone in his camp. But he figured it wasn’t much of a risk. For one thing, he kept all the weapons with him and the boy would be easy enough to track in the deep snow. Squint felt confident in his ability to catch him. More than that, Squint sensed a definite quality of honesty and integrity in the boy and he didn’t really believe Little Wolf would repay his kindness with treachery. After another week, the snows had piled up so deep in the valley that Squint found it to be too great an effort to go out at all so they both settled in to wait out the winter.
When Squint fashioned his winter camp two summers before, he hadn’t counted on having a guest. So the half cave, half lean-to was now a little crowded when the winter snows drove them inside. To remedy this, Little Wolf and Squint worked to expand the lean-to, using some of the logs Squint had cut for firewood as walls, covering them with branches and hides. They moved the fire pit out of the cave and into a corner of the new addition. This proved to be quite satisfactory, with a hole to let the smoke out of the hide roof and the rock walls of the cave acting to reflect and retain the heat. But it was still confining. Little Wolf found himself longing for the room and comfort of Buffalo Woman’s tipi, but at least their camp was warm and dry.
Snowed in as they were for a long period of time, and in such confined space, the two strangers were bound to end up either killing each other or becoming close friends. In this case it was the latter. During the long winter days Little Wolf’s stern countenance gradually melted and he allowed his guard to relax. Squint was grateful for the company to help him while away the long days and nights. He had wintered alone the year before and had really had some thoughts about the possibility of going loco. He had known it to happen to other men who chose to wait out the winter alone in the mountains. Most of the ones who made it through without losing their minds had an Indian woman to keep them occupied. While Little Wolf couldn’t provide some of the pleasures that a female might have, he at least provided conversation on a fairly intelligent level. In addition, Little Wolf helped take care of the animals and helped supplement their food stores.
Squint had stocked his camp well with jerky, pemmican and hardtack to carry him when the weather was too bad to get out of his little hideaway. But naturally, he didn’t count on an extra mouth to feed. It turned out to be no problem, however, for he found Little Wolf to be a highly skilled hunter. The boy had spent some time after the first light snow searching the mountainside for a suitable young ash to fashion into a bow. When he found what he determined to be a good specimen, he shaped a sturdy limb into a bow of about four feet in length. Squint, an interested observer in the project, wasn’t overly confident in the effectiveness that could be achieved with the rather crude-looking weapon. But, as he watched Little Wolf string his bow with antelope sinew and wrap hide thongs around the midpoint for a grip, he became more impressed. Arrows were fashioned from the same tree, shaped by passing them through a hole drilled in a piece of horn. After smoothing the shafts by rubbing them with a grooved stone, Little Wolf attached stone heads by wrapping them with sinew. As the final touch, to make the arrow spin in flight, he added feathers from a blackbird. When the weapon was completed to Little Wolf’s satisfaction, he took it out to test it. Squint was amazed at the power and accuracy of the weapon. After only a short period of practice, Little Wolf was familiar enough with his new bow to become deadly accurate.
The winter was hard. Squint could not remember one that had been more severe, but there was never any shortage of meat. There were plenty of elk and deer in the mountains, even though most of the animals had moved down to winter pastures. They were easy enough to track in the deep snow. The only hard part was transporting the meat. Little Wolf proved to be quite skillful in stalking the animals and very seldom failed to bring one down when he could manuever into position for a legitimate shot with his bow. Squint liked the fact that this method of killing was silent. He didn’t expect much activity in the mountains in the dead of winter but Indians had to hunt in the winter, same as him, and a rifle could be heard a long way.
The days were bitter cold and any prolonged exertion outside seemed to sap the strength right out of a man. So they tried to hunt only when they had to. Finally it got so cold that Squint became worried about his animals, afraid they might freeze in the shelter he had built for them. Had there been room, he would have considered bringing them inside with him and Little Wolf. The two of them spent the better part of one day trying to insulate the shelter with pine boughs. As a final precaution, Squint dug a fire pit in the stable and built a fire. He didn’t like having to use up his supply of firewood on two fires, but he couldn’t take a chance on losing the horses. He stayed out with them for a few hours that night until he was satisfied they were going to be all right and the fire was banked enough to keep it alive till morning.
“I was beginning to think you froze,” Little Wolf commented when Squint returned to the lean-to.
“Hod damn!” Squint exclaimed, stamping his feet in an effort to force some circulation back into them. “It’s colder’n a widow’s ass out there.” He moved to the fire to warm his hands. “I figured I better stay with Joe and the ladies for a while,” he said.
“You want me to stay out there tonight?”
“Nah, they’ll be all right. It ain’t too bad in there now. That fire will hold till morning. I don’t think they’ll get too cold.”
Little Wolf shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. If you want me to sleep out there, I don’t mind.”
“Nah, they’ll be all right.” He continued rubbing his hands briskly in front of the fire. “Besides,” he added, joking, “I been noticing the way you been looking at that little mare lately. You better stay in here.”
Little Wolf laughed. “I ain’t about to step in and cut you out.”
They both laughed. Squint sat down in the opposite corner and pulled his buffalo robe up around his shoulders. “I tell you what, it has been a damn long winter. If I don’t see some signs of spring pretty soon, I might consider marrying that little mare . . . or tracking up to that Shoshone camp and findin’ me a squaw.” As soon as he said it, he glanced quickly at Little Wolf in case he might have taken offense at the remark. Indians never used the term “squaw.” To them, it was an insult. The boy seemed not to think anything of it so Squint continued.
“Last spring I had to take a little trip up to them Shoshones.” He paused to tear off some tobacco from a twist hanging from the ceiling. He offered the twist to Little Wolf but the lad declined. There was a long pause while Squint crumbled the tobacco and packed it down in the bowl of his cherrywood pipe. Little Wolf waited patiently for his friend to light his pipe and resume his story. Squint lit the pipe and drew on it deeply, filling the cramped lean-to with heavy blue smoke. With a small twig, he tamped the load down firmly and relit it. Content that it would now burn evenly all the way to the bottom, he removed it from his mouth long enough to spit on the dirt floor, then picked up the story where he had left off.
“It was hard last winter, I swear. You know, the trick is, you got to keep your mind off women. ’cause when you’re up in these mountains by yourself for that long a time, if you once get to thinking about it, you can drive yourself crazy. That dang near happened to me last winter. I swear, I got so rutty I was ’bout ready to rut around with the elks by the time the thaws started. As soon as the snow melted enough to get through the pass, I hightailed it up to ole Wounded Elk’s camp.” He laughed as he remembered the chief’s reaction to his plight.
“Ole Wounded Elk, he thought it was pretty funny—I mean, me needing a woman so bad. He said he didn’t think white men ever did it unless they was wanting to make a baby. I told him, Hell no. White men get just as stupid as any animal when they get the scent of a female in heat. Well, he was enjoying my predicament rightly enough, but he finally told me his wife’s younger sister would be willing to take care of my needs. Well, she weren’t very stout, not more than a slip of a thing, but she was spirited.” He paused, took his pipe out of his mouth and winked at Little Wolf. “She weren’t exactly pretty either, but then neither am I.” He shook his head and laughed. “Like I said, she was spirited and it might have been quite a ride. Ole Wounded Elk said she wanted to see how it was to take on a man big as me, ‘specially a white man. Oh, it would have been quite a ride all right. Problem was, ole Wounded Elk was just as curious as she was about how white men did it. He stayed right there in the tipi with us, made hisself comfortable over in the corner where he could watch the show.”
Squint paused to tend his pipe again, re-tamping it and lighting up once more. “Well, I ain’t never been bashful with the women. But I ain’t never done it with no audience before either. That little ole gal was willing, no doubt about that. She dropped her skirt and leggings and threw that thing right up in my face. And I want to tell you, son, I could’t do a damn thing with it. She was doing all kinds of things too, I mean, jumping around and pulling on my horn, and everything. But I couldn’t do her no good a’tall. I mean, there weren’t no starch a’tall in that thing. It was downright mortifying. And that ole son of a bitch setting over in the corner hollering, ‘No good, got to make hard, no good.’ I finally had to tell him I couldn’t make the damn thing hard with him setting there gawking at it. Hell, it’s got feelings too. He just finally got up and walked outside, still shaking his head and mumbling, ‘White man no good, got to make hard.’”
Little Wolf sat fascinated while Squint went on with his story. He would not volunteer the fact that he had, as yet, never been with a woman. He and Black Feather had talked about it but neither of them had given much thought toward making love with any of the young girls in the tribe. When they did discuss it, they talked in terms of taking a mate, a wife, and there was plenty of time for that later. He was surprised that Squint discussed his pursuits and conquests so openly, placing no more importance on them than emptying his bladder. Still, Squint’s talking was entertaining and set his thoughts in motion.
“So,” he asked, “did the people laugh at you?”
“Nah,” Squint replied. “Oh, they snickered a little at first when ole Wounded Elk went outside.” He smiled to himself and gave Little Wolf another wink. “But after we got shed of that old son of a bitch, we got it right enough. I want to tell you, son, we got it right enough then. She was singing a different tune about white men by the time I let her go.”
Little Wolf laughed with his friend. He was amazed, however, that Squint would tell embarrassing stories about himself. No Indian would. A Cheyenne brave would be far too ashamed to admit to something of that nature. And a Dakota might be inclined to kill the woman rather than risk losing face before the tribe. And yet Little Wolf could see no strain of weakness in this bear of a man who laughed at his own foolish blunders. Little Wolf decided that Squint undoubtedly possessed a confidence in himself that made it unimportant what others thought of him. Squint Peterson was a different breed of man, he decided.
They talked of many things during the long wait for the spring thaws. One subject that surfaced more than once was Little Wolf’s future. At first Squint merely questioned him about his plans when the winter was done with. But more and more, the talk got around to whether he had given any thought toward going back to the settlement with Squint and living like a white man. While he would never admit it to Squint, Little Wolf did give it a passing thought. While he would never be able to bring himself to forgive the white man for the crimes against his people, hunting and trapping with Squint might not be a bad path to choose. When he thought back to the village on Sand Creek, it was sometimes hard to believe it had all happened. But then, the picture of Buffalo Woman’s broken face as she lay dead in her own cook fire would burn its image into his mind and he would remember his vow that he was at war with the U.S. Army. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the venom toward all whites while sitting by the fire listening to Squint spin yarns. Spring was near. He would have to decide soon.
* * *
At last the long hard winter relaxed its frigid grip on the mountains and the first real signs of spring appeared. The breezes sweeping down the passes were still cold, but no longer icy and the streams began to flow freely once more. It had happened almost without their noticing. It seemed that one day it was winter and the next it was spring. The days were becoming longer. There were little patches of grass showing through the snow so the horses were able to graze again. All members of the little winter camp were ready to get out and stretch their legs, man and boy, horses and mule. The hibernation was long and hard so Little Wolf was readily agreeable when Squint proposed a trip up to the Shoshone village of Wounded Elk’s.
There was little doubt in the boy’s mind as to the purpose of Squint’s visit to the village. Another tryst with Wounded Elk’s sister-in-law was obviously on his mind and had been since he recounted the first visit to Little Wolf. As for his own reasons, aside from a serious case of cabin fever, he was hoping to hear news of his friend, Black Feather. Perhaps the Shoshones had heard something of the small band of Cheyennes that had fled the slaughter by the soldiers. So they packed some provisions on Squint’s two horses and set out on the two-day trek up through the mountain passes to the tiny valley of the Shoshone. Squint let Little Wolf ride Britches, the little mare, while he threw his saddle on Joe. He had only the one saddle but it didn’t matter to Little Wolf. He simply fashioned an Indian saddle from rawhide straps and a blanket. He was more accustomed to riding this way anyway. They started out one morning before the sun had climbed high enough to light the valley, wrapped in buffalo robes to protect them from the chilly morning air. Sadie, the mule, brayed in protest at being left behind when the two horses disappeared through the opening in the rock cliff.
“Hush, Sadie!” Squint admonished. “These horses is probably good and damn glad to take a vacation from your complaining.”
Little Wolf pulled the robe back from his face so he could feel the brisk morning cold on his cheeks. It was cold, but not like the deep winter cold. Perhaps it was just a feeling he had, knowing that it was the beginning of spring, that made it seem fresh and rejuvenating. He had come to greet spring with a sense of excitement. Spring had meant the women would soon be packing up the tipis, readying the village for the summer rendezvous with the rest of the tribe. It had meant the whole summer season of the hunt was all before him, that he would soon see Black Feather and all the other friends he shared the summer with. Then he had to remind himself that things would be different now, after the massacre at Sand Creek had killed his parents and scattered his friends. Black Feather had been on his mind a great deal during the last several days. He wondered how he and his fellow warriors had fared during the winter and if he would be able to find them. The thought caused his brow to furrow into a worried frown. Did he want to search for them? Or should he accept Squint’s invitation to throw in with him and do some trapping? He still didn’t know. After a moment, he shook it from his mind. The morning was too pleasant to waste with worries.
Squint adjusted his sizable bulk in the saddle. It had been a while since he had ridden any distance and his body wanted to stiffen up on him. He turned to glance back at the silent figure behind him. The boy fit the mare perfectly, riding easily with her motion. He looked a hell of a lot better than he did the first day they met. He was little more than skin and bones then. But looking at him now, Squint could see a lean strength that signaled the beginning of manhood. He was still a boy by Squint’s reckoning but he was soon going to be man enough. You could tell that by looking at the long, muscled arms and legs. And he was tall, too tall to be a Cheyenne Dog Soldier, Squint was thinking. The boy was good company. Squint hoped he would give up the notion of returning to the tribe and throw in with him.