The Wolf Bundle rested on its tripod holder, dominating the lodge just as it dominated the thoughts of the Red Hand. Blood Bear frowned. The Bundle had changed, it looked different, dingy, and, yes, the kid had been right . . . cold.
Since that day when he'd left White Calf's camp, he'd wondered about the boy's words, and about his attachment to the talisman. White Calf had known something, perceived something he couldn't quite grasp. And that made her prophecy frightening. The moment that foolish Short Buffalo youth had come close to the Wolf Bundle, an electric feeling had charged the air. Since he'd been sitting almost on a direct line between them, he'd felt it for the first time—a prickling sensation like the one a person felt just before lightning struck the ridge top a couple of dart casts away.
In addition to everything else, Rattling Hooves had been championed by the Short Buffalo hunter. What was his name? Hungry Bull? The man had dared him, dared him to combat over the woman! And she'd accepted it. That affront needed to be paid back. But then, his own heart had raced when Rattling Hooves had stood at the end of his dart and looked him in the eyes. She'd been magnificent, face proud, thick black hair wild in the wind. What a woman, unconquered, bursting with spirit to save her foolish little daughter from meeting womanhood on Blood Bear's hard penis.
So the daughter had been virgin tight? What did that mean against the spirit and pride in the mother's eyes? Any man could tame a wide-eyed young girl to his needs, but what about Rattling Hooves? He smiled at the Wolf Bundle. That challenge could prove worthy of his attention. To bend such a woman to his will would provide a great deal of satisfaction.
He scowled and slashed viciously at the Wolf Bundle, watching it jerk and dangle on its carry strings. The tripod rocked back and forth. The scarred stub of his little finger burned.
"And I had it all in hand. If Rattling Hooves hadn't acted when she did, I could have skewered the old woman and we'd have killed the Short Buffalo refugees. Then I could have taken Rattling Hooves and her daughter. That old witch White Calf would have been out of my hair and that foolish Hungry Bull would have drunk deeply of my dart."
But it had turned around so quickly. The hunter had blocked his cast and everything shifted, just like a stampede of frightened elk that veered at the last moment, dashing off to the side for no reason.
"Oh, be quiet, Blood Bear, " the old woman's words echoed in his mind. "You're almost finished. You've some time yet. You '11 be able to delude yourself a while longer and your status. Power s not with you . .
He remembered the prickling he'd felt as the youth approached the Wolf Bundle. Curious how the boy's eyes had glazed over, but then a lot of things had been curious that day. A "turning," the old woman had said.
A turning of what?
He continued to brood, shuffling about on his bedding, trying to get comfortable. "A turning of White Calf's power, for one." He grunted an assent to his own words. The old witch had been far too powerful among the Red Hand. There had to be a way to rid himself of her meddling.
Nor could he forget the Short Buffalo People who waited out on the plains like an upslope storm, ready to smash into the Buffalo Mountains and the strongholds of the Red Hand.
"Ho-yeh!" a voice called though the evening silence. "Have I found the camp of the Red Hand?"
Blood Bear sneered at the Wolf Bundle and grabbed his soft calfskin robe. He ducked out into the chill air and lifted his hand, shading his eyes against the fierce glare of the setting sun. The light burned yellow across the snowfields.
A man trudged across the white, back bent to a pack that sat low on his hips. Other People emerged from smoke-browned lodges to watch. The stranger bore the staff of a Trader, the thin wood bent in a hoop and dangling with bright feathers and rattles.
"Three Rattles!" Blood Bear called, jumping and whooping. "What brings you to the camp of the Red Hand so early in the year? The trails have barely begun to melt out."
The Trader puffed and sighed, walking onto the packed snow of the camp, where he picked his way cautiously over the dimpled ice, careful of tearing the webbing of his snow-shoes.
"I don't trust the plains anymore. Too many funny doings down there. We heard last year that a Trader from the Squashed Rock People had been killed by Short Buffalo warriors. A Fire Buffalo Trader was beaten and had his pack stolen. He barely got away with his life. This new Dreamer they've got. He's an odd one. You don't know what he'll do or why."
Blood Bear turned, clapping his hands. "Green Horn! Have Tanager run some stew to my lodge. Throw some of that deer on the coals. Three Rattles must eat. He brings news! And have Cricket bring some more wood for my fire." To the Trader, he added, "Come to my lodge and warm up. The Red Hand welcome you. Our camp is yours."