People of the Fire(103)

"Maybe not yet," Three Rattles conceded, "but I wouldn't count on that for very long."

"How so?" One Cast asked, cocking his head attentively.

Three Rattles shifted to unlace his outer moccasin. Mostly dry now, the hair had started to singe. As he undid the laces, his sober voice held them. "I think Heavy Beaver wants to cover his backside. He's like a bull elk in rut. For the moment, he's managed to kick the five-point bulls off his flank. At the same time, he's heard another six-point whistling in the next valley and that thought's eating away at him. For years, the joke has been that only crazy kids and people who eat larkspur war on the Red Hand."

"That's right," Ramshorn growled, shaking a fist.

"But that's changed. Heavy Beaver surprised a Red Hand camp." Three Rattles looked around. "The White Crane split off from the Red Hand for a couple of reasons. There was a disagreement over the Wolf Bundle. We also had too many people hunting the same game, digging the same roots. The White Crane moiety went north to the Big River. In doing so, we pushed the Short Buffalo People south against the Cut Hair. They never forgave us. But then, over the years, we always beat any ambitious young man who came to take the land back. This time, it wasn't just an ambitious young man. It was Heavy Beaver—and he killed and wounded a lot of our warriors."

"We're Red Hand," Blood Bear reminded—and wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"You are." Three Rattles didn't seem to take offense. "But the Red Hand have never faced a man like Heavy Beaver. He's driving his closest competitors away, cowing them, just like that bull elk I was talking about." Three Rattles pulled off his outer moccasin to expose another layer, also waterlogged. "Once he's reasonably sure he won't need to worry about rivals nipping at his heels, I think he's going to come up here, and he won't leave until one bull or the other controls all the herds."

Blood Bear tried to smile, but he could feel his lips quivering with the strain. Without thinking, he turned his eyes to the Wolf Bundle. Well, if it came to unfold as Three Rattles suggested, he could still inspire his warriors. The raiding would be long and drawn out, both sides sneaking through the trees, ambushing, moving. An interesting way to fight. He had little doubt he would triumph over Heavy Beaver. After all, he was Blood Bear, Keeper of the Wolf Bundle.

A tingling irritated the stump on his little finger.

Black Crow walked down off the steep slope, a heavy pack on his shoulders. Hungry Bull rose, leaving the white willow stems in the pile of shavings he'd made as he peeled and straightened them for dart shafts.

The sun added a bit of warmth to his cold body. On days like this, people stayed outside as much as possible, avoiding the constant crowding in the shelter.

Hungry Bull met Black Crow part way up the slippery trail.

“Good to see you back. Rattling Hooves has been worried sick."

"Rattling Hooves? What about my wife?"

"I don't think Makes Fun understands the hazards of the mountains like Rattling Hooves does. Have a good hunt? Pack looks full."

"Three porcupines—skinned, of course."

Hungry Bull took the heavy pack, swinging it over his shoulder.

“I just had to get out. Be by myself for a while." Black Crow winced as he straightened his back. He rubbed his rotund belly with a mittened hand.

“See anything?"

Black Crow shot him a quick glance. "Tracks."

"Tracks make thin stew. Fortunately you found porcupines standing in some. I suppose you had to kill them to see just how fresh the tracks were?"

“Man tracks."

Hungry Bull stopped short, turning. "Fresh?"

"Maybe a week old." Black Crow squinted up at the sun. Frosty breath curled around his face. "Someone's up there. I wonder how much an Anit'ah hunter would hesitate running a dart through one of us out alone like that."

"They know we're here, that we're not enemies."

Black Crow lifted a shoulder. "I cut short my hunt. I found a place where he'd crossed elk tracks. He looked at them, and continued on his way.''

"Too old?"

“Maybe. They'd drifted the same amount as his. I'd say he found them fresh."

"Blood Bear?"

"Or someone else. But you and I think along the same lines. Whatever he's hunting, it isn't elk."

Around him, the trees burned, fire leaping orange and yellow, searing, crackling and roaring, as entire conifers exploded in waves of flame. Blinding tongues of light leapt for the night-black sky, illuminating the cloudlike masses of tumbling smoke in an eerie reddish tint that receded into charcoal smudges of ruby and maroon as they rolled higher and higher into the flame-streaked sky.