People of the Fire(16)

Blood Bear stood. "Heavy Beaver's band. They camp on Moon River."

He helped Three Rattles with his pack, handing the man his Trader's staff. "I don't have anything to trade now. But maybe someday I will."

Three Rattles' face broke into an enigmatic smile. "Good luck, Blood Bear. I hope to trade with you someday. I'll want something back for my fish."

Blood Bear lowered an eyebrow, thoughts on the crippled berdache and Moon River. "You'll have it." With a wave, Three Rattles was off.

For long moments Blood Bear watched the Trader and his dogs heading north. He checked his bearings; the High Mountains lay directly east. Moon River didn't lie all that far to the north. All he had to do was reach the river and find the Short Buffalo People camp of this Heavy Beaver.

It wouldn't take him long. Not now.

The Wolf Bundle floated in the boy's Dream. Perhaps he was the one.

From the shimmering of the Spirals, Wolf Dreamer's voice warned, ' 'Be careful. Too much of a taste of Power at so young an age, and he could go the way of Heavy Beaver. He is only a child. ''

The Wolf Bundle pulled back, disengaging. The Wolf Dreamer had been right. It must wait, abide by the great Spiral of the universe. Time remained meaningless. Now existed, as it always had . . . and always would.

But another ' 'now'' would come . . . if the child proved strong enough.





Chapter 4




Kowwww! The cry lingered on the still air.

Sage Root wiggled the stick that held high a thin flag of white hide. She crouched behind a prairie-dog mound, keeping low, face screened by a clump of sage she'd twisted from the ground. Despite their ability to outrun the wind, antelope had limits. Those, she hoped to prey on today.

For the moment, she couldn't think of Little Dancer's Dream—or what it meant. The antelope had come, just as the boy insisted they would.

Her body lay in the sunlight, as sinuous as a powerful snake. Her rich thick hair glistened a deep lustrous black.

Her work dress clung tightly to her sweat-damp body, accenting the full curve of her hip, stretched by the taut muscles of her buttocks, and the powerful lines of her legs. Broadshouldered and narrow-waisted, she drew men's gazes. Even the old men watched as she passed, eyes lighting at the approach of such a healthy, sensual female. Despite the two children she'd borne Hungry Bull, her belly remained flat, her breasts full and high.

Across the sage-strewn drainage, the antelope buck pranced, turning sideways to stare at her. The doe continued to walk ever closer, head lowered cautiously, curiosity obsessing her. The rest of the herd watched, some following the doe, others pausing to nibble at sage.

Come on, you’ve all got to follow. You've just got to!

In her head, Sage Root hummed the antelope song, fearing to Sing it out loud, fearing her Power wasn't great enough to meet the needs of the People. The memory of her son's gaunt face hovered in her mind. If only they could trap the antelope.

If only Hungry Bull would come back, singing and dancing the news of a buffalo trap. If only it would rain. If . . . If . . .

And the threat of Heavy Beaver continued to loom, glaring and threatening, even in her imagination. Bad days, he'd said. Bad days indeed.

Sage Root jerked the stick again, causing the snow-white prairie-dog hide to flutter.

Kowwww! the doe called as she stepped cautiously over bunches of gnarled sage. Not far now. The wing walls of the laboriously constructed trap spread to either side. If they came only a couple of lengths closer, she could whistle the call to spring the trap.

Sage Root let the doe peer at the waving bit of hide for a moment and wiggled the stick again, distracting her from looking back at the buck. Then the doe came trotting forward, the rest following along, the buck, as usual, waiting for all the does and new fawns to take the lead.

She chewed her lip, sawing it back and forth between strong white teeth. Almost . . . just a little farther. The wind teased the bit of white hide, dancing and waggling it lazily.

Khowwwww! The doe called again, others echoing their curiosity.

The antelope bands were still small this time of year. The does had just fawned, scattering to conduct their birthing in secret, dropping twin fawns in thick sage to hide them from coyotes, wolves, and eagles until the young could suckle enough of their mothers' strength to run like the wind. Finally, the herd had begun to come together again, the mothers seeking the protection of more eyes and ears.

The buck passed the brush clumps marking the boundaries of the trap. The lead doe had come so close, ears up, walking nervously. So far, she hadn't signaled with the white patch of her rump, hadn't barked the retreat call. To either side, the wing walls of the trap stretched.

Sage Root—heart beginning to hammer—wet full red lips and filled her lungs. Her whistle shrilled in the wind, a perfect imitation of a bull elk's bugle.