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People of the Fire(18)

By:W. Michael Gear


"Get them strips off," old Chokecherry directed. "Weather this hot, you got to strip the meat quick. Get it laid out on the sage. You don't, more maggots'll eat it than People!"

Sage Root arched her back to soothe the ache of bending over. A grit of dust ground in her teeth, a fulfilling taste of blood and fresh liver on the back of her tongue.

"How many did we get?" She wiped at the perspiration on her face, streaking her beautiful features with red smudges.

"About three tens of fingers. Throws Rocks and Fire At Night didn't let a single one escape."

With her hammerstone, Sage Root split a pelvis, splaying the legs to expose the meat. Using a sharp flake, she cut the tendons and skin, severing the sacrum with her hammerstone, cutting the hide underneath. She lifted the last of her animals to eager hands above, leaving only bloody gray silt under the litter of white and brown antelope hair. Grabbing a blood-encrusted hand, she scrambled up the gritty side of the arroyo, squinting in the bright light of the afternoon sun.

About her, sagebrush had turned red under the weight of long strips of meat drying in the sun. Here and there children romped and played, waving hands, shooing flies from the wet meat.

"See? You didn't believe me, but I knew they'd come. I sat up on the hill, feeling them."

She turned, smiling, seeing Little Dancer where he pranced and waved a sagebrush branch over a bloody bush. "Look! Food! Food for everyone!"

"Hey! Watch it. Watch where you wave that. You're knocking the meat off. Get sand in it, and you eat it."

Sobered, he dropped his gaze, face lining as he turned his attention to keeping the flies away.

She laughed to herself, a fullness in her heart. Yes, food for everyone. They'd all eat. And maybe, just maybe, Hungry Bull and Three Toes and Black Crow might have made a trap. Or possibly one of the other parties who'd gone out from the Moon River in various directions to hunt had found a herd.

She shaded her eyes, looking southwest toward the cool spikes of the mountains. The snow line had been higher than she'd ever seen this last winter. Down by the main camp, the river could be waded, water never coming higher than her knees. Even the cottonwoods looked dusty, the new leaves a darker green. Through it all, the wind continued to blow out of the southwest, hot, dry, sucking any moisture left from the prostrate dust.

"Sage Root?"

She turned at the cautious call, seeing Meadowlark gesturing down the drainage. Three people picked their way through the sage. She didn't need to squint to know Heavy Beaver's lumbering walk.

"I think it's a good time to leave ... go hide under the bones in the arroyo," Makes Fun observed dryly.

"No. Just keep doing what you're doing." Sage Root straightened, a queasiness in her gut. "I'll go talk to him before he gets here. Keeps the rest of you out of it that way."

"Careful," Chokecherry warned from the side. "Don't antagonize him. You saw what happened the other night. Don't get him mad, girl. Don't do anything to make him Curse you. You know what he's saying about the women as it is."

"I know." Her throat constricted, premonition choking her. With iron nerve, she forced herself to walk steadily toward him. Old Two Elks came second in line, a nervous set to his sagging shoulders. Heavy Beaver's wife, Red Chert, walked last, eyes downcast in her round face. Her petulant lips pressed tightly together in a pouting expression.

Heavy Beaver stopped, pulling himself up, and stared at her through expressionless eyes.

"It's good to see you back, Heavy Beaver. You had good Dreaming?"

He tilted his head slightly, a distaste forming in the set of his wide brown lips. "Dreaming isn't your concern, woman. Looking behind you, I'm starting to wonder what is."

The crawling feeling in her stomach went ill. "Feeding the People should be everyone's concern. Don't look at me like that. You're Two Stones moiety. I'm Wolf Heart. I'm under no kin obligations to even be polite. But I will . . . since you Sing and Dream for the People. For that I respect you."

A slight curl of smile ghosted at his lips, but his gaze remained hard, cutting like freshly struck chert. "I'm glad you're an obedient daughter of the People, woman. If your piety is so great, what have you done here? Hmm? Could it be that you've killed brother antelope? Ah, yes, I suppose so. And the ritual? Did you Sing that? Dance it like Antelope Above likes it Danced?" His expression tightened. "Or perhaps you didn't. Perhaps you fouled the ritual . . . offended Antelope Above like Buffalo has been offended. What then, woman of the People? Who will feed us all if the animal spirits have risen to the Wise One Above, and told him to stop Rain Man from Dancing water from the clouds? What have you done?"