People of the Fire(93)

A man with a dart stood to one side, obviously in the act of casting his deadly weapon into the monster's side.

"White Calf always said that people killed the monsters like we do the buffalo." Hungry Bull reached over the huddle of children clustered around the fire with hands out to the warmth. He snagged a burning brand and stuffed it into the side of the packrat's nest.

His smile beamed up at Rattling Hooves. "I don't like packrats, they chew things in the night. They also lead to trouble with Spirit Power. I was doing just fine until a packrat chewed my atlatl once."

She slapped his shoulder. "That nest ought to make enough coals for a day or two. I'll smack them when they run out this side."

She positioned herself across one of the runways with her walking stick raised. Elk Charm took the other side as tire crackled into the nest.

Three Toes shook his head, attention glued to the rock carvings as Black Crow came to stand next to him.

"I don't know how long those have been there " Two Smokes settled himself on an angular chunk of roof fall. "I first saw them when I was a boy, maybe as old as Dancing Leaf"—he pointed to Black Crow's oldest daughter—"and they were old then."

Three Toes continued to rub at the soot as Rattling Hooves cried out and whacked at a brown streak with her stick. "Got you!"

On the other side of the spiral, Three Toes uncovered pictures of two animals, obviously mountain sheep from the horns curling on their heads. Then he found a buffalo and an elk, both transfixed with darts. A series of grooves in the lower part of the wall he identified as scrubbings for platform preparation in the manufacture of chipped-stone tools, but above, hidden in the dancing shadow of the fire, he scraped the soot from one last figure.

"What's that?" Hungry Bull craned his neck to see.

"Wolf," Three Toes whispered, stepping back as the lines of the animal became clear. "Look! Like it's alive."

Little Dancer gasped, almost startling Hungry Bull. He managed to glimpse his son's face, seeing the color drain from his wind-nipped cheeks.

"Wolf was the Spirit Helper of the First Man when he came from under the world," Two Smokes reminded them from where he rubbed at his shivering arms. He nodded slowly. "We never cleaned the rock carvings when we were here."

Elk Charm's deadly stick smacked another skittering pack-rat as the fire burned into the nest. "That's two! Fresh meat tonight!"

"Hey." Three Toes grinned, stepping back to put his arm around Meadowlark and ruffle his children's heads. "This might not be such a bad place after all!"

Hungry Bull chuckled as Rattling Hooves whacked another packrat. The heat from the fires had begun to penetrate his half-frozen clothing. "No, it might not be bad at all."

Then he caught sight of Little Dancer, still pale, glazed eyes on the wolf that seemed to stare down at him from above.

Snaps Horn studied White Calf's shelter from a distance, seeing no one but the old woman. He waited for two days, making sure the others had left. Angrily, he looked up at the somber sky. White fluffy flakes fell wet and heavy. There'd be no trail now. He should have cut for sign earlier. He'd known the Short Buffalo People would be there.

The Short Buffalo boy should have come walking down one of the trails so he could drive a dart right through him. That'd teach him to fool with the woman Snaps Horn had chosen. Then no one would stand in his way if he took her for a wife.

Where would they have gone?

The old ewe trotted forward, stopping for a moment to look back over her shoulder.

"Slow up!" Rattling Hooves called, her voice barely raised in the chill air.

Little Dancer stopped where he was, trying to keep his footing on the steep slope.

Sunlight slanted from the winter sky, warming the southern face of the canyon. Behind the rocks, shadows of snow clung in the recesses. Bits of grass, winter-dry plants, and occasional patches of brush eked out a fragile existence on the crumbling slope of the mountain.

"Can't believe people hunt like this." Hungry Bull's words barely traveled to where Little Dancer waited, trying to catch his breath.

Ahead of them, perhaps four dart casts away, the little band of mountain sheep stopped in the old ewe's shadow, staring back at them.

"Now what?" Little Dancer asked.

"Forward," Rattling Hooves called in her throaty voice. "Just a bit at a time. We don't want them to spook and bolt. If they do, they'll miss the trap."

Little Dancer repeated the order, hearing it passed down the line of people threading their way along the slope.

Below him, the valley lay cloaked in snow. The willow-packed stream bottom lay in blue shadow, rounded mounds of snow marking the looping course of the ice-shrouded stream banks. Here and there a dark patch showed where the water ran too fast to freeze over. The winter-nude willows had been crisscrossed with deer and elk tracks. The slope opposite brooded in memories of summer. The perpetually shadowed spruce and fir slept mantled in deep snow.