People of the Fire(94)

Little Dancer looked up into the winter-blue vault of the sky, marveling at how the color seemed so much deeper in the short days. A faint glaze of clouds laced the heavens to the east. The nippy breeze played carelessly down the canyon. Curiously, he sniffed, seeing if he could detect any odor of the sheep. The air stung his nostrils.

Below him, Elk Charm picked her way carefully. As if she could feel his eyes on her, she looked up, smiling as she tossed her wealth of jet-black hair over a hide-wrapped shoulder.

A pleasant thrill rose peacefully in his breast. Finally he could smile, laugh, enjoy life as it should be lived. This bit of land had become theirs. Here they lived beyond the fear of Blood Bear, beyond the nightmare of Heavy Beaver.

He took another step, trying to dig his moccasin-clad foot into the side of the mountain. Gravel and dirt rattled and cascaded under his weight.

"Hey!" Hungry Bull griped in a muted voice.

Little Dancer chuckled from the pit of his stomach.

Ahead of him, the sheep began to move again, the old ewe leaping gracefully from rock to rock, the sun shining on her sleek winter coat. An old ram followed the rest, uneasy, hanging to the rear as if he didn't know quite what to do.

From where Little Dancer traced his way along the slope, he could barely see the low saddle. "Time for Elk Charm to work her way ahead and up," Rattling Hooves added.

From high above where Three Toes scrambled from one precarious perch to another came a robin's lilting call. Little Dancer shook his head at the incongruity of the birdsong until he realized he'd been tricked by Three Toes' talented mimicking.

Below, Elk Charm waved and began to move faster, walking along the more stable rocks. Black Crow and Meadow-lark took up the pace, keeping the line more or less even. Hungry Bull kept his position.

The old ewe trotted ahead, kicking dirt and pebbles to bounce down the slope. The younger ewes and lambs followed, almost buckjumping across the loose scree. Reaching the secure footing on the other side, the lead ewe stopped, staring at the saddle as if she understood.

Little Dancer swallowed, thinking about the dwindling supplies of meat.

"Please, Mother," he pleaded.

She turned to stare over her buff shoulder. Across the distance, he could feel her eyes on him.

"Please, Mother," he whispered fervently. "We need your meat."

The drive line had come to a stop. The ewe shot a quick glance up toward the trap. She craned her neck, ears pricked behind her thin curved horns. One avenue of escape remained. She stared hard at the narrow gap where she could bolt and flank the drive line. The decision seemed to waver in her mind.

"Please, Mother," Little Dancer repeated under his breath. He tried to reach her, to explain the starvation that could befall a people without the gift of meat. Fists clenched, he cleared his mind, seeking to convey the need.

Time slipped. He didn't realize he'd fallen to his knees, arms lifted. "Please, Mother."

The feeling leached up from the sharp rock that bit into his knees. That instant of awareness stretched, the Oneness wrapping around him like fog around the scabby bark of the valley cottonwoods in morning.

"We're hungry, Mother. Lend us your life. Share your spirit with us." He didn't remember meeting her eyes across the distance. For the moment only the touching of their souls mattered. Only the pulsing of the ewe's heart, the rush of air in her lungs, the worry in her mind, filled his consciousness.

"Feed us, Mother."

Understanding, regret, acceptance, the emotions filled him, possessed him. He himself turned, walking on four nimble legs, starting up the slope. He watched a colorless world now flatly visible in shades of gray through the ewe's eyes. Through her ears, he heard the rest following, their scrambling feet grating on the loose gravels of the mountain, clacking on the rock. The odors of earth and frost and mold-rich leaves packed under the bitterbrush and squaw currant hung in his nose, mixed with the tang of winter-cured grass.

He relished the power of her legs as she bounded up the slope. He ran on her wondrous feet, surefooted with her padded hooves where a man would slip and tumble.

Then she passed between the two rocky outcrops, topping the crest of the ridge, running down between the stacked pitch-pine wing walls of the trap. Her muscles took the leap into the catch pen, while the others crowded behind.

Two Smokes' net rose behind and the other ewes and lambs began to bleat nervously. She waited, sharing the moment with him, uneasy, but accepting so long as he shared her mind. The bleating of the herd, the snorting of the jittery ram, stung every instinct.

The shouts of the hunters shot terror through the rest of the herd, adding to the panic of their bleating and dashing about. The net crowded them forward, handled by the crippled Two Smokes and the agile Rattling Hooves. They appeared oddly out of perspective, looking flat and awesome through the ewe's eyes. She barely flinched as the net lowered over her, a weight that couldn't be comprehended. The others stood trembling, trying to understand this thing, this binding of strings smelling of human and juniper bark.