People of the Longhouse(54)

Towa stepped up beside him with an even larger bundle cradled in his arms. “Don’t worry. Our arrival will be a relief to both of them. Let’s go.”

They trudged down the hill and ducked beneath the pine boughs. As they worked their way back to the scooped-out hollow, neither Koracoo nor Gonda watched them. Sindak and Towa dumped their armloads by the pit, and Sindak looked askance at Gonda. He hadn’t moved. He sat with his hands over his face.

“I’ll start the fire,” Towa said. “Sindak, can you gather some needles and twigs for tinder?”

“Of course.”

Sindak went around collecting handfuls of old pine needles and twigs, which he piled beside Towa’s right moccasin.

Towa unslung his quiver and set it near Koracoo’s; then he arranged the tinder in the pit and removed two fire-sticks from his pack. He placed the punky stick on the ground, took the pointed hardwood stick and set it in its notch—a prepared hole in the punky stick—and began spinning the hardwood between his palms. The air was damp; it took around five hundred heartbeats for the friction to create an orange glow in the punky wood. Towa kept spinning the hardwood stick until the glow expanded and began to crackle; then he dumped it onto the nest of twigs and dry needles and softly blew on them until flames curled up.

Sindak knelt near the woodpile and extended his hands to the faint warmth. From the corner of his eye, he watched Koracoo. All night long he’d had erotic fantasies about her. It was hard to shove them out of his mind as he watched her remove the boiling bag from her pack and tie the long laces to the tripod. Every move she made had a distinctive muscular grace that brought back his dreams with aching clarity. When she finished, she carried the tripod over to the fire and set it up near the blaze. “How much food do you have left in your packs?”

Sindak said, “I have a little dried fish left.”

“And I have some venison strips.”

“Good. I have some hard cornmeal biscuits, baked with blueberries and sunflower seeds. Let’s throw in everything we have, heat the soup, and fill our empty bellies so we can sleep warm.”

“Yes, War Chief. Did anyone see a good rock for the bag?”

“I did.” Towa rose, ducked beneath the overarching limbs, and went out into the trail to kick loose two small rounded rocks.

“Gonda?” Koracoo said. “What’s left in your pack?”

He lowered his hands and looked at her with hollow eyes. “A few bear cracklings.”

“Please throw them into the boiling bag.”

Gonda unslung his pack and dug around until he found the small hide sack that held his dried food. He upended the sack over the boiling bag and shook out every morsel that remained.

Towa carried the two rocks back, ducked beneath the sheltering branches of the pine, and rolled the rocks into the fire.

“We need water,” Koracoo said. She untied the buffalo paunch canteen from her belt and emptied it into the boiling bag. As she pulled the canteen’s laces tight again, she said, “You’ll each need to add more water from your own water bags.”

“I have some left.” Sindak emptied his canteen into the bag. The rest would be frozen by morning anyway.

As Gonda tipped his canteen over the bag and water trickled out, he said, “Koracoo, we need to discuss—”

“Tomorrow, Gonda. I’m going to bed. Sindak, please take first watch.”

“Yes, War Chief.”

“You’re not going to eat?” Gonda squinted at her.

“I’m more tired than hungry. I’ll eat in the morning.”

She crawled over to CorpseEye, gripped her club, and went to the opposite side of the tree trunk, where she rolled up in her cape and propped CorpseEye across her chest.

As darkness fell, snow gusted down the trail and the forest branches clattered together. Towa dropped the two rocks into the boiling bag, and they sat in silence as steam began to rise. The smoky scent of jerked venison filled the air.

“We’ll all feel better after we eat,” Sindak said. “Hand me your cups and I’ll fill them.”

Gonda didn’t move. He stared at the flames with haunted eyes. Towa handed Gonda’s cup to Sindak. Sindak filled it, and Towa set it beside Gonda’s moccasin. He didn’t seem to care. He kept twisting his hands in his lap.

What a difference. Last night, he was an offensive wolf. Tonight, after losing the trail, he’s a trembling ruin of a man.

Sindak stared at him and said, “Give me your cup, Towa.”





Twenty-two

Towa handed over his cup and went back to staring at Gonda. In the firelight, the muscles of Gonda’s jaw quivered.

Sindak crouched down on the opposite side of the fire and filled his own cup. The limbs gave them just enough room to sit up straight. As the wind blew the branches the radiant halo of firelight shifted, casting shadows across their faces and creating strange dark wraiths in the snow that gusted by.