People of the Thunder(35)
“Well, we passed the first Chaktaw,” Old White called. “No one’s shot at us yet.”
Trader grunted, glancing at Swimmer. “And to think we were worried about the Yuchi.” He shrugged as he took a stroke with his paddle. “You think we should have at least stopped for news?”
“I suspect we’ll find out soon enough,” Old White responded. “What do you think, Two Petals?”
She didn’t react where she sat, facing backward in Old White’s canoe.
“Hey, Contrary!” Trader called. “Are we headed for bad times among the Chaktaw?”
“The worst,” she replied. “It will all be so simple.” She glanced his way. “They think he’s in two places, you know.”
Trader scowled at Swimmer. “Now that was a big help. He’s in two places? Which ones?”
Swimmer gave him a knowing look before he deigned to lift himself up on one of the packs and scratch at a persistent flea.
Evidence of settlement continued to grow. Here and there they passed lines of sticks protruding from the water where fish weirs had been constructed. An occasional canoe was pulled high on the bank next to trails that led into the forest, probably to farmsteads built farther back, where the soils were better for growing corn.
At midday, they rounded a bend and almost ran full-tilt into a canoe carrying two young men. Swimmer barked happily, his tail wagging as he sniffed at the air, trying to suss out the newcomers. After fending off a collision, Trader called, “Greetings!” in Mos’kogee tongue.
“Greetings yourself!” one of the youths replied, looking them over with interest. “You are Traders?”
“That we are . . . from the far north by way of the Father Water to the Tenasee. We are in Chaktaw lands, correct?”
The second youth nodded. “You have been in the north. The proper pronunciation is Chahta. I am Crawfish and this is Bobwhite. We live near here.” He cocked his head. “You speak our language well, but with an accent.”
Trader nodded, glancing at Old White, who had nosed his canoe close. Two Petals seemed oblivious.
“It’s been a long time. I’m out of practice.”
“How far to the next town?” Old White asked. “We would greet the chief and Trade.”
The boys grinned to each other. “A half day. It’s Feathered Snake Town. The chief is White Bear Mankiller. You’ll see the landing on the right. A lot of canoes. Then it’s a short walk up the trail.”
The second boy gave the first a pleading glance, only to have his friend shake his head. “No. We can’t go with them. Uncle would skin us if we don’t check the fish traps.”
Trader grinned, reached into one of the closest packs, and retrieved a beaded turtle effigy, its top done in brightly dyed quill work. This he tossed across. “For your information. If your family can spare the time, we will see you at Feathered Snake Town.”
The two boys almost capsized as they squabbled over the stuffed leather turtle.
“We’ll be there!” the second promised.
When they had left the boys behind, Trader was still grinning. “Let’s hope all the Trade goes like that.”
Old White used his paddle to parallel Trader’s course. “They didn’t seem uneasy at the sight of strangers.”
“They’re still little more than boys. When I was their age, I never worried, either. The young think they’ll live forever.”
“Hmm!” Old White grunted. “I remember being a boy. Forever is shrinking by the day.”
The next canoe they encountered was occupied by two fishermen, their craft piled with a folded net. They, apparently, had no demanding uncle, and immediately changed course to travel with the Traders to Feathered Snake Town.
“What is the news?” Old White asked. “We’ve been up north, and only heard rumors.”
“We are at war with the Chikosi,” one of the men replied. “They attacked White Arrow Town, downriver a ways. There have been meetings with the chiefs, all trying to decide how to respond. Most vote to ambush the trails; others wish to carry the fight to the Sky Hand.”
Trader glanced uneasily at Old White, who seemed to be digesting the information.
“What brought it on?” Trader asked, trying to sound only mildly curious.
“Our warriors attacked one of their towns. They retaliated.” The fisherman shrugged. “How do these things ever get started?”
The second said, “It’s downriver. Maybe it won’t come here.”
“Great Cougar might have something to say about that.” The first shrugged. “I just fish and farm. The warriors, they live in the towns. Out here, we just want to be left alone.”