“Perhaps you would Trade the cup for the gorget now, and something else for the captives later?”
“Perhaps I might Trade the captives for the gorget now, and something else for the cup later.”
Great Cougar continued to run his fingers over the relief on the copper gorget.
Old White handed the cup back, saying, “This need not be decided at the moment. Keep the gorget for a while, War Chief. Wear it until you make up your mind.” He handed the cup back reluctantly. “Even if you do not decide to take my Trade I don’t see why you shouldn’t wear such a piece for the time being. You know . . . just to look at it in the sunlight tomorrow and marvel over the workmanship, as I have.”
“You would trust me with this?” He had tucked the cup under one arm and now raised the gorget.
“War Chief, you are a man of honor. Take it home, see how it looks in the firelight. It is my pleasure to share it with a man who will admire it as much as I.”
Old White smiled to himself as Great Cougar turned, headed back in the direction of his house.
“Now,” he mused, “how do I get that cup away from him?”
The Albaamaha had been assembled just outside Bowl Town’s palisade. They stood uncomfortably, watching with sullen eyes as Smoke Shield stood beside Chief Sun Falcon. Behind him, Smoke Shield knew the gathered Sky Hand warriors shifted nervously; his warriors held their weapons high, though Sun Falcon’s did not. The latter looked uncomfortable with the proceedings. The evening sky glowed in the west, sunlight sending bars of light through the distant clouds.
“Where is Lotus Root?” Smoke Shield demanded. “She has made charges against me. I have searched her house, only to find it vacant. Let her come forward and make her allegations known!”
The crowd remained silent, eyes down, hands clasped before them.
Smoke Shield had literally paraded his warriors back and forth through their village, looking in houses, searching granaries. He had read their hard looks, seen the anger they tried so diligently to hide. But what could they do? As many as they were, they dared not challenge his war-hardened warriors. If anything, his men had tried to provoke a response, having freshly washed Albaamaha blood from their hands.
But the Albaamaha had refused to rise to the bait.
Cowards, all of them. The thought drifted between Smoke Shield’s souls like smoke.
“Come on,” he chided. “How can this woman speak her poison behind my back, yet refuse to face me?” He spread his arms. “If she has cause, let her tell all of us. I am not afraid to answer her questions.”
They stood uneasily.
Sun Falcon was shooting Smoke Shield sidelong looks, clearly displeased at this turn of events. Let him be. Who cared what the Bowl Town chief might think?
“Will someone tell me where Lotus Root is?”
In the long silence, no one spoke.
“That is an order!”
Finally an old man, one of the Albaamaha mikkos, stepped forward. He cleared his throat. “War Chief, she is not here.”
“Not here,” Smoke Shield replied thoughtfully. “Well, she certainly wasn’t up at the hut. Her body wasn’t among those the Chahta killed.” He raised a knotted fist. “We tracked the raiders for a distance and saw no woman’s tracks among theirs, so they didn’t take her.”
The old Albaamo hung his head. In a voice barely audible, he said, “She may have feared for her life, War Chief.”
“And why is that, Mikko?”
“Because . . . because a Sky Hand warrior was stalking her.”
Smoke Shield nodded. “Ah, Fast Legs.”
Sun Falcon broke the silence. “Some of us would wonder what he was doing up at that hut, War Chief.”
“I sent him,” Smoke Shield said firmly. “At the first hint of rumors that I had killed Red Awl, I asked him to come and find out if Red Awl was indeed dead. My instructions were that he be discreet. That he learn what was being said about me without upsetting people. The last thing I wanted was for him to barge in like a hungry bear and demand explanations. Had he done so, do any of you think he would have heard the truth? No, it was better that he look and listen.”
He saw some of the Albaamaha glance uneasily at each other. Among others, the only response was the tightening of jaw muscles, the hard knotting of fists.
Smoke Shield propped his hands on his hips. “When we found the bodies, they had been cut apart by the foul Chahta cowards. But I can tell you this! My warrior had a broken leg long before the Chahta killed him. Could anyone tell me how that happened?”
Silence.
“Come on, people, talk. The news of a Sky Hand warrior taken captive would have been up and down the trails within moments.”