“A gift, you say?” Old White asked.
Trader shrugged. “I was thinking of that big bag of Illinois bowls you carry. Can you think of a better use for them?”
Everything had worked out the way Smoke Shield had hoped it would. Red Awl and his wife had easily acquiesced to accompanying them upriver. The first frigid drops of rain had started to fall just as they reached Clay Bank Crossing. When they were faced with pelting cold rain, persuading Red Awl to make for shore hadn’t been too difficult.
“It will give us a chance to talk,” Smoke Shield had said reasonably enough. “I would hear your thoughts concerning the Albaamaha.”
They had landed, pulled the canoes up, and climbed the slope to a small shelter built under the trees. It was there that he and Fast Legs had lifted their weapons. Red Awl had gaped in disbelief; then his expression had hardened. His wife, however, had stared in wide-eyed dismay.
“What are you doing?” she had demanded. “Don’t you know who this is? He is Mikko Red Awl, representative to the Council for the northern Albaamaha!”
“And I am war chief of the Sky Hand,” Smoke Shield had barked back. “You will shoulder our packs and take the trail up the hill.”
“Just do it,” Red Awl had said. “Mother will be all right.”
“Your mother is fine,” Fast Legs had snarled. “We had to tell you something to get you out of the city.”
Red Awl’s expression had fallen. As he had picked up the pack, he asked, “Why are you doing this?”
Smoke Shield had fingered the stone-tipped arrow in his bow. “Because I want to know the truth about Albaamaha treachery. You can avoid a long unpleasant session at Sandstone Camp if you will tell me who is behind the Albaamaha conspiracy against the Sky Hand. Give me the names, the clans, and you can go about your business.”
“I know of no conspiracy against the Sky Hand.”
“Who sent the hunter to warn the White Arrow about my attack?”
“I am told it was Paunch. You know as much as I do!”
“Walk. We’ll do this the difficult way.”
“Husband?” Lotus Root had asked.
“It will be all right. As soon as we convince them we are telling the truth, they will let us go.” But he didn’t sound like he believed it himself.
Fine, let him buy time.
The march up into the hills had gone smoothly. Even the weather helped, the cold soggy conditions ensuring that no unwelcome travelers would be lurking along the trail. As Smoke Shield had expected, Sandstone Camp was empty, the quarries there abandoned.
They took shelter in a small hut used by the stone cutters, and Smoke Shield ordered the woman to make a fire while Fast Legs gathered damp wood from the forest. Snowflakes were falling by the time all was in order.
“Tie them up,” Smoke Shield ordered, his arrow nocked.
“This will be a terrible mistake,” Red Awl predicted. “I have done nothing but try and smooth relations between our peoples. When word of this gets out, you will have done more to turn the Albaamaha against you than any other man. That eye in the middle of the hand you are so proud of shall weep.”
“You are assuming word will get out,” Smoke Shield had said as Fast Legs pulled the last of the knots tight on the woman’s arms. She was trembling with fear, her wet clothing clinging to her body. Yes, a nice body, with shapely breasts and the kind of hips that promised delight.
“Is the fire hot?” Smoke Shield asked.
“Hot enough,” Fast Legs agreed.
“Good. Cut the shirt off the man. Let’s hear what he has to say when only the truth will save his flesh from the fire and knife.”
That had been early afternoon. Now Smoke Shield stared sullenly into the night as he hunched at the low doorway. Red Awl whimpered behind him. Albaamaha had no more guts than certain Chahta high minkos. But no matter where they cut, or what they burned, Red Awl insisted his Albaamaha were innocent.
“Of course my people hate you,” Red Awl had said. “Look what you do to us! You even turn on those of us who would find ways to live with you! You, and your Power, are cursed!”
“Then you know nothing of Power,” Smoke Shield had replied. “We are strong, and Power flows through the strong like a great wind. With it, the weak are blown away.”
“If you are made high minko,” Red Awl had said, “you will bring blood and fire to our land. It will end in death and misery for all of us.”
“Who killed the captives? Who decided to humiliate us before the gods?”
“I don’t know!” he had screamed as Fast Legs applied a burning stick to his testicles.