Dances Naked by Dani Haviland Page B

hollered, “My boots! Can I get my boots back, please?” His hands and arms were full of passed out male so he couldn’t employ his usual sign language to communicate his message , but still managed to nod to the feet. “He stole those from me. His were in the saddlebag. They might be there still…”
    Marty looked up at Number Two to see if he understood. He did all right. He was grinning. He nodded down to his own feet. Marty hadn’t noticed earlier , but Number Two was wearing Grant’s old boots. “Then can I have mine back? I mean, they probably wouldn’t fit you anyway. I have big feet.”
    Number Two looked over to Red Shirt to verify that it was okay. Red Shirt gave his now familiar grunt of assent so the three men stepped back and put the shit-smelling body back down. Marty scrambled to the opposite end and tugged. The boots , too big for Grant , came off easily. He unzipped them and stuck his bare feet inside, quickly zipping them up without his missing socks. “Thanks, mates,” Marty said then went back to his shoulder toting position, ready for the other two to grab their end.
    So, Marty had his boots back and Grant, the mean big brother, thief, liar , and general black-hearted creature , was laid out in a relatively shallow grave, buried up to his neck in dirt . The tomb was secured by various sizes of boulders to deter , or at least slow down, egress by him or access by coyotes, foxes , or wolves. The ants weren’t out, not even butterflies were flying about. No, the little six-legged critters like flies, ants , and wasps wouldn’t bother him. But , the four-legged kind would be attracted to the smell of blood from his earlier thrashing. They might not be able to get to the main course of limbs and torso , but they could snack on the tender bits like his nose , ears , and eyeballs. He’d be lucky if he died of thirst before they found him.
    Then , Red Shirt did something odd. At first Marty didn’t know if it was cruel or kind. The chief dribbled water into Grant’s mouth. The wetness revived him and probably slaked his thirst a bit. His mouth started to work right; he could smack his lips, so Red Shirt poured some more down his gullet. Yes, it was cruel. Now Grant was alert and probably had an extra twenty-four hours of torment before he passed out from thirst or died. It was midmorning and not too hot , but there were lots of daylight hours left.
    The Young One and Number Two were already mounted and waiting for orders. Red Shirt looked to Rachel; made sure he had her attention, and then lifted the makeshift shovel, offering her a chance to throw on the last bit of dirt and gravel. Rachel frowned , shook her head , and then turned her back on her brother. She was done with Grant and didn’t want anything more to do with him, either in anger or in kindness. He was nothing to her now.
    “Well,” Marty started, not really knowing what he was going to say. He had to think of something though. He didn’t want to stay where he was and had already been lost when the Indians found him. “Which way are we going?” he asked, finding a neutral, he hoped, topic.
    Red Shirt looked him in the eye then cante d his head toward the others: ‘Y ou’re welcome to join us,’ he said with his easy to understand body language.
    “Thanks, don’t mind if I do,” Marty said loudly , trying to drown out the protests coming from the misaligned mouth of the newly interred.
    “Wait..oo canna gaw wid aut me,” Grant mumbled.
    “You can’t go without me?” Marty translated. “Oh, but I can. Oh, a nd I gave the horse you stole from me to my new friends here and manage d to get my boots back. Paybacks a bitch, dude!” Marty crowed then looked to the others.
    Red Shirt was lifting Rachel and the baby onto Marty’s former mare and the others were already riding away. Marty bent down, picked up a piece of the wood cut from the improvised shovel , and stuck it in Grant’s mouth. “Use it well and you might get