thin, breathless, rasping sound.
Monday frowned, started to speak, and hesitated.
"Hoss," he said seriously, "I don't mean t' call you a
liar, or nothin' . . ."
Webb looked up with annoyance. "Best not,"
he said. "Can't y' see the damn bone your ownself?"
"No, it ain't that. But—how c'n you be sure
that Piegan topknot you're wearin' is the same as lifted yours?"
"Why, y' damn dunghead! I took it off'n him
right there, wagh! I did, now. Was runnin' my line up to Marias River
with a Pikuni Blackfoot name of Baptiste. He wa'n't full-blood
Piegan, but a breed. Half white an' half Injun, an' that's damn bad
blood both sides. Wagh! Heerd somep'n in the brush, an' first thing I
knowed Iwas eatin' mud."
" Wagh!" Monday said. "That's some,
now. "
"Baptiste, he had both moccasins planted in the
middle of my back, just a-rippin' an' a-tearin' away at the old
topknot. Must of dazed me f'r a minute, for I can't recollect him
takin' the knife to 'er. Well, now."
"There's doin's," Monday exclaimed, lapsing
into the almost ritual encouragement of the story-teller.
"That made me so mad, but I didn't say nothin'.
Truth is, I was a leetle mite confused, though you can't hurt a
mountain man by hittin' him on the head. Baptiste, he had one
turrible time liftin' that ha'r, he did now. Pretty soon he gets her
off, though, an' leans down to wipe 'er off a bit on the grass.
"Wagh! Up jumps this nigger, like to eat a
painter. Couldn't see nothin' whatsomever, account of all the blood.
Fetched that child up by feel, I did, wugh! Smote 'im hip and thigh,
like the Scripture recommends, till I guessed he wa'n't about t' run
off. "
"You did, now!"
" Outs with my knife, same as I got in my belt
now, 'n' slips it inter his hump-ribs slick. Then I takes my turn
a-—dancin' on his back 'n' liftin' ha'r a while."
"Hooraw, coon!"
"An' wa'n't there whoopin' when I gets back
t'camp! This child was livin' with Heavy Runner's band at the time.
One thing you got to give the Piegans, boy, they give a right smart
coup dance. And they never 'low but four scalps off'n any one head,
not to count coup on, anyways. Them dunghead Rees take half a dozen
or better, just little-bitty pieces 'n' get half the tribe puffed up
on one man's hair.
"Well, now. It wa'n't long thereafterwards that
Heavy Runner's band come down with the smallpox, wagh!" Webb
swept his right hand under the left, signing "gone under."
"Ever' one o' the niggers. It were a fearsome stink in camp,
now. and the hollerin' were somep'n to hear. This child didn't set
toe near them lodges. he didn't. Turned around smart and high-tailed
it down to Absaroka country, 'n' been livin' with the Crows ever
since."
"That's some, now," Monday said admiringly.
"Didn't ever figure you had enough hair t'be worth takin',
myself."
" No," Webb said, fondling the long black
strands that hung from his headband. "This nigger got the best
o' the bargain, that is a fact. The Absaroka call me Has Three
Scalps, my own 'n' two others. Lost m'own some'ers along, but it
wa'n't no 'count anyways. Gettin' ratty, it
was,
like a summer pelt."
" How long it take that to heal?" Dr. Beth
asked. "You put any kind of medicine to it? How long you keep it
covered?"
Webb was flattered and pleased by the attention. He
became almost embarrassed as he tried to remember. "Fact is,"
he said uncomfortably, "this child never did pay too much mind
afterwards. If I'd of knowed somebody was to be so hell-fired
interested, why, I'd of wrote 'er down or somep'n."
" You aren't much help," Beth said
accusingly. "That ever happen again, you pay better attention."
" Yes'm," Webb muttered unhappily. "I
surely will." He suddenly pulled the hat on again. "But I
don't guess it's like to happen twice," he apologized.
Beth smiled at Webb's discomfiture. She stood from
the table. "I best be movin' on, now," she said. "Mary,
you think on what I said."
" About what?" Monday asked curiously.
" Woman talk, Mr. Monday, and none of your
concern." She
Monday frowned, started to speak, and hesitated.
"Hoss," he said seriously, "I don't mean t' call you a
liar, or nothin' . . ."
Webb looked up with annoyance. "Best not,"
he said. "Can't y' see the damn bone your ownself?"
"No, it ain't that. But—how c'n you be sure
that Piegan topknot you're wearin' is the same as lifted yours?"
"Why, y' damn dunghead! I took it off'n him
right there, wagh! I did, now. Was runnin' my line up to Marias River
with a Pikuni Blackfoot name of Baptiste. He wa'n't full-blood
Piegan, but a breed. Half white an' half Injun, an' that's damn bad
blood both sides. Wagh! Heerd somep'n in the brush, an' first thing I
knowed Iwas eatin' mud."
" Wagh!" Monday said. "That's some,
now. "
"Baptiste, he had both moccasins planted in the
middle of my back, just a-rippin' an' a-tearin' away at the old
topknot. Must of dazed me f'r a minute, for I can't recollect him
takin' the knife to 'er. Well, now."
"There's doin's," Monday exclaimed, lapsing
into the almost ritual encouragement of the story-teller.
"That made me so mad, but I didn't say nothin'.
Truth is, I was a leetle mite confused, though you can't hurt a
mountain man by hittin' him on the head. Baptiste, he had one
turrible time liftin' that ha'r, he did now. Pretty soon he gets her
off, though, an' leans down to wipe 'er off a bit on the grass.
"Wagh! Up jumps this nigger, like to eat a
painter. Couldn't see nothin' whatsomever, account of all the blood.
Fetched that child up by feel, I did, wugh! Smote 'im hip and thigh,
like the Scripture recommends, till I guessed he wa'n't about t' run
off. "
"You did, now!"
" Outs with my knife, same as I got in my belt
now, 'n' slips it inter his hump-ribs slick. Then I takes my turn
a-—dancin' on his back 'n' liftin' ha'r a while."
"Hooraw, coon!"
"An' wa'n't there whoopin' when I gets back
t'camp! This child was livin' with Heavy Runner's band at the time.
One thing you got to give the Piegans, boy, they give a right smart
coup dance. And they never 'low but four scalps off'n any one head,
not to count coup on, anyways. Them dunghead Rees take half a dozen
or better, just little-bitty pieces 'n' get half the tribe puffed up
on one man's hair.
"Well, now. It wa'n't long thereafterwards that
Heavy Runner's band come down with the smallpox, wagh!" Webb
swept his right hand under the left, signing "gone under."
"Ever' one o' the niggers. It were a fearsome stink in camp,
now. and the hollerin' were somep'n to hear. This child didn't set
toe near them lodges. he didn't. Turned around smart and high-tailed
it down to Absaroka country, 'n' been livin' with the Crows ever
since."
"That's some, now," Monday said admiringly.
"Didn't ever figure you had enough hair t'be worth takin',
myself."
" No," Webb said, fondling the long black
strands that hung from his headband. "This nigger got the best
o' the bargain, that is a fact. The Absaroka call me Has Three
Scalps, my own 'n' two others. Lost m'own some'ers along, but it
wa'n't no 'count anyways. Gettin' ratty, it
was,
like a summer pelt."
" How long it take that to heal?" Dr. Beth
asked. "You put any kind of medicine to it? How long you keep it
covered?"
Webb was flattered and pleased by the attention. He
became almost embarrassed as he tried to remember. "Fact is,"
he said uncomfortably, "this child never did pay too much mind
afterwards. If I'd of knowed somebody was to be so hell-fired
interested, why, I'd of wrote 'er down or somep'n."
" You aren't much help," Beth said
accusingly. "That ever happen again, you pay better attention."
" Yes'm," Webb muttered unhappily. "I
surely will." He suddenly pulled the hat on again. "But I
don't guess it's like to happen twice," he apologized.
Beth smiled at Webb's discomfiture. She stood from
the table. "I best be movin' on, now," she said. "Mary,
you think on what I said."
" About what?" Monday asked curiously.
" Woman talk, Mr. Monday, and none of your
concern." She
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