back down the smoke hole. Her eyes stung. She could no longer stand on her shaky legs, so she fell onto the dirt floor. She was aware that her hair was matted with dirt and sweat. Her body was covered with scars, scabs, and half-healed welts from the quirt lashings. Her tunic and body smelled strongly of urine. She was feverish and thirsty. She was unable to focus her eyes on the people moving in and out of the faint light of the fire.
In the morning she was awakened by shouting. It was one of Buzzard Beak’s women, called Talking Goose, a short woman with fat legs, a fine cook, but possessed of a tongue that made everyone quake. She was stirring the fire with a peeled willow stick and yelling for the other woman Buzzard Beak supported, Antelope, to put on the iron pot of stew. Antelope, the younger woman, good to look at, skilled with her hands, sat on the dirt beside Grass Child. Her cool hand was on the child’s feverish cheeks.
Slowly Grass Child looked around the lodge at the curtained compartments against the walls of the big room. These were for sleeping. On pegs were finely tanned and decorated skin garments, weapons of war and hunting, and a medicine bag. On posts fixed in the ground in the small space between two sleeping compartments was an elaborate headdress made from the woolly black head and horns of a buffalo. Grass Child did not know the significance of all the things she saw. Drowsily, she felt a huge curiosity about her captors. Antelope dipped her fingers in a nearby clay pot of water and wiped them across Grass Child’s parched lips, cheeks, and forehead.
Grass Child awakened suddenly from a sharp slap on her bottom. She cringed, blinking her eyes. The sky was blue, and the sun shone through the smoke hole. Catches Two—the tribe called Buzzard Beak by the name of Catches Two because he had two women— pulled her from the sleeping compartment and pushed his flintlock against her chest. Grass Child wondered if he were going to shoot her, but her body did not stiffen in fear; she could not muster up any emotion so strong.
She wished he would shoot quickly; she was so tired; her legs ached and folded involuntarily. Catches Two lowered the gun, chuckled, and kicked Grass Child so that she lay sprawled on the dirt floor. She was curious about him but unable to move or ask what he planned for her. Exhaustion was overpowering, and she was beyond doing. Catches Two placed the charge in the barrel. Grass Child watched steadily as he poured powder into the muzzle, dropped a lead ball in, and forced even more powder down with a ramrod. He grunted and put the cold barrel against Grass Child’s hot forehead and fingered the trigger. Her eyes closed and she thought of cool spring water. The trigger snapped. The cock, pushed by a spring, moved forward in a tiny arc. The flint, held fast in the cock, glanced against the blue steel, and a shower of sparks dropped into the priming pan. But there was insufficient priming powder and the flash did not penetrate to the powder in the barrel. The gun did not fire, and Catches Two tossed the weapon aside disgustedly.
Aware that the child was really sick, he gave another grunt and, slinging the numb Grass Child over his shoulder, took her past the horse in the narrow entry passage and out into the morning air. Antelope was nearing the entrance with water in a turtle shell. She pressed it against Grass Child’s lips as Catches Two held her upright. Her throat was swollen and sore; to swallow was agony. Antelope indicated that Catches Two should put her back in the sleeping compartment, that Grass Child was not well enough to be in the damp morning drafts. Mumbling, he slung Grass Child over his shoulder, and took her back inside the lodge. Antelope placed hot, wet skins on the child’s head. Over and over she did this. She put bear’s oil on the festering lacerations, combed the child’s tangled hair with a dried buffalo tongue, washed her stinking tunic, bathed her
In the morning she was awakened by shouting. It was one of Buzzard Beak’s women, called Talking Goose, a short woman with fat legs, a fine cook, but possessed of a tongue that made everyone quake. She was stirring the fire with a peeled willow stick and yelling for the other woman Buzzard Beak supported, Antelope, to put on the iron pot of stew. Antelope, the younger woman, good to look at, skilled with her hands, sat on the dirt beside Grass Child. Her cool hand was on the child’s feverish cheeks.
Slowly Grass Child looked around the lodge at the curtained compartments against the walls of the big room. These were for sleeping. On pegs were finely tanned and decorated skin garments, weapons of war and hunting, and a medicine bag. On posts fixed in the ground in the small space between two sleeping compartments was an elaborate headdress made from the woolly black head and horns of a buffalo. Grass Child did not know the significance of all the things she saw. Drowsily, she felt a huge curiosity about her captors. Antelope dipped her fingers in a nearby clay pot of water and wiped them across Grass Child’s parched lips, cheeks, and forehead.
Grass Child awakened suddenly from a sharp slap on her bottom. She cringed, blinking her eyes. The sky was blue, and the sun shone through the smoke hole. Catches Two—the tribe called Buzzard Beak by the name of Catches Two because he had two women— pulled her from the sleeping compartment and pushed his flintlock against her chest. Grass Child wondered if he were going to shoot her, but her body did not stiffen in fear; she could not muster up any emotion so strong.
She wished he would shoot quickly; she was so tired; her legs ached and folded involuntarily. Catches Two lowered the gun, chuckled, and kicked Grass Child so that she lay sprawled on the dirt floor. She was curious about him but unable to move or ask what he planned for her. Exhaustion was overpowering, and she was beyond doing. Catches Two placed the charge in the barrel. Grass Child watched steadily as he poured powder into the muzzle, dropped a lead ball in, and forced even more powder down with a ramrod. He grunted and put the cold barrel against Grass Child’s hot forehead and fingered the trigger. Her eyes closed and she thought of cool spring water. The trigger snapped. The cock, pushed by a spring, moved forward in a tiny arc. The flint, held fast in the cock, glanced against the blue steel, and a shower of sparks dropped into the priming pan. But there was insufficient priming powder and the flash did not penetrate to the powder in the barrel. The gun did not fire, and Catches Two tossed the weapon aside disgustedly.
Aware that the child was really sick, he gave another grunt and, slinging the numb Grass Child over his shoulder, took her past the horse in the narrow entry passage and out into the morning air. Antelope was nearing the entrance with water in a turtle shell. She pressed it against Grass Child’s lips as Catches Two held her upright. Her throat was swollen and sore; to swallow was agony. Antelope indicated that Catches Two should put her back in the sleeping compartment, that Grass Child was not well enough to be in the damp morning drafts. Mumbling, he slung Grass Child over his shoulder, and took her back inside the lodge. Antelope placed hot, wet skins on the child’s head. Over and over she did this. She put bear’s oil on the festering lacerations, combed the child’s tangled hair with a dried buffalo tongue, washed her stinking tunic, bathed her
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