The Canyon of Bones by Richard S. Wheeler

go.”
    Skye wasn’t sure. “We need to address some things. A hundred pounds when? What are my duties? For how long? How will I be paid? Where will my services end? What exactly do you expect of me?”
    Mercer seemed to be expecting the questions: “You will be paid at the conclusion of satisfactory service. I can give you a letter of credit good at any fur company post or Hudson’s Bay. You will guide us and hunt for us, your women will provide meals and amenities, you’ll show us natural wonders known to yourself or your women, you’ll translate or use sign language; you’ll keep us out of danger and warn me if any sort of trouble looms. You will work until winter prohibits further exploration, and then take us to Fort Benton and get us a flatboat.”
    Skye nodded. “I have some requirements of my own, sir.
In times of danger I will expect you to do exactly what I require, and without delay. If we should encounter some Blackfeet, there may be no time at all to debate. Is that suitable to you?”
    â€œOh, Mister Skye, those occasions are so rare they’re hardly worth worrying ourselves.”
    â€œI must have that assurance.”
    â€œOh, have it your way, Mister Skye. Let’s be off, eh?”
    Victoria was listening and frowning. Mary sat quietly on a robe. Victoria’s eyes were filled with messages, which Skye swiftly understood.
    â€œSomething else, Mister Mercer. You will see things and places that are sacred to the people who live here. You respect what you see in any church; you will, I trust, respect what you see here. The bones we will take you to are the bones of the gods and must be treated as such.”
    â€œI enjoy writing about the local cults, old boy. The better the myths, the more I like them.”
    What was it about Mercer that worried Skye? No matter. He would deal with it
    â€œAll right. We’ll go to the big bones, and then Fort Benton.”
    Mercer nodded and headed for his wagon and men. Skye watched him as he addressed his teamsters. They sprang to life at once, collecting the draft horses, packing a mound of gear.
    Skye turned to his ladies. “We’ve been engaged by Mister Mercer. It will earn us a lot of money; there will be good things for all of us at the trading posts.” He turned to Mary. “We’ll be going to see the giant bones in the rocks. If you wish to say good-bye to your brother and your people, now is the time.”

    â€œWe will leave my people?”
    â€œYes. We’ll go north with Victoria’s people. The man is a storyteller, and is gathering stories to tell people where he comes from.”
    â€œWill you give me to him?”
    There it was. “Why do you ask?”
    â€œIt is the way he looks at me.”
    â€œIf he tries something like that, I will stop it. You are my wife.”
    She lit up. “Then it will be a trip to remember!”
    â€œIf he doesn’t get us in trouble,” Victoria said.

fifteen
    T he Absarokas reached the glinting Yellowstone four days later. Mercer and his teamsters tagged along without difficulty as they traversed level and semiarid ground with few creeks to ford. Skye rode Jawbone, keeping an eye on Mercer and his teamsters and the wagon as well as Mary and Victoria, who guided the travois-burdened horses. The wives fell smoothly into companionship. Skye was pleased. Victoria was less crabby than she had ever been, finding that her life had improved.
    Mary had offered a tender good-bye to The Runner and her people, and had joined Skye’s small household with no visible emotion. Somehow, it all was working and Skye’s uneasiness had gradually dissolved. He was also more at ease with Mercer, who proved to be a good travel companion, undemanding and competent to deal with life far from anything resembling civilization as he knew it.
    They traversed a grove of cottonwoods and reached the Yellowstone River at a place where it