up from his prone position.
“How’s the leg?” the Indian asked as he walked over, tucking his rattle in his belt and leaning his huge mop-handled scepter
against the tire wall.
“Not as bad as it was,” Stone answered, looking down at the appendage. “I don’t know if it’s healing, but it sure as hell
doesn’t hurt as much as it did before you dropkicked it for a field goal.”
“Good, good,” the medicine man exclaimed, bending down and pulling back the split sides of the pants leg. “Less pain is a
sign that the bones are fusing more properly together. The body doesn’t like things not to fit right, so it lets you know.
Pain is the language that it speaks.” He got down on the earth floor on his hands and knees and sighted up along the leg like
sighting down a pool cue to see if it was straight before heading for the table.
“Looking good, looking real good,” the witch man said, rising up again. “Couldn’t have done better if I was back in Union
General and had a whole team of surgeons, an operating room, and malpractice insurance and everything. I think the damn thing
is going to heal almost perfectly. You’re incredibly lucky, Stone. You came millimeters from being a cripple for the rest
of your life.”
“Well, I’ve already got mental problems,” Stone smirked, “might as well have the body to go along with it.” He looked hard
at the Atsana. “Tell me, how’s it going out there? I mean as far I’m concerned. I can see they’ve been powwowing all day.”
“Don’t know, man,” Nanhanke replied, leaning up against the tires and looking out as if trying to see what Stone had been
gazing at. “The chief’s so uptight on this one that he won’t let any but his top two men in on the actual decision making.
Me and the other four witch doctors ain’t even allowed in on the negotiations. I think the truth is”—he paused—“he’s scared
shit of that damned dog and he don’t want no one to know it except his most trusted pals. Don’t want to look bad to the rest
of the tribe. That dog plays an incredible role in the religious and historical background of the tribe. It’s sort of like
Jesus Christ, George Washington, and Thomas Edison all rolled up into one.” The medicine man looked over at the dog, who was
half asleep with one eye open just a crack looking straight back at the Indian. He swore it could see right into his brain.
“And sometimes I wonder myself.”
“Oh, he’s just a damned dog, and not a very good one at that,” Stone said, annoyed at the glorification of the overeating,
overburping, and overfarting canine. He paused, and looked hard again at the witch doctor. “Listen, what about your helping
me to escape, just even—”
“Forget it, pal, no way,” Nanhanke said, waving his hands in front of him like a customer at a sales clerk who was holding
a shirt five sizes too small. “I’m glad to help you with your leg and I sincerely wish you the best of luck. But I’m here
for the duration. I ain’t going back out there. It’s only going to get worse. Here I’m a respected pillar of the community.
Got me a good job—probably work my way to the top, Head Bullshit Talker—got me a squaw with tits the size of watermelons,
own my own all-weather teepee. Are you kidding, I got it better now that I ever did in the old days. No mortgage, no alimony,
no way.”
Stone laughed at the completion of the man’s little rap. “Okay, I think I get the message,” he grinned. The guy should have
had his own ad agency. Nanhanke fitted his headdress back on until it felt about right, the blond wig falling down over both
sides of his face. He smashed the rattle against the tractor tires and screamed out in dialect for the morons on the other
side to open it up before he used some magic on them, because the white man smelled and he wanted to get the hell out of there.
Nanhanke winked at Stone just before he
“How’s the leg?” the Indian asked as he walked over, tucking his rattle in his belt and leaning his huge mop-handled scepter
against the tire wall.
“Not as bad as it was,” Stone answered, looking down at the appendage. “I don’t know if it’s healing, but it sure as hell
doesn’t hurt as much as it did before you dropkicked it for a field goal.”
“Good, good,” the medicine man exclaimed, bending down and pulling back the split sides of the pants leg. “Less pain is a
sign that the bones are fusing more properly together. The body doesn’t like things not to fit right, so it lets you know.
Pain is the language that it speaks.” He got down on the earth floor on his hands and knees and sighted up along the leg like
sighting down a pool cue to see if it was straight before heading for the table.
“Looking good, looking real good,” the witch man said, rising up again. “Couldn’t have done better if I was back in Union
General and had a whole team of surgeons, an operating room, and malpractice insurance and everything. I think the damn thing
is going to heal almost perfectly. You’re incredibly lucky, Stone. You came millimeters from being a cripple for the rest
of your life.”
“Well, I’ve already got mental problems,” Stone smirked, “might as well have the body to go along with it.” He looked hard
at the Atsana. “Tell me, how’s it going out there? I mean as far I’m concerned. I can see they’ve been powwowing all day.”
“Don’t know, man,” Nanhanke replied, leaning up against the tires and looking out as if trying to see what Stone had been
gazing at. “The chief’s so uptight on this one that he won’t let any but his top two men in on the actual decision making.
Me and the other four witch doctors ain’t even allowed in on the negotiations. I think the truth is”—he paused—“he’s scared
shit of that damned dog and he don’t want no one to know it except his most trusted pals. Don’t want to look bad to the rest
of the tribe. That dog plays an incredible role in the religious and historical background of the tribe. It’s sort of like
Jesus Christ, George Washington, and Thomas Edison all rolled up into one.” The medicine man looked over at the dog, who was
half asleep with one eye open just a crack looking straight back at the Indian. He swore it could see right into his brain.
“And sometimes I wonder myself.”
“Oh, he’s just a damned dog, and not a very good one at that,” Stone said, annoyed at the glorification of the overeating,
overburping, and overfarting canine. He paused, and looked hard again at the witch doctor. “Listen, what about your helping
me to escape, just even—”
“Forget it, pal, no way,” Nanhanke said, waving his hands in front of him like a customer at a sales clerk who was holding
a shirt five sizes too small. “I’m glad to help you with your leg and I sincerely wish you the best of luck. But I’m here
for the duration. I ain’t going back out there. It’s only going to get worse. Here I’m a respected pillar of the community.
Got me a good job—probably work my way to the top, Head Bullshit Talker—got me a squaw with tits the size of watermelons,
own my own all-weather teepee. Are you kidding, I got it better now that I ever did in the old days. No mortgage, no alimony,
no way.”
Stone laughed at the completion of the man’s little rap. “Okay, I think I get the message,” he grinned. The guy should have
had his own ad agency. Nanhanke fitted his headdress back on until it felt about right, the blond wig falling down over both
sides of his face. He smashed the rattle against the tractor tires and screamed out in dialect for the morons on the other
side to open it up before he used some magic on them, because the white man smelled and he wanted to get the hell out of there.
Nanhanke winked at Stone just before he
Similar Books
