he slowly drifted back
off to sleep again seeing lines of pit bulls jumping and biting fences.
CHAPTER
Nine
A BOUT three hours later, that morning, when Stone awakened and saw that it was dawn, the sky a mass of dripped ink and spilled
color, he looked out the tire slot nearest his face and saw that something was up. They were building a structure of some
kind in the very center of the encampment, a cleared circle about a hundred feet in diameter where much of the tribe’s group
interaction occurred. And it was as bizarre as anything out of
Gulliver’s Travels
. As the sun hauled itself up to the tree line like an old crow that can’t quite make it, Stone could make out the general
shape of the structure. The shape—but not what the hell it was going to be used for. It was a rough box about eight feet long
and three wide, with ropes and junk all over it. As one group of braves worked on that, testing ropes, tightening corners,
another group was building a huge bonfire about twenty feet behind the structure, a mother of a fire that was already ten
feet high and perhaps an equal size around. It looked like their work was only beginning as braves walked in long lines back
and forth to the nearby forests, dragging more fuel.
Stone watched throughout the day as they put up poles and banners, the women getting elaborate gowns together, their hair
being put up and braided by each other. Something big was in the offing, that was for damned sure. Somehow Stone had the sickening
feeling that he was going to be an integral part of the festivities. They fed him breakfast and then lunch, Excaliber so chagrined
by the embarrassing episode of the evening before that the dog couldn’t even face Stone but just dragged its food off to the
farthest corner and ate with its face to the wall. Then it went back to sleep, nose pressed deep into a crevice trying to
suck in fresh air. Stone felt sorry for the stupid dog. Its macho image had been attacked and the dog had come out the loser.
There’s something about hanging like an ornament on a Christmas tree, and knowing that you’d be there until hell freezes over
if you’re not rescued, that does wonders for one’s tough-guy rep.
Nanhanke never showed that day, which seemed like a bad omen to Stone. And as the sun fell blood red and bloated from the
sky like a leech that had drunk too much, he still hadn’t gotten dinner. If they weren’t feeding him that was a bad sign.
It meant they didn’t think it was going to matter if he was hungry or not, and who the hell knew what that meant. But as the
twilight and then the night fell like the shroud over a coffin, Stone grew increasingly nervous. The dog, too, which had just
been getting used to the three squares seemed skittish, testy, and it snarled out through the cracks at the activities going
on around them.
When darkness fell the festivities began. Stone didn’t know exactly what the hell was happening, but he watched fascinated.
First the great bonfire that now topped thirty feet high, twenty wide, was doused with some sort of flammable liquid. Then
at Chief Breaking Buffalo’s command, archers on every side of the square opened up with flaming arrows. The pyre caught in
numerous places and sprang into fire. A great yellow funnel ripped up into the night sky like a flaming tongue trying to kiss
the curvaceous clouds wiggling by above. A second curtain of sparks and smoke and sputtering, crackling drops of superheated
resin followed behind the flames. The wall of fire lit up the low flying clouds above which reflected the yellows and oranges
off their mile-wide stomachs back down to the earth below, so that it almost appeared that the sky and the earth and everything
in between were on fire.
After about five minutes, once the sparks had settled down, the braves began dancing around the fire. Stone couldn’t see clearly
at first, as everything was alternately in shadows and
off to sleep again seeing lines of pit bulls jumping and biting fences.
CHAPTER
Nine
A BOUT three hours later, that morning, when Stone awakened and saw that it was dawn, the sky a mass of dripped ink and spilled
color, he looked out the tire slot nearest his face and saw that something was up. They were building a structure of some
kind in the very center of the encampment, a cleared circle about a hundred feet in diameter where much of the tribe’s group
interaction occurred. And it was as bizarre as anything out of
Gulliver’s Travels
. As the sun hauled itself up to the tree line like an old crow that can’t quite make it, Stone could make out the general
shape of the structure. The shape—but not what the hell it was going to be used for. It was a rough box about eight feet long
and three wide, with ropes and junk all over it. As one group of braves worked on that, testing ropes, tightening corners,
another group was building a huge bonfire about twenty feet behind the structure, a mother of a fire that was already ten
feet high and perhaps an equal size around. It looked like their work was only beginning as braves walked in long lines back
and forth to the nearby forests, dragging more fuel.
Stone watched throughout the day as they put up poles and banners, the women getting elaborate gowns together, their hair
being put up and braided by each other. Something big was in the offing, that was for damned sure. Somehow Stone had the sickening
feeling that he was going to be an integral part of the festivities. They fed him breakfast and then lunch, Excaliber so chagrined
by the embarrassing episode of the evening before that the dog couldn’t even face Stone but just dragged its food off to the
farthest corner and ate with its face to the wall. Then it went back to sleep, nose pressed deep into a crevice trying to
suck in fresh air. Stone felt sorry for the stupid dog. Its macho image had been attacked and the dog had come out the loser.
There’s something about hanging like an ornament on a Christmas tree, and knowing that you’d be there until hell freezes over
if you’re not rescued, that does wonders for one’s tough-guy rep.
Nanhanke never showed that day, which seemed like a bad omen to Stone. And as the sun fell blood red and bloated from the
sky like a leech that had drunk too much, he still hadn’t gotten dinner. If they weren’t feeding him that was a bad sign.
It meant they didn’t think it was going to matter if he was hungry or not, and who the hell knew what that meant. But as the
twilight and then the night fell like the shroud over a coffin, Stone grew increasingly nervous. The dog, too, which had just
been getting used to the three squares seemed skittish, testy, and it snarled out through the cracks at the activities going
on around them.
When darkness fell the festivities began. Stone didn’t know exactly what the hell was happening, but he watched fascinated.
First the great bonfire that now topped thirty feet high, twenty wide, was doused with some sort of flammable liquid. Then
at Chief Breaking Buffalo’s command, archers on every side of the square opened up with flaming arrows. The pyre caught in
numerous places and sprang into fire. A great yellow funnel ripped up into the night sky like a flaming tongue trying to kiss
the curvaceous clouds wiggling by above. A second curtain of sparks and smoke and sputtering, crackling drops of superheated
resin followed behind the flames. The wall of fire lit up the low flying clouds above which reflected the yellows and oranges
off their mile-wide stomachs back down to the earth below, so that it almost appeared that the sky and the earth and everything
in between were on fire.
After about five minutes, once the sparks had settled down, the braves began dancing around the fire. Stone couldn’t see clearly
at first, as everything was alternately in shadows and
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