“I seen some o’ them boxers. I whupped one down to Natchez one time. Your pa’s all right, boy, only he’s come west with a wife and child, and if he’s wishful of keepin’ them alive he’s got to learn new ways. New ways of thinkin’, mostly.”
He led the way down the slope. “We ain’t after buffalo, so we’ll just amble along. We should fetch up some antelope soon.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I seen ’em come an’ go. I been ridin’ this land since I was half your size, fightin’ Injuns an’ huntin’ with em-”
“You fight them and yet you’re friendly with them?”
“Why not? Nobody fights all the time. We’ve fought a time or two, an’ good fights they were, too. Sometimes we set over a fire and talk of the fool mistakes we made, or almost made. Not that you get a chance to make many mistakes when you’re fightin’ Injuns.”
He pointed suddenly. “There! Pronghorns… must be fifteen to twenty of them. Come on, we’ll circle around and come up downwind of them… but we got to stay out of sight, too, because they can see.”
He rode down the slope ahead of Tom, a tall man, easy in the saddle. The mustang was smaller than the sorrel, but quick. The horse moved easily, taking the opposite slope as if it were not there, riding across the back of the knoll where they had seen the antelope.
At the crest of the low ridge he drew up, and then edged his horse closer until he could see over the top of the hill. The antelope were no more than one hundred yards away. He backed off, dismounted, and edged forward. Lifting his rifle he held on his target for a long instant until Tom thought he would never fire. Suddenly the rifle leaped in his hands, but instantly he shifted his muzzle a few inches and fired again.
Before moving he extracted the two cartridges and fed two more into the rifle. Letting Tom lead his horse, he walked up to the crest of the rise. Both antelope were down, the rest of the herd disappearing in the distance.
“Keep your eyes open, boy,” Vallian said sharply, “and don’t do no moon-gazin’. If you see anything move, even the grass, you speak out, d’you hear?
“If you’re goin’ to live in this country you got to learn that you don’t cover country by just settin’ up on a horse. You keep your eyes open or some Injun’ll be settin’ on the horse and you’ll be dead.”
“Mr. Vallian? Couldn’t you have gone around that knob yonder and come up closer to them? To the antelope, I mean?”
“Boy, you listen now. Once an antelope sees you, you’ve either got to shoot, or try movin’ up right at him, straight and slow. If an antelope sees something, then sees it disappear, he’ll be gone. When we’d have come out from behind that knob they’d be a mile off an’ travelin’.
“An antelope has eyes like a field glass. He lives on these prairies and he knows ’em, his eyes are made for seeing long distances. He can hear, too. You can stalk a deer, but you don’t get much chance with an antelope.
“They are all curious, almighty curious. You can lie up and toll ’em right up to you with a slow moving cloth on a ramrod or something that shines or sparkles. You can even get ’em close with a bare hand or foot, wiggling your fingers or toes.”
“They make a track like a deer.”
Vallian spat. “No more like a deer than mine’s like yours. To a tenderfoot, maybe. Antelope track is shorter than a deer track, broader and rounder at the heel, an’ sharp at toe. You study ’em. You’ll be able to tell the difference.”
Tom’s eyes kept turning, studying the prairie all around. Vallian was a hard man, and he did not want to draw his anger, for obviously he was impatient with ignorance and poor observation.
“Could you teach me to be a frontiersman?” he asked suddenly. “I’d like to learn.”
“I ain’t running no school. You keep your eyes open, watch what you’re about and if you live long enough you’ll learn, but you’ll keep on learning. There’s no end to it, boy. I’ve lived all my life on the frontier and I don’t know the half of it.
“The trouble is, this here’s a school where the Injuns conduct the examinations. Injuns or the wild country itself.”
“You skinned only one antelope.”
“That’s right, boy. I’ll shoot meat for ’em when they’re in trouble, but I’ll be damned if I’ll skin it, too.”
“Them?”
Vallian gave him a disgusted glance. “Injuns, boy. Them Injuns we seen the other night. Now you keep your rifle in your hands. Don’t wave it around, just hold it easy-like.”
“I don’t see any-”
There were three of them, and they rode out of a hollow Tom had not even seen, and drew up, facing them. Vallian gestured at the antelope lying on the grass, then pointed with his forefinger, bent it and drew it to him as if hooking something in. “Means ‘take’ or ‘catch,’ ” he said. “In the tribe Indians share their meat.”
“Are we in their tribe now?” Tom asked.
“If they were a war party they’d kill you just as soon as they’d a chance. No, we ain’t of their tribe, but they need meat. They’d share what they had with us, even though they might take our scalps after.”
They rode slowly away, and Tom turned his head to stare back. The Indians were cutting up the meat, paying no attention to them. After a bit Vallian started to lope his horse.
Suddenly, Vallian said, “Boy, awhile back you stuck up for your pa. That’s good. I like loyalty in a man.”
“He’s a good man,” Tom said.
“I reckon he is, or your ma wouldn’t have married him. Some women I’d not say that of, but your ma is a canny woman. You listen to your folks, boy. They’ll learn you right. ‘Cept about injuns and wild country. Then you listen to me.”
Now they could see the white top of the wagon. It was where they had left it, and they could see the lift of smoke from the fire.
“You pa, now, does he know all about them old Greeks? Achilles, an’ them?”
“Yes, he does. He can read Greek.”
“Sure enough? I reckon that keeps him right busy out here, doesn’t it?” They were nearing the wagon. “You know them stories, boy? About all that killin’ an’ fightin’?”
“I know some of it. Pa knows it very well.” Tom was suddenly curious. “Do you know those stories?”
“Used to hear ’em, long time back.” He hesitated.
They rode up to the fire.
“Ma!” Tom was excited. “Mr. Vallian killed two antelopes, and we met those Indians again!”
Duncan accepted the meat Vallian handed him, and glanced at it. “That’s not much meat for two antelopes, Vallian.”
“I left one for the Injuns,” Vallian did not look around as he uncinched and removed his saddle.
“That was kind of you, Mr. Vallian,” Susanna said.
Vallian looked at her. “I didn’t think kind, ma’am, I just left it.”
CHAPTER VII
Doc Shabbitt studied the tracks, then glanced over at the Huron. “What do you make of it?”
The Huron said nothing. He rode his horse in a small circle, studying the tracks. “There is another one,” he said, “a man who rides alone.”
“If he’s with them he surely ain’t ridin’ alone,” Ike commented.
“He is not always with them. He rides up, he rides away. He was not with them many miles back, and he rode up to them from the west.”
“Who d’ you reckon?” Booster asked.
“Aw, it’s just some Injun, beggin’ flour! We cut their sign back a ways.”
“I don’t like it,” Purdy said quietly, “whoever shot Lenny must be around somewhere, and I don’t think it was that woman or the boy. I think somebody else is in this.”
“Injuns,” Ike insisted. “Why would he ride off thataway? Those Injuns are not far off and one rides over now and again to beg… maybe fixin’ to kill the lot of them. We surely ain’t the first to see those horses nor that woman.”
“Injuns don’t care what a woman looks like,” Ike scoffed. “They don’t care one bit.”
“Neither do you, Ike,” Boston Pangman said, grinning. “I remember a time or two-”
Ike looked around. “You got a big mouth, Pang. You surely do.”
Boston Pangman looked at him, then shut up. After a minute he said, “I was just funnin’, Ike. No offense.”
Ike Mantle said nothing. He rode around, studying the tracks, and then without a word started off along the trail. Doc Shabbitt scowled, then followed him, riding a little faster to get ahead.