it wouldn’t make a particle of difference to any of us.”
Knapp seemed surprised to have gotten an answer he wanted. “Right!” he said. “You’ve got it. We’d all be dead. I think it’s a mistake not to send back to Linkville now. What good are a dozen men to us there?”
Meacham and his agent sat waiting outside the mat sleeping-hut the Modoc women had set up for them the previous night. The sage fire flared up fiercely when more brush was piled on the embers; it roared a while, then sank as quickly down again, letting the cold resume its attack. The Klamath women and McKay had settled into the bed of one of the wagons, their meager blankets and a canvas pulled over them. George Nurse and Gus Horn were holed up somewhere. The drovers were off by themselves at a second fire, which also had been brightening on and off fitfully through the night.
It was hard to say how late it had grown, and Meacham didn’t want to dig for his watch. Between the flurries, the sky would seem to widen out but never quite clear; then it would lower again and the snow would wrap itself once more around them, the little sleety flakes dusting their robes and disappearing into the fire.
“I say it ought to be now,” Knapp said. “If we wait long enough, we might as well save the trouble of sending for anyone.”
The agent shoved back the robe that was covering him and struggled to his feet. He crossed to the far side of the campfire and peered through the dark, off toward the dozen or so lodges that made up the village. As their own fire dimmed, Meacham could see across it to Jack’s big house. Smoke still circled up from the roof-hole, and here and there chinks of light showed through the mat and sod roof. The same sounds of haranguing came across the brittle air, interrupted on and off by shouts of derision. Then they would subside and another voice would take up the monotonous arguing. Once in a while he could make out what sounded like Toby. Under it all came the sound of the kiuks, chanting.
The agent stamped away into the darkness and returned with another armload of brush. The look of disgust was easy enough to read as the flames flashed up once again and he settled back into his blankets.
“How long do you think it would take to get there?” Meacham asked, relenting; then he answered his own question. “Two hours up and back on a fast horse; another hour to get them moving.” Just then one of the drovers heading into the darkness caught his attention, and the superintendent watched him. “In the best of circumstances, if all goes well, we would have them down here in the morning anyway. But you’re right. If something gets fouled up, we would wish we had sent for them tonight. Have it your way, Knapp,” he said, “I give in. Go ahead and send someone now. Tell him to say he’s looking for stray horses if they stop him.”
Knapp was on his feet and headed toward the drovers’ fire before Meacham could reconsider. “But make sure he goes quietly. And make sure he understands: They must come in absolute silence and stop well short of here. Absolute quiet, you hear? See to it. No mistakes.”
#27
When John Schonchin got started he never finished. He kept on saying the same thing over and over. The only difference was, he got madder and madder as he went along. He got going like something rolling down hill. A loose boulder. The veins would stand out on his neck and he’d sweat. And if you didn’t keep looking at him, he would step out of the center, give up the speaker’s place, and come over and shove against you. He’d push his big stinking face into yours and make you agree. Or try to. So you better keep your eyes locked on his, keep watching for a break, when he rolled onto a level place and you could take your turn in the middle. Or someone else could who knew how to sing more than one tune.
The younger man fingered the scar on his face, hooked his eyes onto John Schonchin, and waited for his chance.
“No!” Schonchin roared, this time his whole body was in it. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’! You weren’t there. You weren’t even born yet. I can tell you, and you better listen. This is just like that time. There was supposed to be a feast then, too. And gifts! I tell you, there’s only one gift a Boston ever is willing to give an Indian.” He was so mad the spit flew out with his words. “And it comes out of the end of a gun. Unless it’s a knife between the ribs. No! I tell you. It’s the same now as it was then.”
“But this Meacham ain’t Ben Wright!” someone in the back shouted.
“Yes he is! He’s back. He’s older. He wears black. No fancy curls on his head. No slick gunslinger clothes on him. But it’s him. It’s him every time we meet a Boston. Listen to me!”
“We did!” they shouted. “Sit down! Your turn’s done!”
John Schonchin was shaking, so pissed he couldn’t continue. Finally! That was good! Off to the side, Euchoaks raised his chant and the women’s voices followed his, singing.
The young man leaped into the swirling sound to take Schonchin’s place.
“Now I’ve got some questions, and I want answers. Toby, it seems to me like you’ve gone over to them. You shacked up with this Riddle, and you started thinking like them. What’s the difference between you and this Meacham? How come we should listen to you? Seems like you shed your skin, and when we’re listening to you, we’re hearing him.”
“Don’t let her speak!” one voice shouted, and a dozen more agreed.
“Sit down! Sit down! We don’t want to hear her. Give us Black Jim. What’s he say?”
“No. I’m not done. Toby, what’s your answer? And then I’ve got another question, for Keintpoos.”
“No you don’t. One at a time. Okay, let’s hear Toby. But then its Black Jim!”
She shoved her way into the center, pushing aside the taller men.
“A-tuck!!” she shouted. “All right! I’ll tell you. You know it already. But it could be you forgot: I’m Modoc! That’s why I’m telling you what I’m telling you. You have to ask Meacham how come he’s doing his talking; I’m doing mine on account of that. But I’m not Modoc like you big-mouth men! I’m Modoc like all the other women you hauled off to Yreka. We got sold into the Boston’s beds -- by you -- so you could get some saddle or a pony you took a fancy to. We learned more stuff there than just English, let me tell you. Now you can learn from us! First, we learned there’s lots of them. Lots! And we learned they’re strong. Strong! And we learned you can’t get away. If you do, they hunt you out and haul you back. And then, once they know you’ll run for it if you can, they lock you in. And that’s when it really gets bad.”
Some of the men muttered, but they let her finish.
“But we learned some other stuff. We learned you can live with them if you find the right one. That’s what this Meacham is, a right one. We learned you can get some of what they got. Maybe not much… .” She stopped long enough to let them catch up, then she bent forward and hissed at them: “… but it can be a lot more than nothing!”
She straightened up and looked over them.
“That’s not what this Meacham would tell you. It’s what a Modoc woman knows. That’s it! I’m done!”
She shoved back out through the circle, past Black Jim who was coming in to the center. He
