The Devil's Paintbox, page 8
One of the Indians, an older man, perhaps sixty, stood knee-deep in the river by the twisting roots of the submerged tree stump that had snared Aiden. He was holding the end of the rope. The loop that had been tied around Aiden was neatly cut. The old man laughed even as he strained to hold the rope against the current, then he shouted to the others in some incomprehensible language. The youngest of the three, who looked about Aiden's own age, jumped up to help. Together they dragged the heavy rope a few yards upstream and wrapped it around the tree Aiden had been trying to reach. Then the younger Indian sprang back to Aiden's side and squatted down beside him.
“Your eyes are big as the moon!” he said, grinning. “You think we scalp you!” He made slashing motions toward Aiden's head.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Hisemtuksots, but I am called Tupic.”
“What—” Aiden coughed out more water. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Crossing the river.”
“Bad place to cross river.”
“I think I know that now,” he said, feeling more embarrassed than scared.
Tupic pointed downriver. “Ten miles that way you can cross.”
“Well, fine.” Aiden spat out some dirt and wiped his mouth. “But no little bird came along and told us that, did it?”
“So we come instead,” Tupic replied, ignoring the sarcasm. The older Indian squatted beside them and held out a blanket.
“Why you swim river?” he asked.
“To carry the first rope over,” Aiden said. “So we could pull the wagons across.” The man shook his head, then spoke rapidly to Tupic in their language.
“No—” Tupic interpreted. “Clever Crow asks why you? Why not a strong man?”
“I am strong!”
“He says you look like a horse just born—skinny and stick legs.” Aiden started to get angry but then realized they were probably right. Even though he had filled out in the past two months, his limbs were still spindly. Tupic was quite a bit shorter than he was, perhaps five foot four, but more muscular. His skin was a smooth coppery brown and his eyes a darker brown. The sides of his hair were braided but the rest was a loose black mane that hung to the middle of his shoulders.
“So why are you the one to swim across?” Tupic asked.
“I know how to swim,” Aiden said. “None of the other men do.” Tupic translated this. The Indian he had called Clever Crow laughed.
“How you know?” he said.
“How? I learned as a boy.”
“No,” Tupic explained. “He means how do you know the others can't swim!” Aiden felt his face go hot. As if he weren't already embarrassed enough.
“Here, Wet Pony.” Clever Crow's voice was kind as he shook out the blanket. “You cold.” Aiden wrapped it around his bare shoulders, as eager to hide his scrawny chest as to get warm.
“What is your name?” Tupic asked.
“Sorry. Aiden Lynch.” Aiden held out his hand, then pulled it back a little, unsure whether Indians shook hands.
“Please to meet you,” Tupic said with a hint of what might have been mock formality, and shook Aiden's hand. “This man is my uncle. In English he is called Clever Crow, and the one you kicked is his son, my cousin. His name is Silent Wolf.”
Clever Crow interrupted with some rapid talk and both he and Tupic laughed.
“Clever Crow says today Silent Wolf has a new name,” Tupic explained. “Now we call him—well, the translation is ‘one whose balls are bruised like soft fruits carried a long time in a saddlebag.’ “
Silent Wolf, still lying in a wounded curl, yelled harshly back at them.
“What did he say?”
“He says that we should all go, ah—I'm not sure I know your words for it. It is a rude thing.”
“I bet it is.” Aiden looked warily at the man, who was now slowly getting to his feet. He was probably in his early twenties, taller than the others, and stockier too. He had a long scar down the side of his face and wide, ropey scars on both arms.
“Tell him I'm sorry I kicked him,” Aiden said. “I didn't know he was trying to help me.” Tupic shouted a translation at the moaning man. Silent Wolf just scowled.
“How come you speak English?” Aiden asked.
“Missionary school.”
“Stand up now,” Clever Crow said. “You people worry.” He waved toward the opposite riverbank. “Show you— good.”
“Yes—of course.” Aiden stumbled to his feet, his legs still numb with cold. He saw Jackson and the others standing by the bank. He couldn't make out their expressions, but there was a definite wave of relief as he raised his arm. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Can you hear me?” he shouted.
“Yes!” Aiden heard Jackson's faint reply.
“Tell them to walk west,” Tupic said to Aiden. “Even with rope, the water is too fast here. We show you a place.”
“There is a good crossing west of here!” Aiden shouted.
“You sure?” Jackson yelled back. “You got it right?”
“Yes!” Aiden called. “They speak English.”
The three Indians spoke quickly among themselves, then Tupic said, “Your head man knows farther down should not be good. But this year, there is so much water, the river spills over the bank, carves out new place. Once it is fast, deep river, now becomes easy two rivers.”
That was an awful lot of explanation to shout across the river. Clever Crow said something more to Tupic and waved toward Jackson. Tupic nodded.
“We are Nimipu,” Tupic shouted to Jackson. “Nez Perce.”
Jackson was clearly relieved.
“Oh! Tack mee-wee!” he shouted. “Mana wee!”
Clever Crow shouted what sounded like a similar greeting, then made some signs, sweeping his palms toward his chest, then pointing downriver. That seemed to settle everything, for Jackson tipped his hat in agreement, then turned and began to shoo the travelers back to their wagons.
“You come with us,” Tupic said. “We meet them tomorrow at the crossing place.”
Aiden hesitated. He had no boots, no shirt, nothing on but his pants. But he wasn't about to swim back, even if they pulled him across on the rope. His arms and legs were still burning from the cold water.
“My horse will carry two,” Tupic said. “She is young and strong.” The Indians had four ponies: the three they rode and one with packs. They were beautiful animals, smaller than Jackson's two horses but strong and well proportioned, with gleaming coats and spots all over their hind ends. They stamped and whinnied, eager to be off. The only things Aiden had ever ridden before were farm mules and the family's old mare, who, when she was really motivated, sometimes broke into a slow trot. Tupic grabbed hold of his pony's mane and swung himself easily into the saddle, then leaned down and held out his hand to Aiden.
“Come on.”
Aiden grasped Tupic's forearm, stuck a foot in the stirrup and flung one leg up toward the horse. Somehow he managed a clumsy mount and sat behind the saddle. He barely had time to grab hold of Tupic before the horse broke into a wild gallop. Soon the prairie was a blur beneath him.
ut how do you know they're friendly Indians?” Maddy pressed Jackson. “How do you know they aren't kidnapping him?”
“They're Nez Perce,” he said. “Always been on good terms with whites. It was Nez Perce helped out Lewis and Clark. You heard of them?”
“Lewis and Clark are historical! They came by in ancient times! Before even you were born! Those Indians could have all kinds of grievances by now!”
“But what would they want with your brother?” he scoffed.
“They might want to cut his heart out for their gods, like the Aztecs!”
“They ain't Aztecs.”
“Ransom, then!” Maddy said doggedly.
“If that's the case I'll gladly offer up the dollar or two he's sure to be worth. Now we need to get mov—”
“Why did you make him swim out there all alone anyway?” she interrupted.
“I didn't make him!” Jackson said defensively. “He volunteered! Someone had to go.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “And if you don't want all that work of his to be for nothing, you'll back off with the stink-eye there and let us get rolling. If we get halfway to the crossing before dark and start early tomorrow, we might get over the river by tomorrow night.”
“Come on, little miss.” Reverend True put a firm hand on Maddy's shoulder. “Aiden's got some wits about him, he'll be all right.”
Aiden grabbed hold of Tupic and hung on for dear life. He had never moved so fast. The wind stung his face and whipped his hair. He could feel the horse's hoofbeats thudding deep inside his chest. He bounced hopelessly up and down until he thought his teeth might come loose. It was exhilarating and terrifying.
“Hold with your legs here—” Tupic slapped his own knees. “Make your body easy. Feel balance here.” He pressed on his abdomen. “Keep center.”
Gradually Aiden began to feel the rhythm of the horse and relaxed his grip on Tupic. After a while, the horse eased down to a trot and finally a walk. Aiden turned and saw the others far behind them.
“This horse is young and likes to run,” Tupic explained. Aiden suspected it was Tupic who really liked to run. Tupic reached into a leather saddlebag and passed Aiden a handful of dried berries to eat. They were sweet and sour at the same time, filling his mouth with flavor.
“Thank you,” Aiden said. He was suddenly famished.
“Where do you come from?” Tupic asked.
“Kansas,” Aiden replied. “Before that, Virginia, where I was born.”
“Ah, Virginia—George Washington is born there!”
“Yes. Where is your home?”
“In the land north and west—the places you call Idaho and Oregon and Washington.”
“You've come a long way,” Aiden said. “What are you doing out here?”
Tupic shrugged. “It is the season to travel. We visit and trade. Do you have peppermint? In your wagon?”
“Someone probably does,” Aiden said.
“I learned spelling for peppermint. Ask me any word.”
Aiden wasn't sure he would know whether a word was spelled right or not.
“You speak very good English,” he said. “Do all your people go to missionary school?”
“No. I was sent to learn your ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“Clever Crow says we must find a way how to live with white people. He says I will go to school.”
“Is he your chief?”
“He is elder—seer.”
“Seer of what? The future?”
Tupic hesitated. “He is what you call godfather to me. One who receives the dreams for a boy and guides him until he has his own vision quest. His spirit power is very strong.”
“What's a vision quest?”
“It is—” Tupic shrugged. “It is too much explaining for a short ride!”
“Did you like school?”
“Some. I am glad to learn reading, and to speak English. And I am glad for peppermint candy in the spelling bee. But after that, much is—boring. Mostly they say here—read the Bible, read the agriculture book how to plow and grow food. This we always think silly because there is food everywhere. Then, here, read Christopher Columbus and George Washington. But mostly read the Bible. Too much Bible. I like Jonah and the whale, I like Noah's ark—we have stories of the Flood too. But the Ten Commandments—you know that story?”
“Moses, you mean?”
“Yes. I was excited at first to read it. Your God calls Moses to the mountaintop and sends thunderclouds to bring the commandments. You see, our spirits talk to us this way, through the fire, or the wind, sometimes through coyote or bird, or even mouse. So I think, finally I will understand your God. But all he says is don't kill and don't steal and so on.”
“What's wrong with that?”
“Nothing, but that is not what a Spirit comes to tell you! That is what a child learns from his family and the tribe. Why would a god call you up a mountain with thunder just to tell simple rules?”
Aiden wasn't religious, but still felt a twinge of offense. “Well, what would your God tell you?” he said.
“Not tell so much, but to give a vision—signs to find your path. To show each man what he should do with his life besides hunt and eat and dance and make war and have children; about how to find his way—his place—in the world and to complete his journey with honor. About how to live well and how to listen to the spirits.”
“Does your religion have a lot of spirits?”
Tupic turned and looked at him with a puzzled expression. “The world has a lot of spirits.”
They rode on beneath the perfect blue sky, the sun warm and the air sweet with new prairie grass. Months later, in the darkest of dark times that were to come, Aiden would think back on this day and remember it as one of the best of his life. For the first time since he'd been a small child, he had no work or responsibilities. He carried nothing and had no decisions to make. He was entirely at the mercy of these strangers. Whatever was going to happen would happen. Meanwhile, he was riding through the sunshine on a beautiful horse with his mind free to think about God and spirits or nothing at all or everything at once.
The world was an entirely different place from the back of a horse. Walking across the rough prairie, you always had to look down so as not to trip. After a day of walking, Aiden's neck would ache and his eyes saw ripples around everything. But now, on horseback, he could just watch the wind move through the tall grass in shimmering waves. Gone was the cloud of dust that constantly choked the wagons. Tomorrow would bring back the clatter of the group, with their quarrels and burdens and slow, plodding hope, but right now everything was just easy and light. He looked at the three Indians, with their good ponies and small loads. Maybe he could just ride off with them, leave the rest to the dusty trail with their dreary cattle and lumbering wagons. He could live forever on a bag of dried berries and a skin of water, riding lightly across the plains like an Indian.
It was about ten miles to the crossing place, and the afternoon was still young when they got there. The river here had indeed spilled over its banks, quite dramatically. Whole sections of the original riverbank had been crumbled in the force of the water, leaving tall chunks standing like ruined castle walls. The river had originally been thirty feet across and twenty feet deep. Now it was at least a hundred feet across, but shallow enough that Aiden could see grass through the water. Little islands poked up throughout. It would be easy to get all the wagons and cattle across here. The water level had already dropped a few feet since the peak flood, and the bank was littered with sticks and branches. They could make a nice fire tonight.
“Much snow—mountain—winter,” Clever Crow explained, waving toward the north. “Now all snow—” He searched for the word. “Gone. With sun?”
“Melted?” Aiden asked.
“Yes. Morning—we look—”
Clever Crow's English stalled, and Tupic explained, “We will ride across on the ponies and make sure there are no holes or trees underwater.”
“Yes,” Aiden said. “Thank you.”
The three Nez Perce took their saddles and bags off the horses, led them to the river to drink, then pulled up hand-fuls of grass and wiped the sweating animals clean. They talked to the horses in low voices, sweetly, Aiden thought, like a grandmother to a favored child. As Tupic rubbed his pony's coat to gleaming, the horse nuzzled and nipped at his hair.
Once the horses were tended to, the Indians lay down in the grass and promptly fell asleep. Aiden sat by the river, the afternoon sun warm on his bare back. He had met Indians before but had never spent time with them. Whenever Indians had come around the homestead, his family had kept a wary distance. His parents had never called them savages, as many of the other settlers had, but they would certainly never have just invited them in to have tea as they would have white visitors. The Indians brought small game to trade for biscuits or corn bread. Once an Indian woman traded a basket for a knitted baby bonnet, and soon those bonnets became very sought-after items. Aiden's sister Ada was happy to knit them and give them away but when an Indian woman wanted Ada to teach her how to knit, Ada didn't want to. She was afraid to sit close to her.
“She smells bad,” Ada complained. “And her dress is greasy.”
How did people get to be so different? Aiden wondered. All the people in the Atlas of the World, and all the different ways to live—how did that happen? He lay down in the warm grass to think about it, shifting a little to mash the itchy bits down, but the afternoon was so nice and warm he soon fell asleep himself.
iden woke to the sound of an arrow whooshing past his ear. It was so close he felt the feathers brush his cheek. He sprang up and whirled around, a sting of panic shooting through his whole body, sharpening his senses so the very air burned his skin. Silent Wolf stood just a few yards away, his bow drawn, another arrow fitted and ready to shoot. They both froze. Aiden could see the Indian's fingers creased red against the bowstring. A rivulet of sweat ran down the scar on his cheek and dripped onto his broad chest. Aiden saw the man's pulse throbbing in his neck. He felt his own heart pounding in his chest, heavy and big as a planet. Aiden did not have his own bow; he did not even have shoes to run away in. He could only hope Silent Wolf's arrow was sharp and his aim good, for he did not want to die slowly.
“Hyah!” Silent Wolf snarled. Then he dropped his bow, loosened the arrow and turned away, muttering something that sounded like curses. Aiden heard a rustling sound behind him and turned to see a small wooden hoop wobble to the ground a few yards behind him.
“Oh—hello!” Tupic called lightly as he snatched up the hoop. “I wondered where you are!” He was oblivious to Aiden's stone-frozen terror. He shouted something to his cousin, then crouched down and rolled the hoop toward him. Silent Wolf raised his bow and shot cleanly through it. Smoothly he pulled another arrow from his quiver and shot again, getting two more arrows through before the fourth one missed and the hoop toppled over. Tupic shouted what sounded like taunts and challenges to his cousin. Silent Wolf ran and picked up the hoop. Tupic fitted an arrow to his bow while Silent Wolf spun the hoop and Tupic took his turn, missing completely.
