Page 44 of Sure as Shooting

Since both Boling and Din were out chasing down the escaped captive, Whit was the next logical in command to talk to. Huntley approached the happy couple obliquely, so as not to have to look at their faces.

“We’ll need to let Tenaya take his son’s body for cremation.”

Whit looked at Huntley over his shoulder. “Yes, but we should not let Tenaya know his son is dead until we can capture him. Listen, Huntley. Belle and I would like to talk to you. About what was just said—”

Huntley interrupted to shout at Vowchester, “And lock up Jim Fell, too! I’m sure he was in on this plot as well.”

He turned back to the couple, affecting a false smile. “There! That’s done with.” And he stalked off to deal with the dead body.

* * * *

Din and Boling had not found the escaped prisoner, but they reported back they’d seen campfire smoke coming from one of the ledges above the lake that mirrored the icy granite monuments. The next morning, Huntley and a contingent of twelve men set out. He purposely did not invite Whit or Belle, having successfully avoided them up till now.

Did that traitor Whit plan on staying on in Huntley’s house after marrying Belle? As if life just went on as usual, only that now he shared a bed with the most desirable woman in the lower Sierra? Huntley snorted and thought, I think not. No, he couldn’t go on living under the same roof, listening to their lovemaking! He would find a new maid—and a new physician for Agua Fria—even if it meant losing the two most important people in his life.

In a fit of ill temper, he left his horse and climbed to the foot of that old incorrigible Indian’s perch. If he could just capture Tenaya, he could get out of these bushes and back to his warm fireplace. It would be spring by then, and he could make another trip to San Francisco. But he could never practice the skills he’d learned from Whit and Belle, not on hookers or squaws. Only another American woman skilled in European ways would appreciate the finer points of medical massage.

Huntley was angry to have to return to such a prosaic life, when in recent months entirely new vistas had been opened to him by that elegant surgeon and his exotic maid. But what did one expect from the frontier? Afternoon tea along with a healthful frig? A nice satisfying fuck by a roaring fire? Really, it had been such a ridiculous dream.

He sent Boling and some men to cut Tenaya off from the other side, and when Huntley hefted himself over the ledge, Tenaya was barreling straight at him, arms flailing, his mouth a perfect O. Tenaya’s demeanor abruptly altered when he caught a view of Huntley, though. As though he’d seen an even worse demon, the old sachem pivoted about and did a jig back from whence he’d come. It was a simple matter for Huntley to jog on after him, catching him by an arm and spinning him about.

“Where are your others?”

Tenaya made his mouth a thin line. “The men above me were rolling stones down. I do not like to go, as the stones break and fly everywhere. So I came here.”

Huntley nodded. “Good. I am glad. We have your sons, you know.”

At this, Tenaya refused to say a word. Huntley was obligated to bind his hands with a reata, as he couldn’t risk losing the chief again.

Tenaya remained taciturn the entire way back to camp, although Huntley led him on one of his favorite mules that was nicely caparisoned. Huntley dismounted a hundred feet from camp, motioning for battalion boys to surround Tenaya’s mule. They had left his son’s body on its back in the snow, respectfully covered with Whit’s best blanket. Tenaya would have to know the truth sooner or later, so Huntley gently led him forward, not relishing this moment one bit. But he was commander here, and it needed to be done.

Tenaya was proudly aware he was the center of attention, and walked with head high, scorning every American who gaped. Huntley was only proud that Whit and Belle watched avidly. They would know it was he who had captured the chief. They only halted their promenade when practically stumbling over the stiff. The poor, rubbed-out son had died with his eyes wide open, mouth agape in surprise, and he now looked to the hazy bowl of heaven above as though surprised to see it.

Tenaya had no reaction other than a trembling lip. Slowly he raised his head, and the look of pure hatred he shot Huntley was chilling. Tenaya looked at each man in camp in turn, scrutinizing each blank face, as though looking for his remaining captive son.

Huntley said quietly, “We are deeply sorry for the death of your son. The man responsible for this has been punished. You may have some men take the body away for proper burial procedures.”

Not a peep came from Tenaya’s tight lips. Many long, uncomfortable moments passed during which every battalion boy stood like a waxwork figure, as though they enacted a ballet tableau in front of a winter wonderland background of cotton fluff and broken glass glued onto pasteboard.

It was indeed a horrifying moment that Huntley had been dreading, and he broke the painful silence by quietly telling Terrell, “Bring him to his son’s tent, and get him something to eat.”

The battalion disbanded then, albeit in a much more solemn and less raucous manner than they normally did. Men filed back to their tents dispiritedly, and Huntley would have liked to do the same, but that infernal twosome, Whit and Belle, approached him.

“This isn’t a pleasant job,” Whit offered.

Huntley shook his head miserably. “No, it certainly isn’t.” He had missed Whit’s intelligent companionship of late, so he added, “I can’t stop thinking of my fireplace. Lupe concocting a pot of chile verde. There’s a bottle of muscatel I saved, and a pot of olives and some Oregon cheese is calling out to me.”

“Oh, Lordy.” Belle smiled, cuddling Whit’s arm to her breast, furry with the bear’s skin. “I can smell the slapjacks right now.”

Whit added good-naturedly, “Lately I’ve lived on swine until I grunt and squeal. I could do with some French champagne and turtle soup.”

Huntley’s mouth actually began to water. Even a tin of sardines, one of the most frequently maligned foodstuffs in California, so common it seemed to pave the streets of some towns, now sounded like a delicacy. “Lobsters and tongue,” was Huntley’s contribution to the comestible daydream they wallowed in. Now that they were chuckling with the pretense that everything was fine, Huntley ventured to say, “Yes, why don’t we go somewhere and have a chat. I’d like to know more about this wedding—”

“Kill me, sir Major!”

The trio stood stock-still, only their heads swiveling to view Tenaya, shuddering something fierce as though overcome with the vapors. Terrell struggled to contain him, but Tenaya suddenly seemed imbued with a power from above. Tenaya came toward Huntley, dragging the poor boy behind him like so many bison skulls in a religious dance. “Yes, kill me, as you killed my son, as you would kill my people if they were to come to you! You would kill my entire race if you had the power.”

Huntley had to say something. He couldn’t just let the old sachem rant on. He had to show his men his command. After all, they were here to capture Indians, not listen to their lectures. “Now, look here—”