The Devil and the Deep: Horror Stories of the Sea

A SHIP OF THE SOUTH WIND ^{BRADLEY DENTON}

Uncle JoJim slid his shotgun into its scabbard behind Calico Girl’s saddle, then walked into the shin-high tallgrass to retrieve his sixth prairie chicken of the day. Charley, perched atop his chestnut stallion, Bird King, waited alongside Calico Girl. As he did, he looked past Uncle JoJim and saw a narrow plume of smoke a mile to the south. It was too small to be from a grass fire. But it was a definite line of gray against the treeless green hills and cloudless sky. It smudged into the blue as the wind caught it.

“Who would have a fire out here?” Charley asked as Uncle JoJim returned. He pointed at the smoke. “Grandmother says no one lives in these hills except ghosts. Ghosts wouldn’t need a fire.”

Uncle JoJim paused, looked toward the line of gray, and tilted his head upward. He sniffed, and then he frowned.

“It’s no one who will bother us,” Uncle JoJim said, stepping up to Calico Girl. He used his teeth to help tie one of the chicken’s legs to a rawhide string hanging from the saddle. Charley knew better than to offer to help. Uncle JoJim got along fine without a right arm.

“But who could it be?” Charley asked. “The Kaw are all on the reservation, and the whites are all in Council Grove. Do you think the Cheyenne have come back?”

Uncle JoJim finished tying the prairie chicken to Calico Girl’s saddle, then gripped the saddle horn and swung up onto the pinto. “It’s not the Cheyenne.”

“Who, then?” Charley didn’t like not knowing.

“White travelers sometimes pass through the Flint Hills,” Uncle JoJim said. “They never stop long. It’s of no concern.”

But Charley was concerned anyway. “It’s too early for travelers to stop and cook supper, isn’t it? And they shouldn’t make camp out here anyway. The thunderclouds have been coming fast in the evenings. So they should spend the night in Council Grove. We ought to tell them.”

Uncle JoJim glanced back at the smoke. “It’s rude to tell others their business. Besides, there are those who don’t mind wind or water. Or thunder, or lightning.” He nodded toward the next hill to the east. “I remember a patch of rock up there. It would be a good place to race to. If anyone wanted to race.”

So Charley spun Bird King and urged him up the slope. The July sun was hot on his neck, and he imagined it was Calico Girl’s breath.

But when he and Bird King reached the bare patch of limestone and clattered to a stop, Charley looked back and saw that Uncle JoJim was far behind. Calico Girl was moving at a walk. The prairie chickens hanging from her saddle, three on each side, swung lazily.

Charley realized that Uncle JoJim had tricked him. But he didn’t know why. Unless it was just to tease him. Uncle JoJim did that, sometimes.

“You didn’t even try,” Charley said when Uncle JoJim finally drew alongside.

Uncle JoJim stopped Calico Girl with a click of his tongue, then adjusted his battered brown hat. The wind had bent up one side of its brim. Charley wasn’t wearing a hat, and the wind ruffled his straight black hair against his ears.

Uncle JoJim shrugged, and his empty right shirtsleeve flapped. “I didn’t say I would race. All I said was that this would be a good place to race to.” He patted his mare’s dappled red-and-white neck. “Besides, I had not asked Calico Girl if she felt like running.”

“I think you were just afraid you would lose,” Charley said.

“Of course I would lose,” Uncle JoJim said. “I’m a one-armed old man in a loose saddle on a tired mare. You’re a boy riding bareback on a young stallion.” He paused. “And you’ve become a good horseman.”

Charley was amazed. Uncle JoJim’s remark would have been a high compliment from anyone among the Kaw. But coming from Uncle JoJim, it meant even more. Uncle JoJim had given Bird King to Charley and had taught him to ride. And he had offered plenty of criticism in the process. But never, until now, had he offered any praise.

“Thank you, Uncle JoJim,” Charley said. “You’re very kind. And I don’t think you’re old.”

Uncle JoJim gave a snort. “You’ve lived eight and a half years. But I was here forty summers before you. And if you think I’m kind, ask your Aunt Margaret. She’ll tell you I spend too much of my day in selfishness to have any time left over for kindness.” He shifted in his saddle. “No, if I say you’re a good horseman, it’s because it’s true. I ought to know, as I once saw the best horsemen in the world.”

Charley was intrigued. “Who do you mean?”

Uncle JoJim squinted toward the northeast. “Twenty years ago, when I had both arms, I was hired to drive cattle to New Mexico to feed soldiers fighting the desert tribes. As I returned to Kansas with some of the soldiers, we were attacked by Comanche warriors. Those Comanches would slip down to the sides of their ponies to fire their bullets and arrows. Then they would slip back up and turn backward so they could keep shooting at us after they had passed. This was all done while riding as fast as their horses would run. One warrior even rode upside-down, shooting arrows between his pony’s forelegs. It was as if the horse spat arrows from its chest.”

Charley was fascinated.

Uncle JoJim touched his own Adam’s apple. “The soldier beside me died with one of those arrows in his throat. But the rest of us were lucky. A solitary white man appeared atop a nearby ridge, and he drew the attention of the Comanches because he was riding—” Uncle JoJim paused. “It was a wagon. He was riding a big… wagon.”

“A wagon?” Charley asked. “Wasn’t he easy for the Comanches to attack?”

Uncle JoJim frowned as he had frowned when he’d sniffed the air. “No. This man told me later that he had come from where the world is nothing but water. As it once was here, long ago.” He gestured down at the limestone slab, which was embedded with the fossilized shells of ancient sea creatures. “Coming from the water, this man had never heard of the Comanches. So he wasn’t afraid. He also had weapons from his old life, and he killed the first warrior who charged him. Then he killed the horses of the next four. That was worse for the Comanches than being killed themselves, so they fled. Yet even while fleeing, they rode well. Some of them had to ride double, and they were still too fast for the soldiers to chase.” Uncle JoJim looked at Charley. “But they were no faster than you and Bird King. And you ride without a bridle. Even the Comanches used ropes around their ponies’ jaws.” He squinted northeast again. “Of course, I’ve never seen you ride upside-down. So maybe the Comanches were still a little better.”

Charley hesitated before asking his next question. “Were they better than the Cheyenne?”

Uncle JoJim gave another snort. “A month ago, when the Cheyenne came to raid us, we learned that the Kaw are as good as the Cheyenne. And the Comanches were better than the Kaw. But if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll call you a liar.”

Charley sighed. “I wish Allegawaho had not sent us to Topeka when the Cheyenne came. I wish we could have seen the battle.”

Uncle JoJim shook his head. “The Cheyenne numbered more than a hundred, so every full-blood Kaw had to stay and fight. We were the only ones who could go for help. Allegawaho could not have known the Cheyenne would be appeased by sugar and coffee from Council Grove.”

“Plus the three horses they had already stolen from the Kaw,” Charley said.

“Yes, plus the three horses,” Uncle JoJim said. He sounded annoyed. “My point is that fetching the militia was wise, and none of the Kaw could go. It was up to us.”

Charley knotted his hands in Bird King’s mane. “You might have gone without me. Then I could have watched the Kaw and the Cheyenne ride against each other. The women say it was a marvel.”

“I believe they exaggerate. But no matter. Calico Girl and I needed you and Bird King. You helped us ride fast for sixty miles.” Uncle JoJim patted Calico Girl’s neck again. “I don’t think I’ll make her run that far or that fast again. She deserves easy rides and hunts from now on.”

Charley glanced at the prairie chickens hanging from Uncle JoJim’s saddle. “Is today’s hunt finished?”

“The sun is starting to slide down, but the moon will rise when it’s gone. So we could hunt longer if we wished. But I think six chickens are enough for one day.” Uncle JoJim pointed in the direction he had been squinting. “However, there are now two white men and a boy between us and the reservation. The boy is older than you, but not yet old enough to be called a man.”

Charley’s gaze followed the line from Uncle JoJim’s pointing finger. Then he saw them, not quite a half mile away: three sunlit figures on horseback, moving at a trot through the grass, heading for the hilltop where Charley and Uncle JoJim had stopped.

“They might cause us some difficulty,” Uncle JoJim said.

Charley hadn’t noticed the three riders until Uncle JoJim had pointed, and he was embarrassed. True, the wind was blowing from the south. So it was all right that he hadn’t heard anything. But he should have seen them.

“Are they from Council Grove?” he asked.

“They’re strangers,” Uncle JoJim said. “But when they saw us, they changed direction. So they might intend to ask for our help. Or they might intend to rob us. Either way, it will be obvious if we try to avoid them. And they might take offense.”

Bird King tossed his head and stamped on the limestone. He had sensed Charley’s unease.

“If we just rode away,” Charley said, “what could they do?”

Uncle JoJim made a low noise in his throat. “The boy and the man with the red beard have long rifles in scabbards. But those aren’t good from horseback. They might also have pistols, but they aren’t yet close enough to use them. Although they will be soon.”

“We should run, then,” Charley said.

“No. The man with the black beard has a Spencer carbine on a strap. He carries it across his chest, so he can aim it quickly. Cavalry soldiers used that gun in the war between the Northern and Southern whites. So if we ran, he could fire at us from his horse if he wished. And he would have seven shots.” Uncle JoJim adjusted his hat again. “We should wait. If they want help, we can offer it. And if they want to steal, we can give them our chickens.”

Charley’s throat tightened. “What if they want your shotgun? And what if they don’t like mixed-blood people?”

Uncle JoJim, still looking toward the three riders, gave a slight smile. “A shotgun is good at close range. Even for a man with one arm. And one barrel is still loaded.” Now he looked at Charley, and his smile vanished. “If it leaves its scabbard, you must run for home. Tell Bird King Yicí! And don’t stop until you’ve called the Kaw from their houses. Do you hear?”

Charley struggled to speak through his tight throat. “I hear,” he said.

Now Uncle JoJim looked behind them, and Charley’s gaze followed his. The plume of gray smoke was still there.

“Maybe we’ll be lucky,” Uncle JoJim said. He turned back to squint at the approaching riders again. “Maybe these men won’t be crazy.”

Charley thought that was a strange thing to say, and he was about to ask Uncle JoJim what he meant. But then he too looked back at the riders, and saw that their horses had started to gallop.

“Speak only if they speak to you first,” Uncle JoJim said. “And be polite.”

Charley tried to take a deep breath and found that his chest was as tight as his throat. “I’ll do my best,” he said in a small voice.

Uncle JoJim adjusted the brim of his hat yet again.

“Do better than that,” he said.

The three riders stopped just short of the flat patch of limestone. Their horses, a sorrel gelding for each of the men and a roan mare for the boy, snorted and stamped. The horses were loaded with bulging saddlebags, bedrolls, and coiled ropes.

The two men were lanky and sun-scorched, and both wore crisp, new, flat-crowned hats. The one on the left had blue eyes and a reddish beard cut short, while the one in the center had dark eyes and a black beard that covered his throat. The man on the left had an expression that Charley guessed indicated amusement. But he couldn’t read the expression of the man in the center.

The boy, on the right, had eyes the same color of blue as the man on the left. Straight blond hair poked out from under his straw hat. His complexion was paler than the men’s, and his cheeks and nose were freckled. Charley thought he looked about thirteen. His expression suggested both wariness and curiosity.

All three were dressed in a fashion similar to Charley and Uncle JoJim, in sturdy canvas trousers and linen shirts. But the white men’s clothes, although dusty, looked almost as brand-new as their hats. And in addition to the long rifles in scabbards and the carbine across Black-beard’s chest, each of the men had a Colt pistol jutting from his belt.

Black-beard spoke first.

“I see you are Injuns,” he said. “However, since you wear white men’s clothing, I assume you speak English.” His voice had a deep rasp, as if he had swallowed a fistful of dirt.

“We do,” Uncle JoJim said. “I am Joseph James, Junior, and this is my cousin’s grandson, Charles Curtis. How may we assist you?”

Black-beard’s eyes widened, and he exchanged a glance with Red-beard.

“My goodness,” he said. “That was well spoken. And you both have white names, though your skins appear red. What odd sort of Injuns might you be?”

“I am mixed-blood, Osage and Kaw,” Uncle JoJim said. His voice was calm, and just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “I also possess French blood, but I don’t know those relatives.” He nodded toward Charley. “His blood is similar to mine, on his mother’s side. He has Potawatomi on that side as well. But his father is white. Mister Curtis went to fight in the Northern and Southern war, and though we’ve been told he survived, he has not yet returned.”

Black-beard gave a low whistle. “Osage, Kaw, Potawatomi, French, and English? That’s about as mixed as mixed can be. No wonder you’re riding the prairie without other companions. You don’t belong anywhere, do you?”

Uncle JoJim was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “We live among the Kaw.”

“Yet I don’t imagine they consider you to be of their tribe,” Black-beard said.

Uncle JoJim was quiet for yet another moment before he said, “That’s true.”

Charley felt a hot rush behind his eyes. Then he heard himself blurt, “Uncle JoJim and I are both descended from White Plume!”

The bearded men each gave Charley a cold stare.

The freckled boy’s nose crinkled. “Who’s White Plume?” he asked in a thin, nasal voice.

“Hush, Joshua,” Red-beard said. His voice was thin and nasal, too.

Uncle JoJim leaned toward Charley. “You should hush as well.”

Charley clenched his jaw. Bird King whickered.

“I know of the Osage,” Red-beard said then. “But what the hell is a Kaw?”

“They are also called the Kanza,” Uncle JoJim said. “Their reservation is not far, close by the town of Council Grove.”

The freckled boy looked across at Red-beard. “Pa, I think the Kanza tribe must be what Kansas is named for.”

Red-beard leaned over and spat on the ground. “I reckon,” he said. When he looked up again, his upper lip had pulled back from his teeth. “And I told you to hush.”

“I’ve heard of the Kanza,” Black-beard said. “Folks in St. Joe say the Kanza fought off a Cheyenne war party a few weeks ago. That so?”

“It is,” Uncle JoJim said.

The man looked Uncle JoJim up and down, then turned his gaze toward Charley and did the same. Despite the hot afternoon, Charley had to push down a shiver.

“Hard to believe,” Black-beard said.

Uncle JoJim’s eyebrows rose. “It was a strange day. But young Charles and I had no part in the fight. The Kaw chief sent us to Topeka to alert the governor, so he could send a militia.”

Red-beard gave a high laugh that made Charley think of coyotes. “That must have been a sight! A short, one-armed Injun and a half-breed pipsqueak riding into Topeka and yelling for the governor. I’m surprised nobody shot you.”

Uncle JoJim looked at Red-beard. “It was a strange day,” he said again. Then he looked back at Black-beard. “How may we assist you?”

“That depends. What’s that weapon behind your saddle?”

“It is a shotgun. Two-barrel.”

“As I thought,” Black-beard said. “Am I correct to assume it’s well past its prime? It isn’t one of those fancy new breech-loaders, is it?”

“No, it loads the old way,” Uncle JoJim said. “And I’ve used all the powder and shot I brought with me today. But I have a few percussion caps. I could trade for those, if you wish.”

Black-beard waved a hand as if brushing away a fly. “No, we need pistol and rifle cartridges. And sugar, flour, and salt pork. Might you have any of those?”

“No. But those things may all be found in Council Grove. Six miles north.”

Black-beard gave a snaggletoothed grin. “Sadly, we find that many citizens of Kansas towns harbor resentment against Missouri men who served with Colonel Quantrill. They don’t seem to care that our punitive mission against Lawrence took place almost five years ago. Nor, for that matter, that the war has been over for three.”

Red-beard spat again. “Kansas people are not reasonable.”

“Indeed not,” Black-beard said. “So the three of us have decided to move on to New Mexico. But we need provisions.”

“New Mexico is a fine destination,” Uncle JoJim said. “And the tribes along the way are friendly. I’m sure they will give you what you need.”

Black-beard stopped grinning. He placed his right hand on the stock of his Spencer.

“We cannot depend on that,” he said. Then he tilted his head upward, using his chin to point over Uncle JoJim’s shoulder. “What’s that smoke yonder? Might that be someplace we could bargain for goods?”

Uncle JoJim gave Charley a quick glance. Charley wasn’t sure what it meant.

“I believe it is the camp of a solitary man,” Uncle JoJim said to Black-beard. “But I can’t say what goods he might possess. Or what sort of bargain he might make you.”

“You can’t say?” Black-beard’s eyes narrowed. “Why not? You sound as if you know him.”

Uncle JoJim’s mouth became a thin line.

“A white man has asked you a question, Injun,” Red-beard said. “And this particular white man does not appreciate a lack of respect. Some of the denizens of Lawrence might confirm that, were they still alive.”

At that, Charley heard Uncle JoJim let out a long breath.

“I have met the man who is making the smoke,” Uncle JoJim said then. “But it was many years ago, and I can’t say that I know him now. He might not remember me.”

“But you remember him, I take it,” Black-beard said. “Is he white?”

“Yes.”

Black-beard shifted the Spencer so that it pointed at Uncle JoJim. “Then you will take us to him. You may say that our names are Jim Barnett and Sam Clark, and that we’ll pay him well for any goods he might provide.” He gestured with the Spencer. “A brisk walk will be fine. If either your horse or your boy’s starts to run, I might be startled.”

Uncle JoJim clicked his tongue, and Calico Girl turned toward the smoke. For an instant, Uncle JoJim’s eyes met Charley’s, and Charley hoped he didn’t look as afraid as he felt.

“Remember the Comanches,” Uncle JoJim whispered.

But Charley didn’t know how he could do that. He hadn’t even been alive then.

A minute later, Black-beard said, “Get behind me, boy. I don’t want you Injuns whispering. It ain’t friendly to keep secrets.”

Uncle JoJim gave Charley a nod, so Charley tugged on Bird King’s mane to stop him. Once Black-beard passed by, Charley let Bird King move again, and they fell in beside the freckled boy’s roan. Red-beard rode behind them.

Black-beard took the strap of his Spencer from around his neck, then slid the rifle into a scabbard behind his saddle. But Charley knew Black-beard’s pistol was still handy in his belt, as was Red-beard’s. Both he and Uncle JoJim could be shot in the back at any moment.

The freckled boy looked at Charley. His gaze was hot on Charley’s face, and Charley told himself it was just the sun. But the sun had never made his skin itch before.

“My name is Joshua,” the freckled boy said in his nasal voice.

Charley didn’t answer right away. Beads of sweat were sliding down from his hair, and they tickled. Between the tickle and the itch, he was going to have to rub his face soon. But he was afraid to raise his hand for fear of how Red-beard might react. He might think Charley was about to reach out and strike the freckled boy.

“I said, my name is Joshua.” The boy’s voice pitched even higher.

“My son’s trying to be sociable,” Red-beard said behind Charley. “You should, too.”

Charley tried to breathe in enough air to speak, and he just managed. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Joshua,” he said. “As my uncle said, my name is Charles. I go by Charley. But people in Council Grove call me ‘Indian Charley.’ I suppose so no one will think they mean some other Charley.”

Joshua cocked his head. “That should work. But do you think of yourself as Injun? I mean, you ain’t really any one thing, with all those different kinds of blood. I’d think you’d get mighty confused, especially about how to talk to folks.”

“I guess I don’t think of myself as anything except Charley,” Charley said. “And I just change how I talk depending on where I am. When I’m with the Kaw, I speak Kanza. And when I’m with white people, I speak English. My mother also taught me some French, but I don’t remember much of it. No one here speaks French now, anyway.”

“Do you speak Kanza well?” Joshua asked.

“Well enough. My grandmother says the first words I ever spoke were in Kanza. Taught to me by my mother, like the French. But I don’t remember which words. And I don’t remember my mother too much, either. She died when I was three years old.”

In the past, whenever Charley had spoken of his mother to others, those others had always said, “I’m sorry she passed on,” or something similar. But what Joshua said was, “Tell me some Kanza words.”

Charley was puzzled. “What words do you want to know?”

“Well, what’s the meaning of ‘Kanza,’ anyway? Is it just a word the Injuns made up for themselves?”

“My grandmother says it’s an old word,” Charley said. “Maybe even as old as when these hills were under the sea. It means ‘south wind.’ So what the Kaw call themselves in English is ‘People of the South Wind.’”

As if in response, a gust from the south set the grass undulating in waves. The freckled boy’s hat almost blew off, and Charley’s sweat-damp hair came unstuck from his forehead. But he still itched, and he was still too afraid to raise his hand to scratch.

Joshua pointed at a red-tailed hawk flying past them to the east. “What’s the Kanza word for ‘bird’?”

“Wazhinga.” The word for “hawk” wasn’t the same at all. But Joshua had asked for “bird.”

“What about ‘buffalo’?” Joshua asked.

“Cedónga,” Charley said.

Joshua looked back at Red-beard. “Hey, Pa. I’m gonna join the Injuns and hunt cedónga. What do you think of that?”

When Red-beard answered, his thin voice sounded deeper and thicker than before.

“Ask him the word for ‘blood,’” Red-beard said. “And ‘scalp.’”

Joshua looked at Charley. “Didja hear?”

Charley’s hands, clenching Bird King’s mane, began to tremble. Bird King snorted and tossed his head.

“‘Blood’ is wabí,” Charley said. Then he realized he didn’t know the exact word for “scalp.” But he knew the word for “hair.” “‘Scalp’ is… pahú.”

Joshua looked back at Red-beard again. “He says it’s wabí and pahú.”

Red-beard grunted.

“Good to know,” he said.

Joshua twitched his mare’s reins so she moved closer to Bird King.

“Don’t worry,” Joshua whispered. “They scalped some abolitionists in the war, and then a few Injuns after. But you ain’t an abolitionist, and you ain’t a full-blood Injun. So they ain’t going to kill you.”

Charley didn’t try to answer. His breath was starting to tremble along with his hands.

“I’m pretty sure, anyway,” Joshua said.

As they came over the last hill, heat lightning began to flash in the darkening sky to the south. And now Charley could see the source of the smoke in the gully below. He could smell it, too. It reeked like river mud that had somehow been set ablaze. The gray plume was spewing from a hole at the apex of a hammered-tin dome set over a circular cast-iron grate that, in turn, was set over a bed of hot coals. The grate was five feet wide, and the dome covered all but the outer few inches. The coals underneath were beginning to glow with a red light as the sun dropped behind a hill to the west.

“Good Lord, that’s odiferous,” Red-beard said.

But despite the smoke and its stench, Charley’s attention was drawn several yards past the bed of coals to an enormous wooden contraption that sat on a patch of flattened dirt. It was built in the style of a curved-bottom overland wagon, but it had no canopy. And it was larger than any wagon Charley had ever seen. At least thirty feet long and ten feet wide, it sat atop four iron-clad wheels that were each a dozen feet in diameter. The wagon and the spokes of the wheels had been painted ochre, but the paint had flaked and faded with age.

Charley glimpsed piles of canvas and a few barrels inside the wagon. But those didn’t seem odd. What did seem odd was a fifteen-foot-tall post rising from the wagon’s center, fitted with a seven-foot crossbeam near the top… and a shorter post-and-crossbeam that rose midway between the center post and the wagon’s narrowed front end. Both posts were strung with a baffling network of ropes. Charley couldn’t tell whether the posts were meant to be Christian crosses or secular gallows.

As the five riders came down into the gully, a lone figure, stooping, stepped out from the shadow under the high belly of the wagon. When the figure drew near to the glowing coals, Charley saw that he was a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, tangled gray hair and a beard that hung even lower than Black-beard’s. He was wearing a dark blue coat with a double row of brass buttons, closed up tight. Charley thought it must be far too warm inside that coat, but the man didn’t seem to mind. His trousers were dark and heavy, too. But his feet were bare, and they glowed pink in the light from the coals.

The man held a staff that appeared to be made of ivory affixed to a short length of polished wood capped with brass at its base. Charley thought it must be ivory because it was the same color as the keys of a piano he had seen in Topeka. But this ivory spiraled up around itself like tight coils of rope, tapering tighter and tighter as it rose. It was at least eight feet long, ending in a sharp point.

For a moment, Charley almost forgot that he and Uncle JoJim were in the company of embittered Missouri bushwhackers. Everything he was looking at now was a fascination and a puzzle. But one thing he was sure of was that the tall man with the wild gray hair and the spiraled ivory staff was the same man Uncle JoJim had told him about less than an hour earlier. This was the man who had appeared on the ridge during the Comanche attack, years ago. And the huge wagon behind him might be the same wagon he had ridden then, too.

But Charley didn’t see any horses or mules that could be used to pull it. It would have to take ten or twelve. So maybe the man was just using the wagon as his house now, living alone in an isolated gully. With nothing but a bad-smelling fire for company.

Uncle JoJim was still riding in front. And as Calico Girl’s front hooves touched the rocky dirt of the gully, thirty feet from the wild-haired man and his glowing coals, Uncle JoJim raised his hand.

“Hallo,” he called. “Captain William Thomas! Are you well, sir?”

The tall man scowled, stepped around the fire, then stopped and struck the dirt with the base of his staff.

“That’s far enough,” he said. His voice was a deep, wet growl.

Uncle JoJim stopped Calico Girl fifteen feet from the man. Black-beard came up until his horse was abreast of Calico Girl, then also raised a hand and stopped. So Charley stopped Bird King, and Joshua stopped his roan. But Red-beard brought his gelding around the boys and up alongside Black-beard. And Charley saw that Red-beard’s hand was on the butt of his pistol.

“Hell if that ain’t some kind of Federal coat,” Red-beard muttered.

Black-beard glanced at Red-beard. “Stay quiet for now.”

“I am sorry to disturb you, Captain Thomas,” Uncle JoJim continued. “But my nephew and I encountered these gentlemen, Mister Clark and Mister Barnett, out on the prairie. They wish to confer with you, as they are in need of provisions for their journey.”

Captain Thomas remained stock-still and scowling.

“You appear to be a savage,” he said. “How is it that you know my name?”

Uncle JoJim removed his hat, hanging it on Calico Girl’s saddle horn. His hair, dark and straight like Charley’s, was plastered tight against his head.

“We met some twenty years ago,” Uncle JoJim said, “in the far southwest of Kansas. Perhaps three hundred miles from this spot. I was with soldiers under attack from Comanches.”

Captain Thomas’s expression did not change.

“I recall the incident,” he said. “It was my first exposure to the fact that the Army is a pack of goddamned fools.”

Red-beard chuckled. “On that, we are in agreement.”

Black-beard glared at him. “What did I say?”

Red-beard glared back. “Wasn’t speaking to you.”

Beside Charley, Joshua said, “Pa?” in a worried tone. Both Red-beard and Black-beard looked back at him.

At that, Uncle JoJim lowered his hand, and it brushed the shotgun scabbard behind his leg. Charley took a sharp breath.

But Black-beard turned back toward Uncle JoJim. “Careful there, Injun,” he said. And Uncle JoJim’s hand moved away from the shotgun again.

Captain Thomas did not seem to hear either Black-beard or Red-beard, or to notice what had just transpired. He remained focused on Uncle JoJim, who now spoke again.

“The Army should have paid attention when you demonstrated your ship at Fort Leavenworth,” Uncle JoJim said. “Had they allowed you to build your fleet, their war might have been prevented. Or greatly shortened.”

Captain Thomas was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Dismount and come closer.”

Uncle JoJim obeyed, leaving his hat on the saddle horn. He murmured to Calico Girl, then stepped forward until he was five or six feet from Captain Thomas.

“You have no right arm,” Captain Thomas said.

Uncle JoJim said nothing.

Captain Thomas gave a slow shake of his head, and the slight wind that came down into the gully lifted his long, wild gray hair for an instant.

“I am sorry about that,” he said. “I thought you were a Comanche.” He scratched his jaw. “But at least I left you the other one.”

Captain Thomas pointed his staff toward the wagon. “Come and sit. I have no chairs, but there are a few kegs. You’ll soon be glad of the shelter, as a storm is coming. Oh, and my dinner is just about cooked. There will be enough for all of us, as I was preparing for several days in advance.”

He went back into the shadow under the wagon.

Uncle JoJim turned toward Black-beard. “What are your wishes?”

Black-beard dismounted. “We’ll do as the man suggests. But we won’t stay long, on account of the smell.” He gave Red-beard a quick gesture. “Have your boy tie the horses to those ridiculous wheels.”

“But Charley’s animal ain’t got a bridle,” Joshua said.

Red-beard dismounted as well. “So take a rope and loop it around the beast’s neck.” He looked at Charley and grinned. “That will be good practice.”

Black-beard and Red-beard stepped up on either side of Uncle JoJim. “You heard the invitation,” Black-beard said. “Let’s go.”

Uncle JoJim did not look back at Charley as he and the two bushwhackers disappeared under the wagon. And for the first time he could remember, Charley felt completely alone.

“Well,” Joshua said as the men disappeared into the shadow, “I guess we should get down and tie the horses.”

So Charley slid down, rubbed his itching face, and then reached up and grasped a strand of Bird King’s mane. He led Bird King to Calico Girl, took the mare’s bridle in his free hand, and brought the two horses to the big wheel at what he thought was the front of the wagon. Joshua led the other three horses to the rear wheel and tied their reins to it. Then he tossed Charley a six-foot piece of rope.

“Do a good job,” Joshua said, “or Pa might get mad.”

Charley looped Calico Girl’s reins around a wheel spoke thicker than his leg, tying them with a slipknot. Then he looped the rope around Bird King’s neck, knotted it, and tied the loose end next to Calico Girl’s reins with another slipknot. Together, the slipknots looked complicated and tight. Or so Charley hoped.

Then he stepped between the two horses. For the moment, he was hidden from the men, and from Joshua as well. But he could hear Black-beard talking.

“I may have heard of you, Mister Thomas,” Black-beard said. “This Injun’s comments have reminded me. Did you not solicit investors for an ‘Overland Navigation Company’ in Westport, Missouri, some fifteen years ago? And did you not lose them all when the Federals refused to embrace your fanciful schemes?”

Charley shuddered at the ugliness of Black-beard’s voice, then stepped farther back between Bird King and Calico Girl until he stood beside the scabbard that held Uncle JoJim’s shotgun.

Captain Thomas’s deep voice floated to him from the shadows. “First, sir, I am not ‘Mister’ Thomas. By virtue of decades in command of both government and private vessels in the Northern Atlantic and other regions, I am ‘Captain.’ Second, my plans for overland navigation were never fanciful, but wholly practical. All the world was once the sea, you know. And though the waters have partially receded, the same methods employed upon them for generations may also be employed upon the lands that once lay beneath them. Such as this vast prairie.”

Black-beard and Red-beard both laughed then, and Charley’s reaction to the sound was to reach up and touch the shotgun. If he stretched on tiptoe, he might be able to pull it free.

But then what? The shotgun was long and heavy, and Uncle JoJim had allowed him to fire it only once, at the beginning of today’s hunt. It had knocked Charley over, and he had found himself on his back in the grass, staring up at a patch of blue sky. The prairie chicken he had been trying to shoot had flown on through that blue patch, free and clear. Charley was pretty sure the bird had looked down and mocked him.

But maybe now that he had fired the gun once, he could brace himself for its force.

He rose on his toes as he heard a rumble of thunder to the south. And then he heard Joshua’s voice.

“Are both barrels loaded?”

Charley jerked back his hand. Joshua had come up beside the wagon wheel and was now standing between the necks of Bird King and Calico Girl, staring at Charley. He had spoken softly, and since they were between the horses, and thunder was rumbling, Charley didn’t think the men had heard.

“Just one barrel is loaded,” Charley said. “Uncle JoJim used the other on this bird.” He touched the third chicken hanging from the left side of the saddle.

Joshua shook his head. “That’s no good. You would have to kill both my pa and Mister Barnett, real quick. So you’d need both barrels. Otherwise, whoever was left would cut off your scalp.” He tilted his head toward the other horses. “I saw Pa do it once. Both he and Mister Barnett have whole bags of scalps. They’re going to use them to trade with the Injuns between here and New Mexico.”

Charley’s mouth had gone dry, but he forced himself to swallow. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“Yes, you were.” Joshua’s voice was even softer now. “You’re an Injun, and Pa says that’s what Injuns do. You think about how to kill white men. But if you try it like you have in mind, you’ll die. And that would make me sad. I ain’t had much chance to be around other boys, and I like it. I don’t even mind too much that you ain’t white.” He pointed back over his shoulder with his thumb. “Come on, now. Pa will be perturbed at us for being slow.”

Joshua backed out the way he had come, and Charley followed. Bird King snuffled Charley’s neck as he passed by.

Charley’s fingertips tingled. He wished he could have done it. He wished he could have taken the shotgun and used it on Black-beard and Red-beard. But Joshua was right. One barrel would not have been enough. So he supposed he was grateful that Joshua had stopped him.

But he didn’t think he would have a chance to be grateful for long.

As Charley and Joshua came away from Bird King and Calico Girl, Captain Thomas emerged from underneath the wagon again. He still carried his twisted ivory staff. The boys stopped at the rim of the wheel so as not to cross his path.

“He’s sure tall,” Joshua whispered to Charley. “And ugly.”

Charley stiffened. That had not seemed like a smart thing to say.

But if Captain Thomas had heard, he gave no sign. “You gentlemen may remain seated if you like,” he called back into the shadow. “Forgive me for rising again so soon. But I smell rain, and I would prefer to take our dinner from the fire before it arrives.”

He strode to the coals, slid the pointed end of his staff through a loop of wire in the hammered-tin dome, and swung the dome away from the grate. A cloud of smoke boiled up into the twilight.

Black-beard and Red-beard came out from under the wagon with Uncle JoJim between them. Charley saw that Red-beard had drawn his pistol and had placed its muzzle against Uncle JoJim’s ribs.

On his right side. Where Uncle JoJim had no arm. So he had no chance, not even a tiny one, of knocking the pistol away.

In that instant, Charley found that he was no longer afraid. Now, he was just angry.

Captain Thomas, with his back to the other men, set the tin dome on the dirt. He slid his pointed staff back from the wire loop, then used it to stab at something on the smoking grate.

Black-beard gave Red-beard a glance. He stepped past Charley and Joshua and slipped between Calico Girl and Bird King.

“The Neosho River is a few miles to the east,” Captain Thomas said. “And while its offerings cannot match the bounty of the sea, I have found it to be sufficient.”

He spiked a long, blackened thing the size of a man’s arm, and he turned to face the wagon while holding it high. The coals behind him glowed scarlet.

“I hope you like water moccasin,” he said.

Red-beard made a gagging sound, but kept his pistol jammed into Uncle JoJim’s ribs.

Captain Thomas’s brow furrowed. “Sir,” he said to Red-beard. “Why have you drawn your weapon?”

At that moment, Black-beard came out from between the rumps of Calico Girl and Bird King. He was carrying Uncle JoJim’s shotgun.

“I have a better question,” Black-beard said. “To wit: Just what in hell is that lance of yours? I’ve never seen the like, even among the Injuns. And I may want to buy it.”

Captain Thomas shifted his gaze to Black-beard. And then he smiled, exposing his teeth for the first time.

From where Charley stood, Captain Thomas’s teeth looked as if they had all been filed to sharp points. And they glistened.

“I fashioned this harpoon from the tusk of a narwhal,” Captain Thomas said. “Not that you will know what that is. And it is not for sale.”

Black-beard stepped a few yards closer and raised the shotgun. He pointed it at Captain Thomas’s chest.

“That’s a shame,” he said.

Red-beard spoke then, too. “Joshua, hold the boy.”

Charley had taken a step toward Uncle JoJim. But now Joshua grasped both his wrists and pinned his arms behind his back.

“I’m truly sorry,” Joshua whispered in Charley’s ear. “But I have to do what Pa says.”

Captain Thomas was still holding the charred snake aloft on his narwhal tusk. And he was still grinning his sharp-toothed grin at Black-beard.

“Well,” Captain Thomas said. “Will you do it, or not?”

Black-beard cocked both hammers of the shotgun.

Now Uncle JoJim spoke. “Before you fire,” he said, “I have a request to make of Captain Thomas.”

Black-beard kept the shotgun trained on Captain Thomas, but said, “Go right ahead. For all the good it will do you.”

Uncle JoJim looked at Captain Thomas. “You owe me a small debt, sir. I’ll ask for payment now.”

Captain Thomas kept grinning at Black-beard, but he answered Uncle JoJim. “Proceed, Mister James.”

Uncle JoJim gestured toward the two geldings and the mare that Joshua had tied to the wagon’s rear wheel. “Spare the horses.”

One of Captain Thomas’s shaggy gray eyebrows rose.

“I cannot promise,” he said.

Black-beard gave a growl.

“Enough of your shit,” he said. Then he pulled the shotgun’s front trigger.

A gout of blue and yellow flame spat from the shotgun’s right barrel, and there was a sound like a thunderclap. The shot caught Captain Thomas square in the chest, and he fell backward onto the fire grate. His coat was peppered with black holes over his heart, and two of its brass buttons were gone. The narwhal tusk was still clutched in his right fist.

Charley stared at the dirty, callused soles of Captain Thomas’s feet as the man’s coat began to smolder and his wild hair began to burn.

Overhead, lightning webbed through the storm clouds rolling in from the south.

Black-beard lowered the shotgun. “Damn it to hell,” he said. “Sam, go drag that son of a bitch from the fire. It’s like to burn off his hair, and then that scalp won’t be any use.”

Red-beard stared at Black-beard. “You think I want to get burned any more than you do?”

“Make the Injun do it, then.”

“But you said to kill him once you’d shot the lunatic.”

“Well, sweet Jesus, you haven’t done it yet, have you?” Black-beard said. “So send him over to pull that goddamned carcass away! He does anything but, and we can both shoot him.”

Red-beard took his pistol from Uncle JoJim’s ribs and gave him a shove. “Go on. Bring that Yankee out of there before his hair burns, and maybe you’ll get to live a little longer.”

Uncle JoJim started for the fire. But he gave Charley a sharp look.

“My shotgun has left its scabbard,” he said.

Charley knew what that meant. Uncle JoJim wanted him to jump onto Bird King and ride for home. But how was he supposed to do that? Joshua was holding him tight.

“I feel you pulling,” Joshua whispered. “Just be still, and you’ll be all right. Maybe you can be Pa’s slave.”

Uncle JoJim approached the hot coals and crouched with his arm stretched out. He turned his face away from the heat, wincing, and grasped Captain Thomas’s left ankle.

“Be quick about it,” Black-beard said.

Uncle JoJim leaned away from the fire and yanked Captain Thomas from the grate. The force of it made Uncle JoJim fall to the ground, and Captain Thomas’s feet came to earth on either side of him.

Captain Thomas pivoted upright, his coat and hair enveloped in a halo of smoke. His eyes blazed like coals. His sharp-toothed grin was a twisted rictus.

Black-beard gave a bellow and raised the shotgun again.

At that moment, a white spike of lightning struck the hilltop to the west, and the thunderclap was like the report of a cannon. As the sudden flash illuminated the gully, Captain Thomas’s right arm whipped forward and threw the narwhal-tusk harpoon.

The harpoon stabbed through the air and spiked into Red-beard’s groin. Its point emerged from the seat of his trousers, and Red-beard’s arms flew up. His pistol shot a small flame toward the sky and then fell away. Red-beard collapsed backward, and the point of the narwhal tusk buried itself in the dirt. Red-beard was pinned to the ground with the blackened water moccasin burning against his crotch. His hat rolled away on its crisp brim.

Red-beard’s legs twitched, and his arms flailed. His eyes bulged, and his mouth opened wide. He screamed like a goat being slaughtered.

“Pa!” Joshua cried. He released Charley’s wrists and started toward Red-beard.

Black-beard gave a bellow and raised the shotgun, once again aiming at Captain Thomas. He pulled the second trigger, but nothing happened.

Captain Thomas, his coat and hair smoking, stepped over Uncle JoJim toward Black-beard.

Black-beard dropped the shotgun and fumbled in his belt for his pistol.

Uncle JoJim was giving Charley another look.

Charley spun and ran back to where Calico Girl and Bird King were tied. He jerked on Calico Girl’s reins to free their slipknot from the wheel spoke, then yanked the end of the rope to free that slipknot as well. Then he jumped up, grasped Bird King’s mane, and pulled himself onto the stallion’s back.

Bird King jumped backward and wheeled, and the end of the rope whipped into the air. Charley slapped Calico Girl’s rump as they passed, and she began to wheel as well.

As Bird King galloped past Black-beard, the rope snapped into the man’s wrist, and his pistol whirled away into the fire. Black-beard shouted, then ran for the three tied horses.

Captain Thomas, still smoking and grinning, changed direction and kept walking toward Black-beard.

Charley tugged Bird King’s mane to bring him to a halt beside Uncle JoJim, who was getting to his feet.

“Calico Girl is free,” Charley said.

Uncle JoJim gave him a fierce glare. “Why have you stopped? Do as I said!”

Charley began to shake his head. He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but he had no intention of leaving until Uncle JoJim was on Calico Girl and could leave with him.

But Uncle JoJim slapped Bird King’s neck and shouted, “Yicí!”

Bird King leaped away and charged up the hill to the north. Charley tugged on his mane to stop him, but the horse paid no attention. Uncle JoJim had told Bird King to go home. And Bird King had learned to obey Uncle JoJim in Kanza before Charley had ever spoken a word to him in English.

All Charley could do was look back as Bird King ran across the hilltop and down the other side, watching for Uncle JoJim and Calico Girl to appear behind them. A deep red glow burned at the western horizon as the sun began to vanish, but the sky above Charley had turned purple. Black thunderheads filled the sky to the south and were swallowing the purple as they advanced. Streaks of lightning shot through the thunderheads, and a few jagged spikes zigzagged down to strike the earth. Thunder rumbled and growled, and the wind became a constant hiss through the grass.

Then, as Bird King started up the next slope, the silhouette of a horse and rider appeared at the hilltop behind them. Charley’s heart leaped.

But then the rider extended a long arm toward Charley and Bird King, and fire shot from its end.

Charley heard the bullet buzz past his ear like an enraged bee. He ducked and urged Bird King to run faster. But Bird King was already running as fast as he could, his hooves pounding even louder than the thunder behind them. And they were heading uphill now. So they were a good target.

Another bullet buzzed past, and Charley was sure that it flew through his hair. So he slid down to Bird King’s right side, clamping his legs as tightly as he could against the stallion’s body and clinging to his mane. Bird King snorted but didn’t slow. He charged on, upward through the hissing grass.

Charley had the sudden thought that he was riding like a Comanche now.

Then Bird King squealed, lurched, and twisted to the right. Charley was flung into the air, and he flew a long way before hitting the ground and tumbling across the slope.

He lay on his back then, trying to breathe. The air had been knocked from his lungs. He couldn’t tell whether he had broken an arm or leg, because he couldn’t feel anything. Dark blades of grass waved in the wind over his face, framing a patch of purple sky with the black edge of a cloud pushing through. The cloud ate a tiny point of light that might have been a star.

Then the sound of the wind was joined by the sound of a horse’s hooves, walking.

Charley was able to suck in a breath. “Bird King?” he said, and sat up.

But Bird King was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Black-beard sat above Charley on his sorrel gelding, pointing down with his Spencer carbine. There was just enough red light from the west for Charley to see his face. It was set in a deep scowl.

“Your elders evaporated like spirits,” Black-beard said. “So I reckon you’ll have to answer for their insults yourself.”

That meant Uncle JoJim and Calico Girl had managed to get away. Charley was glad. But he was worried about Bird King.

“Did you kill my horse?” he asked.

Black-beard gave a shrug. “My shot struck him, but I cannot say whether the wound was mortal. However, he was well enough to run over the hill. Perhaps he fell on the far side and died. Or perhaps I’ll retrieve him for myself. Either way, it’s no concern of yours.”

Another horse stepped up beside Black-beard’s gelding then. It was the roan mare, and Joshua was riding it. He had lost his straw hat, and his blond hair danced in the wind. The other gelding walked beside him, riderless, tied to the roan’s saddle horn.

“My pa is dead,” Joshua said. “I tried to pull out the lance, but I couldn’t. It was stuck in the ground. And I begged Pa to move, but he wouldn’t. So he’s dead. He’s dead because of you and yours.” Joshua’s thin voice quavered, and his face shifted between anger and agony.

Black-beard flipped the Spencer’s strap from his shoulders, and he held the butt of the rifle toward Joshua.

“You’ve lost family,” Black-beard said. “So you may do this. It’s already cocked. Hold it tight against your shoulder. And don’t worry about the horses. They’re used to the sound.”

Joshua took the Spencer, placed the stock against his shoulder, and pointed the muzzle at Charley.

Charley looked up at him. “I had thought you might feel friendly toward me,” he said.

Joshua’s hands began to quiver in time with his voice, and the Spencer quivered with them. “You can shut up and be still.”

“Steady, boy,” Black-beard said.

Joshua hands still quivered. But it seemed to Charley that the Spencer’s muzzle was not wavering so much that the shot would miss.

Charley shifted his gaze back to Black-beard.

“Somehow,” he said, “you will suffer for hurting Bird King.”

Black-beard laughed. It was a snarl terminating in a bark.

“That’ll be a good trick,” he said.

As he spoke, lightning flashed in the south, and thunder roared. A heavy rush of wind raised the hissing of the grass to a howl.

Both Black-beard and Joshua looked back over their shoulders. And Charley looked, too.

Glowing with red light from the west and flashing with white lightning from above and behind, Captain Thomas’s enormous wagon rose over the southern hilltop with a deafening rumble. Huge sheets of canvas billowed from its posts and crossbeams, and it seemed to Charley that they sliced through the storm clouds churning overhead.

With tremendous speed, the wagon plunged down the hillside and then up the next. It drove straight toward Charley, Joshua, and Black-beard, its twelve-foot wheels spinning so fast that the spokes were a blur.

The narwhal-tusk harpoon had been affixed to a bracket at the front of the wagon, and Red-beard dangled from it upside-down and backward. He hung from the point where the tusk had pierced him through his groin and ass, and he swung back and forth. He had slid down to the harpoon’s wooden base, and the tail of the scorched water moccasin was visible between his legs. A thick, dark stain spread down his shirt and soaked his hair. His legs flopped at the knees, and his arms waved crazily. His fingertips brushed the tallgrass. And as the wagon surged forward, his face was pounded to a pulp against the ochre boards.

“Pa!” Joshua cried.

Black-beard, staring at the massive wind-wagon speeding toward him, reached toward Joshua. “Give me the rifle!” he cried.

But Joshua turned back toward Charley. His cheeks were wet with tears. He pressed his cheek against the Spencer’s stock as he aimed.

“I hate you, Injun Charley,” he said.

Then the rumble and roar of the approaching wagon was shot through with a piercing shriek, and the sound startled the gelding tied to Joshua’s saddle. It whinnied, stamped, jerked its reins from the saddle horn, and ran. The Spencer’s stock slammed into Joshua’s eye, and its muzzle swung wide as his mare reared.

Charley dove between the mare’s front legs as he heard the sharp crack of the shot. He grabbed the thick cotton strands of the saddle cinch just as the horse came down and bolted. He hung on with both hands, swinging his legs up so they wouldn’t be trampled by the rear hooves. He clung there for a few seconds until the horse screamed at a flash of lightning, stopped running, and reared again. Then he let go of the cinch and rolled away, hoping he would make it far enough.

As he came up to his knees, he saw Black-beard a dozen yards away. The man was rising to his knees as well, clutching his left shoulder with his right hand. His fine, flat-crowned hat was gone.

“God damn you, boy!” Black-beard roared. “You shot me with my own gun!”

Then Black-beard got to his feet and turned to face south. He completed the turn just in time for Red-beard’s dangling head to collide with his, and it knocked him flat onto the hillside.

The wind-wagon’s iron-clad right front wheel rolled over Black-beard’s skull, spewing brains and bone through the tallgrass. Then the rear wheel cut across Black-beard’s belly and severed his spine, sending his torso rolling and entrails spilling. His legs flew up and thumped against the bottom of the wagon before falling back into the grass.

Charley heard the piercing shriek cut through the rumble again. He looked up and saw Captain Thomas, his coat still smoking, standing atop the wagon at its rear. He was pulling against a heavy beam with his left arm while yanking a bundle of ropes with his right. The ropes rose to the huge sheets of canvas, and the canvas began to twist. The wagon groaned and turned, spinning up chunks of dirt and grass as the gigantic wheels shifted and slid.

“Do you see now?” Captain Thomas shrieked. “Do you see how sweetly she sails?” His long gray hair whipped in the wind like snakes, and his sharpened teeth gleamed with each flash of lightning. His eyes caught the red fire of the sinking sun.

The wind-wagon roared past Charley, its furious wheels spattering him with dark droplets. He tasted copper and salt.

Now the wagon drove to the northeast, aiming for a horse that was spinning, rearing, and bucking. The horse’s small rider was clinging to the reins with one hand and a Spencer carbine with the other.

Charley got to his feet. He wanted to call out to Joshua. But he knew the boy wouldn’t hear him over the wind, the thunder, and the roar of the wagon.

There was nothing to be said to him now, anyway.

As the wind-wagon bore down, the horse bucked hard and jumped away. Joshua flew into the air, tumbling as the Spencer shot fire, and then the narwhal tusk caught him in the back. The Spencer fell away, and the tusk spiked out through Joshua’s chest.

Captain Thomas shrieked again, and the wind-wagon came about, rising onto two wheels. Then it plunged back down the hill, roaring past Charley once more.

Joshua slid back on the tusk and fetched up against his father. He looked down at Charley as they flew by.

Charley could not read Joshua’s expression. But he saw that the boy’s freckled cheeks were still wet.

The wind-wagon dove down the slope and back up the hill to the south. As it reached the top, it was illuminated by yet another flash of lightning. The sails billowed and warped, and Charley heard Captain Thomas shriek one more time.

Then the rain came in a torrent, and Charley’s eyes filled with water as the wind-wagon disappeared.

The rain lasted long enough to wash the dark droplets from Charley’s skin and to soak his clothes. Then the thunderclouds began to break and slip away even more quickly than they had come. The moon, almost full, rose in the east as the last vestige of the sun slipped away in the west. Its cool light let Charley see where he walked as he began to trudge north.

He whistled for Bird King. But instead, Joshua’s roan mare and Black-beard’s sorrel gelding came up to him, whickering.

“I don’t want to ride either of you,” Charley said. “But you may walk with me, if you like.”

They had almost reached the top of the hill when Charley heard another whistle. He looked back down the slope and saw Uncle JoJim approaching on Calico Girl. They were leading the other gelding on a rope, moving at a walk. The shotgun was back in its scabbard. And Uncle JoJim was wearing his hat again.

Charley waited until Uncle JoJim drew near. Then he said, “You might have come sooner.”

Uncle JoJim stopped Calico Girl beside Charley. “As I have said, I don’t want to make Calico Girl run anymore.”

“But I needed you,” Charley said.

Uncle JoJim gave him a stern look. “No, you didn’t. Besides, if you had done as I instructed, you would have been far away.”

Charley knew it was true. “I apologize, Uncle JoJim. I should not have disobeyed.”

Uncle JoJim shrugged. “You’ll know better next time. Now, take the bags from those horses and leave them. We don’t want what’s inside. Then tie one of the horses to the one behind Calico Girl. You may ride the other.”

Charley frowned. “I will only ride Bird King.”

“Disobeying yet again.” Uncle JoJim sighed. “All right, tie them both. You may walk.”

Charley did as he was told, and then they all started over the hill. As they topped the rise, Charley saw Bird King a little way down the slope, grazing.

“Bird King!” Charley called. “Why didn’t you come when I whistled?”

Uncle JoJim chuckled. “He’s angry. I can see the wound near his tail. You didn’t go home when I said to go home, so Bird King was shot.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle JoJim,” Charley said.

“Don’t tell me. Tell him.”

Charley whistled once more, and this time Bird King came. Uncle JoJim dismounted, examined the wound, and said it wasn’t deep. And the bullet had not remained in the flesh.

“But it still hurts him,” Uncle JoJim said, swinging up onto Calico Girl again. “We’ll put a poultice on it when we reach the reservation. For now, it’s up to him whether he lets you ride. If he does, I wouldn’t ask him to run.”

Charley put his hand on Bird King’s soft nose. Bird King tossed his head, but then let Charley grasp his mane and pull himself up. Charley untied the rope that was still around Bird King’s neck, and he let it fall.

As they started northward again, Uncle JoJim said, “I suppose you may be saddened because of the boy.”

Charley brushed water from Bird King’s mane. “He was just a boy. Like me. It’s hard to know what I should think.”

“He was a boy,” Uncle JoJim said. “But not like you. And you’ll live through many times when it will be hard to know what to think.”

They rode in silence for a quarter mile. Then Charley asked, “Is Captain Thomas one of the ghosts Grandmother spoke of?”

“No. Ghosts are easier to understand.”

“But the black-bearded man shot him with your shotgun, and he didn’t die. Not even after falling onto the fire.”

“It was only birdshot,” Uncle JoJim said. “And he wore a thick coat. Also, he didn’t lie on the fire for very long.”

“So he’s just a man?”

Uncle JoJim adjusted the brim of his hat. “That would be easier to understand, too. But I’m sure of one thing: He came to pay his debt for my arm. I can’t guess how he knew this would be the right time. But it’s done. So now he’s gone again.”

That all made a small bit of sense to Charley. “I’m glad,” he said.

Uncle JoJim looked behind them at the tied horses. “Yes. And along with our chickens, we have three ponies to replace those the Cheyenne stole last month. Allegawaho will be pleased. Everyone will be.”

Charley pondered. “So now they might consider us to be Kaw?”

Uncle JoJim shook his head. “No. We are what we are.” He looked toward the moon. “What we are is good enough.”

That made a bit of sense to Charley, too.

“At least we aren’t crazy,” he said.

Uncle JoJim shrugged yet again, and his empty sleeve flapped. “Not yet.”

Bird King began to trot then, of his own will. He and Charley led the way home through the sea of grass.