0525427368 by Sebastian Barry Read Free Book Online Page B

wheeling and turning, a million birds to one cloud, we’d a needed a blunderbuss to harvest them, small black fleet wondrous birds. We were riding on and all the while, ten fifteen miles, the Oglala moving with us, watching. Might have been wondering why we didn’t stop for eats. Didn’t have no eats to eat. It was Trooper Pearl knew they were Sioux. Said he recognised them. Don’t know how he did, seeing as they were so far off. The flood had took our Shawnee scouts who’d a known. With our diminished numbers we were two hundred now, maybe a little less. The major hadn’t done a roll call for days. Sergeant Wellington was the only one indifferent, it would seem. If he knew one song out of the mountains of Virginia he knew a hundred. If he knew one song about a poor dying mother lonesome and her children far away he knew a thousand. And the cruel creeping raw vicious scraping voice he had. Mile after mile. And the goddamned Oglala Sioux or whoever it was out there keeping pace with every painful step.I was beginning to think it would be a welcome release if they just charged up now and did for us. It would stop that miserable caterwauling anyhow.
Mid morning then of this drear day Sergeant perks up suddenly, his singing dying away. He points out on the plain a horseman detaching from the distant group. Had a high pole with a pennant on it, waving in the fluttering breeze. The major stopped our whole troop and got us to clump together. He was giving a sight of ten lines of men with twenty riders each ready with muskets to the approaching Indian. The Indian didn’t seem to think much of this, he came on, we could see him clearer now. Then he stops half way, just sits there, his horse stirring about a little like they do. Champing, backing off a step, being settled again by his rider. He was just beyond musket range. Sergeant was anxious to try a shot but the major stayed his hand. Then the major spurs his horse and goes forward out of position, heads off across the scutty grasses. The sergeant bites his lip, because he doesn’t like this, but can’t air an objection. Major thinks Indians gentlemen like hisself, he hisses.
So we’re paused there and of course the flies find us quickly and if we have nothing to gorge on, they do. Ears and faces and backs of hands get a going over. Damn little black devils. But we almost don’t heed them, you can see all the men sitting forward on their saddles, as if they could hear the parlay about to take place, but no chance of that. Off there now we see the major reach the rider and now he is stopped and now we can see the mouth of the Indian moving, and the head nodding, and the hands going in sign language. The air is so tense even theflies seem to stop biting. The prairie is as quiet as a library. Just the tremendous grasses folding, unfolding, showing their dark underbellies, hiding them, showing. The little shucking sound of that. But most of the business was sky. Huge endless sky all the way to heaven most likely. The major and the Indian talked for about twenty minutes, then the major suddenly wheels around, comes trotting back. The Indian watches him for a few moments, sergeant begins to draw a bead on him then, but there’s no emergency, the Indian pulls the head of his pony round, and goes back placidly to his friends. The major comes on daintily enough, that’s one fine horse he has, one of those pricy mounts, skinnied up now though.
What’s the news? says the sergeant.
He wanted to know what we’re doing out here, says the major. Looks like we’re north of where we thought. These ain’t treaty Indians.
Goddamn mongrel sonsabitches what they are, the sergeant says, and spits.
Well, he said they have meat and he would give it to us, says the major.
The sergeant didn’t seem to have an answer to that. The men were amazed, relieved. Could it be true? Sure enough we saw the Indians leaving the meat. Then we went over to get it, by which time they had cleared off