Winter on the Belle Fourche

This time would have to be different; the Crow was wary now and hurt, and an Injun like that was the same as any other creature in the wild in such condition, the same as he'd be himself, Johnston knew, as deadly as a stirred-up snake. The Crow would be in place early this night, out there in spite of the cold, because the first man out could watch and see what the other man would do. It was a deadly advantage, and Johnston was determined to let the Absaroka have it.

The Indian was cautious and he was good. Johnston could scarcely hear him, scarcely smell his fear. He seemed to take forever, moving when the wind rose some, stopping when it died.

Tarnation, Johnston thought, come on and git it done, chile, 'fore I freeze these bones to the ground.

At last the Crow struck, coming in swiftly without a sound. The hatchet fell once, slicing the heavy furs, withdrew and hacked again, and Johnston, even in the dark, saw emotion of every sort cross the Absaroka's face, saw surprise and alarm and then final understanding that the furs crouched there against the tree didn't have a man inside, that it was simply too late to remedy that.

Johnston shook the snow aside. "That war your trick, son, not mine," he said aloud. "Ye got no one to blame but yourself..."

She hated the boredom most of all. It overpowered fear and apprehension. Now she sorely missed being scared. Now there was nothing at all to do. Was it day outside or was it night? Sometimes Johnston would tell her. For the most part, he sat like a stone or wandered out in the night. Worse than sitting in the cabin were the times when she had to go out to attend to bodily needs. It was horrid, a humiliation she could scarcely bear. She had to ask. He would not let her venture out alone. He would stand by the door with his weapon while she struggled as far as she dared through the snow. And the cold! That fierce, and unimaginable cold. Winter, she saw now, gave New England a fleeting glance. This terrible empty land was where it was born.

She heard him at the door and then he stepped inside, letting in the cold. "Found us a couple of horses," Johnston said, and dropped his heavy coat on the floor.

"You did?" Emily was surprised. "Why, isn't that odd."

"Ain't nothin' odd to it," Johnston said.

"Yes, well..." He seemed very pleased with himself. It dawned on her then that horses had meaning in her life. "Heavens," she said, "that means we can leave this place, does it not?"

"First thing in the mornin'," Johnston said. He didn't even glance her way. He simply wrapped up in his robes and turned his face against the wall.

Emily felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and this brought further irritation. Anger at Johnston, but mostly at herself. What did she care what he did? They certainly had nothing to talk about. No topic that would interest her in the least. Still, the man's rudeness had no bounds at all. He had no concept of social intercourse.

"You are just going to--sleep?" she said. "Right now?"

"I was plannin' on it," Johnston said.

"Well, you could at least impart information. There are things one needs to know."

"'Bout what?"

"About the trip." Emily waited. Johnston didn't answer. "What I mean, is how long will it take? I have no idea of the distance to Fort Laramie. As you know, I left under unusual circumstances."

"Ain't goin' to Fort Laramie. Goin' to Fort Pierre."

Emily sat up. "Mr. Johnston, I demand to be returned to Fort Laramie. I have no intention of going anywhere else."

"Fort Pierre's whar I'm headed," Johnston said.

"Whatever for?"

"Meetin' someone.

"Well, who?"

"Like you're fonda sayin', Miz Dickinson, that ain't no concern of yours."

Emily tried to contain herself. To show Christian restraint. A sudden thought occurred. A woman, that was it. He was going to see a woman. Possibly a wife. The thought defied imagination. What sort of woman would this backwoods ruffian attract?

"Are you married, Mr. Johnston?" Emily asked. "I don't believe you've ever said. But of course you're quite correct. That is no concern of mine."

Johnston kept his silence. He had likely gone to sleep and hadn't heard a word she said. The man had no consideration.

"My wife's dead," Johnston said. The tone of his words brought a chill. "Her an' the chile, too. Crows killed 'em both."

Emily felt ashamed. "I'm... terribly sorry, Mr. Johnston. Really."

"Reckon I am, too."

"You are angry with me, I know."

"Ma'am, I ain't angry at all."

"Yes, now, you are. I do not fault you for it, Mr. Johnston. I have intruded upon your life. I am guilty of certain violations. And you are still upset about the poems."

"No I ain't."

"Yes you are. That is quite clear to me. I want you to know that I have since shown respect for your possessions. I was tempted, yes. We are all weak vessels, and there is nothing at all to do in this place. Still, I did not succumb. Lord Jesus gave me strength."

"Git some sleep," Johnston said, and pulled the buffalo robe about his head.

He awoke in fury and disbelief, clutched the Hawken and came to his feet, saw the dull press of dawn around the door, heard the faint sound of horses outside, hardly there at all, as if they'd come up with him out of sleep.

Great God A'Mighty, they'd played him for a fool, him sleeping like a chile and sure he'd got the only two. Maybe it wasn't Crow, he decided. Maybe it was Sioux coming back. And what in tarnation did it matter which brand of red coon it might be--they flat had him cold like a rabbit in a log.

The woman came awake, a question on her face. "Jes' get back in yer corner and keep quiet," Johnston said harshly. He turned to face the door, made sure the Walker Colt was in his belt. How many, he wondered? The horses were silent now.

"Come an' git your medicine," he said softly, "I'm a-waitin' right here."

"Inside the cabin," a man shouted. "This is Lieutenant Joshua Dean. We are here in force, and I must ask you to come out at once, unarmed."

Johnston laughed aloud. He decided he was plain going slack. A man who couldn't tell shod horses in his sleep was a man who maybe ought to pack it in.