Free Grayfox by Michael Phillips Page A

answered.
    â€œWell, Zack Hollister, I’m Hawk Trumbull.”
    â€œWhy Hawk?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s a name the Paiutes gave me. That was years ago.”
    â€œAre you . . . friendly with the Paiutes?” I asked.
    The man called Hawk laughed again—I was starting to get used to him laughing. “No one is what you’d term friendly with them. They’re not even friendly with themselves! Let’s just say I know how to get along with them.”
    â€œThat’s more than the Pony Express does.”
    â€œI’ve got some advantages the Express doesn’t have. I know some things the Paiutes need to know and where to find certain things they need. So they tolerate me, mostly for what I can do for them—you hungry?”
    â€œYeah . . . yeah, I reckon I am,” I answered. “But don’t you have anything besides rattlesnake to eat?”
    Hawk chuckled. “The day’ll come when you’ll eat my stew and love every bite! But winter’s not all the way here yet, so I’ve got a few things you might like better. I might even make you some biscuits one of these days. There’s nothing like biscuits cooked on a stick over an open fire. How about some coffee?”
    I suddenly realized the smell of fresh-boiled coffee was all around. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before. It smelled just like home!
    â€œSure . . . do you have everything in here?” I added as he handed me a hot tin cup.
    â€œEverything I need. No luxuries. But food and warmth and shelter, and lots and lots of room to myself. Hundreds of miles to call my own, and I learn something new from it every day. There’s no life like it, son.”
    â€œLearn . . . learn what kind of stuff?” I said, taking a sip of the steaming black brew he’d made.
    â€œAbout the world, about life, about myself. Mostly about the Creator.”
    â€œYou mean God?”
    â€œThat’s who I mean, son.”

Chapter 14 Bigger and Deeper
    Laid up like I was, there wasn’t much I could do except lay there and let Hawk take care of me.
    He kept blankets and animal furs under me and over me, so I was plenty warm—almost cozy, if you could use that word about a cave. He gave me meals and checked on my broken leg every so often, packing it in snow again whenever it started to get red or swell up, and keeping the rest of me warm enough that the cold on my leg didn’t bother me much.
    We’d sit around the fire and talk a lot. But off and on he’d disappear deep into the cave to do some kind of work, he said he’d show me everything later.
    Hawk spent considerable time shoveling snow away from the mouth of the cave and taking it down deep into the other end where he was building up his supply of snow and water for the following summer. He couldn’t dig all the way out from the inside until some of it melted. But he got enough dug so that we could go outside, even surrounded by snow, and make ourselves a privy outside the cave, and feel like we were getting a little outside sunlight. Of course, he had to help me when we did, because I couldn’t walk on my own for a long time.
    He also worked at making ame a crutch out of branches and pieces of wood he had in the cave. He had lots of tools—knives, axes, shovels, picks, pieces of wood, leather strapping . . . just about everything he needed, like he’d said.
    Looking back on it now, I don’t know how the time passed so quick. There was nothing for me to do. Hawk kept busy, though I don’t know how much of what he was doing he really needed to do.
    We talked, but not all the time. Hawk knew how to be quiet, knew how to let silence say what it had to say. He didn’t try to fill the air up every minute with words. That was one of the things he taught me—to be comfortable with silence. So during those firstfew days—though, like I