Free Ride the Moon Down by Terry C. Johnston Page A

held the pipe up to the sky as black as the gut of a badger. “First Maker, we offer our prayer as thanksgiving for showing us our daughter’s name.”
    Then he placed the stem between his teeth, drew in a short breath, and let it out a little at a time, to each of the cardinal directions. That done, Bass handed the warm clay stem to his wife. For a moment Waits studied the pipe—until the baby reached out for her mother’s hand that held that interesting object.
    “Smoke to pray for our daughter,” he said. “You see by her hand touching you and the pipe that she understands the importance of you smoking for her.”
    Slowly the woman pulled her hand away from the baby’s tiny fingers, placing the stem against her lips.
    “Don’t draw in much,” he advised. “Just a little. I don’t think the spirits will mind if you smoke only a little. Surely what is important is not how much you take in, but that you did pray with the smoke.”
    Waits wrinkled her nose at the bitter taste as soon as she drew some smoke into her mouth. This she quickly expelled in one direction. Then followed suit with three more short puffs to finish her circuit of the directions as the child in her lap began to fuss.
    “She wants that pipe,” Bass said as his wife handed it back to him. “Or she wants your attention.”
    “When will I learn what her name has been all this time?” she asked, licking her lips and tasting the strong tobacco.
    “Patience, my wife.” Then he raised the pipe to the sky again. “Grandfather Above—we offer this prayer to ask that you guide our steps in protecting this child as she grows.”
    Once more he smoked, exhaling four light puffs to the four directions, then watched as Waits again completed the offering of her prayer as the baby began to fuss, kicking her legs and balling her fists as she flailed her tiny arms.
    Quickly Waits handed the pipe back to Titus. “Now she wants only my attention.”
    With a smile Scratch said, “Take her clothes off.”
    “That isn’t what is going to make her happy.”
    “As we offer our daughter to the Grandfather,” he explained, “she should be as naked as the day she came to be with us.”
    Without a word of protest, Waits-by-the-Water released the knots in the soft strips of antelope hide that secured the sections of cloth around the child’s body. First that strip under the babe’s arms, then the one around itsbelly. And finally those that held absorbent grass stalks around the infant’s legs. With a dry scrap of wool, Waits quickly wiped her daughter’s bare bottom, then handed the squirming bundle over to Bass.
    Completely dark beyond that small corona of firelight, hemmed in by a great encompassing wilderness where no sound was heard save for the yonder call of the mournful song-dogs, the quieting buzz of insects among the rustling leaves, and that muted babble of the nearby creek—Bass laid her tiny head in the palm of his left hand, stretching her little, lithe body along that forearm so that a leg fell on either side of his elbow. With the fingertips of his right hand, he gently caressed her forehead, cheeks, and under her chin, slowly soothing the fussy child, quieting her. Down each arm he lightly rubbed, fingertips pressing softly as he progressed.
    When he looked up at Waits, he found admiration in his wife’s beautiful black-cherry eyes. Then he gazed down at his daughter once more and continued massaging her plump little body while he whispered to her the nonsense that makes no difference to an infant who knows only that she is the center of her own universe at that moment. Down each hip and on down each leg, Titus didn’t finish until he had gently rubbed every small toe.
    He raised her head, and kissed the tiny brow, watching the babe’s wide, wondering eyes roll upward as he lowered his hairy face toward her. Then Bass clutched the infant in his two strong hands and slowly raised her above his head until his arms were outstretched. She