Free Death on the Greasy Grass by C. M. Wendelboe Page A

want . . .”
    Broken Rib raised his hand. “These things you want—they will have to wait. You will have to scout for the soldiers looking for our enemies when they ask.”
    Levi felt the rage build, bolstering his courage to confront the old man. “So you are saying you will not allow the marriage until I am done with the soldiers?”
    Broken Rib shook his head as he grabbed a lodge pole and stood, arching his back. “I do not think she can wait that long.” He turned and faced her. “How long, my daughter?”
    Pretty Paw rubbed her belly. “The child grows faster than I wish. Soon, I will not be able to conceal the baby even with skirts big enough for you.”
    Levi bit his lip, breathing to keep his temper controlled. This was Broken Rib’s lodge, and Levi would remain silent until spoken to.
    The old man arched his back, popping noises coming from worn joints older than Levi had any hope of attaining, and he looked away. By Crow standards, Broken Rib lacked attractiveness because of his size. Towering over every warrior in the camp, people considered him too tall to be handsome. Yet, his very stature drew people to him, asking his advice, seeking out his wisdom. After a long pause, he looked down at Levi still sitting on the buffalo robe. “How many ponies will you give for my daughter?”
    â€œFather!” Pretty Paw grabbed onto the lodge pole and struggled to stand. Both men watched her, neither wishing to insult her by helping her. Her belly protruded and she leaned back to ease the pressure. She faced her father, her face flushed, her jaw tightening, reminding Levi why he loved her so. “This is not about ponies.”
    Her father began speaking, but she interrupted him. “No one else would marry me if they knew.” She rubbed her belly. “This baby is not even Levi’s. You know that. Yet he would be a father to another man’s child.”
    Broken Rib backed away from his daughter. “This I know is the truth. The trapper—Beauchamp—is without relatives. I should never have let him share my lodge.”
    Levi nodded; in some small measure it pleased the old man to insult the Frenchman in the worst way a Crow warrior could.
Beauchamp is without relatives, for certain. And without honor for leaving his responsibility of fatherhood behind. If I were close enough to lay my hands at the man’s throat . . .
    â€œBut he did share your lodge.” Pretty Paw’s voice rose, her hands cradling her belly. “But to ask Star Dancer for ponies . . .”
    Broken Rib raised his hand and she quieted. “Now it is time I talk over you, my daughter.” He took her hand and eased her back down onto the buffalo robes covering the tipi floor. “I may be poor by Crow thinking, but there are those that say I am rich in wisdom. I believe First Maker gave me such wisdom for times such as these.” He hunched over and sat cross-legged beside Pretty Paw and stretched his feet to the fire, rubbing his toes.
    â€œTell me, my daughter, what would people think if they knew Beauchamp was the father of the baby growing inside you?”
    â€œThey would shun me. You know that. And they would shun the baby whenever he or she comes. But this man”—she nodded to Levi—“wishes to be with me.”
    Broken Rib smiled for the first time. “In the words of the White men, Levi wishes to make an honest woman of you.”
    Pretty Paw looked down.
    â€œPeople can be cruel in times like this.” Broken Rib’s braids danced on his chest. “And the baby would have no one.” He nodded to Levi. “He is of the Whistling Water clan, but babies could not—by our custom—ever belong if they are born out of marriage.”
    Tears formed at the corners of Pretty Paw’s brown eyes. Levi started to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her all would be right.