Free Sidewinder by J. T. Edson Page B

in his voice. ‘The Pehnane .’
    ‘Then all the bands are here,’ Hollenheimer remarked.
    ‘Not all of them, Professor,’ Dusty corrected. ‘Lon never mentioned the Waw’ai .’
    Until the attempted murders at the OD Connected, Dusty had barely heard of the Waw’ai band. Since then his interest in that particular section of the Comanche Nation grew and he looked forward to meeting the Waw’ai elders.
    ‘Most likely any of them who’re here have bedded down with the Pahuraix ,’ guessed the Kid. ‘That way they can listen in on what’s said and take word back to the war chiefs. I reckon I’ll go take Grandpappy Long Walker his presents, Dusty.’
    ‘Sure,’ agreed Dusty. ‘I’d like to come around and meet him again later in the day.’
    ‘Feel free,’ the Kid offered. ‘You’ll be safe enough in any of the camps and nowhere safer than among the Pehnane .’
    Unfastening the halter rope of one of the pack horses, the Kid gave a cheery grin to his friends and rode away from them. The horse carried presents and the butchered carcass of a white tail deer which he killed on the trip. While passing among the Pehnane tipis, he called greetings and received salutations from a number of people. After the War ended, he had found time to visit his grandfather and found himself still remembered.
    A heavily-built old woman wearing spotlessly-clean buckskin dress and the ornaments of one well-endowed with wealth looked up as the Kid drew rein alongside her. Grave of feature, her age-wrinkled face creased in a smile while her lively eyes studied him.
    ‘Greetings, pia ,’ the Kid said, using the respectful term for aunt. ‘I bring meat for your fire.’
    ‘I thank you, Cuchilo ,’ replied Raccoon Talker, senior medicine woman of the Pehnane and who had acted as midwife at his birth.
    ‘And what do you see ahead, old one?’ asked the Kid, after dismounting and unloading a quarter of the deer’s carcass from the pack horse.
    ‘Trouble comes, Cuchilo . This council will not go easily. There are men, white and Nemenuh , who do not want peace.’
    The Kid listened attentively, having seen something of the old woman’s predictions coming true. Back when he rode on his first buffalo hunt she warned him of danger and his horse fell — or had it been shot? He still did not know for sure — while running a bull. Later, while the Kid camped over a mile from the village so as to train his newly acquired white stallion, Raccoon Talker told his two best friends that he was in danger, needing their help; which he did. Accompanied by a group of captive boys, Fire Dancer and No Father tried to murder the Kid and steal the horse. A twinge of regret ran through the Kid as he remembered that both his friends died in the fighting.
    ‘They died as men, Cuchilo ,’ Raccoon Talker remarked. ‘It was a good way to die.’
    If the Kid felt any surprise at the way she followed his thoughts, he hid them and nodded in agreement. Any Nemenuh who met his end in battle, especially while trying to help a friend, could be assured of a place in the Land of Good Hunting.
    ‘What of No Father, pia ?’ he asked. ‘I hear that one is a great man now.’
    ‘A gopher is a great one — to worms,’ the old woman answered dryly.
    ‘Is he here?’
    ‘Neither he nor that black-hearted witch who spawned him.’
    ‘Now that’s a real pity,’ said the Kid mildly and in English.
    ‘This is a peace council, Cuchilo ,’ Raccoon Talker warned, although to the best of his knowledge she spoke none of the English language. ‘You could not satisfy your revenge oath here.’
    ‘You could be right at that,’ grinned the Kid, ‘I must see my grandfather.’
    ‘And I must cook my meat,’ smiled Raccoon Talker, then she nodded to where a bunch of young braves played tir’awwawkaw , throwing specially designed arrows by hand at a mark. ‘The tuivitsi are restless.’
    ‘ Tuivisti always are,’ drawled the Kid tolerantly, having ridden