Free Bounty Hunter (9781101611975) by Bill Yenne

westward toward the descending sun of mid-afternoon, he thought about the Porter boys and about their biblical names. From what he recalled about his own Bible learning, which was not that much, Gideon’s biblical namesake was called “the Destroyer,” but he did his destroying on orders from God. There were a couple of Enochs in the Bible, but Cole could remember only the one who was the son of Cain, who had committed the world’s first homicide. He wondered whether the missionaries had taught the Blackfeet children about these men.
    The Porter boys were his reason for being out here in the first place, and his thoughts turned to their whereabouts, and how long it would take to find them in this country. They were at least a day ahead of him, but having crossed north of the Marias, they had crossed north of their past, and they would no longer be running. Their pace would have slackened, and they would have relaxed and made their presence known to the locals.
    If not Natoya’s band, then some other Siksikáwa band or other out here would have seen them, and word would spread. That word would not spread to ears accustomed to English, but it would spread, and sooner or later, Cole would know.
    As he had done since crossing the Marias, Cole was keeping his eyes on the horizon. Yesterday, he’d had
potential
enemies in anyone who might choose to distrust a stranger. Now that he had taken a side in a civil war, he had
real
enemies. He could count on the wary eyes of his two companions to see danger first, but still, he kept his eyes on the horizon.
    The last place that he had expected to see that horizon populated was in the direction straight behind him—yet there it was, a rider coming up from behind at a gallop.
    The two Siksikáwa men reined up their horses and exchanged words which Cole did not understand, except that they were more of aversion than alarm.
    Cole could see why. The rider was Natoya-I-nis’kim, loping toward them on a paint, her braids swirling about her head as she came.
    â€œ
Iiksoka’pii kitsinohsi
!” she said to the two men, laughing as she brought her horse to a stop. Even back home in Virginia, where women took to riding with great pride of accomplishment, Cole had never seen a woman who could handle a horse with such skill.
    They spoke with her angrily, pointing their fingers back in the direction of their village. Cole chuckled as she told them off. At last, the argument reached an impasse. They turned their backs on her and resumed the westward trek, ignoring her as they had been ignoring the white man.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” Cole asked.
    â€œI told Ikutsikakatósi and Ómahkaatsistawa I am happy to see them,” she said, smiling mischievously.
    â€œThey aren’t happy to see
you
.”
    â€œI don’t care,” she said playfully.
    â€œWhy are you here?”
    â€œUncle told me to come,” she explained. “There will be a need to translate. Ikutsikakatósi and Ómahkaatsistawa would not speak to you if they
could
, but they
cannot
.”
    â€œThey don’t want to speak to
you
either . . . at least not to say a civil word.”
    â€œThis is not a place for a woman, they said,” Natoya explained with a smirk.
    â€œIt isn’t,” Cole agreed. “This will be dangerous.”
    â€œ
I
will be dangerous,” she said with a slight grin, pulling back the edge of her buffalo robe to show him that she had a holster strapped around her waist that contained an older model Colt Navy revolver.
    â€œWhere did you get that?”
    â€œTrader.”
    â€œHave you used it?”
    â€œYes.”
    Bladen Cole held his tongue. It really
wasn’t
a place for a woman, even if she could handle a horse and use a gun. Where there was the probability of a gunfight, it was a bad place for a woman, but it was, he decided, not his place to tell an Indian girl, especially one displaying