Dead Man's Walk

Joe Nibbs was rarely nervous, when among the red men. He cheated white men freely, but he didn’t cheat Comanches or Apaches, or Kiowa or Pawnee or Sioux. A trader who cheated Indians might survive a year, or even two — but Joe Nibbs had survived almost twenty, by saving his tricks for the whites. Even an Indian who didn’t speak a word of the white man’s tongue would know when he was being cheated — it was a practice that didn’t pay.

Buffalo Hump, though, was one Indian who made Joe Nibbs nervous. He dealt with the humpback because Buffalo Hump raided deepest into Mexico and brought back the most captives. But with Buffalo Hump, Joe was always careful, always aware that he was doing something not quite safe, not quite within the normal range of hazards that went with the slaving trade on the wild Texas prairies. Joe Nibbs was always aware that the day might come when Buffalo Hump would rather kill than trade. In his dealing with the humpback, he had only once looked the war chief in the eye. What an eye! What he saw then unnerved him so that he immediately gave the war chief a brand-new rifle and several fine blankets. As soon as the Comanches had gone, he warned Sam Douglas to keep his eyes to himself, when dealing with the big Comanche. No wise man met the eye of a mad dog or a wolf, a bear or a panther. The animal might come out, and blood be spilled, over nothing more than a glance.

“Hell, I won’t look at him at all,” Sam said. “That damn hump is an ugly thing, anyway.”

Buffalo Hump saw immediately that the slavers wanted Rosa, the Mexican girl. He had once come upon the slavers while the old one was tormenting a dead missionary’s wife. He had watched from a distance as Joe Nibbs beat the woman with the handle of his hammer — beat her and did more. That night the woman died from the beating and abuse — she had not been young., What he mainly wanted from the slaver was knives and needles. It would soon be time for the fall hunt—they needed to kill many buffalo before the winter came. Often ice storms came, coating the plain for several days at a time, making hunting difficult. The white men made good knives, far better than the stone knives his people had had to use when he was a boy. After the hunt, there would be much cutting—the women would need knives, and also needles, for sewing leggins from deerskin, and stitching buffalo robes. The white man’s blankets Buffalo Hump mostly scorned—buffalo robes were warmer. But he liked the yellow cloth that shed the rain and allowed his braves to hunt on wet days and yet be dry like ducks. The rifles he was offered were cheap, and his young braves were rough with guns: soon half would be broken, and the ammunition used up. It was not worth giving up good captives for weapons that would be broken in a month. He himself had the fine gun the white chief Caleb Cobb had given him. He was careful with the gun—no one in the tribe was allowed to touch it. Kicking Wolf was bitterly jealous that Buffalo Hump had such a gun, but he knew better than to disobey the edict. Buffalo Hump only rarely shot the gun; he had not even taken it with him on the raid, preferring to depend on his bow and his lance. But once he had shot it at an antelope, a very great distance away, and the antelope fell.

But if the old trader, Joe Nibbs, thought he could trade a few cheap weapons for the Mexican girl, he would have to think again. Buffalo Hump was willing to give him several of the Mexican children for a box full of good, sharp knives. The girl he meant to keep. It might be a cold winter—a fresh young wife to lay with would be good to have on days when the ice covered the plains.

“Now, don’t be mentioning that girl—don’t even look at her,” Joe Nibbs warned Sam Douglas. “I’ll trade for the brats first. And remember what I said. Don’t look him in the eye.”

“Why would I want to—he’s a goddamn stinking Indian,” Sam said.

Kicking Wolf at once wanted the Negro boy. When the boy was brought out of the wagon, naked, and saw Buffalo Hump, he was so frightened that he tried to run away, speeding on his little legs toward the ridge the sand spumed over. The Comanche braves followed, curious; Kicking Wolf and the others had seen few blacks. They thought the boy might be some kind of small black animal—perhaps he could be trained to gather firewood, or just be kept as a pet, like a bear cub. Just as the little black boy was about to get to the ridge, Kicking Wolf picked him up, screaming, and brought him back to the wagons.

“That’s my brat, give him back,” Joe Nibbs said. Kicking Wolf, too, was a man to be wary of—everyone on the plains knew what a good thief he was. Joe and Sam had two extra donkeys with them, besides the horses that pulled the wagons. He meant to see that the donkeys were close hobbled that night, else Kicking Wolf would come back and take them.

Kicking Wolf motioned toward two of the captives, indicating that he would trade them for the black boy. Before Joe Nibbs could even walk over and inspect the children, to be sure that they were healthy, Buffalo Hump lowered his lance and put it in front of the children. Kicking Wolf had not set foot in Mexico. Who was he to be offering the captives in trade? While they had been raiding he had lingered near the Pecos, torturing one scalp hunter to death. Of course, Kicking Wolf had made many raids and taken many children—he would have to be allowed some booty. But he could not simply trade away children that were not his. Fast Boy had taken the two children in question—if anyone had the right to dispose of them, it should be he.

Kicking Wolf was very annoyed by Buffalo Hump’s intervention. He himself, not Buffalo Hump, was the great child thief. He had taken more than fifty children from their homes, and brought them north. It was because of his skill as a child thief that the tribe had had plenty of knives the last few winters. Who was Buffalo Hump to deny him two children, when all he wanted in exchange was the small black animal?

“Even swap—even swap,” Joe Nibbs said, pointing at a Mexican boy who was about the same size as the little Negro. He didn’t like trading blacks, not on the plains. He had only given a packet of needles and a small blanket for the black boy. In the south it was profitable to trade little blacks, but not on the plains, and even less so west of the Carlsbad Mountains. The Apaches had superstitions about blacks—they usually killed them.

Buffalo Hump allowed the trade—one Mexican child for the black cub Kicking Wolf held. He had merely lowered his lance to remind Kicking Wolf that he was not the war chief. Of course,Kicking Wolf was an unusually good raider; the need to torture Kirker had distracted him; but his pride had to be considered. He could have the black cub.

Joe Nibbs produced tobacco, and the trading went quickly. Buffalo Hump kept four captives, including the girl, Rosa. The other three were Mexican boys old enough to be useful slaves. The others he traded for three boxes of knives, many needles, some mirrors, a box of fishhooks, and four rifles. Several of his younger braves considered themselves to be great marksmen. It was well enough to take a few guns for them to break.

“He don’t like guns much,” Sam said, to Joe. “He only took four. How are we going to get this girl if he won’t take guns?”