“Easy there, Will.” Malone gazed silently at the nervous faces of the farmers. “This how you folks want it?” No one had the guts to speak. The mountain man nodded knowingly. “All right, then. But I’m warnin’ you to keep an eye on this feller. Some things he knows how to do; other things I ain’t so sure. T’ other night his own handiwork made him sick. If you ain’t careful, it might make you sick, too. Might make your land even sicker than it already is. I just want you to know that anything happens after I leave, any problems you have, ’tain’t my fault. It’s his.”
Kincaid and Franklin exchanged a look. “We are prepared to deal with any adverse consequences, Mr. Malone, though we are confident there will be none. We are mature men, and we know what we are doing.”
“Saving yourselves fifty dollars. That’s what you’re doing,” Will Hotchkiss muttered angrily.
“It’s all right, son,” Malone told him back out on the street. “Jest remember what I told you about considerin’ that move.”
“What did you mean when you said in there that he might make the land sicker?”
Malone lifted his gaze to the sunburned hills and fields that surrounded the town like a grassy sea. “I don’t rightly know myself, Will. That Sam’s a right clever feller, but I think mebbe too clever by half. A little knowledge is a good thing, but a lot… well, you better know what you’re doin’ when you start playin’ around with the earth.” He clapped the young farmer on the shoulder, a friendly good-bye.
“You take care o’ yourself, young feller, and your good woman, too. Come later this summer, I think you’re gonna come into a foal that might act a mite peculiar, but it’ll be a good work animal for you if you can learn to tolerate its eccentricities.”
“I will bear that in mind, Mr. Malone, sir. And thank you.” Searching a pocket, he found the double eagle he’d been carrying with him since yesterday. “It’s only a part of what you’re properly owed, but…”
“Thank you, Will.” Malone accepted the twenty dollars. “Fair payment for services rendered.” He mounted the four-legged massif that was his steed. “Give artichokes a try.”
“I will, sir,” Hotchkiss shouted after him as Malone rode south out of town, even as he wondered anew what the devil an artichoke was.
Inside the general store, the stranger was holding court, promising the small-minded, shortsighted men around him bounteous crops and enormous profits. He knew a lot, he did, but less than he thought.
“You heard what the mountain man said,” Kinkaid told him.
The stranger smiled: relaxed, supremely self-assured. “Sure, I heard, and it don’t worry me none. Shouldn’t worry none of you, neither. I know what I’m doin’. When I finish my work, your farms will be more prosperous than you’ve ever imagined. Course, there might be a slight recharge fee each planting season, but nothin’ none of you won’t be able to afford. A trifle compared to what you’ll be making.
“As for any problems that come up, why, I’ll gladly take the blame for them. You think, if I didn’t have confidence in my skills, that I’d stick around? I know my responsibilities, gentlemen, and am prepared to discharge them to the fullest. So if anything untoward should occur hereabouts, let it be deemed my fault. My fault, gentlemen, or my name ain’t Sam Andreas. Sam the farmer’s friend.”
Having Words
It stands to reason that a traveler like Amos Malone would tend to find his way back to regions of especial interest, particularly those that feature the unusual and the exceptional. The Yellowstone region would certainly qualify. Furthermore, as a man of letters, Malone is someone who is fond of language. Despite his impressive size, he is actually quite a mild-mannered chap. This does not keep terrified folk from fleeing from his presence. But once you get to know him and settle down for a drink and a casual conversation and can ignore a certain lack of personal hygiene, you might find yourself privy to marvels big and small. All rendered through language, of course. Malone has nothing to prove by putting a massive fist through a wall. If confronted, he’d much rather unleash a cornucopia of interesting verbs and adjectives.
Though there are times when those can prove even more powerful than that gnarled, scarred fist.
“We would like to go up into that country. There are many animals there. Good hunting and fine places to camp.” Bending toward the fire, Grass-in-Hair cut a choice piece of dog with his knife and passed it to his guest, who accepted the morsel with a grunt of thanks.
Amos Malone hunched closer to the tepee’s central heat and chewed thoughtfully. When he’d ridden into the encampment early that morning, his imposing bulk had frightened the children, but now Grass-in-Hair’s youngest son slept peacefully on the mountain man’s legs like a rabbit nestled in a bear’s lap.
“Then why don’t y’all just do it?”
Two-Feathers-Falling sniffed and repositioned the heavy robe that lay across his shoulders. It was late, and cold despite the fire. He would rather have been lying with First Woman, but Grass-in-Hair had insisted he be present. As far as Two-Feathers-Falling was concerned, the meeting was at best a polite waste of time. Half as big as a bull buffalo the white man might be, but in this matter he could do nothing.
“Do you not think we would if we could?” he snapped.
The mountain man took no umbrage at the medicine man’s tone. “What’s stoppin’ you?”
Two-Feathers-Falling shifted uncomfortably. He was no coward, but neither was he a fool. Grass-in-Hair let the silence lie as long as was decent, then saw that he was going to have to do the explaining himself.
“Tongue Kills lives there. He has claimed all that fine land for himself and will let no one else in. Not to camp, not to hunt. He is a greedy, evil person.”
Malone swallowed the last scrap of dog, extracted his pipe from a pocket, and commenced to chew on the rose-hued stem that protruded incongruously from the otherwise impenetrable black-wire mass of his beard. “How big’s his tribe?”
“He has no tribe, no family. He is alone.”
Malone’s gaze narrowed. “Mean to say one warrior’s been starin’ down the whole Cheyenne nation?”
Two-Feathers-Falling spoke bitterly. “Tongue Kills is not a warrior. He is a medicine man. Like myself. But his medicine is too strong for me. And not just for us. No one dares to challenge him. Those who go into his country do not come out again.”
“Except for One-Who-Carries-Stone-Behind-His-Head,” said Grass-in-Hair. “He was a war chief of the Crow who announced to his people that he would kill the medicine man so they could move into his land. He did come out. But he lived only a few minutes after returning to his village.” The old chief was solemn. “We heard the story when we were trading with the Crow up on the big river last autumn. Those who told it to us are known to be truthful men.”
Malone tamped some brown dried substance into the bowl of his pipe. “What happened to him?”
“The warriors said that he was burned all over.” The chief’s tone was hushed. “As if he had been in a great fire. His pony had been burned, too. It lived two days longer. Since then the Crow, like us, have stopped trying to go into that country.” Grass-in-Hair looked wistful. “But we would still like to. I should like very much to hunt there. It is more land than any one man needs. Even one as strong in medicine as Tongue Kills.” He went silent, expectant.
The fire crackled. Along with silence, the tepee was permeated by the pungent rankness of cooked meat and unwashed men. Finally Malone said, “What makes you think I kin help you?”