Trouble Enough
The following week disturbed me in more ways than one. Kopakashe found her way about the piece of property and every night, she had something for us to eat, a rabbit she'd skinned and dressed or a few game birds; I'd see their feathers scattered by the wind in the front yard, caught on bushes or long grasses. The chickens were safe from the chopping block for a while longer. I had shown Kopakashe how to open the cans on the shelves and she realized the picture on the label was of the contents. At least with Hop Sing's jars, she could see the contents and once opened, decided she didn't like pickles. But she did like a hunk of his sourdough bread with apple butter, my favorite as well. Unfortunately, Kopakashe didn't know how to make anything other than flat bread on the stove's cast iron plates. I had given up trying to show her how to bake in the oven but she did pick up how to boil water for greens and cook something such as the acorns in a fry pan.
I wondered how she passed the time while I was gone. I noticed that first night as I put my horse away and fed the rest of them, that hers had been ridden but didn't know if I should bother questioning her. After all, she wasn't a prisoner but I doubted she'd understand my question anyway and even if she had, she would have to find a way to answer and for all my trouble, would probably only give me a puzzled look. And was it really my business? But I had to find someplace else for us to live; the line shack wouldn't serve for much longer; it wasn't safe. And that evening, while I was outside washing, I had a feeling I was being watched; the hair on my neck prickled and rose like the hackles of a dog but I saw no one and heard nothing. Nevertheless, I hurried. If I was going to be shot, I didn't want to be a bare-assed corpse.
As for spring roundup, I took on a group of six men, two of them having been the Bonners' hires, and we beat the bushes for lost steers or calves, taking note if we found any steer skulls, bones or carrion. Yet no matter how involved I was in the round up or branding, as soon as things eased up, even for a passing breath, my mind went to Kopakashe. I wondered how she was and what she was doing. And it was on the third day while setting out for high country that I heard Rand, a short, husky redhead, one of the two men the Bonners had sent over, remark to his friend Sutter as they saddled up, "He's a squawman." My whole being tensed. Among all the noise, the joking and laughing between the other hands, the slap of saddle leather and huffing of the horses, I suppose I wasn't intended to overhear. Or maybe I was.
"How you know that?" Sutter asked, his voice low. Amazing how the breeze picks up voices and carries them to a waiting ear.
Rand chuckled and said, "Heard it from Grandon while playin' cards last night. Said he married a little Injun maid. Shoshone, I think. That's why we were told to steer clear of the easterly line shack; that's where he's keepin' her just for him and him alone. Hear she's a little beauty, that is far as them Injuns can be."
Sutter snickered. "Don't blame his family none for tossing 'em out and makin' 'em live elsewhere. Thought he had that stink about him, you know, like them trappers what stick it to them squaws; can't wash it off no matter how much they scub, even if they wear their peter down to a nub." They both laughed together and I could feel their eyes on my back. I fought the urge to beat the hell out of them. My mind kept telling me that if I did, it would only stir more ill-will and that wouldn't help matters any, but a tightness rose in my throat.
I turned and they hurried to finish saddling up. I led my horse over and stood in front of them, smelling stale sweat and piss.
"You have something to say to me?" I asked. Silence fell; the other hands stopped what they were doing to listen. I had no doubts there was bunkhouse gossip about me and Kopakashe but I hadn't heard it. This time I had.
"What?" Sutter asked. He suddenly became nervous, looking from me to Rand.
"I asked if you had anything you wanted to say to me, wanted to share any opinions about Indians."
"No, no," Sutter said, tightening the saddle's cinch. "I ain't got nothin' to say, nothin' at all."
"What about you, Rand?" I waited, my hands clenching. I wanted him to provoke me by taking a swing. I stepped even closer and Rand backed up a step. He looked at Sutter, I guess to see if the man would support him should he hazard a punch, but Sutter averted his eyes.
"No, Mr. Cartwright," Rand said, "I don't have nothin' to say."
"Good, because if I hear anything from either of you on the matter of Indians other than how much you admire them, I'm going to personally ram a fence post up your asses and plant you both in the ground like scarecrows. Understand?"
Rand seemed to examine the reins he held. I guess he was considering and then muttered, "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Cartwright. I understand."
"Good." I turned to the rest of the men and said, "Mount up. We have a busy day ahead." It was a somber group that rode out.
I gave the orders for the day and picked up the rear myself. I wanted to keep an eye on Rand and Sutter for as long as I could; this was the last day for rousting out any more steers and the men would work either separately or with another hand; after today, any missing stock would be counted as losses.
That day passed without further incident and I treated Rand and Sutter no different from any other working waddie and at lunch when we all gathered, they kept to themselves, rolling their own smokes and talking quietly. Then we all settled back with our hats pulled down over our eyes to catch a siesta before we herded our found steers down to the lower pasture. I could hear a few snores from the others but my nerves strained to hear if there was any more filthy talk about squaws or squawmen, but heard none. I tried to push the whole thing from my mind as thinking of it only made me angry, wasted my energy, but I couldn't. I pushed up my hat and looked about. Sutter and Rand were snoring away, their mouths hanging open. I pulled my pack of rolling papers out of my shirt pocket, the small bag of tobacco from my back pocket and rolled myself a cigarette. As I smoked, I wondered what Rand would do if I dropped the butt of my lit cigarette down his throat or crushed it out on his tongue. I smiled to myself but simply flicked the stub into the dirt and then stood, waking everyone else, giving orders to mount up. Everyone did. Rand didn't know what a lucky bastard he was.
In the early evening, as I approached the line shack, I quickly pulled up my horse. Kopakshe was out front with two braves. They had heard me coming before I saw them so they were prepared while I was caught completely off-guard. My hand went to my gun but Kopakashe said something to them and although still wary, they relaxed a bit. I dismounted and Kopakashe hurried to me while they stood by the front door. I noticed a gutted deer lacking one haunch tied over one of their horses. Obviously, they had been hunting and come across the line shack or come across Kopakashe out on the property. I suddenly remembered that her horse had been ridden. Suspicions began to race through my mind. Had she been riding about with them during the day, hunting with them or helping them? The rabbit we'd eaten the other night, had Kopakashe caught it as I assumed, or had one of them presented it to her as a bargaining chip showing they could provide for her far better than her absent husband? Were they trying to lure her away? After all, they were men and all of us have that hunger for a woman's body. They could smell her hair and skin as well as I and admire the way her small breasts shifted inside her buckskin sheath, the roundness of her hips below.
The braves looked to be Bannock, tanned and lean. One was shirtless, only wearing leggings with fringe down the sides and the other wore a buckskin shirt with his leggings. The shirtless brave loosely held a rifle but was still able, should he need, to quickly raise it and blow a hole through me. They watched while Kopakashe touched my arm and then spoke to them. I understood the word, "husband," but not much more of what passed between the three of them but the Bannocks kept looking at me and then back to her while she talked. Then they said something, went to their horses, mounted and rode off, scattering the chickens. I yearned to be able to simply ask Kopakashe, "What did they want?" but couldn't. Were they going to come back for our horses, or for her, I wanted to know? Did one of them want her for his own? And had they been watching her? Watching us? Perhaps they were the eyes in the darkness I had sensed.
Fear and anger and rampant jealousy sat like a lump in my chest and going into the shack, I stopped cold. On the kitchen counter that ran one end of the room, the deer haunch missing from the Indians' catch, sat skinned and waiting to be roasted. "What's this?" I asked, but what I really meant was what the hell are you doing accepting this from them? And how did you pay them for it? It was a sudden blessing Kopakashe and I couldn't speak the same language or God only knows what irreparable damage I might have done. I had managed to suppress my violent urge to slam Rand and Sutter with my fists, but I was still angry and now I was even angrier after seeing the Bannocks with my wife.
Kopakashe went over to the haunch and talked rapidly as if in simple conversation. I wondered if Shoshone lied, if she would deceive me. I think she sensed I was upset but that's all she knew. And did Kopakashe understand anything about wounded male pride? I know that Indians have a strong sense of honor, a definite idea of bravery but where did I fit in? Kopakashe pushed the pump handle and rinsed off the deer meat. Then she reached into a drawer for a long knife and began to slice the meat off the bone; it cooked faster that way. I watched while she continued, her back to me. I wanted to grab the meat by the long bone and toss it out the door. But I couldn't. For one, it would be stupid, a total waste of fresh venison, and for another, I would be taking the food from her mouth. So, I swallowed my anger and went to take care of my horse.
That night, after I'd cooled down enough to actually swallow not just my pride but roast deer and some boiled dandelion greens, I crafted a bolt for the door with metal scraps I found in the cow shed. There were also simple tools for shoeing horses, nails and clippers and such, so I used what I needed. The rough-hewn bolt worked and I showed it to Kopakashe, pulling on the door latch to show once it was thrown, the door couldn't be opened; she didn't seem impressed and even I could see that although it might prevent a person from easily entering the front way, there were the windows that could be smashed with a rifle-butt and a heavy shoulder put to the door would splinter it. But it led me to feel I had done something to protect her. And she touched my cheek, saying, "Aisem ma'i tsa'i." I felt like a child being placated but along with that, I realized just how much I yearned for her simple touch. I had no idea anymore of who I was other than just another man who was brought to his knees by a beautiful woman.
I'd never before lived with a woman for any length of time, never had access to one for more than a week and that being with a whore in Abilene who could be bought for a few dollars a day. This was different. I had responsibility as far as Kopakashe was concerned and she had some for me. Her burden was to feed me and wash my clothes and assuage my hunger for a woman. And she had changed in the past weeks. No longer was she the wide-eyed innocent who clung to me and looked at me with the eyes of a hunted animal when strangers were near.
No, Kopakashe had changed into a strong woman who seemed able to fend for herself. And I wondered the night as we lay together if she loved me. Had she ever considered sleeping in the upper bunk, away from me and my demanding mouth and intense hunger for her body? Fortunately for me, she always responded in kind, her desire obvious and her eyes expressing what I hoped was love; that emotion can't be shammed. And what was I to do but be thankful for her and hope I was the only man she took in her arms. But the Bannock warriors at our door made me wonder about my bride. And perhaps, my ability to fool myself.