Longarm and the Shoshoni silver

He passed her the smoke, muttering, "You sound like our General Phil Sheridan. He's always held peace treaties with warrior clans to be a waste of paper and tobacco too. So how might a Ho-speaker really make peace, to fight no more forever, like Chief Joseph agreed that time?"

She didn't reply until she burped a tiny puff back up. Then she passed the cheroot back to him, saying, "Heinmot Tooyalket, the one you CdX\ Joseph, was not Ho and never made any peace with anybody of his own free will. He fought you until he had been beaten, beaten, and had no more puha.^'

Longarm frowned uncertainly up at the dark ceiling as he mused, half to himself, "Pocatello and his young men have been mauled a time or two, but they've never been whipped to a frazzle and found themselves pinned down so many miles from home. So let me put it another way. How might a Ho-speaking chief who still leads a heap of young men, in his own country, make a lasting peace with that commission I've been sent to back, if only I ever meet up with the sons of bitches?"

She answered simply, "I don't know. My mother's people don't make peace with anyone for long unless they really like them. A Ho goes by what he or she feels inside, not by what has been said with tobacco smoke or ink."

"Then those Shoshoni acting odd over to the foothills could be feeling something mean inside?"

"Of course. That's why I'm going to fuck you all night and keep them from killing you. Get rid of that silly cheroot and let me show you how / feel inside."

116

Chapter 10

Come morning, the Overland manager had rustled up some local farm kids to replace his missing kitchen and dining-room staff. He said he didn't care if old Pete Robbins ever showed up again or not. He was sore as hell at the moonshining bastard for leaving them in such a fix and he'd said as much, in writing, to his district supervisor up Montana way.

That Montana-bound coach had already left, along with his letter, by the time Longarm and Tupombi heard about it at breakfast. The two of them had risen sort of late that morning, and Shoshoni Sam seemed a mite annoyed about that when he finally caught up with them at their comer table, as they inhaled bacon, eggs, and plenty of the strong black coffee the new cooks had brewed out in the kitchen despite the Book of Mormon.

Shoshoni Sam said he and Madame Marvella had been up for hours, and that those riders had reported back after finding neither the Scotch folk nor any Indians who might have been after them, so when were they fixing to ride out after Sacajawea some more?

Tupombi glanced shyly at Longarm, who said, "Don't look at me. I can't ride on before I've had a few words with the local coroner, and even then, I'd best wait here for those other federal men."

Tupombi said it sounded safer if they all waited there for that far bigger government party. She sounded sincere, even to Longarm, as she explained, 'They should have broken camp to the south by now, if they haven't gotten into a fight with anyone. If they have gotten into a fight, and haven't been able to break out, I don't think I want to leave town with only two or even three people."

Shoshoni Sam sighed and said, "You sound as bad as Madame Marvella. She's been pestering me to turn back ever since she heard about them smoke signals."

Longarm meant it when he quietly suggested, "You could do way worse than listen to the lady, Sam. The road ahead keeps getting rougher, with or without Indian trouble. I should have told you sooner that Fort Hall's just a dinky agency with few facilities for travelers."

"We can't turn back before we find out whether Sacajawea is still alive and willing to join up with us!" the older man shouted.

Longarm shrugged and said, "Seems to me she'd have joined up with someone, or at least written a book by now, if she felt so inclined and that ain't her buried up to Fort Union. I mean, all sorts of folks who've been west of the Big Muddy more than a week have written a heap of books and given heaps of lectures, dressed in snow-white beaded buckskins, whilst the one and original Sacajawea did see way more of the West, in its Shining Times, and they say she learned how to read and write, in English, French, and Lord knows how many Indian dialects."

He reached for an after-breakfast smoke, the new Mormon help being accommodating, as he elaborated. "We're talking about a woman who had access to President Thomas Jefferson in the flesh, and we know he was mighty interested in Indicui matters. So how come Sacajawea was never asked to jot down just a simple dictionary of the half-dozen Indian lingos Lewis and Clark agreed she was fluent in?"

Shoshoni Sam said he didn't know. Tupombi quietly suggested, "Maybe she didn't want to. It's bad puha to even

repeat some words in my mother's language. It couldn't be a good idea to freeze them forever, always, on paper."