Every Hidden Thing (26 page)

“I think that would be a good idea,” I said, and was quiet then.

But my mind roiled with all that I hadn't said. I thought of being poor; I thought of us fighting all the time; I thought of me being trapped in a room, while my husband went out and did the things I wanted to do. I thought of Professor Bolt, drinking and cavorting with a slattern on a train; I thought of Samuel's white knuckles on the geological hammer.

I thought about how I wasn't sure I wanted a baby with Samuel now—or ever.

That night I dreamed of the Black Beauty again. I dreamed of her silver-black bones laid out like jewels in a velvet case. Each bone was free of stone, all its surfaces polished smooth, gleaming, their identities so obvious that no labels were necessary. I could easily build her back together. There would be no trick pieces.

There would be not a single piece missing.

D
RAGGED BACKWARD, MY HEAD JOLTING
against the ground, I cried out as I woke. Canvas smacked my face as I tried to twist round to see who was hauling me out of my tent, still inside my bedroll. Against the colorless dawn sky, an Indian loomed. He gripped my ankles, black and white feathers jutting from his braided hair.

A second Sioux man pulled out Samuel, kicking and swearing, his eyes wide with confusion and rage—and then fear. He saw me and tried to scramble closer, but the Indian grabbed him and threw him down so his head hit the ground hard. He went still.

I cried out his name, and after a few seconds he shifted and blinked. His eyes focused on me briefly and then darted back to the two Indians towering over us. The one with the most feathers held a four-foot club. At one end was a horsehair tassel; at
the other was an oblong stone the size of an ostrich egg.

There were more Indians in the camp. Hollering, Withrow and Browne and Thomas were yanked from their tents. Hobart was already crumpled on the ground by the smoldering fire. Blood matted his hair. They must've snuck up on him and knocked him out. An Indian was coming out of an empty tent, collecting rifles. Another Indian hopped up into the wagon. Things flew out the back into the dirt. All of them had knives in beaded sheaths strapped to their breechclouts. They were bare chested, barefoot, and some wore buckskin on their legs.

“Thomas!” shouted Withrow from the ground. “Talk to them! Tell them we're not army!”

Standing slowly, hands out, Thomas spoke. The Sioux seemed startled at first. They turned and listened, but then it seemed to make them angry. They shouted at him, and he tried to keep talking, but they yelled over him. I didn't understand. Didn't they believe him? That we were just prospectors, that we had nothing to do with the army? Or maybe all they cared about was that we were
Wasicu
—and one of their own was a traitor for helping us. My eyes kept getting pulled back to the Indian's club, imaging the long arc of its swing, the impact of stone against skull.

Two Indians strode closer to Thomas, chests thrown out, faces belligerent. They plucked contemptuously at his cotton shirt. They yanked his short hair and slapped his face, then pushed him to the ground. One pulled a knife from his sheath and stepped on Thomas's chest, bending lower.

Thomas lashed out with his fists. The other Indian struck him hard, pinned his arms with his knees, and took hold of his hair.

“Stop!” I shouted. Everyone was shouting now, two languages battering against each another.

“Please! Don't! Wait!”

Samuel started to rise, and the Indian with the club glared at him. His fist tightened on his stone-headed club, lifted it high.

I heard another shout, rising above the others. The Indian with his knife at Thomas's scalp hesitated and pulled back. Everyone looked over as the Sioux boy walked into camp. It was the same boy who we'd beaten and tied up, the one Samuel had set free.

The Sioux boy's eyes flicked over me and rested on Samuel, then went to the Indian with the stone club. The boy pointed at Samuel while he spoke. Harshly the bigger man replied. Their words sounded like an argument to me, and I was amazed the boy could talk to his elder with such force.

Then, from the corner of my eye I saw Hobart shift near the campfire. I couldn't see his face, but I saw his hand twitch and reach for something under his clothing. I caught a glimpse of gunmetal. If Hobart started shooting now, we were all doomed. I couldn't catch his eye.

The Sioux boy and the older man were still talking, and the longer they talked, the more worried I got. Suddenly the boy looked at Sam and shouted in Sioux.

“What did he say?” Desperately he looked over at Thomas.

“He said, ‘Go home.' He said there are many more coming,
and they won't know you. They won't know how you set him free.”

I glanced at Hobart; he still had the gun in his hand, concealed in the folds of his clothing.

“We'll go!” I cried out. “Tell him, Thomas.”

Why wouldn't Hobart look my way, the fool? I needed to shake my head at him, tell him not to shoot.

Fiercely the boy spoke again, and Thomas translated.

“He says you're on Indian land. There's a war coming. He says we'll be killed if we stay.”

“Thank you,” Samuel said. “Tell him thank you, Thomas.”

With relief, I watched as Hobart hid his pistol in the folds of his clothing.

The Indians started to leave the camp. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't stop myself. The boy had just spared our lives, and I didn't want to anger him, but he was right here, right here at the spot he'd described to Samuel.

“Thomas, ask him where exactly his father found the tooth.”

Samuel looked at me in surprise, and then at Withrow, who jerked his head at Thomas and said, “Go ahead. Do it; ask him!”

The boy was already walking away when Thomas spoke.

He stopped; the man with the club stopped too. They looked at each other, then turned back. It was impossible to know what they were thinking, but I worried I'd made a terrible mistake.

The boy ignored me and spoke to Samuel.

“He says he doesn't know why you look,” Thomas translated. “There's no power in those bones without a vision.”

Samuel nodded. “Yes. But do you know where?”

It was a wild hope I had that he would just point.
There,
he would say.

The Indian boy scoffed. He said he didn't know. Not even his father knew exactly where he'd fought his battle. It was in darkness, but he said the Sisters were the first thing he saw when he saw the sky again.

He turned and walked after the others. They'd taken all the rifles but left our horses.

Samuel rushed to me and held me tight. Everyone stayed on the ground for a bit, bewildered, like we'd just survived a tornado.

I touched Sam's temple, and he winced. There was a bit of blood. “Just another bruise for your collection,” I said.

“Still got my pistol at least,” said Hobart, looking at it happily. I wasn't too happy thinking our one gun was owned by the craziest-looking of Withrow's men.

I wrapped a blanket over my nightdress and stood, my legs shaky. I started up the slope of the closest butte.

“Where you going?” Samuel asked.

“I want to see them.”

He came with me. From the first ledge I caught sight of the Indians down in a defile, now astride their horses. They must've left them down there so they could creep up and surprise us. Deeper in the distance, beyond a range of low hills I glimpsed a long convoy of Sioux. Some of the horses trailed pole sledges carrying bundled belongings. Dogs ran excitedly
among the ponies. They were all heading north.

“They're going to die.”

I turned to see Thomas beside me, watching them.

“There are too many of you,” he said. By “you” I knew he meant
Wasicu
.

“They should know when they're beat,” Hobart said, climbing up. It seemed everyone was coming up the slope now.

“We'd fight too,” Samuel said, “if it were the other way round. Wouldn't we? You wake up one day and there's people you don't know, who look different and dress differently, coming through the streets and building on land that doesn't belong to them. And maybe they'd tell us they just wanted our houses, and they'd pay us something, but it wasn't really a fair trade. And they kept taking more. We'd probably try to kill them before more came. Maybe if we killed enough, they'd change their minds and leave us alone.”

His eyes found mine, and I gave him a small, private smile. I didn't think there was one man in a thousand who would say something like this, especially after what had just happened to us.

“Sure we'd fight,” Browne said. “And maybe one day it'll happen to us. But right now, seems to me there's plenty of land, and at least we're doing something with it. Railroads and farms and cities. The Indians can fit in if they want. Like Thomas here.”

Thomas didn't say anything. I don't think he wanted to talk anymore. He started down the slope. We all headed back to the camp and dressed and started tidying up. The Sioux had taken some foodstuffs from the wagons, but not too much.

“So how long we gonna stick around?” Browne asked as he cooked up our breakfast.

Hobart's face twisted. “We're packing up now, ain't we?”

“I think we should finish up first,” Samuel said.

“Finish up?” said Hobart. “You crazy? The only reason we're not dead is you knew that kid. He won't be around next time.”

“We're in the right place,” Samuel said to Withrow. “I thought Cartland might've found it, with those black bones. But it's here somewhere. The boy said it was
here
.”

Withrow shook his head. “That's not what I heard. He said even his
father
didn't know. He was on a vision quest—hallucinating on some kind of smoke maybe. All he said was the buttes were the first thing his father
remembered
. He might've been staggering around a long time before then.”

This was a very good point, and not one I liked very much. If we left now, empty-handed, how likely was it we'd get another chance? I knew how much Sam had counted on us making this find, claiming the fee, using that money to give us a start.

I waited for him to ask my opinion, and when he didn't, I said:

“I think we should go back. It's not safe. We can come out again next season.”

“Thank you very much, little lady,” said Hobart. “A voice of reason.”

I hated being patronized, but what I hated even more was that Samuel wasn't even looking at me. Had he even heard me? He was turned to Withrow and said, “Three more days. Just to finish around the last butte.”

“We've got
one
gun!” Browne exclaimed.

Withrow looked at his men, then back to Samuel. I didn't know if he was as desperate as Sam, or just feeling sorry for him, but he nodded. “Three days.”

When Browne and Hobart started to protest, he held up his hand. “And that's it. I'm not planning on being the only white man out here when things get ugly. And I hope your fathers have the sense to get out too.”

“Yours will be fine,” Thomas told me. “He's got a lot of soldiers with him. The Sioux won't risk a battle.”

“Mine, though,” Samuel said, and I could tell it had just occurred to him. “It's just him with Ned and Hitch.”

“Lieutenant Frye will warn him, won't he?” I said.

“If he knows what's going on, but he might not. Anyway, they've moved farther away. They can't protect them. I should go. Just to make sure they know what's going on. I can get there and back by late afternoon.”

Withrow sighed. “Okay. Thomas can go with you.”

“I know the way,” Samuel said.

“Thomas'll go,” Withrow insisted. “We need you back alive so you can find us this
rex
.”

Samuel went to our tent to collect his things, and I followed him inside and closed the flap.

“You didn't even ask what I thought,” I said.

“About giving up? I thought I knew. But I guess I was wrong. I thought you wanted the
rex
as much as me.”

“You know I do, but—”

“If we don't get it now, we're sunk. Withrow probably wouldn't even hire us again. Maybe your father would find it first, or maybe there'll be a war and we won't be able to get near this place again. We need it now!”

“We could've been killed today. And now you're leaving me?”

“How else can I warn my father? You'll be fine. I trust Withrow. He'll keep you safe.”

“We're in Indian territory! Even with you here I'm not
safe
!”

“Then go to your father!” he snapped. “Is that what you want?”

I stared at him, stunned by his sudden anger.

“Is that what
you
want?” I retorted. “Because it doesn't feel like you want me here at all. We're not
partners
. You criticize and ignore me. You don't even seem to want me much in bed.”

“You're the one who doesn't want to get pregnant!”

“And I have very good reasons for that! I didn't marry you to become your servant. I married you so I could go to university and work with you in the field!”

“Is that the only reason?”

Before I could halt myself, I said, “It was a
very
big part of it!”

He nodded. His lips compressed, and I could see his tongue working behind them, like he was trying to form words, or bite them back.

“Then it seems to me,” he said, each word cold and clipped, “that you've got a pretty easy decision. After all, now your father's promised to send you to university.
He's
got a big find. And sounds like he can take care of you much better than me.”

I said, “Maybe we both made a mistake.”

He said nothing.

“We were rash.”

Still he said nothing. I felt like I was floating free of my body, like I was witnessing some terrible accident.

I said, “It wasn't a clearheaded decision.”

I wanted him to say something, to prove me wrong. Instead he reached inside his pocket and took out the two halves of our marriage certificate. He handed them to me.

“Your father was right,” he said. “There doesn't have to be any fossil record of our marriage. You can burn it. Just walk away, if that's what you want.”

Then he left the tent to go find his father.