Читать книгу Shaman's Dream: The Modoc War - Lu Boone's Mattson - Страница 22

This was the Meacham he had heard of. If Keintpoos couldn’t understand all the words, he could see how the man moved his hands, pick out the names. Toby had told him, and so had others who had been to the reservation to visit or gamble. This was the one who took away Lindsay Applegate -- a man you could at least talk to because he knew your way almost as you did. This was the one who came from the Boston tyees, you could tell by his dress. Like the men in the streets of Yreka sometimes, who had come by the stage from far places. Black pants, and a white shirt that ended in the pointed neckband. And a black ribbon tied there, again like the strangers. Not the strong clothing of the trail. Keintpoos felt at the torn kerchief around his own neck.

He felt, too, a triumph and an anger. Keintpoos had sent word that he would not go again to any Linkville or to the agency. This Salem tyee had heard him and had made no second demand. Instead, he had done as Keintpoos had said. He had come a distance, proof enough he understood Keintpoos was not to be called like some dog. Here was a cause for satisfaction. But also he came against Keintpoos’ wishes. Not here, to Lost River, but into the heart of his house, unbidden. This Meacham was a brave man, but foolish to push in here as if the place were his. Because he and the Boston tyees had said this and this was Klamath reservation land, because the cowardly Klamaths agreed to be on it, because Old Schonchin stayed with his band of Modocs along the Sprague River, those were not reasons to think that Keintpoos’ own home was lessened. He would be the one to decide who could come down his ladder.

Not one of his men made a move. After a glance, Euchoaks turned back to the fire as if this person were nothing. The shaman motioned with his head for Keintpoos to join him. But the man in black stood as he had before, his hand thrust out, unmoving.

“I have come to talk with you. I don’t know if you understand me.” He repeated: “I am Superintendent Meacham.”

Keintpoos brushed past him. He ignored the hand and returned to the fire, gave this ‘Superintendent’ a chance to leave. But the man didn’t know shame, and he followed, turning the gesture into a quest for heat. He put both hands before him over the flames, as if Keintpoos had invited him.