Читать книгу Shaman's Dream: The Modoc War - Lu Boone's Mattson - Страница 74

That late June morning, they had ridden right into the Yainax settlement, the bunch of Lost River and Hot Creek Indians, not dodging Ivan as they usually did when they came over to visit their friends and the remnants of their families. In fact, they had come looking for him. As he watched, they had lashed their ponies to the fence and headed stolidly up to the administration office. When some of the Snakes had tried to come along with them, they had left a couple of men behind to block the door, telling the Snakes this was none of their business, that they came to have a Big Talk with Ivan.

He hadn’t expected them, and their sudden appeal to him had come as a surprise. Ivan couldn’t help wondering what hidden respect for the order he represented still lay in their renegade breasts. Before they would tell him anything, they insisted he say to them that he knew they were here on their own hook. Jack hadn’t sent them. Did he understand that? They stood there waiting for his response.

“If you tell me that, I believe you,” Ivan said, wondering, knowing more was coming.

They still wouldn’t go on, apparently not yet sure that they could trust his words, and so not saying what it was they wanted next. Some sign, he supposed, and so, to get them past this stuck place, he offered Black Jim his hand. The Indian reached his out and grasped it, and then they all did: Shacknasty Jim, Boston Charley, Scarfaced Charley, Ellen’s Man. Their eager hands groped for his, and then they seemed satisfied.

“You not go down against Captain Jack for this,” Scarface said. “You not say he done a wrong thing. Not put the army on him. You won’t care about him if he stay down by Lost River.”

So that was what they had come to see him about! They must have seen his amazement, for they all joined in offering words, explaining, some in trade jargon, some in English, most in Modoc. In truth, he was not able to tell them that he understood what they were saying, and he realized, as they tried to persuade him, that they mistook his surprise at their coming here at all for surprise at what they requested.

Of course he was not surprised at the murder. To be a shaman was to be a marked man. Sooner or later, some ‘patient’ was bound to die in spite of the best hocus-pocus of the ‘doctor’ -- maybe even because of it. Ivan knew how the rule went: someone would have to rise up then to stop the shaman, before he could work his poison again in the same family. Sometimes they would stop him by killing one of his children, but sooner or later it would be his turn. This had not been the first shaman death Ivan had known of. No, the murder was not the surprise. This outright appeal to his authority by Jack’s Modocs was. He had not realized he had any power remaining over them.

“Compotwas Doctor put poison in the girl. We know it. We all saw it. You believe us. Ghost Spirit showed it. It was the kiuks put her down, let her die right while we looked.”

“He had it in for Jack!”

“Keintpoos just did what he was supposed to.”

“You shouldn’t put the soldiers or anyone on him.”

“Compotwas Doctor just got what was coming. That’s all.”

“But Jack didn’t tell us to come here to say this to you. We did it because it’s a right thing since we ain’t on your reservation no more. We’re just where we belong, on old Modoc land. And he just did an old Modoc thing -- like what he’s suppose to.”

“He wasn’t even around telling us to come here and see you.”

After he had reassured them by shaking hands all around again, they had gone away relieved. What was that, he wondered, as ususal left shaking his head that he still didn’t understand Indians. But then he got thinking: no matter where the murder happened, wasn’t Compotwas Doctor his responsibility, his Indian, if you looked at it that he, Ivan Applegate, was some sort of head of Yainax? It wouldn’t be out of line or overstepping his place to try to straighten this out. Half the people he knew had been insisting someone do it.

And if it turned out right and the chips fell right, he would have the Modocs back where they belonged again. Maybe this was the chance he had wanted. He didn’t have to wait for instructions. It was time now, he reasoned, for the welcoming visit he should pay to the new man, this Brevet Major Jackson, at Fort Klamath.