Adams, Robert - Castaways 6 by Of Beginnings & Endings (v1.0) (html)

Author:Of Beginnings & Endings (v1.0) (html) [Beginnings, Of & Endings (v1.0) (html)]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

——————CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

"Way it looks," said Greg Sinclair to Arsen and the other whites assembled that night in one of the commodious chambers of Arsen and Ilsa in the fort, "this here brave, this Snake-and-a-half, was sent up here for to see if it was really true we'd kicked some shit out the damn spies before they got around to sending any more their braves to join up with us."

"Well, thank God," breathed Arsen feelingly. "This is the fucking beginning we've been waiting and hoping and praying for. Did the Micco ever figure out where he came from?"

"No." Greg shook his head. "He allowed as how he'd heard of the tribe, long time back, but he didn't know exae'ly where their stomping grounds was. We was all stumped till old Swift Otter come by and he knew right off. These Sis-ip-aw-haws are from east and north of us, somewhere between the next two rivers north of this one, but closer to the coast, see. Seems like it never was too many of them, just one of these small tribes, and the damn fucking spies have been hunting them for years, like everybody else, too, around here, so it's fewer now than there might've been.

"Not even Snake-and-a-half is a Sis-ip-aw-haw, his own self; he's one of the last of a costal tribe from down near the mouth of thishere river was wiped out by the spies, years back. It's just the Sis-ip-aw-haws took him in, adopted him into the tribe, and he married one their squaws."

"What does the Micco think of him?" asked Ilsa Peters.

Greg replied, "Well, he told me that for a warrior so young—I'd say Snake-and-a-half is maybe thirty, thirty-five—he is very wise, resourceful, moves gracefully, looks strong, is clearly an accomplished killer of men. He later said that he wished he'd gotten the chance to take him into his tribe first."

Arsen nodded and smacked a fist into his palm. "Well, I'll take that sharp old man's word on it, then. Simon, issue him a full kit—rifle, pistol, powder, everything—then you and Swift Otter teach him the ropes on them. When he leaves here for home, we'll give him another set for his chief or sachem or whatever, too. But I say we should keep him around here for a while, get to know him."

"Ahhh, there's a problem about him, Arsen," said Greg. "He can't really talk to nobody don't have a helmet."

"Now wait a fucking minute," yelped Arsen. "I thought you just now got through telling us Swift Otter knew his tribe and all?"

"Oh, yeah," said Greg, "he knows his tribe, knows where they live and all, but he still can't talk to him, and neither can the Micco or any the others, 'cept in sign language is all. The way the Micco explained it to me, the Sis-ip-aw-haws speak a language as different from Shawnee as Shawnee is from Creek or either one is from spic. The Micco, he says all the Injuns speaks different languages, too,

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