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.For this reason he let it be known that he had the best liquor in the camp, so that when he gave it away free, all would drink it.This he planned to do after you fought Manitou, save that the man Blankenship angered Manitou and sent him from the camp in great rage.The old father had been staying among us with his poison.He had said to me that day that he wished to poison only Manitou, and not the others.I told him that this was not our bargain, that all must die.Before Dark Antlers and I went to watch the fight, the old man and I had angry words.When I came back to the village later, I found he was gone.’‘And he met Manitou,’ said January softly, with a sudden sense of having seen someone turn right, whom he had expected to turn left.Ridiculous, he thought, considering that he and his friends sat in the open mouth of the wolf.‘Did his son go with him, then? He was at the fight—’In his mind January saw Charro Morales in his crimson jacket, making his horse caracole and shouting: ‘Free liquor tonight, if Wildman wins!’And every man in the camp had cheered.‘Boden remained in the camp.He never came to our tents while daylight was in the sky, or any man moved about awake.’‘Then—’ January frowned, trying to fit times together: the start of the rain, the time of the shots.The dry inside of the roof wrought of boughs.‘Do you know what time the old man left your camp? At sunset? Before?’‘You speak like a fool,’ snapped the warrior impatiently.‘You will die, and then you can seek out the old medicine man and ask him yourself.And I, I care not when the old man came to die, but only that my vengeance on those who killed my people be accomplished.It will be soon,’ he added quietly, ‘and I will walk through their camp as they are dying and ask them: are you happy now, that you came into our lands?’ He glanced toward the bound men, lying still as the dead in the shadows just beyond the small gem of the fire, and a bitter smile moved his lips.‘It will please me, to make a beginning tonight.’He walked away.An owl passed close over the camp, wings silent as the wings of Death; somewhere in the darkness some small thing squeaked in pain.I am a fool.January lay down again on his side.Only a fool would be troubled over that sense of a pattern broken, a detail disturbed, when the next hour would bring death in agony.Patiently, agonizingly, he began to work his wrists back and forth against the rawhide: it’s leather.It will stretch.He wondered if Shaw were doing the same.We have to warn the camp.Boden would find some other occasion to broach his kegs of very expensive liquor, to keep Iron Heart’s good will.He would need it, for the long hunt ahead through the wilderness.With those deaths, Iron Heart would be obligated to fulfill his part of the bargain.He twisted at the rawhide, until his fingers lost their feeling.On the mountainside the wolves howled, cold voices in the cold and empty darkness.I have to succeed in this.I can’t let Rose spend the next year wondering what became of me.I won’t let her raise our child alone, as Bodenschatz made his poor Katerina raise hers.What had old Klaus Bodenschatz made of it, traveling all those thousands of miles at his son’s behest? Ship and packet boat and steamboat up the brown Missouri, the dirty clamor of Independence after the quiet cobblestones of Ingolstadt? He was a scientist.Had he missed his greenhouses and his laboratory, the quiet order of his days? Had he carried a notebook, full of observations and descriptions?Had there been some friend waiting for him, whose voice he’d conjured for himself in those lonely miles? His son’s deserted wife, his grandchildren? Or had he, like Franz, honed his life to a weapon of vengeance for that lovely daughter for whom he had never ceased to wear mourning?He wished to poison only Manitou, Iron Heart had said.And when Iron Heart and Dark Antlers had gone to watch the fight, the old man had left the Omaha camp – for the first time since coming to the valley, January knew: probably for the first time since he had joined the village back on the high plains.Had crossed Horse Creek on that fallen tree and scrambled up the wooded ridge.And now he lay in a shallow grave.Beneath his cheek, January felt the distant tremor of hooves.Boden.And when I can’t give them any specific information about who might or might not know about the scheme to poison every man at the rendezvous, they’ll start by carving up Hannibal – who, like old Bodenschatz, had wanted only to do the office of friendship.He turned to look toward his friend and saw, to his astonishment, that Hannibal was gone [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]