Summers answered for him. "It's Lije, short for
Elijah."
"A good biblical name." Potter sprinkled
water on the boy's head. "Elijah Summers, I baptize thee in the
name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."
Potter said then to Nocansee, "Your turn, my
son. What is your name?"
His face still lowered, the boy answered, "Nocansee."
Potter didn't catch on. "Nocansee Summers, I
baptize thee in
the name of the Father, the
Son and the Holy Spirit."
He wiped his wet fingers on his pants. "Now,
son, look up, look up. It is a glad day." He put a hand on the
boy's head and tilted it up, and words died in his throat. He put a
gentle hand on Nocansee's shoulder and turned away, saying to
himself, "The Lord knows best." He shook his head as if to
get rid of doubt.
Higgins saw tears on his cheeks.
19
THE SUN was just winking up through the mists that
shimmered on the far skyline. Looking back, Summers could see the
tops of the mountains, colored pink above the darkness below. Ahead
the plains spread, showing a growing green. Beside him rode Potter
and Higgins and behind him plodded the two pack horses he led. They
rode in silence, but his ears remembered what Potter had said. "Will
I strain your hospitality if I remain for a day or two?"
He wouldn't. Not much, though Summers felt an itch in
his gizzard, an itch to be going places, known and unknown, to see
men he had partnered with, including one man in particular. What
would he do, what could he do, when he caught up with Boone Caudill?
Just pass the time of day and shake hands? That didn't fill the bill.
By rights a man ought to have to pay in some kind of measure for what
he did wrong. He ought at least to look his past in the eye.
Anyhow, here was the preacher, a big and friendly and
out-going man, no matter if God kept coming into his talk. He was
almighty curious about what a man believed, but his questions didn't
rub up a sore. They were kind-meant, and he didn't argue over the
answers.
He had wanted to go on a buffalo hunt, saying, "I
have a picture of myself, riding boldly among the fleeing beasts, bow
and arrow in hand." He gave his big grin then. "Boyish, I
know. I should put away childish things."
Summers had answered, "I reckon we all make up
pictures, and no harm in it. Wisht I could oblige you, Parson — "
"
Brother, please."
"
Wisht I could oblige you, Brother Potter, but
of buffalo horses we got none. More'n that, we don't want to run the
buffalo to hell — pardon me — out of reach. Too scarce this time
of year."
"
What do we do?"
"
Still hunt. Get a stand on a bunch and take our
pick."
Summers slowed down his saddle horse. "Seein'
you ride," he said, "it come to me you must be almighty
saddle-sore."
"
A minor affliction." Potter made a sweep
with his hand. "How can it trouble me on this, God's good
morning?"
The sun had cleared the mists. The meadowlarks were
singing. Gophers stood straight, dived for their holes, turned around
and peeked up. A curlew circled them, crying. Wild flags were coming
up. Plant and animal, Summers thought, had come alive with the soil's
warming. A soft wind blew out of the west.
He brought the party to a halt while his eyes
searched the land. Potter used this time to ask, "Where do you
place your trust, Brother Summers?"
"
There was buffalo hereabouts not long ago."
"
That ain't what he asked," Higgins put in
with a wink.
"
Oh, trust. Seems like I've had to put it in
myself mostly." He smiled at Potter. "Not sayin' it ain't
sometimes hard to do."
"
That's a sound answer insofar as it goes. Jesus
was a resolute man. We think of Him as meek, but when the occasion
arose He was resolute, and we shouldn't forget it."
Summers spoke to his horse, and they got under way.
To their left two coyotes limped along out of range. Winter skinny,
they had learned the way of men and of guns. They had learned, too,
that hunters left something behind them.
Summers said a soft "Whoa." They had
mounted a slope, and, looking down, saw buffalo grazing. They hadn't
taken alarm, though closer than Summers would have liked while on
horseback. "Time to sneak up," he said, sliding from his
horse.
"
They aren't very many," Potter said.
"
A little early yet. Week or so and you'll see
nothin' but humps. Give a few years, and it could be you'll see
nothin' but bones." He stooped and went forward, setting the
example. Behind him Potter whispered, "But the horses?"
"
Old ones. They'll stay around."
As they drew closer, Summers went to his belly. He
crawled a piece and examined his Hawken. It was ready to shoot as he
knew it would be, but a careful man always made sure. Potter had
crawled up beside him. He put out an asking hand. "Could you —
would you allow — ?"
"Sure thing," Summers answered. "See
that young cow, third from the left. Aim at her. But wait!"
He pulled the ramrod from the rifle, planted it
upright ahead of him, held it with his left hand and laid the barrel
over his extended arm. "Best shoot from a rest. This way. See?"
Potter did as told.
"
Aim behind the shoulder, some lower than you
might think the heart is. Then fire away."
Potter was a long time lining up the sights. He
stopped for a minute so's to get a tighter hold on the ramrod. Too
tight, Summers knew. It made his arm tremble.
At last he fired. The bullet went high, puffing up
dust on a ridge beyond his target.
Higgins said, "Reverend, I'm afeard you just
potted an angel."
Potter eased his body over to one side. It shook as
he said, "You can't take me in, Mr. Sheriff." Between
chuckles he went on, "It can't be murder. Angels are immortal."
"Want to try again?" Summers asked,
recharging the Hawken.
"
No. No. We came to make meat. They're moving
off."
Without using a rest, Summers lifted the rifle and
fired. The cow humped over and fell.
Potter said, "You didn't even have time to aim."
"
He just points and lets go," Higgins put
in.
"
It's an art, an act of genius."
Summers said, "Practice."
They butchered out the cow, brought up the horses and
loaded.
On the way home Potter said, "The good Lord
provides."
"
Yep," Higgins
said. "Him and good old Dick Summers."
* * *
As they drew nearer the mountains, Potter pulled up
his horse and said, "I lift up mine eyes . . .' "
Summers let him look. The highest mountain was maybe
four miles away. It was also the nearest. It rose purple in the
morning light, purple and white where snow draped it.
He had mounted Potter on Feather and would give him a
gentle horse by way of a fee when he took off. Higgins had stayed
behind, saying he would see could he catch him some trout. The
weather was fair, with enough breeze in it to tickle the branches of
scrub pine.
Potter asked, "What is the name of that noble
height, Brother Summers?"
"
They call it Elephant Ear Butte, but it's not a
butte. I never seen an elephant."
"
An unworthy name. I suggest Everlasting or,
better yet, Soul Summit. Does it not refresh your soul?"
"
I like to look at it."
Potter looked at it some more, his eyes wide and his
mouth moving, no doubt to a prayer. He cut a funny figure with his
preacher's coat and coonskin cap. He looked down, studying the
ground, and lifted his leg over the cantle and dismounted with a
grunt of satisfaction.
"
The flowers," he said, examining one. "The
lilies of the field."
"
Lilies?"
"
A figure. A manner of speaking? He plucked a
bloom. "God is inventive. Look! Such a lovely, pale purple. What
name, Brother Summers?"
"
All I ever heard was windflowers. They come way
early, first up you could say." Summers got off his horse.
"
I do believe," Potter went on, "that
it belongs to the buttercup family."
"
It's strayed a piece, then. You studied
flowers, Brother Potter?"
"
Once I thought to be a botanist. That was
before I heard the call." He dropped the flower he held and
moved a step or two. "These tiny, red-purple blossoms, something
like moss?"
"
We call all the little, short stuff carpet
flowers."
"
The Lord spreads a carpet before us."
Summers looked at him and, like him, looked at the
brave, frail first flowers, and it seemed to him his eyes had
sharpened all at once. He had seen these things before, had seen and
not seen, being concerned with bigger subjects, and now suddenly here
were color and shape that he had passed by because they were tiny. He
said, "Purty."
Potter gestured toward the mountain and then down at
the ground. "The big and the little. The mighty and the minute.
Can you doubt the power and the love of the Lord?"
"
He's sure enough powerful."
They squatted on the turf. Summers picked a dry grass
stem and nibbled on it.
"
I worship a glad Lord," Potter told him.
"We have set our faces against sin, as indeed we must, but in
doing it I fear we have lost sight of joy. joy, Brother Summers,
delight in what we are given. Often I think God wants us not only to
be good but to be radiant. Let us sing to the Lord."
"I don't know the tune."
A big, answering smile came on Potter's big face.
"Another figure of speech. Let us sing in our hearts."
Potter squatted there, singing his song, Summers
supposed. The world could stand preachers like him. He raised his
gaze.
"
You have opened your doors to me, Brother. I
was a stranger, and you took me in."
"
We're beholden to you."
"
Not at all. Not at all."
"
It's little enough we got to give for what you
done."
"
Don't think that way. We are not in the
marketplace. We give because we want to."
"
Yes." Summers picked another blade of
grass.
"
The marketplace, the commerce, the financial
intercourse of men, even perhaps the money-changers — these things
are necessary, some of them, and not without worth. For myself, I
rejoice in the open, free life. I dislike money unless it be employed
for God's purposes. If I had money, I would establish a mission, a
school, and teach the everyday arts as well as the love of Jesus. As
it is, I am a traveling missionary with enough support to supply my
few wants. What do you want that money can provide? Tell me that."
"
Just a little tobacco and a jug once in a
while. That's all Higgins wants, plus a wife."
"
He wants one, then?"
"
Needs one."
"
What's holding him back?"
"
Us, I guess. Me, maybe. We're so close, all of
us, that he won't take off and look for himself."
"
I see. Any other matter on your mind, Brother?"
"
Not much. I'll just live off the land, long as
I can, that is."
"
But you're worried?"
"
Not by you, Brother Potter. By what I see
comin'. Men and more men, and the end of what I prize."
Potter put a hand to his jaw. "Go forth and
multiply, the Bible says."
"
And crowd the land." Summers had to smile,
thinking. He turned to Potter. "You don't seem to be doin' so
smart in the multiply department?"
Potter took time to laugh before saying, "Well
taken, Brother. Maybe the Lord will forgive me." He sobered
quickly. "But I understand what you're saying. The finish of a
period. The termination of the kind of life you enjoy. I see it, too,
and try to accept. All things come to an end. All things yield before
new beginnings. Meantime, I put my faith in the Lord, who knows
best."
"
And live while we can."
"
And live while we can — for the hereafter."
20
THE WIND came, wind that charged down from the
mountains, wave on wave, and tore down the slopes and battered the
tepees, wind with the bite of last winter in it. Summers could hear
the gusts coming. First there was a sound like low thunder, or
buffalo on stampede, then came the whistling shrieks and then the
fierce blow.
The trees and the underbrush slanted, and limbs flew,
and the waters of the Teton whipped white, giving part of their spray
to torn air.
He went outside, bending low, and found ropes and ran
them around the crowns of the tepees and tied them to stout trees.
Inside, the smoke whirled, blown away from the smoke hole, and
reddened eyes leaked water. To be understood, he and Teal Eye and the
boys had to raise their voices, sounding frail against the voice of
the wind.