Seed of Evil

Chapter Eight

The temperature was pushing one hundred the day that Zach King and two Shoshones came down out of the mountains to Mud Hollow. They drew rein on a hill that overlooked the new mercantile. Zach took in the horses that lined the hitch rail and the bustle of activity. “What we heard is true.”

His uncle, Touch The Clouds, grunted. “If the rest is true, you can stop worrying.”

“I have to see for myself.”

The other Shoshone said, “Your father is satisfied, but you are still suspicious.”

“I’m not my father, Drags The Rope.”

The warrior smiled. “No, Stalking Coyote, you are not Grizzly Killer.”

“The whites have a saying,” Zach said. “Better safe than sorry. It’s better if these traders prove to us we can trust them than if we take it for granted and end up like before.” He kneed his dun.

The slope was broken by a new trail, courtesy of the many who had already paid the trading post a visit. Below, Crows, Nez Perce, and several Flatheads were moving about or talking.

“I do not see any Blackfeet,” Drags The Rope said, and grinned.

“If they find out about this place, they might burn it to the ground,” Zach predicted.

“It is too far south for the Blackfeet,” Touch The Clouds said.

“Then the Sioux, maybe.”

“Why do you resent these traders so much? It could be they have good hearts.”

Zach didn’t have a ready answer. His sister liked to poke fun at him by saying he was suspicious of all whites. But that wasn’t entirely true. He trusted his father, and his father’s dearest friend and mentor, Shakespeare McNair. Besides, he was part white himself.

A wagon was parked by the corral. A grizzled white man with gray hair and a floppy hat came out of what Zach took to be a small stable and stretched. He spied them and immediately hurried into the trading post.

Their arrival sparked considerable interest. Zach knew a number of the warriors and acknowledged the few who acknowledged him. More were interested in greeting Touch The Clouds. The giant Shoshone leader was famed not only among his own kind, but also among many other tribes—including their enemies—for his bravery and devotion to the welfare of his people.

Drags The Rope remarked with another of his wry grins, “I am happy to be ignored.”

They dismounted and went into the mercantile. Zach recognized the man called Toad behind the long counter from his father’s description. On the near side of the counter stood a man with blond curls. His father had called that one Geist. A small man with ratlike eyes was at the far end, a rifle on the counter next to him. That would be Petrie, Zach decided. The man with the gray hair and floppy hat and two others were leaning against the opposite wall. All of them were armed, but that was nothing new on the frontier; Zach was heavily armed himself. He walked to the counter with his Shoshone friends on either side.

“How do you do?” Toad said. “I understand that you’re Nate King’s son, Zach.” He held out his hand.

Zach shook hands, but he didn’t like doing so. The man’s hand was clammy.

“I’m Geist,” the blond man said, and he shook, too.

Zach introduced Touch The Clouds and Drags The Rope.

“I’m right pleased to make your acquaintance,” Geist said. He offered his hand, but Touch The Clouds didn’t take it. Instead, Touch The Clouds grunted.

“He’s not insulting you,” Toad said. “Shaking hands is a white custom.” To the Shoshone chief he said, “I’m pleased to meet you as well. I hope your people will feel free to visit often.”

In Shoshone, Touch The Clouds said to Zach, “You talk for us. I do not want them to know I know a little of their tongue.”

Zach nodded at the three men against the wall. “Who are they?”

“They work for me,” Toad said.

“Their names.”

Toad seemed surprised. He pointed at the one in the floppy hat. “That’s Dryfus. Next to him is Gratt. The tall one is Berber.”

“Why do you want to know their names?” Geist asked.

“It is good to know who your enemies might be,” Zach told him.

“Enemies?” Toad said. “Didn’t your father tell you? I run an honest store. Anyone comes in here, white or red, they’re treated the same.”

“If that’s true, it would make you…” Zach pretended to grope for a word. “What is it the whites say? Oh, yes. It would make you a saint.”

Toad snorted. “I’m not any such thing. I’m a businessman. But an honest businessman.”

“Is that possible?”

“Your friend St. Vrain is one. The Bent brothers, too, from what I’m told.”

“Yes,” Zach admitted. “They are.”

“I am just like them.”

Zach stared down the counter at Petrie. “That remains to be seen.”

Geist stood outside the trading post and watched the younger King and the two Shoshones ascend the trail up the hill to the west.

Petrie came out and stood watching, too. “What do you think?”

“I think Toad was pretty convincing. They acted like they almost believed him.”

“The half-breed didn’t.”

“Now that I’ve met him, I’m not so concerned.”

“You’re not?”

Geist shook his head. “He didn’t seem nearly as dangerous as everyone makes him out to be. He was curious, mostly. And testy. But that comes from being a half blood.” He thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “No, sir. I think we can get on with our plans and won’t have to worry about Zach King one bit.”

“About damn time,” Petrie said.

“But we still have to be careful. That Touch The Clouds could bring his entire tribe down on us, so you make sure the others understand. No Shoshone women. Not one. You hear me?”

“We didn’t aim to use any anyway.”

“We’ll start with the Crows,” Geist said. “They’re practically used to it. Anyone who stops in a Crow village for the night is allowed to help himself.”

“Filthy heathens.”

“Now, now. I sort of admire their honesty. But they’re awful dumb, giving it away for free.”

“What about the other tribes?” Petrie asked.

“One at a time, remember? Once we have a thriving trade with Crow females, we’ll see about adding others. From what I hear, some tribes will sell their women outright if the price is right. A couple of horses and a few blankets could get us one who brings in three to four hundred a year.”

“But will the whores be enough?”

Geist looked at him. “It never has been, has it? We’ll run the liquor on the side. And if all goes well, we’ll sell some guns to tribes we’re not supposed to.”

“Like the Blackfeet and maybe the Sioux?”

“For a start.” Geist smiled. “These wilds are everything I’d hoped they’d be. There are opportunities galore for men with no scruples.”

“That would be us,” Petrie said.

“Yes, it would,” Geist said, and they both laughed.