Alexandre's belt was made out of red wool. He wore a soft moose hide vest so
covered with beadwork and quillwork that hardly an inch of leather showed.
Instead of the woolen pants most of the Metis wore; Alexandre wore traditional
clothing; long leggings to ward off the waist high prairie weeds and scrub
brush and a soft breechcloth draped temptingly over his manhood. He moved his
leg up, sitting easily on his horse as if on some comfortable chair. He showed
a long flash of muscled thigh and his amused look said that he knew exactly
what he was doing.
Alexandre smiled at him, leaning forward with interest in the situation he
had set up.
The man in the soft woolen suit climbed down and said, "Reynard Guillaume
and this is my guide, Alexandre."
"Long temps" Gautier said.
"Oui. Boozhoo" replied Alexandre, a smile edging on his baby doll mouth.
"Gabriel expected you back, Alexandre." Gautier said.
"Eh, bien, Dumont is a man. He is a Metis. He knows how it is." The young
man replied with a shrug.
Gautier had taken the measure of the man who arrived with the beautiful
Alexandre. This was a soft man, a city man. He sat his horse well, but not like
a Metis. What did he want with Gautier or his men? A few like him had ridden
with Riel, but they were not the kind to ride with Gautier's band. Gautier's
men were genuine Metis, rough men who had only the barest ties to the
French-speaking farmers. Gautier's men had close ties to their Anishinaabe and
Cree relatives where many of the more settled Metis had a quarter or less
Indian blood.
Alexandre said, "Reynard's a smart man. He knows about things. He knows
about some trouble coming our way.
Gautier laughed and said, "If trouble doesn't come the way of a Metis, he
goes looking, n'est-ce pas?"
Alexandre laughed with Gautier and it stirred something wild in Gautier's
blood. He remembered... he remembered the mountains and the cry of the hawk. He
remembered the forest and the wolves howling to each other, so lonely until
their voices merged in a song as they found one another. He'd given it up, put
away his sins and his fancies to do as he should, but he couldn't put Alexandre
out of his heart.
Alexandre said, "I hear your wife died. And the boy? How's my boy?"
Gautier said, "Francois is fine. I sent him to my brother on the Red River.
This war is no place for a child."
Alexandre said, "That's good. A man like you ought to have sons. Ah, me, I
have a dozen... les femmes, they cannot get enough of me. I tell them 'no', but
do they listen?"
Gautier smiled. That was an old story and pretty much a true one. The city
girls wanted Alexandre; each of those town women wanted to be the one that
tamed the wild man. The backcountry Metis and aborigines wanted a green-eyed
son with strong medicine. Gautier turned his attention to the dainty man who
traveled with Alexandre. "What's your story?"
Reynard said, "I'm a Metis just like you. This is my war too. My mother
remarried, to a man from the States, but my real father was a Metis. My
mother's father was part Cree and her mother was the daughter of Jacob Mulder."
Gautier nodded at that. Jacob Mulder had a good trading post when Gautier's
father was still a coureur de bois. He heard one of the daughters ran off with
a handsome Metis quite a few years back. "So who was your father, Reynard?"
"Antoine Guillaume and my mother is Naomi Davis." The man said, proudly.
Gautier said, "I knew Antoine. He was a decent man. Didn't know he was ever
married. The Lakota got him about thirty years back."
The red flame on Reynard's face told that story. Guatier shrugged and said,
"Eh, bien, it is no matter. Maybe they jumped the broomstick? Who knows? The
priests are the ones that worry about how a man was born. The rest of us care
how he lives."
Alexandre commented, "Riel wouldn't like that."
"Riel has vision, but maybe he should have just stayed in the priest
school." Gautier said. "Dumont's the general. Him, I follow. And you, you
Alexandre, will you fight with Gabriel again?"
Alexandre leaned down from his horse and said, "Dumont's a fine man, but
this war is one we ain't going win, mes amis."
Gautier snorted and asked, "So, Alexandre, mon ami, did your visions tell
you that?"
Alexandre looked at him coolly and said, "My smarts tell me that, Gautier,
but I'll ride with you a while. I'll ride with you and see what it is that
tells me to put my beautiful neck in the path of the cannon."
Gautier's men were nervous. Alexandre had always had that effect on them. He
was no ordinary Metis. He wasn't even an ordinary Anishinaabe. His nearly
full-blooded mother had raised him out in the bush all by herself. He had shown
up suddenly when Lakota pinned down Gautier's family on their way to Red River.
A wild shrieking creature had ridden down from a hill, firing a rifle like some
spirit throwing bolts of lightening. His sudden appearance had spooked the
Lakota. They had retreated in superstitious terror.
Gauthier's father had been shocked to find his savior was a
fourteen-year-old boy. He had taken the boy in, to the great pleasure of his
son who at age eighteen was sick of the company of his six sisters. And Gautier
had never had any reason to change his mind. He and Alexandre had immediately
become friends. So, that, naturally when Gautier was ready for his wild times,
he had taken his foster brother in tow. They took to the rivers and mountains
to trap and trade for the Hudson Bay Company.
Alexandre had disappeared at intervals, but he always came back. He had been
Gautier's closest friend and later, so much more... his friend in a way that
made Gautier avoid confession ever since he was twenty-four years old and
Alexandre was eighteen. He never learned where Alexandre learned the things
that he knew, but he knew they made his heart race in a way that his wife,
Marie Azure, never could match. Now here was Alexandre again, returned as from
the dead and with him, some equally strange creature with soft, pale hands, and
sunburn shining pinkly from beneath his little city hat.
Gautier tipped his hat to Guillaume and said, "Welcome to my camp. You can
travel with us if that is what you wish."
Gautier had thought from the first that he would regret letting the city man
ride with them... this Reynard did nothing but talk... talk, talk, talk like a
crow in a tree with nothing to do but hear his own cawing. His soft city
clothing tore in the brush. His sunburn shone scarlet until it peeled and then
he rode along twitching and scratching until his poor horse was as spooked as a
wild thing.
Reynard had been of all things, a teacher. Well, Riel had been a teacher
too, but at least, Riel was in the bush when he was young. He might be a little
touched, but he had a grain of sense that Guillaume lacked.
Okay, so Reynard was not a bad man, but there were things about him...
Gautier nudged his sturdy pony up between Alexandre and Reynard. He laid a
claiming hand on Alexandre's leg, trying to make the gesture look more innocent
then it was. "Like the old days, eh?"
Alexandre looked at him, his eyes cool and amused. He said, "Just like them.
Your cousins staring at me like I am a Loup Garou."
Alexandre lifted his head and let loose with a howl that would have brought
a queen wolf yowling in heat from the hills or, in Alexandre's case, it might
have made the king wolf and his mate snap at each other for his favors.
Alexandre's own horse was used to such goings-on and Gautier's horse was
trained to trust him no matter what it heard or saw. It was a fine buffalo
pony, smarter than most people if you asked Gautier.
Reynard's horse, a big U.S. Calvary gelding, snorted wildly and took off,
jumping sideways like some city lady grabbing at her skirts when she saw a
field mouse. It shrieked and puffed, sun-fishing all over the prairie. Reynard
had balls, for sure. He hung on grimly and didn't ask for help.
Gautier realized that Alexandre was just sitting calmly and watching the
show. He hurried to Reynard's side, grabbing the big horse's reins as his pony
told the big idiot gelding what for in pony language.
Beautiful eyes that Reynard had; fox eyes for real with their air of humor
and intelligence... Reynard said, "That's it! Enough with this mule eared, pea
brained creature. Gautier, help me trade this huge nuisance for a good horse
like you have. Alexandre says that there's no one who knows horses like you.
Look, I have money if my horse wouldn't be even trade."
Well, there were those that said a big, fine horse like the gray beast that
Reynard rode was worth a whole string of Indian ponies. But like Gautier's
father had said, some folks just lacked for sense. A Metis or Indian pony
didn't shy at a snake. It thrived on grazing that would starve a big animal,
the type regular soldiers and farmers' rode. It was sure-footed and smart; fast
as the devil when you were being charged by a big, buffalo bull and steady on
when you were drawing a bead on a nice, fat deer.
Gautier said, "We'll drop the big fellow at Jacque Dumont's place. You can
ride my second best horse."
And why was Alexandre grinning like that, showing his fine white teeth that
he was always brushing with sprigs of birch?
The camp was noisy here in their home territory. The Metis felt there was
nothing to worry about. The soldiers and the militia were supposed to be tied
up by Pound-Maker's band. The Lakota were keeping close to home, troubled by US
Calvary troops moving through their country. Gautier had heard that General
Middleton was heading their way. That would not be a good thing. He was
bringing a lot of men and no matter how hard the country was on them; enough
would make it through to cause trouble.
Only a few of the Metis were ready to fight again. The farmers were thinking
about crops and the buffalo hunters would be sniffing the wild plains and
dreaming about riding through that long grass.
Anyway, that was tomorrow. For right now, his men were happy. Young Ryan
Allery had his fiddle rosined up. That man, he was a good fiddler. When he
played a jig, your feet would start dancing all on their own. Ryan was trying
to grow his beard to cover his baby boy face. He had red hair, that one, and
blue eyes from his Scottish grandfather... the one who was always talking about
how some Metis named William Wallace had spat in the eye of the English.
Gautier crossed himself. He had heard tell of how that one ended; dying cut to
pieces like a pig for slaughter sounded even worse then dancing a jig for the
hangman. Gautier shook his head. He wished Ryan had not followed him. He was
courting that pretty Josette Wilkie and it would be a damn shame if he got shot
instead of married.
Old one-eyed Moses Laverdure had his ancient buffalo rifle taken apart. Well
good, that piece was an antique and needed all the cleaning that it could get.
Gautier had offered the man his spare repeater, but the tough old fellow
refused. He said that old gun had outlived his three wives and was better to
him than all sixteen of his sons. What can you say? The man had made all the
right decisions so far. He was alive; was he not? And at sixty-eight, he had
outlived most of his generation. Gautier was honored that such a well-known man
would follow him.
Most of the Metis were gathered about one fire. A few were drinking, but
that didn't worry Gautier. He knew all of these men from many a Buffalo hunt
and a few from his fur trading days. There was no one here who drank that
couldn't handle whiskey. Gautier never let the ones that drank too much ride
with him. He didn't tolerate fools.
Gautier noticed immediately that the small fire set away from the main camp
was banked. He hunted up Francois Morin. Francois' mother was some kind of
relation to Alexandre's mother so he was more tolerant of the man's differences
than most of the Metis. Francois was another real Bois Brule. He was brown as a
moccasin sole and had so much Anishinaabe and Cree blood that he didn't even
bother to shave. He hacked off the few strands of beard that grew on his face
with his skinning knife. It was he that had gone off with Alexandre and came
back with the lean deer that filled their stewing pot and roasted over the
coals tonight.
Gautier crouched, balanced at ease on his heels. He looked into the coal
black eyes of Francois and asked, "Where did they go? Alexandre and the
stranger?"
Francois jerked his head in the direction of the mountain and said, "Off
there. I heard Alexandre say something about a bath." Francois expertly caught
a careless louse that ran across his forehead and said, "That Alexandre is
different. A man don't need to bathe more than once or twice a year, n'est-ce
pas?"
Gautier shrugged. He hadn't been raised to be as clean as Alexandre, but his
mama was not a woman to tolerate lice. She was always scrubbing her children
with concoctions and tearing at their hair with special little combs to get rid
of the vermin. Gautier swore that was why he had lost his hair at such an early
age. He swore it was all the wear and tear from his mama's combing. The sides
grew just fine, but the middle of his head was as hairless as a baby bottom.
Francois said, "Anyway, they went toward that big rock. You worried about
them?"
Gautier said, "No, I just wanted to talk to Alexandre without that magpie."
Francois had long eyelashes like Alexandre. He fluttered them now and said,
"Seems that my cousin is fond of the city fellow."
Gautier frowned at Francois and stomped away. He heard Francois laugh and
say, "That Gautier, he is just like an old mak-wa you know. Heard his mama and
his papa both were bear clan! There's a reason why the old people never let
that happen."
Gautier tightened his back and refused to rise to that bait. His parents
were forward thinking folk. They hadn't even known their clan until all the
grandmothers started muttering when they rang their bans. Besides he had been
born about three months premature. Ha! Gautier was big baby at eleven pounds
especially for being early if you counted from the date of his parent's
marriage... and not from that barn-raising nine months before his birthday. So
being double bear clan was not so bad, compared to the other problems he would
have faced if his parents had not married. Anyway, he had a right to grumble
like his clan animal. Who could cope with a burden like Alexandre in their
life?
Liar, Gautier's honesty chided him... you'd cope just fine with him if that
new fellow weren't always sucking off Alexandre's tit. Gautier stopped in his
tracks as a sweat rose all over him despite the early spring cold. What a
picture that made in his mind! Ah, but it was Gautier who liked to do that;
liked to have that done to him. He groaned and stared into the woods; his
Alexandre... how could he get him back?
Sounding as heavy footed as a bull moose, Reynard came along the deer trail.
He was dressed just like Alexandre now, his city clothes adorning some pure
Indian dandy. He had done that well; Gautier thought, trading that useless
shirt, jacket and his cravat for the sturdy shirt and leggings. A few dollars
and his belt buckle had bought him a good wool coat too. He smiled at Gautier
and said, "Boozhoo, it's warm tonight, eh?"
Gautier snorted. Reynard was trying so hard to blend in. A man could feel
sorry for him. It must be hard to be always different wherever you are. A man
might feel friendly to such a good looking, well meaning fellow, but not if
that sly fox was after the same prize cock that Gautier craved.
Gautier scowled as he saw Alexandre a few paces behind Reynard on the path
back to camp. He was sure none of the others would have noticed the stranger
and Alexandre's absence or if they did, they just put it down to the two
outsiders wanting to talk away from them. However, Gautier saw a sprig of
birch caught in Alexandre's hair and high color on the face of the attractive
hazel-eyed stranger. He had no right to be jealous, remembering when he told
Alexandre that he was going to settle down and marry. Hadn't he told Alexandre
that what they had done wasn't important? Eh bien...
Still Gautier couldn't look at Alexandre without longing for what they once
had. He had told himself that it was a young man's folly, the product of cold
winters with no one but his beautiful and willing male partner. Easy enough to
dismiss, but not when he looked on Alexandre.
Alexandre had stopped in the path. He seemed to notice Gautier's angry
expression. Alexandre held out his hand and smiled. "Come, mon ami. Put away
your frown. Let me show you what I have found."
Gautier shivered as he remembered his grandmother telling her stories.
Spirits in the woods... strange things that could steal your soul, take you
away for a day and return you to find everyone you knew had grown old and died.
Yet, he followed, coming to an overhanging boulder. Alexandre ducked under and
with more effort, Gautier wiggled through as well. There was a moment of panic
as he stuck for a moment. He could feel all the tons of that mountain resting
on him then he felt Alexandre's hand, took a deep breath and was through.
Gautier blinked. The opening was a stone bowl, a thing of wonder and beauty.
The full moon seemed to hang right over them so everything was magically lit. A
stream ran through this fairy circle, cutting paths in the greenish black stone
of the surrounding walls. A small waterfall splashed down one side of the cliff
and the entire small basin was clad in raiment of flowers and delicate plants;
as if this basin held spring in its bosom while the world aside was just
fighting off the last days of winter. Alexandre said, "I brought Reynard here
to bathe." Alexandre pointed at the deep pool and said, "That pond is fed by
both a hot spring and that little water fall. The water is just right."
Gautier eyed a large, well-flattened nest of grass and said, "I think you
did more than that, mon ami."
Alexandre shrugged and replied, "Even so, I don't take it from you to give
it to him. I made love to him; I can still make love with you."
Alexandre held out his hand plaintively and said, "Don't you want me, lover?
Don't you want to undress me the way that you did? Don't you want to kiss me my
lips and lay with me? Why have you gone cold on me, tout à coup?"
Gautier knew he should say no. If they were ever caught, the priests would
have them burned. Already, the priests crossed themselves when they saw
Alexandre. There were stories about his mother... how she dressed like a boy
from her earliest childhood... how she took up a man's weapons and followed her
father and her brothers to raid the Sioux.
And, when everyone accepted that she was one of the Creator's little jokes,
a man in woman form, ah, then she showed up heavy with child, not saying who or
what the father had been. They said that she had killed twenty men on the
warpath or if they tried to mess with her or her son in her short lifetime.
When Alexandre was fourteen, his mother disappeared into the forest. People
said that she had not died but had become a bear-woman who prowled, looking
over him always.
But Alexandre did not look like a bear. His eyes matched this green hollow.
His skin was like the softest tanned buckskin. It was moss soft to touch; and
beneath the pleasant warm smoothness his body was beautiful, not soft like a
Frenchwoman or the silly plump English women in the cities. It was hard and
well muscled, but every curve, every angle felt right to Gautier. Alexandre's
fingers played at the thong that fastened his shirt. The ends were decorated
with colored and flattened porcupine quills, dyed red and yellow with Earth's
own paint-box.
Gautier groaned like a bull moose in rut and stepped close to his beloved.
He untied the thongs and opened the shirt. He could see a pulse beating beneath
the shadowy hollow between the eagle wings of Alexandre's breastbone. He kissed
that place, moved downward as his hand found their own way to untie the
fastenings of the soft smoky hide shirt. The shirt fell to their feet and
Gautier was lost. He untied the loincloth. Alexandre bent to take off his
leggings.
Gautier could see the jut of Alexandre's cock, rising from the dark
reddish-brown curls between his legs. The flesh that had been covered by his
loincloth was only a little less dark than the rest of him for Alexandre had no
modesty at all and often went naked. The paler flesh gleamed invitingly though.
Gautier remembered kissing him all over, as they lay warm and snug in the furs
of their winter cabin. And he remembered the curve of Alexandre's bottom, so
sweet and inviting. A bottom that fit to a man as if created to be pulled close
for a hot cock to be eased between yielding round cheeks. Gautier remembered
and his own cock pressed hard against the scratchy fabric of his trousers.
Alexandre's arms were interlaced behind his back. Gautier panted as he
stared at the long invitation of that body. He saw the hollow of the stomach,
above it, the pinkish brown nipples were drawn tight just like the wild rose
buds that furled so prettily in June. Little tuffs of hair peeked from the
uplifted arms. Alexandre did not have any fur on his broad chest. Nothing
marked him there but a thin row of Sun-Dance scars. His legs lolled apart,
showing his thick cock, which stirred at Gautier's gaze as if it wanted to say,
'long temps'. Alexandre blinked, displaying his eyelashes, which were as black
as raven's wings. His hair, free of his braids, spilled over his skin like the
shining dark waters of the stream. Despite the cold, he didn't shiver.
Alexandre said, "You can have me, Gautier, just like we used to do. Please,
lover, I like my little fox, but it is you I crave, you, my buffalo bull."
Gautier shrugged. So the contrition could wait until he was very old. With
luck, he'd get shot before the telling of his sins killed the Father right in
his confessional. Otherwise, he'd have to live as long as Methuselah to say all
those rosaries.
Gautier knelt on the bed of grasses. A sweet smell rose up from them as he
bruised the tender blades. He shed his coat and threw it aside. Alexander made
a hungry sound and sat up. His fingers flew as if he could not wait for Gautier
to finish undressing. It was drunkenness to feel the strong hands stripping
him. He didn't even shiver when the cool air hit his naked flesh. Gautier
burned. He burned from inside with the fever he felt when he lay with
Alexandre.
Alexandre pulled him down or Gautier threw himself on top. It didn't matter
which. His lips! The taste of him was sweeter than cider, richer than wine.
Alexandre's lips opened almost instantly to let Gautier's kiss inside. A moan
hummed between them as they exchanged their first kiss in eight years. The
feeling arced from Gautier's lips down his fine, strong back and to his groin.
He rubbed his cock against the smooth heat of his lover. He could feel
Alexandre's cock hard against him. Alexandre's fingers gently raked his back,
teasing his nerves with the faintest hint of pain. Gautier held Alexandre down,
held him spread out and still for just a moment as he looked at him. How could
he have left this? Eh, but it didn't matter. His... his again and forever. He
would not leave a second time.
That first time, it was nothing fancy. Both of them were too excited to
think about what they could do. It was their bodies rubbing together as they
kissed and kissed, devouring each other; stealing each other's breath. Gautier
remembered claiming his lover's cock. It felt like a firebrand in his hand and
it quivered, begging for his touch. Their hands knew each other well. They knew
without saying when to stroke, when to squeeze, when to make the hand fly until
they were flung apart, gasping like they had run the gauntlet.
Ay, and it did seem to Gautier that they had proved something. Alexandre lay
on the grasses. His eyes were but half open. Their green orbs gazed on the moon
as it tenderly explored his body with its fond silver light. His mouth, more
beautiful than any woman could make hers with paint, parted as the air rose
steaming from it. His neck was exposed. It reminded Gautier of a wolf showing
its submission prettily to his pack leader. He had to turn to his lover. That
tender flesh needed to be marked. And Mon Dieu, he would do that; place his
brand upon his wild one.
Gautier nipped and sucked at the soft, smooth flesh. It was sweet and salty,
that skin. Alexandre was like some magical thing. The taste of him, the smell
of him, the feel of him... Gautier could have forgotten the war, forgotten
everything and just lay here beneath the stone ridge and never leave him.
Alexandre turned on his side and Gautier followed him so they lay face to
face. Alexandre combed through Gautier's chest hair, "Ah me," he said, "I have
slept on the finest furs in the North-West. I have felt the mink, the fox, the
ermine, but never, never have I found a finer pelage than this! Ma pelage de
lion... "
Gautier drew Alexandre back atop of him. He sighed. Mon Dieu, this felt so
right. They matched exactly in height although Alexandre weighed less... all
lean muscle, that one, except for that perfect round ass. He stroked the soft
flesh of that now. How good it felt and it was making him rise all over again.
This time Alexandre would not be put off. He reached for his little parfleche
of tallow and herbs; his hand smoothed it over Gautier's demanding cock.
Straddling Gautier, Alexandre turned, a small frown line appearing across the
bridge of his little bit of a nose as he worked the stuff inside of his body.
Gautier remembered the first time... so afraid that he would hurt Alexandre
if he did as his younger friend wanted. Eh bien, he was not afraid of that
anymore. He knew that it pleased Alexandre to do that and, no wonder, it was a
difference, but still a pleasure as Gautier had discovered when he found the
courage it to try it the other way.
It fit. It fit so perfectly inside that hot feverish paradise. Gautier
reached for Alexandre's hips, drawing him hard against him. Alexandre arched
back, leaning against Gautier's strong thighs. Gautier bucked beneath him, but
he had no wish to throw this rider. Closer, closer, as if there was a way that
they might, each to the other, fit inside, be consumed by each other, as if
there was nothing else that would satisfy except to be one creature, one
burning soul...
Afterwards, it was falling... a total surrender, so must mated eagles feel
as they plummet to earth still connected one to the other. To separate had no
sweetness; would it not be better to plunge to earth conjoined?
No more could that be done though... as soon try to stop the leaves in the
autumn as they fell. Gautier pulled Alexandre close, breathing him inside his
lungs, memorizing all of him.
Alexandre promised, "If ever I leave you, love, I'll find my way back. I
promise. Ever there's a heaven, if there's a hell, I'll get free of them and
find you. Don't ever forget me, my heart, mon coeur, tu m'es cher, mon amour.
Je t'aime, mon bel homme...
"Je t'aime, heart of my heart, soul of my soul." Gautier replied. His hands
were so rough, scarred from a lifetime of hard work. It seemed profane to touch
this velvety flesh, this heated wonder that cloaked a spirit come to human
form. Gautier sighed. He needed to get back to his men. Maybe in some other
time, it would be better or maybe after this war...
Alexandre said, "Bathe first, mon cher."
The water was warm and Alexandre had his fragrant soap that smelled so much
like the transparent spring that lighted so briefly on the harsh plains. That
was Alexandre... he came from nowhere like the delicate flowers that suddenly
erupted from the cold earth, bedazzling creation with their sweet scent, the
acres of colors that seemed drawn from the rainbow. Gautier's hands shook as
they washed his beloved's back. What was he thinking? If Alexandre were like
the flowers, would he be gone as soon, driven between the relentless snow and
the sun that scalded all the short summer?
Alexandre turned and laughed. He said, "Mon amour, don't worry so. It heats
your brain and all the rest of your hair will fall out. Today, it is right now.
Worry about tomorrow when it comes."
Gautier ran a soapy hand over his baldpate. He frowned thinking about
Reynard's lush hair that was the color of the burnt syrup that the women spread
on the snow to treat the children.
Alexandre jerked Gautier's head down by the handle of his ears. He kissed
the naked skin atop Gautier's scalp and said, "That's what this place is for...
more places to kiss, mon bel homme."
Gautier wrestled his head free and laughed. He kissed Alexandre on the lips
again, cupping his face with his great hands so he could memorize his every
feature. Maybe this was some kind of cruel cosmic joke to make his beloved
another man, but who could complain when the man was Alexandre?
After they sluiced as much moisture as they could from their cold bodies,
they walked back to camp, holding hands until they heard the voices of the
Metis. As soon as they entered the circle of light from the fires, old
Laverdure approached Gautier. He said, "If it is all right with you, Gautier,
we would like to camp here another night. The horses need to rest and we want
more time to work on our gear and maybe have a little fun, eh?"
Gautier nodded. They had been on the trail a long time. It would not hurt to
take another day. The militia traveled burdened with gear and they were not
used to the hardship of the Moon of the Crusted Snow. It was almost worse to
travel now than it was to journey in the dead of winter. The snow was melting
and, unless you knew the right places where there was a bit of shelter, it was
cold and wet going.
Gautier grinned. The morning would be a good time then. He would take his
Alexandre back to that magical pond. Reynard approached with a bark slab, full
of steaming vegetables and a mound of venison. He offered it to Gautier and
said, "Alexandre said that you would be hungry."
Gautier ducked his head. He knew the tips of his ears were glowing red as
they always did when he was embarrassed. Reynard's grin was lopsided; and his
expression seemed to tease without any intention of being mean. Gautier grunted
and took the makeshift plate. Alexandre sprawled next to him on the ground and
they shared the meal.
Reynard seemed content and sleepy. He yawned and Alexandre got up. "I will
make our bed, mes amis."
Gautier watched. Alexandre put their blanket rolls together. So he wanted to
sleep between them? Eh bien, best to keep his green-eyed demon content. Gautier
did not want to spoil tomorrow so he would have slept with a skunk if Alexandre
insisted.
Gautier was not one to sleep past dawn, but the sun was red on his eyelids
when he woke. It was still cold and he felt for his lover. The blanket right
next to him was empty, but his hand brushed warmth. Alexandre must have moved
away in the night. Gautier made sure that his actions were hidden under the
mound of blankets. He patted his lover and was pleased to hear him sigh, even
more pleased when he cleared the distance between them, wiggling his sweet ass
against Gautier's long-john clad groin. Gautier stroked the lean back and
rubbed the naked flesh of the plump bottom until he realized that the ass was
not quite round enough, not quite full enough. He opened his eyes and saw that
the hair that teased against his shoulder was the wrong color. He had him an
armful of Reynard.
Gautier sat up, flinging both Reynard and the blankets away. Alexandre's
friend sat up, rubbing his eyes and grumbling, "Hey, I'm cold."
Alexandre's chuckle sounded from nearby. Gautier spotted his lover, sitting
on a stump. His chin was greasy from the meaty deer rib on which he was
chewing. A pile of fresh bannock bread sat next to him on another slab of bark.
Coffee tickled Gautier's nose and he crawled toward it. Eh, that Alexandre had
made his muscles ache, but it was in a good way or it would be once the sun
warmed him up a little. And as his papa always said, better to get right back
on the horse that threw you...
By the time the sun was mid-height in the sky, Gautier had satisfied his
conscience. He had inspected every weapon in camp, checked the saddles and gone
over the horses. They were ready as they would ever be. Most of the men were
playing cards, although Ryan was fiddling and two or three of the Metis were
jigging as carefree seeming as young bucks in the spring.
Alexandre walked up and swatted Gautier's butt. He said, "You smell like the
horses, mon ami. Come bathe with me."
Ah, that sounded good. Gautier nodded and followed eagerly. This time he
wiggled through the rocky opening without a hitch. He stood up and began
undressing, not realizing at first that someone else was there. He scowled when
he saw Reynard standing in the lake. Reynard turned toward him and smiled. The
water ran from his body, which was the color of honey. He had smoothness that
enticed Gautier, his muscles were not like Alexandre's, not so tight and firm,
but he was long and lean, interesting.
Reynard ran his hands over this chest, making a hum of enjoyment. His little
nipples weren't hidden by a brush of hair. Gautier wondered what they would
taste like? Alexandre always tasted of sweet grass and roses. Reynard looked as
if he would taste of cinnamon, some exotic city spice such as the ladies saved
for feast days.
"The water is fine." Reynard invited. He was as shameless as Alexandre and
Gautier had that strange feeling again. He looked helplessly at his lover who
said, "My little fox doesn't bite, lover. Come on take a bath. That's all I
want for now. I won't make you do anything with Reynard that you aren't ready
for."
Alexandre was strange and Gautier was confused. If they were lovers, why did
he want Gautier to look at this man like he was also his sweetheart? Eh bien,
from the first, Alexandre was the one that made the rules of their
relationship, but truly, every decision Alexandre had made had brought Gautier
delight. Well, he would see what there was to see.
Gautier continued to undress and hurried into the water. Alexandre was right
behind him and his hands rubbed Gautier enticingly. Gautier couldn't move away,
but he knew Reynard was watching them. It didn't matter; he knew that Alexandre
did his loving things with the American too.
Gautier resorted to begging. "Please, love, ask your friend to leave.
Please, I need to lie with you, mon cher amour."
Alexandre sighed, but he nodded to Reynard, saying, "My Gautier isn't ready
to play with us, my fox."
Reynard turned a sad look on Gautier, but he left at Alexandre's word.
Gautier felt sorry for the man. He was already as much a slave to the beautiful
changeling as Gautier was. Still, better to be a slave to one such as Alexandre
than to be free without him.
Gautier had enough of this watching. He dove under the water and grabbed
Alexandre's legs, pulling him under the warm water. Hmm, the water tasted
strange; like some kind of medicine and it stung the eyes a little. Easy to fix
that. He dragged Alexandre under the little waterfall and scrubbed him down.
Finally he dragged the wiggling creature to the bed of grasses and blankets.
He tickled Alexandre until his lover almost wept and then ravaged him with his
devouring mouth. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed this, having Alexandre's
cock in his mouth, coaxing the deep sounds out of him as he ran his tongue over
the hot, hard flesh. It was a loving struggle. Gautier tried to still
Alexandre's thrusting hips to tease him all the more. No use, it was like
trying to pin one of those rolling thunders that blew unstoppably across the
plains.
Gautier swallowed his lover's seed; it was sweet to him as if by taking it
inside him they would always be together. Alexandre changed places. It was as
if Alexandre could feel everything that his lover felt... for every movement,
the curl of tongue and the thrust of it into the tiny opening were perfectly
timed. Gautier shut his eyes, his lips quivering as his milky juices surged
into his lover's mouth.
After they washed again, Gautier lay belly down, staring into the pond. The
sunlight reflected off the deep green water and, on the placid surface, he
could see Alexandre. He gazed in wonder at the reflection, thinking that if he
looked around the beautiful creature would not be there. Gautier would not be
surprised to find that his beloved was that magical image that he saw, a water
spirit that only pretended to be a man.
Alexandre, however, felt warm and human as he ran his hand down Gautier's
back. "Still strong like an ox." He admired.
Gautier said, "Eh, I know that. I'm no beauty. Not like Reynard."
Alexandre laughed softly. "That Reynard, he thinks he invented what we do.
Eh bien, he is a willing one. I just let him think he seduced me. It pleases
him." Alexandre shrugged. "I see you looking at him."
Gautier blushed. He hadn't meant to be obvious, but when they bathed, that
long lean body seemed to tempt him to look. He still thought his Alexandre was
more beautiful than any woman, but Reynard, so golden, so lean, and when he
bent to wash his hair, his hair like the amber sold as magic to the Bois Brule.
Gautier had wanted to caress those round orbs and the dark place between. It
had made Gautier's cock stand aching until he sated himself with a stronger
medicine, his Alexandre's charmed flesh.
Ah, misere! They could not dally all day. The men would talk and start to
wonder. Gautier longed for the time when he and Alexandre were free to make
love any time they wanted for as long as they could. Maybe there would be a
time when they would be together again like that again.
Gautier dressed, feeling as if he was putting on a weight of chains with
each piece of cloth. He brushed the sprigs of moss from his jacket and
straightened his back. Time to be a leader of men no matter how much he would
prefer to be led by one man.
Batoche: Before Duck Lake
The little town was crowded with Metis and with Cree Indians, swaggering
proudly down the streets. There were a few other Indian clans represented;
Anishinaabe from various places, probably relatives of the local Metis. Gautier
also recognized some Assiniboines, those Lakota-speaking people, that owed an
ancient obligation to the Anishinaabe and Cree who had sheltered them when they
were fighting their own Sioux cousins. A smattering of other tribes was
present, although some of them might be Bois Brule, Metis with so much Indian
blood as to be indistinguishable from their full blood brethren.
All in all, Gautier noticed who was missing more than who was there. It was
not good. The Metis and their Indian relatives were used to skirmishes. They
were not an army, but a grouping of clans, each more loyal to the elders and
leaders of their small, related bands than they were to Dumont or Riel.
Gautier was proud of his men. None of them were complaining and wanting to
leave. They were as faithful to him as he was to Dumont.
Reynard eagerly tugged on his arm and said, "You promised that you would
take me to meet with Riel and Dumont."
Alexandre just shook his head and said, "You go ahead. I'll settle the
horses."
Reynard looked hurt by that, but Gautier explained, "Reynard, it would do
you no good to have Alexandre standing with you. Everyone respects him as a
warrior, but they're afraid of him too. You see there are people about who
think that his daddy was a white medicine bear and that he has green eyes
because they are pieces of the ocean that had to be crossed to get to that wild
mother of his. So if he stood with you, Dumont and Riel would think this gun of
yours is just another tall tale."
Eh bien, for all the good it might do...
Gabriel looked tired and older than he had looked just a few short weeks
before. Dumont was built like Gautier; both had inherited broad strong
shoulders and a powerful build from their common grandfather on the LaFrombois
side. Gautier was a throwback to some tall ancestor, towering over the other
Metis with his six feet high. Dumont was one of those men who were always
described as bigger than he really was. He was no taller than most Metis men.
After listening to Reynard, Gabriel stroked his beard and said, "This gun,
eh, it shoots as many bullets as ten men? Sounds like a fairy story. Besides,
even so, how can this help them that much?"
Reynard said, "Mr. Dumont, believe me, this thing can chew a hole right down
the middle of your men. Besides, they are bringing other kinds of heavy
weapons, including the kind that they can put on a boat and shoot at you from
the river."
Riel made Gautier shiver when he saw him. Those eyes that had always looked
at you too intensely were now as piercing as an eagle's. Still for that, it was
as if he was not really seeing you. It seemed to Gautier that those eyes were
like some Indian Shaman's who had deliberately looked too long into the sun,
blind to everything now but visions...
Riel shook his head and said, "This is the devil's talk, Mr. Guillaume. We
should pray."
Reynard said, "Prayer can't help you... you can't make a stand, Mr. Riel.
You have to retreat."
Riel patted Reynard's arm and said tranquilly, "God has told me that it is
the right place." Riel knelt down, gesturing for them to join him in prayer.
Dumont rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. Still, he didn't join Riel and he
had a lot of pain in his expression. Gabriel had a lot of respect for Riel who
had the vision that called the Metis together, but Gautier thought his cousin
sometimes regretted setting Riel at the head of the Metis provisional
government.
Reynard said, "But if you retreat to the wilderness, more will join you.
Alexandre says the Pembina would join you... maybe even the Sioux. That's why
the US army wants to help the Canadians. They're afraid of an Indian uprising
the likes of which the world has never seen."
Dumont said, "If we win, they'll join us. I know them. It's wait and see."
Reynard gasped and said, "What is wrong with you? Why won't you believe me?"
Gautier shrugged. Reynard was an outsider and although Gautier believed what
the stranger had to say; it was no good. Dumont and Riel believed that they had
to win a decisive battle now if they were to hold the Metis together. They
thought if they could hold Batoche that both the Metis and les savages would
rise up all over the west. He walked outside with the young man, patted his
woolen jacket to comfort him.
Gautier asked, "What will you do now? Go home?"
Reynard said, "I am home, here... with Alexandre and you. I'll stay and
fight." Gautier shrugged, "Talk to Alexandre. He may not want to fight. He's not one
for being pinned down. My Alexandre is a brave man, but he does not like it
here. He likes being out there where the sky does not close in on him."
They found Alexandre gambling with two Cree warriors. The Indians were
losing badly. Already Alexandre had won a Canadian officer's silver snuffbox
and a beaded belt. He was working on a throwing knife with a carved handle.
Gautier crouched down to wait. There was no use trying to get Alexandre's
attention before he won all there was to win. Reynard said, "Mon Dieu,
Alexandre, are you gambling when the battle may be upon us any minute."
"Shush!" Alexandre said, "This gambling is serious business."
An hour later, Alexandre put the bones away. The two Cree men looked most
miserable. Now they had to face an enemy more frightening than the most
fearsome Lakota warrior... they had to face their sharp tongued wives after
gambling away a vast pile of their wealth.
Alexandre grinned and said, "Ha, maybe they get lucky and the soldiers get
them before their wives do. Now, mon ami, what did the generals say?"
Reynard sighed and his lower lip quivered. He said, "They did not listen.
They say this is the time."
Alexandre said, "Maybe so. Time to go get little Francois and head for the
mountains, mes amis."
Gautier shook his head and said, "Gabriel is my cousin. I said I would stay
until he tells me it is over. You can take Reynard and maybe later I will join
you."
Reynard blinked his eyes; his lashes were nearly as long as Alexandre's. "I
will stay with you, Gautier. We can face them together."
Alexandre waved his hand as if to brush away the stench of naïve
heroism. He said, "Huh, well if that's the way it is; I better go have a look
at this magic gun and see if I can slow down your old man, mon cher Reynard."
Gautier nodded. That was a good idea. He asked, "You want me to send someone
with you, Alexandre?"
Alexandre shrugged and smiled in his strange little way; the expression that
made the more superstitious Metis cross themselves to see it. "Non, I do better
on my own. I'll see you by and by, mes amis."
Gautier missed his beautiful one. And Reynard was mooning around the camp,
sighing like a maiden-all-forlorn. Gautier was getting used to him following
him around though. He was like a toothache. When it stopped hurting, you
wondered when it would be back.
Reynard had some good ideas though. He knew something about ancient warfare
and his theories made sense sometimes. He helped them lay out a system of
trenches around Batoche so if the soldiers shot at them from a gunboat, they
would at least have a thread of a chance.
Eh, but if Reynard was faithful, a number of Metis were not. They were
restless, thinking of the hunt or their farms. They would drift out of town,
promising to come back and probably meaning it, but who knows? Gautier was
proud of his band. Not one of them had left except Alexandre and Alexandre
would be back.
Gautier walked around Batoche. Where was Reynard? He hadn't seen him all
day. Ah, there was the red hat he had loaned Reynard. It was bobbing over a
trench. Gautier walked to see how Reynard was doing, not that he liked the man,
no...
Eh, the idiot, "Tout de suite. Show me those hands! Merde, you fool... Were
you too proud to ask for the loan of a pair of gloves?"
Reynard stared at his blistering hands as if he hadn't seen them until now.
"Actually, they didn't hurt until you said something. I was just concentrating
on my work."
"Come, come," Gautier commanded. "If I can't get your hands better, you
won't be able to hold a rifle when the soldiers get here."
Gautier had the loan of Dumont's tent since Gabriel was staying in town. He
led Reynard into it and said, "Sit down there." pointing at a supply crate.
Reynard took off his shirt. Gautier shrugged. He supposed the man didn't
want to get ointment on it. Now where had Alexandre left that salve that he'd
made? It was good for more than having fun.
Gautier found it in his pack. He took out the small parfleche and opened it,
taking a scoop of the pleasant smelling unguent. Reynard recognized the smell
and took a deep breath, saying, "It smells like him."
Gautier growled, "He's mine."
Reynard dropped his eyes lashes flirtatiously and said; "I know I could
never take him from you. That's not what I want anyway."
Gautier smoothed the salve, rubbing it into the tender hands. His fingers
brushed Reynard's pulse point. How fast his heart must be beating and his color
was rising. Surprised, Gautier rocked back on his heels. "Are you ill, mon
ami?"
Reynard said, "Non, it's just that when you touch me... "
And how did this happen that Reynard's lips found his. He kissed like
Alexandre, maybe not so well, but ah, this man knew how to kiss as if he had
nothing he would rather do. As if the taste of Gautier's mouth was something to
crave more than the purest spring water or the taste of birch syrup on the
first day of the season.
Gautier moved back, but carefully. He looked at Reynard who took deep fast
breaths and whose eyes were half-lidded, not sleepy, but heavy with desire.
Well this he couldn't understand. That Alexandre loved him he had always
assumed was because of their long friendship. If Alexandre called him his bel
homme, it was that he saw Gautier in the light of his love. Gautier shrugged
and decided that Reynard perhaps needed glasses. Maybe Alexandre had convinced
him that his lover was beautiful so Reynard could not see the truth.
Gautier shrugged and brushed back the man's pretty hair. He said, "Maybe so.
Maybe when we are out of here and the war is over if Alexandre still wants us
both? Si cela va très bien avec vous?"
Reynard smiled and said, "That is very all right with me, Gautier. You won't
regret it."
Reynard looked about the tent and said, "Are you sleeping here alone?"
Gautier shrugged and said, "You're welcome to pitch your bedroll here.
Alexandre would want me to look after you."
Reynard said, "I can take care of myself, but I would like to sleep here. I
miss Alexandre."
Battle of Fish Creek:
Gautier looked around him. Damn, what was that fool doing? Reynard was half
out of his culvert, reaching for something just at arm's length. Merde! The man
had dropped his gun, somehow flung it almost out of reach. Gautier yelled,
"Stay down, Reynard. I'll come for you!"
A crackle of gunfire drowned him out. Gautier fired rapidly trying to
discourage the militia who were homing in on the easy target.
What was that sound? Blood curdling even to Gautier who had shrugged off the
war cries of Lakota men and once had even heard the more frightening sound made
by the women of that tribe as they shrilly gave tongue to their hatred of the
Anishinaabe enemy.
Bon Dieu, Alexandre came riding like some spirit. He rode like a demon, low
on the side of his fearless pony. His repeating rifle spat deadly, accurate
venom, pinning down the sharpshooters who threatened his little fox. Smoothly,
Alexandre dropped into the trench, bringing with him the dropped rifle. Gautier
grinned as he heard Alexandre scolding, never missing a shot as he told Reynard
what a foolish chance he had taken.
By the end of the battle, Gautier had no more smiles. He had lost his dear
Andre, a young Peltier cousin of sixteen years. How would he face the boy's
papa and maman?
And, no better, lying next to Andre, dressed in militia garb, was his former
neighbor, Bob Hamilton. He had drunk with this middle-aged man. They had
courted the same girl at one time and sympathized with each other when a richer
man married her. Easy to forget that some of the militiamen were not greedy
city folks, casting their eyes on well tilled Metis farms and sturdy barns.
Some, a few, were like Hamilton, men who believed in that distant government
and blindly loyal, they were willing to die for it.
Alexandre shook his head and said, "I have a bad feeling, Gautier. I slowed
the Gatling gun as much as I was able but it is still coming. There are many
militiamen out there. Sure they are cold and miserable, but they are frightened
and their officers will not let them run away from us. Pretty soon, they run
toward us instead; it will be like a stampede and we will be trampled by it."
Gautier said, "I know, mon ami, but what can I do? I gave my word to Dumont.
I would feel better if you leave. If you and Reynard left now before it is too
late."
Alexandre just looked at him and Gautier felt he was drowning in those green
depths. At last, his Alexandre said, "Eh, mon cher, it was too late from the
first time that I saw you. Even at fourteen, I knew what I wanted. I will not
leave you."
Batoche:
The screams of the dying filled the air. It was blood and shit, horses
shrieking. Gautier carried Reynard on his back. The man was bleeding from a
head wound and he had not stirred at Gautier's voice. Gautier had lost sight of
Alexandre in the fighting and his heart was breaking.
Gabriel Dumont rose out of the smoke like a wounded grizzly. He was covered
with blood and his eyes were red with the smoke and maybe with tears. He
clamped a massive hand on Gautier's shoulder and said, "Cousin, you promised to
stay with me until I said it was done. It is done. Riel wants to surrender, to
atone for his sins. Not Gabriel Dumont, I will wear no man's yoke. I will not
die on their rope, as I would not live in their harness. Take your men and go
while you can."
Gautier gathered all of his own that he could find. Twelve men and himself
plus Reynard... all that was left of the twenty-five fine Metis that had ridden
into Batoche with him. He and Alexandre had planned what to do when this
battlefield was chosen. This culvert could not be seen. A thorny barrier
protected it. The men crept bellies to the ground through the few inches of
water. Clouds of mosquitoes rose at each movement. Gautier clamped his hand
over Reynard's mouth as the man returned to consciousness. He whispered, "God
help me, if you are not silent, I will kill you."
Reynard nodded. They could still hear gunfire, but not much now. The town
had fallen soon after the soldiers had routed the Metis army. Only a few Metis
still resisted. Gautier knew that they would be hunted. A man like him hardly
expected to die of old age, but like Dumont, he could not bear the idea of
dangling at the end of a noose. That was no way for a man to die.
Reynard did well. He had stopped complaining by the time they reached
Batoche and he hadn't dropped his rifle since before Duck Lake. Now, he moved
almost as quietly as the rest of the Metis. It seemed like hours before the
muddy, blood splattered group emerged at a copse of trees by the river. Gautier
whirled as he heard the heavy beat of horses. Then his heart soared.
Alexandre! Alexandre had somehow brought out their horses. Gautier had time
to see that his lover was wounded. He carried his left shoulder low and was not
using that arm. But he was alive and Gautier figured that it would take a
silver bullet to take his lover's charmed life.
No one had any complaints about Alexandre now. Of course, they would have
welcomed the devil himself if he came bringing their horses.
Gautier knew they were far from safe. The militia would be looking for them
once they had secured the town. No place in Canada would be shelter to them.
Alexandre said, "The folks at Turtle Mountain will take us in. I know a back
trail no Mounties will dare. We just have to get through the lines here."
Ah, that was not easy. Alexandre could have done it if he was alone. Gautier
thought that he also had that much skill, but his men were not so gifted. Ryan
Allery was badly wounded and several of the men were coming down with fevers
from minor gunshot wounds. Reynard was tending them and Alexandre was doing
what he could with his remaining Indian medicine, but what they needed was
rest, warm beds, and hot food.
Gautier had made a mistake. He had decided that they would stop and rest in
this hollow when Alexandre thought they should push on. Two of the horses were
starting to founder and the men were exhausted.
Now after a day's rest, everyone was ready to travel or at least they were
able to push on, but it was not good. They were trapped between a river that
was flooded with the winter run-off on one side, and several different troops
of militia on all others. Now, it would take a miracle to get out.
Two days it had been, two days with no fire, a cold drizzle making bones
ache and soaking their blankets. Alexandre looked as weary as the rest of them.
A bloody streak ran down the left side of his face from a skirmish with a stray
group of militia; a pistol had been fired so close to him that the side of his
hair was singed.
Gautier stroked Alexandre's hair back from his forehead, not caring what his
men thought. Alexandre lowered his eyes to stare at the ground and said, "I'm
sorry, Gautier, Reynard, I can't take this any longer. You know I can't stand
being pinned down."
Gautier said, "None of us like this, Alexandre."
Reynard snapped, "Alexandre, I thought you were the bravest man I ever met.
I'm disgusted with myself now. You aren't half the man that Gautier is."
Alexandre shrugged and said, "I'm a man. I didn't ask you to make me into
something more. Give me a fight and I'll fight, but I won't sit here and wait
to be shot like a duck in a snare."
It was not long after Alexandre left that they heard gunfire. Gautier
realized that the militia between them and the best trail toward Belcourt were
all chasing Alexandre. He bade his men to keep moving toward the border. He had
to see if his beloved was dead or if the spirits still protected him.
Reynard moved up beside Gautier. Eh bien, it was no use. The man had a
stubborn look and like it or not, Alexandre loved this soft-handed foreigner
well. Gautier said, "You don't even take a deep breath without my permission,
Guillaume."
The man nodded and they set off. Flat on their bellies, the two men could
see Alexandre racing in front of the men. Gautier could not understand it. That
pony could move faster than that. Alexandre was weaving instead of riding in a
straight line, but that was how a buffalo pony was bred to run. It seemed that
Alexandre was holding back; sure he was riding a little crooked like that
wounded arm was bothering him, but, hell, the man once rode two days with two
bullet holes in him and did not slow his companions one bit. What was he doing,
this madman?
Gautier groaned as he saw Alexandre fall. The militia caught up, dragging
him up. What were they doing? For a moment, Gautier thought that they were
stripping Alexandre to take what his beautiful lover gave to him freely. No, it
was not that. They were yelling at him and shoving him, beating him as they
robbed him of his fine buckskins. They even took his loincloth, calling him
names, hitting him even on his privates. A big man with a tangled beard yelled,
"La danse, vous le sauvage! Let's see one of them pretty jigs!"
Alexandre got a good kick in, sending a few more of the man's blackened
teeth flying.
It was hard to watch, but Gautier was looking for the perfect time to
intervene. They had a noose around Alexandre's neck about the time Gautier had
decided that no better time was going to come. He grabbed his rifle and said,
"Reynard, you go back for the horses. I'll distract them and you go in to get
Alexandre."
Reynard didn't argue. He just nodded, but before he had even gotten to his
hands and knees to creep back to the thicket where they had left the ponies,
the regular army officer had fired a shot over the militia's heads. The officer
yelled, "Stop it. This man might be useful."
The man spurred over and cut the rope, leaving the noose dangling. Gautier
watched as Alexandre was lifted off his horse to the ground. He was unsteady on
his feet from the beatings, but he still held himself proudly. The militia had
stripped him to humiliate him, leaving him only the red woolen belt to mark him
as a coureur de bois, but it could not shame him who knew no shame in his body.
Nature had clad him in beauty that man's garb could only dimly rival. Gautier
thought that it was only the soldiers that should be ashamed to have profaned
this one so blessed by the spirits.
Alexandre used his chin to point in the distance, away from the escaping
Metis. The direction he indicated was well traveled. The militiamen were
townspeople; not trackers like the Metis no matter how they might brag. They
would not be able to tell a hot trail from a cold one.
Gautier was both proud and frightened. He understood now why Alexandre had
insisted on leaving and why he, who could pass like an errant breeze through
enemy lines, had been caught. He was leading them astray; back towards Duck
Lake which would make sense to these ill-advised men. They would assume that
the Metis were circling for home instead of heading for their cousins in the
United States. Gautier knew how his men thought. They had gone to war to fight
for their land. Now, defeated, they knew it would be taken. They could not bear
to see it in the hands of the English. Better to go and start over. The women
and children could follow after the threat of hanging was gone. They were
strong, the families. They were used to going without the men for long periods
as their husbands and sons trapped or hunted the buffalo.
Gautier nudged Reynard and said, "See; this is my Alexandre. He leads them
away as mother bird will drag her wing to pretend injury and lead the fox away
from her nest."
Reynard blushed, ashamed of his impulsive words. He said,
"Jesus, how can we help him?"
"Wait and see for now." Gautier said, unhappily.
"No, I have to help him!" Reynard argued, starting to get up.
Gautier pulled the man down, but Reynard kept struggling. 'Eh bien, he makes
me do this... ' Gautier told his conscience. Some people said that Gautier had
knocked a buffalo out with one blow of his fist. Such tall tales, it was only a
mad cow that trampled his clever little spotted cattle dog and he had to punch
the range cow twice to send her down. Well, Reynard went down faster than that
skinny old bossy. Some people you had to use that kind of reason before they
saw the logic of your argument.
Reynard showed up again thirty minutes down the trail. Gautier was pondering
more drastic action himself. He could hear the militia grumbling and one of
them had that dangling noose in his hand. The regular army officer had his
pistol pointed at the man and they backed down for now.
Reynard was quiet and he wore a bruise brighter than the calico favored by
both the Indians and the Metis. He crept up beside Gautier and hunkered
silently. Gautier said, "If I can't think of a better plan soon, we'll use the
same trick that he used."
The militia was getting angrier. Maybe they noticed that the trail was
getting colder. In any event, even the officer looked like he had enough of
Alexandre. He walked toward Alexandre with his pistol drawn and shouted, "Now
tell the truth. Where did they go?"
Alexandre grinned. He dug his heels into his pony and it leapt to his
command. He leaned to the side, hanging low and close to his mount. Gautier
said, "Merde! Kitish! What the hell is he doing?"
The militia followed as Alexandre's horse cleared a narrow ravine. However
as the first man spurred his horse to jump, something big and dark rose up.
Mother of God! It was a grizzly, a bigger one than Gautier had ever seen! It
roared as it drew to its full height. One swipe of its claw sent the
unfortunate rider to the ground. The screaming horse just kept going. The
riders kept coming; they had been following too close to stop. The last few
riders including the officer managed to stop, but two horses were down and
several had lost their riders.
The grizzly was finally driven off, but not without doing as much damage as
one of the giants could do when they were disturbed. Gautier observed for a
while longer and decided that this particular troop was going to have its' job
cut out just getting the wounded men back to the surgeons. He felt badly for
the wounded. A bear's claws held a kind of poison and even if you survived the
attack, a lot of men died later of infection. However, his Alexandre was free.
Maybe those stories that were told about his mother were true. That bear may
have been just snoozing in the sun until the militia disturbed it, but it had
saved Alexandre's life all the same.
Gautier said, "Let's go back to my men."
Reynard said, "But shouldn't we find Alexandre? What if he needs help?"
Gautier shook his head and said, "He'll find us. Don't worry about that."
Sure enough, they were nearing the Metis band when Alexandre appeared out of
nowhere. He still was naked except for the red sash, but he looked good that
way. They'd get him dressed when they caught up to the rest.
Gautier reached over and clouted Alexandre's head. "You ever do that again
and I'll knock you into the next century!" He said.
Alexandre laughed at him and said, "You'll try. You followed me, eh? I
thought I was the only one that lacked good sense."
Reynard kept his head down, ashamed of his words back in camp. Alexandre
moved his pony up beside his friend and leaned near. He tilted Reynard's chin
toward him and said, "Words are just words, mon ami. If I let them hurt me, I
would never be able to show my face."
Reynard replied, "I shouldn't have doubted you."
Gautier kept silent. He hadn't said anything, but the truth was he had just
accepted that Alexandre could not take being pinned down. He and Reynard, such
a pretty pair, neither of them believing their hearts knew better than their
suspicious brains...
Alexandre said, "Eh bien, such long faces. We have cause to celebrate,
n'est-ce pas?"
"Oui" agreed Gautier, "Much to be rejoiced after."
The rest of the trip was uneventful. Ryan's fever broke while they were away
and he was already composing a ballad about Louis Riel. Gautier made no
comment, but he thought that his hardheaded cousin, Dumont, had more to do with
the military victories than the Metis messiah.
As they looked down at Belcourt, Gautier made a decision. "Reynard, help me
to write letters to my brother and my son. I have to tell Francois what I am
doing."
Alexandre asked, "What are you doing, mon cher ami?" Gautier said, "I'll have a price on my head like as not. I was known as a
leader of the rebellion. Francois is safe with my brother at Red River. When
things have cooled down, I'll take the chance of going and getting my son.
Right now, I think the mountains are calling me."
Alexandre looked very pleased. He said, "Oui, there's that good place, that
little valley that's sheltered from the storms. It would be a good place for
two men to wait out the trouble, eh?"
Reynard looked downcast. Gautier sighed and said, "Write the letter, mon
ami. Ryan can take it to my brother. We have plenty of time to make that cabin
bigger before winter. Make it big enough for three men."
Alexandre looked happy about Gautier's decision, but he said, "But, Reynard,
mon cher, I'd be lying to you if I said it would be easy. The winter's hard and
the Windigo might howl at the door before the spring. There's no luxuries and
the food is not what you are used to having."
Reynard smiled and looked from Gautier to Alexandre. He said, "Even so, I
think that I would have everything that I need."
The letters were written and tucked into Ryan's saddlebags. It was hard to
say goodbye to his cousins, hard to know that the women would be mourning the
ones who had not returned. But Gautier could feel that something was dying. He
had tried his best to protect his way of life, but now he knew he had only a
handful of years before the English were everywhere.
Three men turned their horses toward the Rocky Mountains. The dawn rose
before them and, if it was the end of something, it was also the beginning. As
Gautier rode, he saw that the dawn was shining all around his Alexandre. The
trail grew steep as if they were going to the sun. The air was sweeter and
cleaner. They were leaving the old world behind, but Gautier had no regrets
except that it was not safe for his son to be going with them.
Gautier paused, looked back. He could no longer see any smoke from any town
or farm. He looked forward as two eagles screamed in unison. A third one joined
them, maybe to fight them, maybe not.
His Alexandre turned toward him and asked, "Gautier, are you coming with me
or are you lost in regrets?"
Gautier laughed, deep rumble of laughter. He said, "Lead on, Alexandre, I
will never regret following you."
And mother-earth took them to her, embraced her children to her mountain
bones and kept them safe until she called them home again.
Ce fable est fini.
Like A Wounded Bird
by Ursula
Gautier heard the laughter from his men. He looked up smiling, but the smile
died as his gaze traveled from the stranger in funny city clothing to the
elegant figure lounging on the fire-eyed pony. Gautier looked at the man who
sat on his spotted horse like a centaur. His hair was cut in a ridge on top
although long thin braids ran down the sides. The green eyes looked
extraordinary in the deeply tanned face. Gautier leaned forward, eyes slightly
shut and nostrils flared to catch the familiar scent. Alexandre always smelled
like sweet grass and sage. His hair smelled like rose buds from the concoction
in which he washed the lush mass.
