The Canyon of Bones Read Online Free Page B

I’ll be able to speak to any of these people. Now what I don’t have, Mister Skye, is their finger language, sign-talk, and I shall be approaching you for lessons, and especially the nuances.”
    Skye found himself studying this wunderkind, curious about the rest: Did he live alone? Alienated from his roots? What of his family? Was he a perpetual boy, living each day for its excitement? Was there a woman anywhere in this life or did he live entirely in this male world he created? How were these exotic articles and books received on the continent? But Skye chose not to be nosy and simply welcomed this remarkable man.
    â€œActually, Mister Skye, I’ve been hearing of you for weeks. We came out the Oregon Road, of course, but turned off and headed north, roughly paralleling the Big Horn Mountains. A grand continent, sir. A vast, mysterious land, utterly beyond the grasp of Europeans, who live in little pockets across the Atlantic.”
    Skye was aware of the sheer energy radiating from this man; it was as if Mercer were a live volcano, brimming with unfathomable powers and exuding energies that would shape not only his own destiny, but those of everyone he touched. It almost made Skye weary just to be in the presence of such force.
    The meadow was now lined with colorful lodges, buffalo-hide cones with smoke-blackened tops. Some of their owners had rolled up the lower skirts, letting the playful zephyrs flow freely through their homes, rather like a housewife opening a casement window to air a room.
    â€œSee how they make a village out of a meadow, Mister Skye. And in the space of an hour too.”

    â€œI’ve always marveled at it, sir.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m here! I will catch every detail! And after this, we’ll head for the geysers bubbling up on that plateau in the mountains I’ve been hearing about. The headwaters of the Missouri, I believe.”
    â€œNot exactly, sir. The Indians call it the roof of the world. Some of its waters flow to the Pacific; some of the waters drain into the Yellowstone River and then the Missouri. Some of the waters drain into the Madison River, which forms one of the three branches that form the Missouri. But the true headwaters, the farthest reaches of that river, are up the Jefferson, far to the west.”
    â€œAh! You have set me straight. We shall go there. Maybe after we explore the Crows and Shoshones and the geysers, we’ll tilt west to the Jefferson, named by the Yankees Lewis and Clark, I remember. Yes, go right on up to the last valley, the final creek, that dumps its waters into the tributaries that carry it to the Missouri, the Mississippi, and at last to New Orleans.”
    â€œYou have a good grasp of the continent, Mister Mercer.”
    â€œHow could I write if I didn’t, eh? Well, I’ll put it on my list.”
    â€œList?”
    â€œThings to do. I’ve a list. It must run to fifty items now. And I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance, Mister Skye. I was hoping to meet you. I need your assistance on a variety of matters, and thought we might work out some sort of accommodation.”
    Skye was never averse to earning a little cash, so he nodded.
    â€œEthnography is what absorbs me just now. The Absarokas, the Shoshones, most interesting tribes. Religion and all
that. I am thinking that you might enlighten me about the Absaroka. I believe you’re married into the tribe and know its ways?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œWell, I want to blot it all up, see it, experience it. The shamans, they interest me. I would like to sit in, if I might.”
    â€œIt isn’t something to sit in on, Mister Mercer. The seers have opened themselves to their spirit guides and listen in their own way, and offer thanksgivings. They may or may not share these insights with anyone else. Sometimes a gift is required.”
    â€œYes, yes, of course. But surely there are things about these people to