as he and Hannibal made off across the meadow in the direction Prideaux pointed out to them ('But not a word we guessed, now!'). 'Secret valley or not, with half the camp breathing down their necks they're not going to appreciate company—'
So indeed it proved. After nearly tripping over Jed Blankenship - who had chosen to clean his rifle sitting on a slight rise of the ground that overlooked the Dutchman's camp - January and Hannibal were greeted by Clemantius Groot's wife Fingers Woman, with the news that no, she had no idea where her husband and his partner were . . . The Dutchman's three camp-setters all shook their heads. Nor any idea when they'd be back. As they left the little cluster of shelters around Fingers Woman's tipi, January could not but notice, some three-quarters of a mile away, among the thin timber on the hills that rose beyond Horse Creek, another couple of watchers, loafing on the creek bank with spyglasses . . .
'What about Wildman?' Hannibal shaded his eyes to scan the rough country west along the creek. Clouds had begun to build above the mountains to the north; the wind that rippled the prairie grass smelled of thunder. The Dutchman's camp, set in the meadow nearly a mile from the river, was one of the furthest removed from the main rendezvous, and standing in the midst of that endless openness, January was conscious of just how defenseless he was. South and north, the valley floor was dotted with the white clusters of tipis that marked the Indian villages: Shoshone, Sioux, Cree, Snake, Flathead . . .
And Omaha.
'Let's find out first,' he said, 'if Iron Heart and his men completely understand my intentions toward that girl yesterday. I don't have my rifle with me, and I'd rather not discover suddenly that I should.'
'He may be at Seaholly's. Manitou, I mean, not Iron Heart.'
'And if he's not,' said January, 'since, as far as I know, Wildman doesn't have a secret beaver valley, he probably will be later.'
Mick Seaholly's tent - the farthest north of the AFC encampment - was a fair-sized markee, with a trestle bar built across the long side that stood open to the path and an assortment of tree trunks on the ground before it for the accommodation of customers who wanted to have a seat while drinking. Two ash-filled pits announced the further amenities of campfires after dark, and across the trestle, January could see where rough tables had been constructed by nailing together slats from dismantled packing-crates, to accommodate games of monte, poker, and vingt-et-un, which Americans referred to as blackjack. At any time of the day or night the makeshift saloon was a center of activity: in front of it, on the other side of the trail, a well-trampled half-acre or so of the meadow served as a site for shooting contests and wrestling matches, while behind it, six rough shelters - barely more than sheets of canvas tacked over ridge poles - served the Taos girls as cribs.
Seaholly, looking as usual like a debauched seraph, greeted them with a friendly query about what their poison might be and - much to January's surprise - admitted his willingness to provide Hannibal with what was called fizz pop: vinegar and sugar mixed with water to which a small quantity of soda was added, to provide 'kick'. 'You're not the only man in the mountains who's taken the pledge,' the barkeep said, regarding Hannibal with his strange blue eyes. 'And you are welcome to as much of that revolting potion as you can drink, if you'll grace my establishment with your fiddle of an evening. Yourself, sir?' he added, turning to January, exactly as if there were drinking establishments anywhere in the length and breadth of the United States that would permit a black man to stand at the same counter as white ones.
'A champagne cocktail,' said January gravely, and Seaholly gave him a devil's grin and the usual glass of watered-down forty-rod that everyone else got for the cost of a beaver pelt. There were traders who had better liquor - Charro Morales, just down the path from the AFC, supposedly had the finest in the camp, if anyone wanted to pay three plews a shot for it - but nobody had cheaper.
'Tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi Silvestram tenui Musam meditaris avena,' declared Hannibal, raising his glass. 'You have a deal, sir. Perhaps you might assist us with a quest?'
Seaholly allowed