The Goldfinder Series: The Gold Hunter, Entry 30


The sound did not repeat itself and Sabbah relaxed, stretching lazily, inhaling the good strong smell of his elkskin robe, heavy with dew, warm and good like a woman’s scent. He smiled. Dawn would bring a new day to show his son Nojomud the joys of the hunt. The boy was a small version of his father, homely, dark-skinned as smoke. The whites called Sabbah ‘Smoke Sam’ because he was dusky, bowlegged, thin-chested and dog-faced. Sabbah works harder to run, to hunt, to get a wife! Ten years ago Sabbah found a Mahdoo woman who married him, and gave him a son. Nojomud was different only in one way: he was always smiling. Father and son were unlike their athletic kinsmen, the Numah, who the whites called Paiutes.

Today Sabbah would show his son that he could do something big: bring the power of rifles to their tribe. Coming down the long valley his little band had seen two new cabins full of whitemen. Those bad people chopped down trees like crazy beavers. You could not share the hunting ground with them. They needed to be rubbed out. Where was the man Munson who promised guns? No matter. This bend in the river before the high cliffs was the meeting place. Sabbah would trade with the white savages and when the time was right–use the rifles on them.

He remembered seeing the owl-faces for the first time. Nine summers ago when Chief Truckee was still alive. The owl-faces came staggering across the dust, men half-dead from ignorance of how to live in the desert. The People fed them and guided them West through the mountains. When the owl-faces left with round bellies they thanked the People and gave nothing in return. Sabbah remembered what he said at that time: So this is our pale brother we waited so long to see!

Next came the gold-crazy dogs–men who were digging up the mountains for their yellow god-in-the-ground. More came every day now, beggars who traveled in rolling huts bumping along with their empty-faced women inside. Ugly beings! Pouring into the Silver Mountains like streams of hungry ants. His wife’s people, the Mahdoos, would be stuck with these thankless creatures. Sabbah knew what to do. Get guns. Kill the invaders. That was why he was here.

He heard the snuffling sound again. He sat up slowly as moonrise. Ten paces away stood the biggest buck deer he had ever seen. Stone still. Beautiful white face with tree-like antlers; powerful white body rising like mist from the dark grass. Black eyes staring at him.

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