This infuriated the little man, who, forgetting his fear, stood up in his stirrups and shouted, “Tarnation take ya, ya red varmint! Wait’ll Ah ketch ya. Ah’ll have yer stinkin’ red hide for a sleepin’ bag!”
With that he rode straight towards the vest-hill at full gallop, shouting out strange cowboy-like war cries and waving his gun, which, by Omri’s count, still had two bullets in it.
Little Bull had not expected this, but he was only outfaced for a moment. Then he coolly drew another arrow from his quiver and fitted it to his bow.
“Little Bull, if you shoot I’ll pick you up and squeeze you!” Omri cried.
Little Bull kept his arrow pointing towards the oncoming horseman.
“What you do if he shoot?” he asked.
“He won’t shoot! Look at him.”
Sure enough, the carpet was too soft for much galloping, and even as Omri spoke the cowboy’s horse stumbled and fell, pitching its rider over its head.
Little Bull lowered his bow and laughed. Then, to Omri’s horror, he laid down the bow among the folds of the vest, reached for his knife, and began to advance on the prostrate cowboy.
“Little Bull, you are not to touch him, do you hear?”
Little Bull stopped. “He try to shoot Little Bull. White enemy. Try take Indian’s land. Why not kill? Better dead. I act quick, he not feel, you see!” And he began to move forward again.
When he was nearly up to the cowboy Omri swooped on him. He didn’t squeeze him of course, but he did lift him high and fast enough to give him a fright.
“Listen to me now. That cowboy isn’t after your land. He’s got nothing to do with you. He’s Patrick’s cowboy, like you’re my Indian. I’m taking him to school with me today, so you won’t be bothered by him any more. Now you take your pony and get back to your longhouse and leave him to me.”
Little Bull, sitting cross-legged in the palm of his hand, gave him a sly look.
“You take him to school? Place you learn about ancestors?”
“That’s what I said.”
He folded his arms offendedly. “Why you not take Little Bull?”
Omri was startled into silence.
“If white fool with coward’s face good enough, Indian Chief good enough.”
“You wouldn’t enjoy it—”
“If him enjoy, I enjoy.”
“I’m not taking you. It’s too risky.”
“Risky! Fire-water?”
“Not whisky – risky. Dangerous.”
He shouldn’t have said that. Little Bull’s eyes lit up.
“Like danger! Here too quiet. No hunting, no enemy, only him,” he said scornfully, peering over the edge of Omri’s hand at the cowboy, who, despite the softness of his landing-place, was only just scrambling to his feet. “Look! Him no use for fight. Little Bull soon kill, take scalp, finish. Very good scalp,” he added generously. “Fine colour, look good on belt.”
Omri looked across at the cowboy. He was leaning his ginger head against his saddle. It looked as if he might be crying again. Omri felt very sorry for him.
“You’re not going to hurt him,” he said to the Indian, “because I won’t let you. If he’s such a coward, it wouldn’t do your honour any good anyway.”
Little Bull’s face fell, then grew mulish. “No tell from scalp on belt if belong to coward or brave man,” he said slyly. “Let me kill and I do dance round campfire,” he coaxed.
“No—” Omri began. Then he changed his tactics. “All right, you kill him. But then I won’t bring you a wife.”
The Indian looked at him a long time. Then he slowly put his knife away.
“No touch. Give word. Now you give word. Take Little Bull to school. Take to plass-tick. Let Little Bull choose own woman.”
Omri considered. He could keep Little Bull in his pocket all day. No need to take any chances. If he were tempted to show the other children, well, he must resist temptation, that was all.
And after school he could take him to Yapp’s. The boxes with the plastic figures in them were in a corner behind a high stand. Provided there weren’t too many other kids in the shop, he might be able to give Little Bull a quick look at the Indian women before he bought one, which would be a very good thing. Otherwise he might pick an old or ugly one without realizing it. It was so hard to see from their tiny plastic faces what they would be like when they came to life.
“Okay then, I’ll take you. But you must do as I tell you and not make any noise.”
He put him down on the seed-tray and gently shooed the pony up the ramp. Little Bull tied it to its post and Omri gave it some more rat food. Then he crawled on hands and knees over to where the cowboy was now sitting dolefully on the carpet, his horse’s rein looped round his arm, looking too miserable to move.
“What’s the matter?” Omri asked him.
The little man didn’t look up. “Lost muh hat,” he mumbled.
“Oh, is that all?” Omri reached over to the skirting-board and pulled the pin-like arrow out of the wide brim of the hat. “Here it is,” he said kindly, laying it in the cowboy’s lap.
The cowboy looked at it, looked up at Omri, then stood up and put the hat on. “You shore ain’t no reg’lar hallucy-nation,” he said. “I’m obliged to ya.” Suddenly he laughed. “Jest imagine, thankin’ a piece o’ yor dee-lirium tremens fer givin’ you yer hat back! Ah jest cain’t figger out what’s goin’ on around here. Say! Are you real, or was that Injun real? ’Cause in case you ain’t noticed, you’re a danged sight bigger’n he is. You cain’t both be real.”
“I don’t think you ought to worry about it. What’s your name?”
The cowboy seemed embarrassed and hung his head. “M’name’s Boone. But the fellas all call me Boohoo. That’s on account of Ah cry so easy. It’s m’soft heart. Show me some’n sad, or scare me just a little, and the tears jest come to mah eyes. Ah cain’t help it.”
Omri, who had been somewhat of a cry-baby himself until very recently, was not inclined to be scornful about this, and said, “That’s okay. Only you needn’t be scared of me. And as for the Indian, he’s my friend and he won’t hurt you, he’s promised. Now I’d like you and your horse to go back into that big crate. I’ll stick the knot back in the wood, you’ll feel safer. Then I’ll get you some breakfast.” Boone brightened visibly at this. “What would you like?”
“Aw shucks, Ah ain’t that hungry. Coupla bits o’ steak and three or four eggs, sittin’ on a small heap o’beans and washed down with a jug o’ cawfee’ll suit me just dandy.”
“You’ll be lucky,” thought Omri.
He