The Mountain Men Page #3

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Men without balls!

Now, that's something now, greenhorn.

- I just took an arrow.

- I can see that.

- Here, hold still.

- No! No!

I ain't gonna hurt you, damn it!

Good thing it weren't in too deep.

- Crow warriors!

- Right on time, huh, shithead?

Yeah! Crow strong warriors.

You ought to stick to stealing horses.

Horse will carry you, at least.

- Did you kill her?

- She damn near killed me.

You got yourself a heap of trouble

is what you done.

Yeah? What was I supposed to do?

Let Cross Otter cut her up for wolf bait?

She's dead, Mr Tyler.

Oh, sh*t.

If you want to run,

show some sense, for Christ's sake!

Run the other way!

Before you know it, Cross Otter will be

back here with a fistful of bloody scalps.

He won't make no bones

about cutting your fine long locks, neither.

Excuse me.

Oh, yeah. Heap of trouble.

How many more will you kill?

We have always fought the Crow.

Not over squaw.

Let the girl go. She means nothing to you.

She is my woman.

You treat her like a coyote b*tch.

It is not the girl for what she is.

It is the long knives...

...the hair-faces...

...more and more of them.

If they are not stopped...

...there will be no food to hunt...

...no lands left for us.

Then why not try

and make peace with them, trade with them?

They spit on our land...

...destroy our buffalo herd...

...trap our beaver.

The hair-face...

...big one...

he opens the path for others.

But he will not have her...

...or one more thing belonging to my people.

You're a Blackfoot, ain't you?

I come from another village.

My father sold me to Heavy Eagle.

One horse, one gun.

- Slave?

- Wife.

- The same.

- Heavy Eagle.

He beat you some, huh?

Where'd you learn American?

Fort McKenzie.

In the summer we trade beaver there.

You learned good.

I go with you.

No.

You go your own way.

I cannot go back to Heavy Eagle.

Hell!

You can come to rendezvous...

...but, looky here,

after that you got to clear out.

I packed a squaw along before.

Six year.

Damnedest slut as ever cried for foofaraw.

Always wanting vermilion...

...and blue beads and mirrors and such.

Bedding down with every buck

that come her way.

She was pretty, though.

- What's your name?

- Running Moon.

You'll clear out if I tell you.

Whisky!

Whisky!

I'm a mountain man, by God!

I can whip any 10 of you n*ggers!

I'm sorry. Mistake. Accident.

I was weaned on rattlesnake blood!

My mammy was a wolf,

and my pa was a gore grizzly!

- $3.

- $3?

God damn it, Fontenelle, you know that

this beaver's worth a heap more than $3.

- This here is prime fur.

- $3.

This here's a $5 plew if there ever was one.

$3 seems fair enough... What are you doing?

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