- START -

Grey Fox sat in that Yuma Inn seat, waiting with his braves. The man who razed them earlier, the one with the insane smile, came down the stairs. He went back to the bar, and shouted for his hootch again. After getting it, and swilling it, the man with the scarred cheeks and insane smile returned his attention back to Grey Fox.

"Hey you." the Man in Black pointed at the old Indian with a finger, dead in between his eyes. The old Indian saw the holsters on the man's belt, the grips sticking out of them. In his grandfather's time, the People had swore that the White Man held demons in the cold blue steel in their hands. Grey Fox knew better, but that didn't make the White Man any less dangerous. "Get off your lazy asses. The Old Man's free for you to see him."

Grey Fox and his two braves, warriors he trusted to be cool and dangerous at the same time, stood up. The man with the scarred cheeks motioned them upstairs, one of his hands resting on the grip, easily. The insane smile was back, and the light of his eyes matched his lips. Grey Fox and his braves walked to the stairs, and started up. They all coolly ignored the Man in Black as they ascended the stairs.

The Man in Black mimicked shooting them with a finger, the smile never leaving his face. That being done, he left the Yuma Inn, setting off for the new project he was given. The promise of killing someone had set him off in a good mood.

The Old Man poured over the maps one last time, marking on them with small notations for his eyes only. A knock on the door had him shuffle another map over it, one that was a regular blank map of the Territory.

"Come in!" The Old Man gruffed, and he saw an old Injun and two braves enter in. They all appeared unarmed, but the Old Man wasn't fooled. He, himself, appeared unarmed, too.

The old Injun sat in the single seat available, his braves flanking him with arms behind their backs. They stayed silent. So did the Old Man. Both party's knew this game well. It was a matter of honor and pride, making the other speak first. The Old Man and Grey Fox held each others gazes, neither blinking, neither wavering. Like two lions sizing up one another, hard grey eyes watched hard black ones.

One of Grey Fox's braves, knowing this game as well, cleared his throat after five minutes. The brave did this on cue, as told. It was a reasonable compromise, since neither the Old Man nor Grey Fox broke contact, but it started things.

"Why are you here?" The Old Man started off.

"We have found more and more of your men in our lands." Grey Fox stated. He did his best to hold his temper, though it never showed in his face or voice. The People had been 'given' that land they held onto so dearly. Mountians, caves, flat hard-baked land that was almost worthless for growing any crops. So the 'American Government' gave them the land, what they consisdered wastelands.

But it wasn't totally worthless. Only a few short months ago, a warrior's woman picked up a strange rock from the river they used for water. She brought it up to Grey Fox, whom was considered a wise man. One look at the yellowish soft rock told him all he needed to know.

"Just because more gold-seekers come into your land doesn't instantly make them mine, Chief." The Old Man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not responsible for who comes and who goes."

"So you are incompetent?" Grey Fox asked quickly, with a little more raised voice. He hit the nerve he was aiming for.

"Watch your mouth, savage, otherwise...

"Ah! I am savage! Gery Fox pronounced loudly. "Your people steal across my lands and hurt my people, yet I am savage! Your people wander around, killing one another for petty babbles, yet I am savage! Your people kill all livestock in lands, then move to do it again, forcing others who have lived in harmony for lifetimes, yet I am savage!" Grey Fox's dark eyes stared at the Old Man with their black fires, the look that every pioneer and westerner knew. The look of death.

"Well, that's progress." The Old Man finished with hands folded. He didn't need to win a words game, just to do what he wanted. And no self-rightous Injun would stop him.

"Ah, that word: Progress." Grey Fox snorted, pulling from his tunic a contract that the Old Man sent him a week earlier. "I will say that word to your face when you progress yourself into your very graves. I will sign no contract, giving you no rights or treaties into my lands. Anyone who comes within a mile of those... mines!" He spat out the word with hate. "...will find himself with another metal to comfort himself with. Lead bullets." With that, the old Indian got up, and his two braves turned to walk away as Grey Fox opened the door to leave.

"I haven't given you permission to leave!" The Old Man raised his voice.

"I know." Grey Fox said, tearing up the contract and letting it flutter to the floor. "I never needed it." With that, they Indians left, and Grey Fox swore he could feel the ancestors of the People hooting for him, the fires of their souls warming his old bones.

Grey Fox smiled, knowing, for once, it was they who had won this game. For now.

- END -

01/08/2004

Author's Note: Explainations: grips - the handles of guns ...a strange rock - Gold, of course. Indians, despite what loads of conquesadors and explorers believed, never had any real use for gold, other than for possible pottery means. ...the look of death - often called gone crazed Injun, the term was used to compare to an Indian's zeal in battle. They were said to be fearocious.

Posted on 01/09/2004
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