Page 89 of The Veteran

She led him to the armoury, unlocked it with a key on her belt and took him inside. Beyond the racks of chained Springfields was the back wall. Here she found a pressure-operated release in a knothole and swung open the hidden door. There was a further room equipped with basins and bathtubs.

Craig had seen hot tubs before, during his two years at Fort Ellis, but they had been made of wooden staves. These were of enamelled iron. He knew tubs had to be filled by relays of buckets of hot water from the kitchen range, but Charlie turned a strange knob at one end and steaming water flowed out.

‘Ben, I’m going to come back in two minutes and I want to find all your clothes, except the buckskin, which needs dry-cleaning, outside the door.

‘Then I want you to get in with the brush and soap and scrub yourself. All over. Then I want you to take this and wash your hair with it.’

She handed him a flask with a green liquid that smelled of pine buds.

‘Finally I want you to dress again from any underclothes and shirts you find in those shelves over there. When you are done, come back out. OK?’

He did as he was bid. He had never been in a hot bath before and found that it was pleasant, though he had trouble finding out how the faucets operated and nearly flooded the floor. When he had done, and shampooed his hair, the water was a dull grey. He found the plug at the bottom and watched it drain away.

He selected cotton shorts, a white T-shirt, and a warm plaid shirt from the racks in the corner, dressed, braided the eagle feather back into his hair and came out. She was waiting for him. In the sun was a chair. She carried scissors and a comb.

‘I’m not an expert, but this will be better than nothing,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’

She trimmed his chestnut hair, leaving only the long strand with the feather untouched.

‘That’s better,’ she said when she was done. ‘And you smell just fine.’

She put the chair back in the armoury and locked it. Expecting warm thanks, she found the scout looking solemn, even miserable.

‘Charlie, ma’am, would you walk with me?’

‘Sure, Ben. Something on your mind?’

Secretly she was delighted at the chance. She might now begin to understand this enigmatic and strange product of the wilderness. They walked out through the gate and he led the way across the prairie towards the creek. He was silent, lost in thought. She forced back her desire to interrupt. It was a mile to the creek and they walked for twenty minutes.

The prairie smelt of hay-ready grass and several times the young man raised his gaze to the Pryor Range, towering in the south.

‘It’s nice to be out on the range, looking at the mountains,’ she said.

‘It’s my home,’ he said and lapsed into silence. When they reached the creek he sat down at the water’s edge and she gathered the folds of her full cotton dress about her and sat facing him.

‘What is it, Ben?’

‘Can I ask you something, ma’am?’

‘Charlie. Yes, of course you can.’

‘You wouldn’t tell me no lies?’

‘No lies, Ben. Just the truth.’

‘What year is it?’

She was shocked. She had hoped for something revelatory, something about his relationship with the other young people in the group. She stared into the wide, deep blue eyes and wondered . . . she was ten years his senior but . . .

‘Why, it’s 1977, Ben.’

If she had expected a non-committal nod, it was not what she got. The young man leaned his head between his knees, covered his face with his hands. His shoulders under the buckskin began to shake.

She had only once seen a grown man cry. It was beside an auto wreck on the highway from Bozeman to Billings. She rocked forward onto her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders.

‘What is it, Ben? What’s the matter with this year?’

Ben Craig had felt fear before. Facing the grizzly, on the slope above the Little Bighorn, but nothing like this awful terror.

---