Page 9 of The Spirit of the Wolf

Grey Coyote scowled. He still would not take the bait that LaCroix so willingly offered. He was not to be roused into anger, nor bow to the need to justify himself.

As for the woman, though Grey Coyote’s body screamed with interest, he would pass up the opportunity. Indeed, it was his only choice. He, more than anyone, knew that his heart was not available to any woman, that his duty to his people prevented him from taking a wife.

Hiya. No. Once this day, he had already had cause to suppress his physical desire, at least in relation to the golden-haired woman. And this from a mere glance, and at a distance across the room. What would be his predicament were she to be in his constant presence?

He said, “I will not gamble for the woman, and I am not afraid of the white people. I have a relative who is white—he is a trader and married to my adopted sister.”

LaCroix squinted. “And he taught ye English?”

Grey Coyote sat up straight. “He did.”

“Well, my friend, I am afraid that it is not yer decision to make. Ye committed to this game, same as I. If I want to put up my wife as stakes, it is my decision to make, not yers.”

Grey Coyote grimaced. What LaCroix said was true. By the rules of the game, once begun, Cos-soo was continued until one or the other of them was ruined. And LaCroix, being almost destroyed, claimed the right to either stop or continue to try to recoup his losses.

Grey Coyote said, “You are willing to lose such a fine woman?”

“I have already told ye that I am.” LaCroix pushed forward a stick. “This represents my fine, white-skinned wife.”

Briefly, Grey Coyote’s gaze met that of LaCroix’s. With a simple nod, Grey Coyote accepted the bet.

LaCroix smiled and reached for the Cos-soo bowl. Whispering a prayer, the man breathed in deeply, then slammed the bowl on the floor, turning it this way and that.

At last, it was done.

The crowd’s murmuring stopped. A hush fell over the room. Both men sat forward to inspect the contents of the bowl. With only a slight pause to note the exact count of the roll, Grey Coyote called out, “The big claw is on end, which is thirty sticks. There are three red claws, or fifteen, a total of forty-five. No burnt sides up, no blue sides up, one eye up, or no points, and three concaves up, or three. A total of forty-eight sticks.”

Grey Coyote accepted the forty-eight sticks from LaCroix for the man’s roll. It would be a difficult roll to beat, and secretly Grey Coyote thought his chances were slim.

“It is your roll, monsieur,” said LaCroix unnecessarily.

“Hau, hau,” agreed Grey Coyote, and picking up the smoothly polished Cos-soo bowl, he, too, breathed out deeply. Then, after pounding the object on the ground and twisting it round and round, he let go, the pot falling still.

In the background the fire blazed and the rain pattered down from the heavens. Both men, as well as most of the audience, leaned forward, peering into the dish.

As though in a daze, LaCroix scooted so far forward he might have fallen onto the bowl, unsettling it, as he had done once before this evening. This time their host, Big Eagle, was there, and catching hold of LaCroix, Big Eagle pulled the Frenchman back, away from the center.

“Pardone,” said LaCroix. “I felt suddenly dizzy.”

Big Eagle said nothing, but in his gaze, there was censure. If LaCroix took note of it, he said nothing. Instead, he shook off his host’s hold and, looking down into the bowl, called out, “The big claw is on end, or thirty points. There are no red claws, so there are no points there. Two burnt sides up at four each equals thirty-eight sticks.” He paused. “There are no blue sides up, but there are five eye sides up, or ten sticks. It is a total of forty-eight.”

Was it a draw?

No one spoke, not a word. Not even Grey Coyote, although with brow lifted, Grey Coyote fixed an unwavering gaze on LaCroix.

LaCroix cleared his throat, opened his mouth, but no words issued forth. It was left to Big Eagle to settle the matter, and stepping forward, he called out, “There are also three concaves up, at one each, thereby making Grey Coyote’s roll fifty-one sticks. Grey Coyote wins the game, the horses, the rifle, the powder horn, the clothes, the white woman.” He fell silent for a moment. “It is done.”

Instantly, murmurings took root within the crowd.

“But I have another wife…” LaCroix jumped to his feet.

Big Eagle shook his head. “It is over. I will not allow Scout LaCroix to gamble his other wife. Not tonight. Your luck has deserted you. You, Scout LaCroix, must take your loss like a man.”

“But, with one more roll, I could⁠—”

“I have spoken,” said Big Eagle. Only the host had a right to interfere, and his declaration in his own home was law.

“But, monsieur, I⁠—”