The Indian in the Cupboard Complete Collection. Lynne Banks Reid
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to git to? Or did the redskins carry off the wimmin and scalp all the men, the dirty lowdown savages?”
Little Bull drew in his breath. His head, which had been hanging in shame, came up sharply, and to Omri’s horror he actually saw his hand go to his belt for his knife. Luckily it wasn’t there. But he jumped to his feet.
“Boone shut mouth! Not say bad words, not insult Indian braves, or Little Bull shoot again, this time kill good, take scalp, hang on pole – Boone scalp too dirty hang on belt of Indian Chief!”
And he snatched his Chief’s cloak off Boone’s body and swirled it proudly back round his own shoulders.
Omri was shocked, but Patrick was laughing so hard he could scarcely hold it in. But he controlled himself enough to wrap Boone up in the cut-out blanket to keep him warm.
Omri snatched Little Bull up between finger and thumb.
“Oh, so you’re a Chief again, are you?” he hissed furiously. “Chiefs ought to know how to keep their tempers! Here—” He picked the broken headdress off the floor and fitted it lopsidedly on to Little Bull’s black hair. “Now, Chief – have a good look at yourself!” And he held Little Bull up before a mirror. Little Bull took one look, and then hid his face in his hands. “Just you remember what you did – to your friend!”
“Not friend. Enemy,” muttered Little Bull. But the anger had gone out of him.
“Whatever he is, you’ve got a job to do. Where are those pills? You’re to see that he gets them. We can’t – we can’t even see them. So it’s up to you! And when Boone is better, do you know what you’re going to do? You’re going to make him your blood-brother!”
Little Bull shot him a quick, startled look. “Blood-brother?”
“I know all about it,” Omri went on. “You both make little cuts on your wrists and tie them together so the blood mingles, and after that you can’t be enemies ever again. It’s an old Indian custom.”
Little Bull looked baffled. “Not Indian custom.”
“I’m sure it is! It was in a film I saw.”
“White man idea. Not Indian.”
“Well, this Indian’s going to do it. And you can smoke a peace-pipe. Don’t tell me that’s not an Indian custom either!”
“Not Iroquois. Other tribes.”
“Couldn’t you do it, just this once?”
Little Bull was silent for a moment, thinking. Then Omri saw that crafty look that he knew of old coming on to the Indian’s face.
“Good,” he said. “Little Bull give Boone medicine, make him my brother when strong. And Omri put plass-tick in box, make real wife for Little Bull.”
“Not tonight,” said Omri firmly. “We’ve had enough excitement. Tonight you stand guard over Boone, give him his pills when he needs them, drinks of water and all that. Tomorrow, if everything’s all right, I’ll bring your woman to life. That’s a promise.”
OMRI HAD FULLY intended to go to sleep – Patrick did, almost immediately – but he couldn’t, tired though he was.
Instead, he lay in the candle-light, his head turned towards the table where Boone lay, and Little Bull sat cross-legged next to him, erect and watchful. Sometimes Omri would close his eyes, but he did no more than doze; each time he opened them, he would meet Little Bull’s unblinking stare.
It was partly the rat which kept him awake. It pattered around under the floor for hours, making Omri nervous, but it never came anywhere near the men. No, that wasn’t the main thing. The main thing was Omri’s thoughts.
What was he going to do?
He would bring Little Bull’s woman to life as he had promised. But then what?
It had been hard enough with only one little being to feed, protect and keep secret. Much harder after Boone came. Now, with the woman, there’d be three. Young as he was, Omri knew that one woman and two men spelt trouble.
For all Little Bull’s unpredictable moods, his demands, his occasional cruelties, Omri liked him. He wanted to keep him. But he knew, now, that that was impossible. Whichever way he thought about it, the end was the same – disaster of some kind. Whatever magic had brought this strange adventure about must be put to use again, to send the little people back to their own place and time.
Having decided this, however sadly and reluctantly, Omri’s stressful thoughts let go their hold on him. He drifted off to sleep. When he opened his eyes again, dawn was breaking; the morning chorus of birds was just beginning. The candle had burnt itself out. The rat had gone to sleep. So had Little Bull, nodding over his bow… Omri peered closely at Boone. The yellow field-dressing on his wound moved steadily up and down; his skin had lost the grey look. He was better… Of course Little Bull shouldn’t have gone to sleep, but just the same, he had done his best. Omri slipped out of bed.
His blazer was hanging from a hook at the back of his door. He took the paper-bag with the woman in it out of the pocket. Moving on tiptoe, he went to the cupboard, took out the plastic soldier, put in the plastic Indian girl, and locked the cupboard door again.
When he heard little movements, he unlocked the cupboard and opened the door a crack, so she wouldn’t be frightened in the dark. Then he got back into bed, covered himself up all except his eyes, and stayed perfectly still to watch what would happen.
At first nothing did. Then, slowly, stealthily, the door was pushed a little further open. Out crept a beautiful Indian girl. There was enough light in the room now for Omri to see the black of her hair, the chestnut brown of her skin, the bright red of her dress. He couldn’t see her expression, but he guessed she was bewildered. She glanced all round, and at once spotted Boone lying on the ground and Little Bull dozing beside him.
She approached them cautiously. For a few moments she lingered behind Little Bull, clearly not sure whether she should touch and wake him or not. She decided against it, and, circling Boone’s feet, sat herself cross-legged on his other side, facing Little Bull.
She sat staring at him. The three of them were so utterly still that they might have been plastic again. Then a blackbird outside gave a particularly loud chirrup and Little Bull sat up sharply.
At once he saw her. His whole body gave a jolt. Omri felt a prickling up the back of his neck. The way they looked at each other! It went on a long time. Then, slowly and both together, they rose to their feet.
Little Bull spoke to her quietly in his strange, rustling language which did not move his lips. She answered. He smiled. Standing there on either side of Boone, not touching, they talked for some minutes in low voices. Then he put out his hand and she put hers into it.
They stood silently. Then their hands dropped. Little Bull pointed at Boone, and began talking again. The girl crouched down, touched Boone gently and expertly. She looked up at Little Bull and nodded. Then Little Bull looked around the room. He saw Omri.
Omri put his finger to his lips and shook his head, as if to say, “Don’t tell her about me.”
Little Bull nodded. He took the girl by the hand and led her to the seed-tray, up the ramp and into the longhouse. After a moment or two, he came out again. He ran the length of the table till he stood on its edge, as near to Omri as he could get. Omri leant forward so they could talk quietly.
“Do you like her?”
“Fit wife for Chief.” Omri realized this was as near to a