She looked at the cleared ground, frowning. "What did this? Helicopters?"
"Don't think so. With luck, you'll see tomorrow morning".
* * *
Woodpeckers, always up and hard at work even before the roosters cry or the larks rise, woke them. As the sun came up Gide got to see a prairie chicken dance.
The birds, mating in the late northern spring, gathered together at the tramped-down earth and began to jump up and down in front of one another, in wild displays of feathery athleticism.
"Looks like the dance floor at the old Mezcal on a Saturday night", Gide said. "Except no music".
"They're resourceful little birds", Valentine said. "When the snow comes they dive right into a drift and wiggle down deep, making a little igloo. Coyotes and foxes can't smell them under the snow".
"What's an igloo?" Gide asked.
Valentine explained the principle.
"I wonder what the winters are like up here", Valentine said.
"We've got some time to get acclimated. But you don't talk like an Aztlan. Or a Texican, or a Cali, or a Yute. You're hard to place".
"I was born in Minnesota. At least I think I was. I spent my childhood there, anyway".
"That's like Canada, right?"
"Next to it".
Valentine carefully took out his surgical-tube sling, fixed it to his wrist, and put a rounded stone in the leather cup. He sighted on a male at the edge of the fracas, making halfhearted little hops.
"Oh, no, don't spoil their fun", Gide said.
"I don't like to dip into my preserved food unless I have to", Valentine said. "Hickory-and-sage-smoked prairie chicken's good eating".
Valentine knocked the oldster off his feet, scattered dancing chickens as he got up and ran to finish the job with a quick twist. He bled the bird into a cup and dressed it quickly.
"There goes your invitation to the next church cotillion", Gide said as Valentine dropped it in hot water to soften the feathers for plucking. He lifted the cup. "You're not really going to drink warm blood, are you?"
"Can't afford to waste anything. It's like a multivitamin", Valentine said.
"Give me a sip. Might as well start the mountain-man stuff now". He passed her the cup and she made a face as she sipped. "Fuck, that's rude! Like having a bloody nose".
"Your dad never had you drink blood?"
"We liked our food cooked. Haven't you ever heard of salmonella, Mr. Igloo?"
"Who did the cooking? Your mom?"
Gide worked her upper lip again, this time tightening it against her teeth. "She died having me. There wasn't a midwife or anything, just my dad".
"I'm sorry", Valentine said.
"Kids always get along better with the opposite-sex parent, ever notice that?" she asked.
Valentine accepted the change of subject. "I guess you're right". He'd not had the time to experience it with Amalee. Circumstances had changed.
"I'd better see about that bird. Thought I smelled some wild onions down by the pond. We can have a nice fry-up, then wash while it digests".
* * *