The Outcast (3 page)

And he had new enemies to slay.

They came out of the heart of the darkness. There were seven of them—short, stocky warriors as different from other mountain and plains tribes as the night from the day.

Their buckskins were crude and lacked whangs. The sleeves flared from the elbows to the wrists, and on the right hip of each legging were three concentric circles painted in black. They carried ash bows and had quivers filled with arrows fletched with raven feathers. The hilts of their knives were carved from antlers, and the blades were iron.

Most remarkable of all were their faces: low foreheads, thick eyebrows, eyes like black pitch, jutting jaws, and scars. Scars in intricate patterns that covered every inch of skin on their face, deep scars that formed symbols. What they stood for, only the short men could say.

The men moved at night and laid up during the day. Less chance of being seen that way.

They were a secretive people. Bitter experience taught them the need for it. Once they lived far to the south along a great bay. Life had been good. They hunted and fished and ate the hearts of their enemies, as their forefathers had done for more winters than there were blades of grass.

Then a new tribe came. A large tribe in the thousands, compared to their paltry hundreds. The warriors rode on fleet, giant dogs, which the Tunkua later learned were called horses, and did not like having their hearts eaten. They made fierce war on the Tunkua, or Heart Eaters, as they called themselves, and it became apparent that unless the Heart Eaters fled, they would be wiped out.

Councils were held. They could not go south. There was nothing but water. They had canoes, but only a few, and they always stayed close to shore. They were not a seafaring people.

They could not go east. That way lay vast swamps and bayous infested with alligators and snakes.

The west did not appeal to them. The land was dry and hot, much of it desert, and claimed by a tribe they held in great dread, the Shis-Inday.

The only way, then, was for the Heart Eaters to go north. They packed their possessions on travois drawn by dogs, and in the dead of night left the land they loved, bound for the unknown. They crossed a near-endless prairie of waving grass. The plain did not suit them, so they turned to the northwest, and after countless sleeps came to towering mountains capped by snow.

The Heart Eaters marveled. They had never seen mountains so high. They explored and were amazed to discover that while a few tribes had laid claim to territory here and there, much of the mountains belonged to no one. They penetrated deep into the interior, deeper than anyone had ever gone, so deep that the valley they chose had never been trod by human feet. It became their new home. Here they would be safe.

Or so they thought.

Now, hiking briskly up a boulder-strewn slope, the lead warrior paused and looked back the way they had come. He could not see their valley or their village, but he looked anyway.

“You keep doing that,” remarked Splashes Blood, the warrior behind him. “What is it you look for, Skin Shredder?'

Skin Shredder was thinking of one of his wives and their new child, but he did not say that. “By the rising of the sun we will reach the pass.”

Splashes Blood grunted. “They say we cannot get through. They say the Bear People blocked the pass with rocks and dirt.”

“There will be another way.”

“I hope so. We both lost brothers. I lost Ghost Walker and you lost Stands on Moon.”

“The Bear People must be punished,” Skin Shredder declared. “Our brothers will look down from Mic-lan and be pleased with us for avenging them.” In their tongue, Mic-lan was Sky Land, where warriors went after they died. A place of beauty and plenty, with enough hearts to eat for all. “They will honor us with a feast when we join them.”

Splashes Blood had more on his mind. “It is said the Bear People have horses. It is said their women are almost as big as they are. It is said they have strange sticks that make a noise like thunder and can kill from far away. It is said they are—”

“Who says all this?” Skin Shredder cut him off.

“Spirit Walker spied on them before the pass was blocked. He saw many wonders.”

“Are you a child, to be impressed by dogs and size? We are Tunkua. We are the Heart Eaters. We will capture these Bear People and take them back to our village so that all may take part in eating their hearts. Their medicine will be ours.” That was the part Skin Shredder looked forward to the most, the eating and the power that would come from it.

“I would like to have one of their women.”

“Have as in eat or have as in the other?”

“The other.” Splashes Blood quickly added, “Before you say anything, yes, I know Tunkua are only to share their blankets with other Tunkua. But I have long wondered what it would be like to have a Bear Woman.”

“The Bear People are huge and ugly and smell. Were you to lie with one of their females, she would crush you between her legs.”

“I had not thought of that,” Splashes Blood admitted. “They do have big legs. My women have strong legs and theirs are not half as big.”

Skin Shredder scanned the ridge above for the silhouette of a cliff. This talk of mating with a Bear Woman bothered him. It would be the same as mating with an animal. He reminded himself that his friend had always been woman hungry. Of all the Tunkua, only Splashes Blood had four wives. Skin Shredder had three, and there were times of the month when that was two too many.

“It is good to hunt hearts again,” Splashes Blood said.

On this Skin Shredder agreed. In the old days there had been many hearts to eat. But now they lived so deep in the mountains, with so few tribes anywhere near, the eating of hearts was rare. Human hearts, anyway. Just thinking of eating one again made his mouth water.

“Don't do that.”

“I can't help it,” Louisa said and sniffled. “It is what people do when they are upset.”

“Not all people.” Zach could count the number of times he had cried on one hand and have fingers left over. His father and mother hardly ever cried, either. He could remember his father crying only twice: once when his mother lay at the verge of death, and again when his sister was kidnapped by a white woman in revenge for his pa's shooting her brother.

Lou sniffled again. Here she had tried so hard to make this meal special so that when she broke the good news he would be happy, and instead he was acting as if he didn't really want a baby.

“I will leave if you don't stop.”

“Please,” Lou said softly.

“Please what?”

“Don't be this way. It means so much to me and I want it to mean as much to you.”

“It does.”

“Then why aren't you smiling and jumping up and down and acting all giddy as most men would?”

“When have I ever acted giddy over anything?”

Lou raised her head and looked at him, tears trickling down her cheeks. “We're talking about our first baby.”

“And I'm saying you can't judge me by what other men do. Just as I would never expect you to act like other women. We are each of us different. We do as we are, not as others are.”

“You're changing the subject. Why aren't you happy over the baby?”

“Oh, hell.” Zach got up and went to the door. As he worked the latch, he said, “I need some air.”

“Don't go.”

Zach had to. He was mad. He was afraid he might say something he would regret and upset her more, and he would spare her that. So he went out and walked down to the lake. He hardly noticed the night sky or the wind or the water lapping the shore. He began to pace. His head was in a whirl, as the Shoshone would say. He wished his parents were home. Often when he was troubled, a talk with them soothed him.

He loved Lou dearly, but women could be a trial. She expected him to act like a simpleton when they faced the most serious event of their life. She didn't look past the baby part to what came next. But he did, and it worried him. He considered what he should say to make her understand, then realized he was muttering to himself.

The door opened.

Louisa's heart had torn in half when he walked out on her. She started to cry in earnest but stopped herself. She mustn't break down. She must find out what was bothering him. It did no good to weep over something she didn't understand.

Dabbing at her nose with her sleeve, Lou walked to the lake. She quietly stared at him, and he stared at her, and neither of them said anything until he gruffly demanded, “Well?”

“I thought we should talk some more.”

“It would help if you would listen. Your tongue works better than your ears.”

At that, Lou flinched. He rarely cast barbs at her. “All right. I'm listening with all that I am. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Zach struggled for the right way to express his feelings. “We're going to have a child.”

“And you don't want one. I get that now.”

“Damn it.”

Lou flinched again. He hardly ever cursed. Some men did all the time, but not him or his pa. “What?”

“That is the one thing you do that drives me madder than anything.”

“What?” Lou repeated, confused.

“You put words in my head. I hate that. You jump to conclusions and you put words in my head that were never there. I never said I didn't want a baby. I never even
thought
it.”

Lou composed herself. He had a point. She had jumped to this conclusion, and that must be what was troubling him. “I'll try not to do that. But can you tell me what is the matter so I can understand? That's all I really want, is to understand.”

“We are going to have a child and I don't know if I'm ready.”

Lou was still confused. “Ready how?”

Zach hesitated. It was so hard to admit it. He had to clear his throat to say, “I don't know if I'll make as good a father as you will a mother.”

“That's ridiculous. You'll make a fine father. Why would—”

“I thought you just said you would try harder?” Zach interrupted.

Lou dabbed at her nose again. “Yes, I did. I'm sorry. Go on. Why don't you think you'll be any good at it?”

“Because I'm me.”

“I'm sorry, but that makes no sense. Of course you're you. Who else would you be?”

Zach gazed out over the lake. “Until I met you, I was what some would call reckless. I have a temper, and time and again it got me into trouble. Time and again I spilled blood. The irony, as my pa would call it, didn't escape me.”

“The irony?”

“I always hated being called a breed. People look down their noses at breeds. They think breeds are violent and vicious, and I despised them for that. But then one day it hit me. I had become the very thing I despised them for thinking I was. If that isn't ironic, I don't know what is.”

“What does that have to do with our baby?”

“It got so bad, I have a reputation for being a killer. I was arrested by the army and put on trial, remember? It's a wonder I'm standing here now, talking to you. I might have been hanged.”

“I was there. I know all about your past. You've kept no secrets from me,” Lou said. “But that was then. This is now. You've changed, Zach. You're not the same person you once were.”

“People never change. They act in new ways, but the old part of them is still buried deep inside.” Zach sighed. “I act mature now, yes, but I still have a temper. I just control it better.”

“Then you have changed, and for the better.”

“Will you please listen?” Zach was growing exasperated. He took several deep breaths to calm himself, then went on. “People
never
change. They just act in different ways. So when we have our baby, I'll be as fine a father as I can be. But will that be enough?”

“Why wouldn't it?” Lou was struggling to grasp what he was getting at, and worried she was upsetting him even more.

“Because I'll still be me. I'll still be the man who doesn't abide insults. I'll still be the man who wants to smash the face of anyone who looks down their nose at him. I'll still be the same Zach King who got into trouble all those times and was nearly hanged.”

Comprehension dawned, and Lou almost laughed. “Oh, you glorious fool, you.”

“Excuse me? Did you just call me a fool?”

“You were arrested for killing a man who was selling guns to the Indians and trying to stir up a war, and you were acquitted. So let's not hear any more about that. As for your temper, you hardly ever lose it anymore, so you can change, no matter what you think. No, what's bothering you is that our child will be a half-breed, and you don't want it to go through the hell you did.”

“There's that, too.”

“But don't you see? No child of ours will suffer as you did because we won't let it. I know you. You'll protect our son or daughter as fiercely as a mother bear protects her cubs.”

Zach managed a wry grin. “So now I'm a fool and a female?”

“But you do want this baby, don't you?”

“More than anything in the world.”

Louisa flooded with emotion. “I love you, Zach King.”

“And I love you, broken ears.”

She flew into his arms, and for a long while they just stood there, saying nothing because there was no need.

Shakespeare McNair whistled as he rode. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, birds were singing in the trees, and the lake was a picturesque playground for mallards, geese, mergansers, and other water fowl. All was right with the world, and he liked his world that way.

Shakespeare rode slowly. His white mare, like he, was getting on in years. He had thought about getting another horse and letting her while away her days in the corral, but she was like him in another regard—she liked to get out and around, and became downright ornery if she was cooped up too long. In that respect, she also reminded him of a certain Flathead lady he knew. He chuckled at the thought.

Shakespeare passed Nate and Winona's cabin and rose in the stirrups to stare intently at the dwelling of their elder offspring and daughter-in-law. All appeared tranquil. Smoke curled from the chimney. The chickens were pecking. He gathered that everything was all right. He hoped so. He dearly adored both Zach and Lou, and regarded them as family. The boy had been calling him uncle since he could toddle.

Shakespeare drew rein a dozen feet out. “Hail the cabin!” he hollered. “Are you decent in there?”

The door opened, framing Lou. She had on a dress and an apron, and her hands were on her hips. “What else would we be at this time of day? That is not all women think about, unlike some men I could mention.”

“Now, now,” Shakespeare said. “He can't help it. At his age, most males are randy as goats.”

“I was talking about you.”

“Me?” Shakespeare declared in mock indignation. “Why, I'm scandalized. I'll have you know, young lady, that at my age women are not the beall and end-all. Waking up in the morning is.”

“That's not what Blue Water Woman told me.”

“How's that?”

“We were at Winona's not long ago and your darling wife happened to mention that she can't hardly get her housework done for you pawing her all the time.”

Shakespeare's indignation was no longer mock. “She said that? The wench! Her kisses are Judas's own children. There's no more faith in her than in a stewed prune.”

Laughing, Lou came outside. She squinted against the glare of the sun and ran her hands down her apron. “A man your age, I should think you would be flattered.”

“A man my—!” Shakespeare put a hand to his chest as if stricken. “What have I done, child, that you prick me so? Am I remiss in my bathing? ‘Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love,' ” he quoted.

“Now, now. Don't get all pouty. Your wife loves you as dearly as she loves anything and would never say something that would hurt your feelings.”

“Too late for that,” Shakespeare huffed. “ ‘You cannot make gross sins look clear.' ” He lowered his hand. “But we'll drop it for now. I'll take this up with her when I get back.”

“Don't you dare. She'll ask how you found out.”

“I'll lie.”

“She's too smart for that. Sometimes I think she's the smartest person in our valley. She'll figure out that since only Winona and I knew, and Winona is gone, it had to be me.”

“And what of me, child?” Shakespeare asked. “Have I no brain? Aren't I as intelligent as my wife?”

“Oh, I am sure you are,” Lou hastily assured him. “But smart is not the same thing as intelligent.”

“Since when? That's like saying a scrambled egg isn't the same thing as an egg cooked with the yolk staring at you. They are both eggs.”

To Lou the distinction was obvious. “Intelligent is when you have a really good brain. Smart is when you know how to use it.”

“Dear Lord. Now I'm twice stricken.” Shakespeare drew his knife and held it out to her, hilt first. “Here. Stab true and put an end to my misery.”

“Oh, please. You're smart, too. Now quit acting silly and climb down. I'm baking a cake.”

“Celebrating something, are we?” Shakespeare asked, and grinned and winked. “Did it go as well as you seem to suggest?”

Lou happily nodded. “It went fine.” She placed her hand flat on her apron and looked down at herself. “He's made his peace with the idea of being a father.”

“I knew he would. I have confidence in that boy.” Shakespeare launched into another quote. “ ‘The youngest son of Priam, a true knight, not yet mature, yet matchless. Firm of word, speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue.' ”

From inside the cabin came a chuckle. “Lordy. If I have to put up with that all day, I might as well stay home.” Zach strolled out, his Hawken cradled in the crook of an elbow. “My wife tells me you want to go hunting.”

“That I do, Horatio Junior,” Shakespeare confirmed. “A black bear has been sniffing around our cabins of late, and unfortunately for him or her, as the case might be, my wife would like a new bearskin rug.”

“I've been seeing bear sign, too,” Zach said. “Come to think of it, the bear might have been around last night. I heard one of the horses act up, but didn't go for a look-see.”

“Getting lazy in your young age, are we?”

“I had something on my mind at the time.” Zach didn't elaborate. Instead, he took Lou's hand in his and asked, “Are you sure it's all right? We might be gone most of the day.”

Lou beamed and kissed him on the cheek. “Go on. Have fun. I have the cake to bake and a list to compose of all the things we'll need to get before the baby comes.”

“Uh-oh,” Shakespeare said. “It's begun. Brace yourself, son. Once a wife starts making a list of jobs for her man to do, the poor cuss never has any time to himself.”

“Goodness, how you exaggerate,” Lou retorted. “To listen to you talk, a person would think all women were shameless gossips and cruel taskmasters.”

“ ‘You speak an infinite deal of nothing,' ” Shakespeare quoted. “And you put words in my mouth, besides.”

Zach almost commented that she was good at that. But after last night, he decided he better not. “Take care while I'm gone. Don't lift anything heavy.”

“Land's sake,” Lou said. “I'm not that far along yet. Don't treat me as if I'm fragile when I'm not.”

“Whatever you do,” Zach cautioned, “don't step outside without a weapon.”

Lou glanced at McNair, wondering if he would tell Zach she had done just that the day before. But all Shakespeare did was smile. “Don't worry about me. I'll be perfectly fine,” she said.

Flat on his belly behind a log, the Outcast watched the half-breed and the old white ride off. That they were together suited his purpose.

The Outcast had lain awake long into the night, thinking. He had a plan. The first part of that plan involved the young white woman.

He stayed where he was until the breed and the old man were lost to view to the south. Then he rose, and with his bow in hand, crept along the tree line until he was on the side of the lodge opposite the square of glass. Swiftly, he crossed the open space and pressed his back to the logs.

He edged toward the front. Peering around the corner, he saw that the young woman had left the rectangle of wood open. From within came humming. She sounded very happy. For a few moments that gave him pause, but only a few. He crept around the corner.

Inside the cabin, Louisa was mixing cake ingredients. She added half a cup of sugar. One of her weaknesses was her sweet tooth. Zach often teased her about it, but she had loved sweets since she was a little girl, and whenever they went to Bent's Fort she made sure they brought sugar home.

Outside the cabin, the Outcast leaned his bow against the logs and drew his knife. He peeked inside. Wood covered the ground. Part of one side was made of stone. There was a square of wood with four long legs, like the old man and the Flathead had in their lodge, and those things they sat on. It was so unlike the lodges of his people. Whites were strange.

Inside the cabin, Lou went to a cupboard and took down the bowl of eggs she had gathered that morning from the chicken coop. She wished she had milk. Water would do, but milk was better. She kept suggesting to Zach that it would be nice if they had a cow, but her suggestion seemed to go in his ears and bounce back out. She was beginning to think that being subtle with a man didn't work. The only way for a woman to get her man to listen was to walk up and whack him on the head. She giggled.

Outside the cabin, the Outcast wondered what she found so amusing. He slid one foot inside and then the other. He held the knife low, the blade out. A single thrust and he could kill her.

Lou set down the spoon. She could use a few more eggs. She started to turn, thinking she would go out to the coop and see if the chickens had laid more. Her hands drifted to her apron, to her belly, and she looked down at herself. She thought of the new life inside of her and marveled at the miracle. She was both overjoyed and scared. Scared that something might go wrong. Both Winona and Blue Water Woman had said they would be there for her, and that helped.

Shock gripped the Outcast. The glow on the young woman's face, her gesture in placing her hands over her stomach. He had seen the one he never thought about do that many times when the spark of new life was kindled in her.
The white woman is pregnant.
It jolted him. It shouldn't have, but it did.

Lou closed her eyes and gently rubbed small circles across her belly. “What should we call you?” she wondered out loud. Which was silly since they had no idea whether it was a boy or a girl. Zach kept saying it would be a boy and was already talking about the hunts they would go on and how he would teach the boy to track and fish and hone knives and how to read the stars at night.

The Outcast almost trembled. This young white woman reminded him so much of
her.
Part of him wanted to slay her then and there, to plunge his knife into her body again and again and again. Another part of him—the part that had cried with happiness the day
she
told him the good news, the part he thought he had wiped from his being—stirred deep within him.

“If you're a girl we can call you Judith or Kathleen or maybe Karen. I've always liked those names. Or how about Beatrice? Would you like to be called Bea?”

The Outcast fought down his shock. He must remember she was white, and his enemy.

“If you're a boy, we could call you Nate, after Zach's pa, or Shakespeare, after the nicest man who ever lived. Your pa-to-be has his mind set on a name, but he won't tell me what it is. He says it's a secret and he'll only say after he's holding you in his arms.”

The white woman's voice, so low and soft, reminded the Outcast of
her
voice. He edged forward.

“I don't know why he's keeping it a secret. But then, he's a man, and men do the silliest things. But I wouldn't trade mine for all the silk and jade in China.” Lou giggled, and rubbed her stomach some more. “Listen to me, talking to you as if you can hear me. I guess Zach isn't the only silly goose in this family.”

The Outcast moved closer. He was almost within striking range.

“If you are a girl, I want you to know I'll be the best mother I can possibly be. I may not always do everything right, but I'll always try.”

The Outcast's insides were twisted into a knot. He wished she would stop rubbing. The memories were almost more than he could bear.

“One last thing and I'll stop babbling. This is a hard life, baby. We like it to be nice and often it is. But hard times come whether we like them or not. I lost my ma much too early. I lost my pa to hostiles. I pray to God I get to live longer than they did. I pray I see you grow to be a woman, and see you with a husband of your own one day. I pray I can hold my grandchildren in my lap and rock them in front of the fireplace in the evening. That would make me happier than anything I can think of.”

The words were meaningless to the Outcast. Her expression, though, said more than words ever could. He stopped and looked down at his knife, and when he looked back up, the woman was staring at him in bewilderment.

Lou couldn't believe her eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest. She realized she had left the front door open. If Zach had warned her about that once, he had warned her a hundred times. Worse, her pistols were on the dresser in their bedroom and her rifle was propped against the wall over by the front door.

The Outcast willed his arm to move. He willed his hand to bury the knife. He did not need her alive. She would serve his purpose as well dead.

Fear washed over Lou, but she did not let on that she was afraid. Zach told her once that she must never show fear to an enemy.

The Outcast's hand didn't move. Nor did he. He saw that she was unafraid, and his respect for her climbed. Then he remembered why he was there. Taking two long steps, he touched the tip of his blade to her throat.

Lou swallowed, but that was all. She looked into the warrior's dark eyes, and she forced a smile. “How do you do? My name is Louisa King. Who might you be?”

The Outcast cocked his head and studied her. This wasn't what he expected. This wasn't what he expected at all.

Lou was trying to tell which tribe he was from. She thought at first he might be a Ute since the Ute lived closest to King Valley, but she had seen Utes and they were different. He wasn't a Crow or a Nez Perce or any of the other Indians she was familiar with. The tribe he most reminded her of were the Blackfeet, but his face and his buckskins were not quite as theirs were.

The Outcast was confused. Here he was, holding a knife to her neck, and all she did was stare at him. Most enemies would fight or cringe in fright.

Lou knew a little Shoshone, so she tried that. She didn't realize she still had her hands on her belly until she saw him look down at them.

The Outcast was thinking of
her
again. Of how happy he had been when the baby was born. He remembered its wail when the lance pierced its body, and he broke out in a cold sweat.