The Outcast (7 page)

Shakespeare McNair sat in the rocking chair in Zach and Lou's cabin. He didn't rock. He sat staring at the stone fireplace without seeing it. He was deep inside himself, adrift on tides of fear and despair.

Earlier he had carried Blue Water Woman into the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. She was pale and sweaty, and never stirred. He felt her pulse and was appalled at how weak it was.

Shakespeare was worried worse than sick. He loved that woman, loved her with all that he was. She was his heart given form. He loved her so much that to see her like this tore him to his core. He felt as if his very being were being wrenched and twisted.

He had run out of tears. He had cried until there were none left. Now drained, he sat staring blankly into space and prayed that the woman who was everything to him would go on being everything to him. Life without her would be an unending emptiness.

Shakespeare had been in love twice in his life. Love of the marrying kind. His first wife had been kind and wonderful. After she died he lived alone for years until circumstance conspired to bring him back together with Blue Water Woman.

It was strange. Here Shakespeare thought he had loved his first wife with the deepest love anyone ever felt. But his love for Blue Water Woman eclipsed his first love as the sun eclipsed the earth. The depth of his devotion to her went beyond anything he ever knew. They had a pet expression—“hearts entwined”—that described better than any other words what they meant to each other.

Now she lay at death's door, and there was nothing Shakespeare could do but wait. Not that he had been idle. He never went anywhere without his possibles bag. In it were a fire steel and flint, a sewing needle, a whetstone, and other things he found regular use for. There were also various herbs.

To aid Blue Water Woman, first he applied a powder ground from the root of what the Shoshones called the wambona plant. It was the best of all medicines to stop bleeding.

Once Shakespeare was sure he had stopped it, he made a poultice from plantain and applied it with a cloth.

At moments like this, Shakespeare took issue with the Almighty. It seemed to him that the suffering people went through—and some folks went through a godawful lot of it—they were better off without. He wasn't one of those who thought life should be all cream and pie, but he was prone to wonder where the sense was in people hurting and dying.

Shakespeare roused and shook his head. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn't do any good. He rose and went into the bedroom. Blue Water Woman was as pale and still as before. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her brow to see if she had a fever, and she opened her eyes.

“There you are.”

Shakespeare nearly jumped. “You're awake!” He bent and kissed her right cheek and then her left, his eyes misting. “Damn, you gave me a scare.”

Blue Water Woman licked her lips. She was unbearably weak, and her head throbbed. But she didn't dwell on the shape she was in. She saw the worry in his eyes and perceived the turmoil he was in, and did what she always did. She took his mind off his worries by asking, “Whose bed is this?”

“What?”

“A simple question. This is not ours. What kind of husband are you that you put me in a strange bed?”

“Now see here,” Shakespeare said in some annoyance, “we're in Zach's cabin. He went off after the Blood who took Lou. I've done what I could for you and tucked you in.”

“I want to be in our own bed.”

“Later.”

“I would like to go now.”

“If you aren't the most contrary female who ever drew breath, I don't know who is. I'll take you to our cabin when you're up to it and not before.”

“But—”

“Have you forgotten the knock on your noggin? Do you have any idea how much blood you've lost? It's best you lie here and get your strength back.”

“Nate would take Winona if she asked him. Zach would take Lou.”

“I never,” Shakespeare said, and launched into a quote. “ ‘I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furtherest inch of Asia. Bring you the length of Prestor John's foot. Fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard. Do you any embassage to the Pygmies.' ” He paused. “And whatever else your little heart desires.”

Blue Water Woman mustered a wan smile.

“Share the humor, why don't you?”

“You are yourself again.”

Emotion welled up in Shakespeare. Here she was, severely hurt, and she was more concerned about him. He tried to speak but couldn't for the constriction in his throat.

“Cat have your tongue?” said Blue Water Woman a white saying she remembered. “It must be some cat to stop yours from wagging.”

Shakespeare looked away. He coughed, then carefully embraced her and whispered into her ear, “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“More than you love your mare?”

“A horse is a horse. You're mixing feathers and fur.”

“More than you love your rifle?”

“Now you're just being silly. I'm fond of my gun, yes, because it keeps me alive. But I'd never ask it to marry me.”

“More than you love the Bard?”

Shakespeare raised his head and looked at her. “Damn, woman. When you cut, you go for the jugular. But since you have put me on the spot, I'll confess.” He stroked the soft sheen of her neck. “I love you more than I love old William S.”

Blue Water Woman grinned. “At long last I know where I stand. I should be hit on the head more often.”

Shakespeare laughed. She was acting more like her usual self every minute, and there was a pink blush to her cheeks that bode well for her recovery. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all?”

“How soon men forget. I want to be in my own bed.”

“ ‘Well moused, lion.' I will go make a travois.”

“How sweet of you. And all I had to do was twist your arm.”

Shakespeare McNair sighed.

Zach King was doing it again. He was being reckless. He knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. The sign was fresh. The tracks showed he was close to his quarry, close to the Blood who had taken the woman he loved, close to rescuing her. So he pushed hard up the slope, goading the bay when it flagged. He was so intent on the tracks that he came out of the forest and was a few feet up a talus slope when he realized what it was, and drew rein.

Zach raised his head. The tracks led onto the talus. He pursed his lips in puzzlement. Only a madman or a fool would try to cross talus. The Blood impressed him as neither. The spike on the sapling had been the work of a shrewd mind.

The ridge above the talus consisted of more timber broken by large boulders. Nowhere was there any sign of Lou and her abductor. So they must have made it up.

Zach had a decision to make. Climb the talus, or be smart and safe and ride around it. Riding around would take longer. Since every second of delay was an eternity of suspense, he did what he knew he shouldn't. His father would have the good sense not to. The same with McNair. But Zach jabbed his heels against the bay and started up.

Almost immediately dirt and stones spilled from under the bay's heavy hooves. The bay snorted and stopped, and Zach urged it on again. He held his rifle low against his left leg, the reins in his right hand.

Up above, Lou was startled by a clatter. She looked down, and her heart leapt into her throat. It was Zach, coming to save her! She opened her mouth to shout a warning, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the warrior smile.

The Outcast was pleased with himself. He had planned well. The woman would yell. The breed would forgo all caution and charge up the slope. The talus would bring the breed's horse down, leaving the breed on foot in the open, within range of his arrows. Then he realized the woman was looking at him.

A chill rippled through Lou. She knew that if she shouted, Zach would come flying up that treacherous slope—which she now suspected was exactly what her captor wanted him to do. She saw an arrow notched to his bowstring, an arrow meant to take her husband's life, and she acted out of sheer impulse, out of her love for the man who had claimed her heart. She threw herself at the warrior.

The Outcast was caught off-guard. He had expected the woman to shout. With her ankles bound, he'd felt she posed no threat. But suddenly she was on him, raking at his eyes with her nails, a fierce gleam in her eyes that made him think of a mountain lion protecting her kittens or a shebear, her cubs.

Lou's one hope was to blind him. She couldn't hope to overpower him; he was much too big and too strong. So she clawed at his eyes with both hands while driving both her knees at his chest.

The Outcast was knocked back. He rolled as he hit the ground and she clung to him like a bobcat to its prey. He wanted to hold on to the bow, but if he did she would take out an eye.

Lou missed his eye but opened his cheek. He kept turning his head to thwart her. When he tried to roll on top of her, she kicked out with all her might with both legs.

The Outcast was sent tumbling. He lost the bow and the arrow and came to a stop on his stomach. Placing his hands flat, he went to push up and realized he was on the talus. He rose as high as his knees and looked up just as the white woman launched herself at him.

Lou gave no thought to her safety, no thought to the life in her womb. She thought only of Zach and what her captor would do to the man she loved if she didn't stop him. She slammed into the Outcast's chest so hard that it sent pain shooting from her shoulder to her hip. The next instant she was on her side and sliding.

The Outcast was sliding, too. He thrust his arm down to stop, but he was caught in a flowing current of stones and dirt.

Below, Zach drew rein in amazement at the sight of his wife and her warrior captor locked in mortal combat. He saw Lou hurl herself at the warrior and both of them tumble down the slope in a rush of broken earth. “Lou!” he bawled in alarm.

Louisa heard him. She sought to arrest her slide, but the stones tore at her palms and fingers. Her legs, bound as they were, were of little use. She remembered her father-in-law telling her once about the time he was caught in a talus slide, and how he had stayed limp and loose and let the talus sweep him along. So long as she didn't fight it, she might reach the bottom alive.

The Outcast dug in his heels and clutched at the talus, but he might as well have clutched at sand. He couldn't stop sliding. Worse, he was sliding ever faster and dislodging more and more talus. He was like a ball of snow sent rolling down a slope, gathering speed and growing in size. Dust enveloped him like a cloud, making him cough, making it hard to see.

Zach started to rein to Lou's aid and stiffened. A twenty-foot section of stone and earth was sweeping toward the bottom, carrying Lou and the Blood with it—and coming directly at him. He reined around, or tried to, and suddenly the bay was kicking and whinnying as the slope gave way under it. Zach threw himself clear as the bay came down on its side. Fortunately they hadn't climbed far. It was only a dozen feet to the bottom. Zach came to a stop and stood.

Lou swatted at the cloud of dust. She remembered her condition, and put her hands over her belly, fearing the outcome should she careen into a boulder. She glimpsed Zach down at the bottom and was glad he was safe. Then she realized she was sliding toward him, along with tons of dirt and rock, and a warning cry was torn from her throat.

Zach looked up. He ran to the bay, grabbed the reins, and tugged. The horse pumped upright and stood trembling. Quickly, Zach swung on. He reined the bay around and sought to gallop out of there, but the next second the the talus was upon them. Stones and dirt and dust eddied about the bay like water. The horse managed a few strides and was brought down again, whinnying as they were swept toward the trees.

Once again Zach flung himself clear. A spruce loomed and he tried to roll to the right, but he only partially succeeded. His ribs exploded with agony, and he almost lost his grip on the Hawken.

Lou was on her back, her heels up, praying desperately for deliverance. She had lost sight of her husband. She could no longer see the warrior. Under her, the talus moved like a living thing, bearing her with it. She was helpless in its grip, an ant caught in an earthen cataract.

The Outcast was doing all he could to stop his fall, and everything he did failed. His hands were torn, his feet battered. The quiver was torn from his back. He twisted to try to get his arms and legs under him, and was sent toppling out of control. Vaguely, he was aware of a large boulder in his path. The thud of contact caused his senses to reel and the world to dim. He shook his head to clear it in time to see another boulder. He hit it excruciatingly hard. He was conscious of flying through the air, of slamming down, of being swept along, a roar in his ears, dust in his nose and mouth and eyes.

Zach turned to look for Lou. A fist-sized rock shot at him like a cannonball and he went to duck, but it caught him on the side of the head. He cartwheeled. The sky and the ground changed places. A tree loomed. The world faded to black and he felt dirt sliding over him, and then there was nothing, save an abyss that sucked him into its inky depths.

Lou thought she would suffocate from all the dust. It made her eyes sting and water. She blinked and swiped at them with a sleeve and cleared them in time to feel the dirt give way under her and her body start to sink. Loose earth and stones flowed over her. She swatted at it but there was too much for her to stop it from covering her. She couldn't help herself; she screamed.

As abruptly as it began, the slide was over. The scream died and the roar faded and the rock-and-dirt avalanche came to an end. In the ensuing silence, nothing moved.

The talus was empty of life.

Indians used the travois when they moved from one site to another. It consisted of long poles lashed together and covered with a hide. Shakespeare McNair made sure the travois he rigged was good and sturdy before he covered it with a buffalo robe. Then he carefully carried his wife from the bed and out the front door. She was still much too weak, but she had recovered enough to put her arms around his neck and teasingly regard him with a playful gleam in her eyes.

“My, how strong you are. It is good to know the pots and pans will not strain you.”

Shakespeare was turning so he could lay her gently down. “Pots and pans?”

“One of us must do the cooking and wash the dishes after we eat.”

After wrapping her in the robe, Shakespeare stepped back. “There. You should be comfortable enough.”

“Didn't you hear me?”

“Yes. I'm ignoring you. I wouldn't let you cook anyway, in the shape your in. Nor wash clothes nor knit nor fetch the eggs from the chicken coop. Leave it all to me.”

“How kind you are,” Blue Water Woman said merrily. “I had forgotten your domestic skills. You use them so rarely.”

“‘Dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?' ” Shakespeare quoted.

“Not at all.” Blue Water Woman smiled sweetly. “You would make some man a fine wife.”

Shakespeare snorted in mock indignation. “ ‘O curse of marriage, that we call these delicate creatures ours.' ” He bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Don't think I don't know what you're up to, wench.”

“Pardon me?”

“You're trying to keep me from worrying by taking my mind off that gash in your skull. But it won't work. I love you too much.”

Blue Water Woman reached up and squeezed his hand. “As I love you, Carcajou.”

Shakespeare closed the door. He came around the travois, climbed on the mare, and started off at a turtle's pace. “If I jostle you, I'm sorry. I'll do the best I can not to.”

“You are most considerate.” Blue Water Woman was warm and snug. She closed her eyes and felt the motion of the travois under her.

Despite his worry, Shakespeare was optimistic. It appeared she wasn't severely hurt. A couple of weeks to mend, and she would be her old self.

“Husband?”

“Yes, nag of my life?”

“How do you think Zach is faring?”

“That boy can handle himself better than most.” But deep down Shakespeare was worried. Blood warriors were fierce fighters. He wished he could have gone with the boy.

“Husband?”

“Yes, oh chattering chipmunk?”

“Why do you think the Blood took Louisa?”

“Maybe he hankered for companionship.” But Shakespeare doubted it.

The Blackfoot Confederacy was notorious for its hatred of whites. The last time he went to Bent's Fort he'd been surprised to hear that several priests had gone into Blackfoot country to convert them. It struck him about as silly as trying to get a griz to give up meat.

“Husband?”

“Will you hush and rest? You talk more now than before you got that knock on the noggin.”

“I only wanted to say that after you get me home, you should go after Zachary.”

“No.”

“I will be fine by myself.”

“It's still no.”

“Zach and Lou might need you. I could not bear it if anything were to happen to them.”

“I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you.” The very thought made Shakespeare's eyes mist. “Zach will understand. He'd do the same if he were in my moccasins.”

“May I ask you one more thing? And then I will be quiet.”

Shakespeare shifted to check that the travois was dragging as it should. Sometimes the poles came apart if they weren't tied tight. “I'll believe that when I don't hear it. But go ahead. Ask away.”

“Are you sure you would not like to have a child of our own? We could go to St. Louis and adopt.”

“Are you insane? At our age?” Shakespeare laughed. “My heart might say yes, but my aching joints say no. It's sweet of you, though.”

They were halfway to Nate's cabin. The shore became rocky, so much so that Shakespeare reined closer to the trees, where the ground was largely rock free. He gazed at the wooded slopes to the west and spied a cloud of dust high up. The cloud grew, borne by the breeze. What caused it, he wasn't rightly sure.

“Husband?”

“So much for your promise. You are falser than vows made in wine.”

“I insist you go find Zach and Lou. It will be partly my fault if they come to harm.”

“How do you figure?”

“If I had not been hurt, you would have gone with him.”

“Did you invite the Blood to our valley? Did you ask to be hit on the head? Quit being ridiculous.” Shakespeare shifted in the saddle. “When I get you to our cabin, you had better still that tongue of yours or I will by god sew your mouth shut.”

“You are adorable when you are angry.”

Shakespeare had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but just then the undergrowth crackled and out of the forest lumbered the last thing he wanted to run into with his wife lying helpless on a travois and the mare unable to go any faster than a walk.

It was a bull buffalo.

The seven Tunkua had seen the whole thing, and marveled at the destruction. They had crept to within an arrow's flight of the young white woman and the warrior and were watching from concealment. They saw the warrior cut her hands free and remove the gag.

When they used sign talk, Skin Shredder almost gave himself away. He rose higher to see better and the brush he was hidden in rustled. But neither the warrior nor the woman looked up. He didn't know which tribe the warrior belonged to. Since all tribes were his enemies, it didn't matter.

Skin Shredder was about to signal to begin the stalk when a rider appeared lower down. That it turned out to be the young breed was no surprise. His people knew that the breed and the young woman lived in the same lodge. The breed had come to save her.

Skin Shredder expected blood to be spilled. He decided to await the outcome. He was amazed when the white woman attacked the warrior. She had great courage, that one. He was even more amazed when they tumbled onto the talus and caused part of the slope to break away.

Now the sliding of the earth had ceased. The talus was still. Thick clouds of dust rose over it.

Skin Shredder slashed the air with a hand and he and his fellow warriors cautiously moved lower. The warrior's animal was tied to a tree and shied at their approach. Thanks to the breeze, the dust soon cleared—revealing nothing but talus.

“I do not see any of them,” Splashes Blood declared.

“Nor I,” Star Dancer said.

“We will circle around and search,” Skin Shredder instructed “You three go that way. You others come with me.”

“Do we finish them with arrows?” Star Dancer asked.

“It has been too long since our people ate a live heart. If they are breathing, we take them back with us.”

To the Tunkua, eating a heart was their most sacred ritual. Everyone took part. The sacrifice was fed a last meal the night before. At sunrise the sacrifice was stripped and washed and tied to a stake. Then came the dance of knives. By the time it was done the sacrifice was cut from head to toe. Usually they screamed and wailed. But they did not scream long. The taking of the heart came next; it was cut from them while they were alive. Then the medicine man would hold it aloft and go among them, and every Tunkua—man, woman and child—would reverently touch it. The heart was then cut into small pieces, and a piece placed on the tongue of each.

More than any other ceremony, it spoke to who they were and firmed the bond they shared as Tunkua.

Skin Shredder hoped they found one of the three alive.

Wisps of dust still rose. Here and there pebbles rattled.

They looked for bodies—an arm, a leg, anything.

“A bad way to die,” Splashes Blood said.

“Not fit for a warrior,” another agreed.

To Skin Shredder, death was death. His time would come one day, and he looked forward to it. The Tunkua believed there were three spirit worlds in the afterlife: one for animals, another for enemies, and a third for Tunkua. Life was much like it was in this world except there were no ailments or pain or misery, and the hearts tasted sweeter.

“They must be buried.”

“Keep looking.”

They were almost to the bottom when Star Dancer pointed. “There! It is the woman.”

Skin Shredder saw her hand poking limply from the dirt and rocks. “She must be dead.” No sooner did he say it than her fingers moved. “Link arms. We will form a chain. I will go out myself.”

It was treacherous work. The talus could give way at any moment. But by taking small steps and treading lightly, they edged out until Skin Shredder was close enough to grip the woman's hand. Only a sprinkle of dirt covered part of her face and one shoulder.

Skin Shredder pulled. He had to do it in such a way that he didn't press down hard with his feet. Bit by bit, he dragged her from her earthen grave. Rocks rolled and the earth moved, but it didn't set the rest of the talus in motion.

The white woman groaned a few times. Her dress was torn and brown with dirt. Her face had many bruises.

Skin Shredder could not get over how hideous she was. She didn't have the broad nose or big lobes or thick eyebrows of Tunkua women. She didn't have the tattoos that made Tunkua women so beautiful. With infinite slowness, he stooped and picked her up. He was surprised at how light she was. He carefully handed her to Splashes Blood who in turn handed her to Star Dancer, who gave her to the last warrior in the chain; he set her on solid ground.

Once they were safe, they ringed the woman.

“Her ankles are still tied,” Star Dancer noted.

Skin Shredder cut the rope. He shook her but all she did was groan. He shook her harder, and when that failed, he smacked her on the cheek. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened wide.

Lou could scarce credit what she saw. The last she remembered, she was hurtling down the talus slope. A wave of fright washed over her, but she didn't let it show. She knew about the tribe on the other side of the range. They called themselves the Heart Eaters and had those terrible faces. Her father-in-law and McNair had supposedly blocked the pass that permitted the Heart Eaters to enter King Valley, but apparently the warriors had found another way in.

From the frying pan to the fire, Lou realized. She smiled to show them she was friendly and slowly sat up. Her left shoulder throbbed and her face hurt all over. She looked around for Zach and fought down rising panic. “How do you do?”

Once again Skin Shredder was impressed by her courage. Most captives would cower in fright. “I do not speak your tongue.”

Lou remembered Nate saying the Heart Eaters knew sign. She motioned at the talus and asked in finger talk, ‘Question: You save me?'

‘We pull you out.'

‘I thank you.'

‘We no do help you.'

‘Question: What you want me?'

‘We take you our village.'

Lou's breath caught in her throat. ‘I no want go.'

‘You go,' Skin Shredder signed with a cold smile.

Twisting, Lou searched the talus for Zach. He was nowhere in sight. He might be buried and likely dead. Her eyes started to tear, and she blinked them away. “Oh, Zachary.”

Skin Shredder guessed she was looking for her man. He gestured, and Splashes Blood and Star Dancer seized her arms and hauled her to her feet. When they let go, she swayed like a reed and would have fallen if Star Dancer hadn't held her.

‘Question: You hurt?'

‘I be weak,' Lou responded. She could feel her strength slowly returning, but she didn't want them to know. The longer they delayed, the better her chance of spotting Zach, or what was left of him, and she dearly wanted to see him one last time, even if he lay in the repose of death.

To his friends Skin Shredder said, “We will wait, unless one of you wants to carry her.”

No one did.

‘Question,' Lou signed. ‘What you do with me in village?'

Skin Shredder held his hand close to his chest, his fingers hooked like claws. He pretended to claw his chest open and pull his heart out. Then he held his hand up to his mouth and pretended to take a bite.

The other warriors laughed.

Louisa King shuddered.