Devil Moon

Chapter Ten

The basket held a lot. Evelyn packed a bundle of pemmican at the bottom. She’d helped her mother make it a month ago. Sometimes they made it from buffalo meat, but this time it had been the meat of a buck her father shot. They had cut the meat into strips and dried and salted it, then pounded the strips until the meat was ground fine. Then they added fat and chokecherries. It would last years, and was as tasty as anything.

She went into the pantry and got carrots and wild onions. She cut six slices from a loaf of bread and wrapped the slices in a cloth. She put butter in the basket along with a knife to spread it. She put in a couple of corn cakes left over from a few days ago. Her pa had bought a tin of raisins at Bent’s Fort and she took that. She also packed tea. Since they might shoot game for fresh meat, she placed a small pot on top and next to it a spider, a three-legged pan made for cooking over fires.

The sun had not yet risen when Evelyn went out to the corral. She opened the gate and went in and spoke quietly to the horses. Her buttermilk was at the back. She slid on a bridle and brought Buttercup out and put on the saddle blanket. She threw her saddle up and over and cinched it. Then she brought Buttercup around to the front of the cabin and looped the reins around a peg on the wall.

Evelyn walked to the south corner and gazed to the east. There was no sign of Dega yet, but he would be there. He had said he would and he never let her down.

The wind was still, the lake as smooth as glass. In the dark it was like a great black eye staring up at the star-speckled sky. She heard a fish splash and the far-off cry of a loon.

She went inside and sat at the table. For some reason she was nervous. Maybe it was the lying, she told herself. Maybe it was the fact that she would have Dega to herself, exactly as she wanted. Maybe she was nervous because she was afraid of what they might do. She coughed and drummed her fingers and was glad her mother and father were still in bed.

Her eyelids grew heavy and her head drooped. She had hardly slept, she was so excited. She imagined how wonderful it would be, just the two of them. She imagined him kissing her, and tingled.

With a start, Evelyn jerked her head up. She had fallen asleep. A rosy tinge lit the window. She went out and around the cabin. A golden crown lit the eastern horizon. The sun was coming up. She rose onto her toes and stared hard and eagerly, but the shore was empty of life. Oh well, she thought. She had asked him to come as early as he could. Maybe he couldn’t get away yet. Maybe his folks had him doing chores. She shrugged and went to the lake and put her hands on her hips, and gave another small start. She was unarmed. She had left her pistols and her rifle inside. If her pa saw her, he would be upset. One of his cardinal rules was that she was never to step outside the cabin without a weapon. Even if it was to feed the chickens or get firewood. She thought it a silly rule, but she didn’t care to wash the dishes for a month if she broke it.

Evelyn regretted deceiving them. They had always been honest and forthright with her. And here she was, planning to spend a night alone with a man. The clomp of hooves caused her heart to flutter. She turned, and it seemed to her that although the sun was not fully up, the rider approaching was awash in light and she could see every detail as clearly as at midday. He wore green buckskins, as always. Over his back was a quiver and a bow. He had brought a lance, too, a gift to him from Shakespeare, who had lived with various Indian tribes and could fashion a weapon as well as any of them. She went along the shore a short way and stopped to await him.

“Dega,” she said softly to herself.

Degamawaku saw Evelyn King come past the cabin and inwardly winced. He was happy that they were to spend the day together, and yet he was deeply troubled. His mother’s words were a great weight on his shoulders. He had tossed and turned all night, unable to get them out of his head. He drew rein and smiled down at the loveliest face he had ever seen. “Good morning, Evelyn.” He had practiced that “good morning” until he could say it exactly as she did.

“Good morning, handsome.”

Dega knew that word well. She called him handsome a lot. It meant he was pleasing to her eyes. “How you be?” he asked, and caught himself. “Sorry. How are you?”

“I am fine now.” Evelyn yearned to reach up and pull him down and kiss him, but she contained herself. “I’m looking forward to this day so much.”

“I, too,” Dega said. He had learned to keep his responses simple. His English was nowhere as near as good as he would like it to be. The less he spoke, the less apparent it was.

“I’ll be right back.” Evelyn hurried inside. She had left her pistols and the Hawken on the table; she wedged the flintlocks under her belt and cradled the rifle in the crook of her elbow, then went to the counter for the basket. When she turned, her mother was in the doorway to the bedroom pulling her robe about her. “Ma. You’re up.”

“I am always up at dawn,” Winona said. “Your father is getting dressed.”

Evelyn hefted the basket. “Tell him I love him.” She was almost to the front door when her mother said her name. “Yes?”

“You gave your word to him.”

“About what?” Evelyn asked, knowing full well.

“That Dega and you will be home by dark. We are holding you to it. Do not disappoint us.”

Evelyn hoped she wasn’t blushing from the shame she felt. “Haven’t I always done as you’ve asked?”

“Almost always,” Winona said.

Evelyn smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry. Dega won’t let anything happen to me.”

“It is what you might do to yourself that concerns me more.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well.”

“See you tonight, Ma,” Evelyn said, and got out of there. She couldn’t bear to look her mother in the eye. Quickly, she tied the basket to her saddle, mounted, and reined the buttermilk next to Dega’s sorrel. “I’ll lead the way.”

“I will follow,” Dega said. It occurred to him that when they went on rides together, she nearly always led. He had never given it much thought, but now that he did, it bothered him.

Evelyn clucked to Buttercup and poked with her heels. She passed the corral and was midway to the forest when she glanced back. Her mother and father had come out of the cabin. Her father raised his arm and waved. She returned the favor and said under her breath, “I’m sorry, Pa.”

The woods closed around them. Here and there were oaks and a few mahoganies, but the forest was principally evergreens: ponderosa pine, lodgepole pine, and Douglas fir. Higher up were aspens and spruce.

The air had a pine scent that Evelyn always liked. Wildlife was everywhere. Ground squirrels scampered about. Tree squirrels leaped from limb to limb. Rabbits bounded away in fright and marmots whistled from atop their burrows. Once a porcupine waddled away, bristling with quills. Evelyn lost count of the number of deer she saw. Most were does. The older bucks were too wary to be abroad during the day; it was the younger ones, the spikes, that braved the sun.

The woods were a bird paradise. Sparrows chirped and crossbills beeped. Siskins made a peculiar buzzing sound. Jays screeched and woodpeckers rat-a-tat-tatted. Vultures circled lazily in search of carrion, and hawks circled in search of prey. Eagles were the masters of the sky.

Ordinarily Evelyn drank in the scenery and the pulsing throb of life with relish, but today her enthusiasm was directed at the rider behind her. She couldn’t stop looking back at him. It got so, she willed herself to face front so he wouldn’t think she was being silly.

Dega wondered why she kept glancing back. Once or twice he could understand, but twenty or thirty times made him wonder if she was afraid he would change his mind and turn around. She needn’t have worried. He needed to have a talk with her. He needed to know if his mother was right.

Evelyn found the pass without difficulty. It was at the base of a rock cliff, a narrow gap invisible from below. Deer and elk tracks were proof it saw regular use. The far end opened onto a timbered valley. She reined to the north, toward a serrated ridge fringed by firs.

Dega was surprised. He’d thought they were coming to the valley they had visited before. “Where we go?” he called up to her.

“You’ll see,” Evelyn answered. Once the sun went down and she didn’t show up, her father would come after her. Maybe her mother, too. They might think to take the pass into the valley below, but they would never expect her to cross over into the next valley to the north. Even if they did suspect, tracking at night was hard and slow, even if they used torches. At the very least it would take them another day to find her. Which suited her just fine.

It was the middle of the afternoon when they crossed over. Evelyn drew rein on a grassy shelf and pointed. “Look there. Is that a perfect place for a picnic or what?’

Below lay a small valley split by a narrow stream. The valley floor was lush with high grass, the slopes dense with trees.

“We need perfect place?” Dega asked. As near as he could remember, “perfect” meant the best that something could be. Any place was fine by him.

“I want it to be a day we’ll remember for as long as we live,” Evelyn told him.

“Picnic important?”

“Everything we do is important to me.”

The ride down took half an hour. Evelyn had seldom seen forest so thick. At times they had to force their way through. At length they came out of the shadows and into the high grass. Only then did it hit her how quiet it was. “Listen. You can almost hear your heartbeat.”

Dega raised his head but heard nothing. Certainly not his heart. The stillness was unusual. Only a few times in the past had he ever known it to be so quiet.

Evelyn reined toward the stream. She was tired and her throat was dry. On a low bank she drew rein. Sliding down, she arched her spine and pressed her hand to the small of her back. “All that riding about put a kink in me.”

Dega tried to decipher her comment. A kink, to the best of his recollection, was a bend or twist, like the time Nate King had a kink in a rope and had to unravel it. He did not see a kink in Evelyn. “I am glad it not put one,” he said for a loss of anything better. Alighting, he went down the bank, dropped onto a knee, set his lance on the ground, and dipped his hand in the water. It was runoff from on high, and cold. He splashed some on his neck and face, then cupped his palm and sipped.

Evelyn quenched her own thirst. She had set the Hawken down to use both hands, and admired Dega over her fingers. When she was done she wiped her hands on her dress and said, “Well.”

Dega wondered if he was supposed to say anything to that. He tried a “Well,” of his own.

“Here we are.”

Where else would they be? Dega asked himself. All he said was “Yes.”

Evelyn stood and turned in a slow circle. “It’s pretty here, don’t you think?”

“It quiet.”

“That will change once the wind picks up and the sun starts to go down,” Evelyn predicted. By then the meat-eaters would be stirring and fill the night with their howls and roars and screams.

“We have picnic here?” Dega asked, and patted the ground.

“We could so the water is handy,” Evelyn said. But the truth was, a secluded nook was more to her fancy. She pointed at the woods to the west. “I’d like over yonder better.”

“What you wish,” Dega said. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how they nearly always did what she wanted and rarely what he wanted. The same as how she led when they went riding.

Evelyn’s saddle creaked as she swung up. “Let’s go, Buttercup,” she said, and flicked the reins.

Dega trailed after her. Conflicting tides of emotion were tearing at him. He had much he wanted to say once they made camp, but he was afraid to say it for fear he would lose her.

Evelyn hummed as she rode. She couldn’t wait to set up camp. She imagined how it would be that evening around the fire, talking, and other things, and she grew warm in anticipation. Then Buttercup snorted and stopped, and she looked up. “Oh my.”

Dega drew rein beside her. He saw what she was looking at. “Someone live here.”

“Surely not,” Evelyn said. Yet there was the evidence, right in front of her eyes: a lodge made of limbs and brush with a hide over the entrance. By Shoshone standards it was crude. A vague memory tugged at her, and she said, “I know who made that.”

“You do?”

“Sheepeaters.”

“Sorry?” Dega had heard mention of many new tribes since his family came to the mountains but never a tribe by that name.

“The Tukaduka. My pa says they’re related to the Shoshones, but they don’t live like the Shoshones do.” Evelyn gigged her horse closer. Suddenly a foul odor assailed her, and she almost gagged.

“Look!” Dega exclaimed.

Evelyn stopped in alarm. The body of a woman lay near the hide, which she now saw was ripped and torn as if by razor-sharp knives. Jerking her Hawken up, she probed the woods beyond. “We better have a look-see.”

Dega firmed his grip on his lance. He’d never expected to find death in so remote a place, yet if there was one thing he had learned about the wilderness, it was to expect the unexpected. “This bad, yes?”

“This is very bad,” Evelyn King said.