The Outcast

Chapter Twelve

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.