He waited for the moment, then shot to his feet, and the rifle butt cracked against Gar’s staff. Zeke backed away, round-eyed, staring up at the giant who seemed to have sprouted from the earth.
But Lem had caught enough breath to get back in the fight. He launched himself at Gar’s shins, his body a wrecking ball. Gar shouted with anger as he fell. Zeke yelped with relief and charged back in, rifle swinging, even as Lem rolled up to his feet and swung his rifle barrel in a short vicious arc.
It caught Gar across the shoulders and striped his back with pain, but only added its force to his momentum as he turned the fall into a dive, the dive into a somersault, and shot to his feet right under Zeke’s nose, fist swinging in an uppercut. He pulled his punch and the fist only caught the man’s chin. Zeke staggered back, raising his rifle to guard and Gar twisted it from his hands.
He swung to face Lem with a rifle in one hand and a staff in the other, both raised to swing. “Put it down, Lem, or I’ll put it down for you.”
The woodsman froze, glaring in baffled anger. Then he took refuge in a face-saver. “How’d you know my name?”
“Heard you talking to one another, of course,” Gar said. “Put down the rifle.”
Lem measured his own five-and-a-half-feet against Gar’s height and muscle, then spat a curse and laid down his rifle. “Go see how badly Farrell’s hurt,” Gar directed, “then bring him back here—without his rifle.” He stepped back and pivoted so that he could see both men. “Come on over, Zeke. I want your rifle, too.”
“The hell you say!”
“I’ll take it from you awake or out cold, just as you choose,” Gar said evenly. “It would be easier for you if I didn’t have to knock you on the head.”
Zeke gave Lem an uncertain glance. The leader’s mouth twisted with chagrin, but he gave a brief nod. Zeke stepped forward, reversing the weapon to offer it to Gar stock first.
Gar took it and said, “Help Lem see to Farrell. I tried not to hit him too hard, but you never know.”
The hint of mercy seemed to unnerve them more than his anger had. Lem turned and waded into the brush after Farrell, Zeke close behind. Gar took both guns by the barrels in one hand, held his staff ready in the other, and followed them closely.
Farrell was propped up on one elbow, head in one hand.
Lem’s voice softened as he knelt. “Bad as that, of buddy?”
“Hard fist.” Farrell tried to sound disgusted, but it came out as a croak.
“It wasn’t no fist, it was the end of his stick,” Lem said, as though a staff against a rifle were unfair odds.
“I’ll be okay.” Farrell reached up. “Just help me stand.” Lem beckoned Zeke, who stepped around and took Farrell’s other arm.
“I don’t need that much help,” Farrell protested, but he leaned on both of them as they drew him to his feet.
“Are both his pupils the same size?” Gar asked.
“Pupils?” Lem turned to frown. “He ain’t no schoolmarm!”
“The little black circles in his eyes.” Gar strove for patience. “Are they both the same size?”
Lem glared hatred at him, but turned to look.
Now that Gar could see them up close, his victory ceased to impress him. All three men were gaunt with hunger and scabbed with the sores of vitamin deficiencies—all in all, a pretty scruffy crew. Of course, they’d had rifles, but he had put those out of action at the outset. Feeling a little guilty, he said, “Lousy timing—you ambushed me just as I was thinking of stopping to eat.” He swung his pack off his shoulder, unstrapped it one-handed, and took out a loaf and a wedge of cheese.
All three men stared at the food, transfixed. Lem asked hoarsely, “You planning to just eat that while we watch?”
“Why, would you like some?” Gar held out the loaf.
Lem grabbed the bread, tore off a chunk for himself, then two more for his friends and reluctantly handed it back.
“It’s pretty simple fare,” Gar said, “but if one of you will build a fire and another fetch water, we can stew some salt beef till it’s soft enough to chew.”
“Reckon we can do that,” Lem conceded. “Got a bucket?” Gar handed him the folding canvas pail.
Lem took it and turned away. “You boys build the man a fire, now.”
Zeke did, with the efficiency of long practice, piling tinder and arranging sticks in a cone over it. “ ‘Course, if I had my rifle, I could snap a spark in there right quick. ‘Thout it, though, I’ll have to rub two sticks.”
“Stand back,” Gar said.
The two men retreated. Gar knelt with one eye on them and one on the fire, then cocked one of the unloaded rifles, held it on its side, and pulled the trigger. There was no report, of course, but the flint struck sparks from the pan. They fell into the tinder, and Gar struck twice more, then stepped back. Zeke knelt again and breathed carefully on the sparks until flames blossomed. By the time Lem came back with the dripping bucket, they had a merry campfire burning.
They sat on their heels around the flames, munching bread and cheese while the aroma of stewing beef spread through the air. Gar let his gaze roam around the clearing and said, “It’s better out here—away from the smells and noise of the towns. Too many people.”
“Wouldn’t know about towns,” Zeke grumbled.
“Even the farms,” Gar qualified. “Barnyard smells, fifty people at one meal all in the same hall—too many for the space, at least.”
“Too many people who don’t like to hear the truth,” Lem said with disgust.
“Not many who do,” Gar said, his interest piqued. “The townsfolk believe that a naked Truth lives in the bottom of each village well.”
“Couldn’t,” Farrell said. “There’d be too much of it in the water, and the folks couldn’t stomach that.”
“Naked?” Zeke’s eyes glinted. “What would happen if she came out?”
“A man named Hans Sachs wrote about that once,” Gar said. “Truth told a man and a woman how tormented and lonely she was, and they felt sorry for her and embraced her—until she started telling them each the truth about themselves.”
Lem actually laughed—a hard and brittle sound, but a laugh. “What’d the man and woman do then?”
“Chased her back into the well,” Gar said. “Figures,” Farrell snorted.
Lem nodded. “I spoke the truth once.”
“Really.” Gar tried to keep from pouncing on it. “What happened?”
“They chased me away for it,” Lem said bitterly, “my own kith and kin!”
Farrell nodded. “I wasn’t that dumb, but almost. Started talking as how what happened three hundred years ago shouldn’t matter now.”
“They chased you away, too?” Gar asked.
“Not until three or four cousins started allowing as how I was making sense.” Farrell turned and spat. “Grandpa said I was takin’ the starch out of the whole clan, and if we did that, them Elroys would just roll right over us. The great aunts agreed with him, so they kicked me out to warn the others.”
“You have the same story?” Gar asked Zeke. The woodsman flushed and looked away.
“No, he was different,” Lem said. “Couldn’t take his eyes off his cousin’s wife, and couldn’t talk to her without sounding sweet.”
Gar frowned. “But he didn’t do anything.”
“No, but you can’t have that kind of thing,” Lem said. “Sooner or later cousins will start fighting if there’s a woman between ‘em—and you need to be fighting the enemy clan, not your own.”
“Didn’t do nothin’ at all,” Zeke grunted. “Not like Orville, not atall.”
The other two men suddenly became fascinated by the sight of the broth bubbling in the kettle.
“What did Orville do?” Gar asked. “Coward talk,” Lem said.