“When she was on her way to meet Billy?” Farrell asked. “She might have missed a few twigs breaking.”
“No doubt,” Lem agreed. “But the tad saw her meet Billy, saw her kiss him, and ran straight home, bursting with the news.”
“Poor kid probably didn’t think she’d get Allie in trouble for anything more than kissing,” Zeke sighed.
“Likely not. But she told, all bright-eyed and bursting with the excitement of it, and her grandma sent out a dozen men to bring the lovers in.”
“That time, she did hear something,” Farrell said.
“She says she heard a jaybird calling at night,” Lem went on, “and knew right away what was coming, so she sent Billy running right quick.”
“Musta been someone in the clan who cared about her,” Zeke said. “Only a fool would give a jay call at night.”
Lem nodded. “Next thing she heard was gunshots.” Gar stared. “And they’re both still alive to tell of it?”
“You ever try hitting a target at night, when it’s twisting and turning ‘mongst moon shadows?” Farrell asked.
“I have, yes.” Gar didn’t think it necessary to tell them that the weapon had been a crossbow. “I see your point.”
“So her clan gathered to judge, and cast her out,” Lem said. “But the tad felt bad about it and went to tell Billy—he was hanging around down by the creek hoping to see her again.”
“Her grandma sent a truce party to tell the Gonigles first, though,” Farrell said, “and they sat in judgment and cast out Billy.”
“Good thing, too,” Farrell agreed. “If they hadn’t, he’d have upped and run away to find Allie, and his kinfolk would have come after to shoot him for treachery.”
Gar stared, aghast. “There’s no sense in that.”
Lem shrugged. “There’s no sense in feuding either, stranger, but try and stop it.”
“We did,” said Farrell, “most of the folks in our band, one way or another.”
Gar frowned. “Wouldn’t both clans have hunted them down for outlawry?”
“Just for the hell of it, you mean?” Lem nodded. “There’s always some like that. Too much killing, and most folks grow to hate it, but some grow to like it. That’s why they lit out.”
“Strangers would hate them less than their own clans,” Farrell observed. “No reason to think them traitors.”
“Oh.” Gar thought that over. “So this all happened far away?”
“A month’s travel,” Lem said. “Probably would have gone farther, if they hadn’t come across a band that welcomed them.”
“We did.” Farrell nodded. “They’re good kids.”
“Our kind,” Zeke agreed.
Gar appreciated the irony of it—that the ones who turned vicious were still welcomed in their own clans, as long as they didn’t torment their own, whereas the ones who sickened of the slaughter and took a stand against it, were outlawed. “What if someone kills a person in his own clan?”
“Oh, he’ll be killed in his own turn,” Lem answered, “so those who do usually light out before they can be caught.”
“There are vicious outlaws too, then?”
“Some,” Farrell said, his voice hard. “When we find ‘em, we kill ‘em, too.”
Gar frowned. “That seems harsh.”
“How do you think we find out, stranger?” Lem challenged. “They try to hurt someone in the band, that’s how! It comes down to kill or be killed, really.”
“You could cast them … no, I see the point. An outcast from the outcasts is likely to haunt the woods looking for folk out on their own, waiting for a chance for revenge.”
“We never go out alone,” Lem said, “but accidents happen.” Gar could imagine it, one of the outlaws thinking they would be safe just this once, going a hundred yards from the camp for a bucket of water from the stream. “What happens if someone steals?”
“From another clan?” Zeke grinned. “He’s a hero!”
“No, from his own clan.”
“Oh! Well, if they find it out, he’s outlawed.”
“ ‘Course, it’s been known for one clan member to accuse another, and talk a third into lying about it before the family council,” Farrell said judiciously, “but it don’t happen often.”
“Why not?” Gar asked, afraid of the answer.
“Why, because the liar’s outlawed, too.” Farrell looked up at Gar. “Mind you, nobody minds the odd lie here and there, in the daily round—you have to be wary and take your chances. But before the council, now, when someone else’s doom is hanging—well, that’s something else.”
“I can see that it would be.” So they outlawed treachery in even the slightest form, and cowardice, murder, theft, and false witness-but only within the clan. “I suppose if a clansman falls in love with a cousin’s wife and she falls in love with him, they just run away and find an outlaw band to join?”
“If they can,” Lem said, with flat cynicism.
“More likely the clan will hunt them down and bring them back for trial,” Farrell said.
“Then they’ll cast ‘em out,” Zeke finished.
“Has to be done the right way, eh? How about if a single man falls in love with his cousin, and gets her pregnant?”
“That’s punishable by marriage,” Zeke said, grinning, “as long as the cousin isn’t too close—by blood, anyway.”
“Second cousins are okay,” Lem said, “but it’s better to marry into the next county.”
“Oh.” Gar raised his eyebrows. “You get together with other clans?”
“Sure,” Farrell said with a sardonic smile. “The clans who share a boundary with you, you’ll fight to the death, but the one ten miles away, well now, they’ll be your friends.”
“Especially if they live right next to your neighbors, but on the other side,” Lem explained. “ ‘Course, you have to go to the parties all together, but folks don’t generally ambush then.”
An unwritten law, Gar guessed, without which every clan would spend its whole life cooped up on the same few acres and die off from inbreeding.
It made sense, in its way. All of the “crimes” the three outlaws had spoken of weakened the unity of the clan and its ability to fight without mercy. Apparently, now and then, enough outlaws survived to form a band such as the one toward which they were going. He suspected that over a few generations the band would become a clan in its own right.
He wondered how long it took the new band to start a feud of its own and to begin outlawing its lawbreakers.
All at once the trees opened out on either side into a clearing perhaps a hundred yards across. Toward its center stood a ring of stoutly built, thatch-roofed log cottages. Pigs rooted about in the grass circle at the center, and children ran about with men and women watching them as they worked at household chores.
Gar stared. Apparently the band had been going longer than he had thought. “This is your home camp?”
“That it is, stranger, and we’ll thank you to shuck your pack and put up your hands.” Lem nodded toward the cottages, grinning. “Maybe you can fight three rifles, but how about a dozen?”
More than that—a score of outlaws had seen them, and were coming toward them with their rifles leveled.
7
He had to decide, and decide instantly. Should he overawe the outlaws with displays that they would call magic, and take the chance that they would think him a witch? Or use his mental powers in such a way that they wouldn’t know how he had won?
Neither. One man just couldn’t win against twelve, no matter how good a fighter he was. Gar called out, “Whoever thinks to lead this band, let him prove it against me, hand to hand!”
The outlaws stopped, staring in consternation, then turned to one another in furious debate.