The family always wore green. Their buckskins, their blankets, their robes—everything they owned was dyed green out of reverence for the source of the green world in which the Nansusequa lived. That Which Was In All Things, they called it, or simply the Manitoa.
On this particular morning, Wakumassee was outside their Great Lodge mending a fishing net when a clatter of hooves heralded the arrival of Shakespeare McNair on his white mare.
Waku beamed and put down the net to greet his visitor. He owed Nate King and McNair a debt impossible to repay. They had taken his family in when all was lost. They had permitted him and his loved ones to stay in the valley, safe from the whites who had slaughtered the rest of their kind.
“Welcome, friend!” Waku said. His English was not all that good, but he was working hard to master the tongue.
“Men of peace, well encountered!” Shakespeare declared, and warmly clapped him on the shoulders.
“Eh?” Wakumassee tried to sort out the words to make sense of the meaning. McNair was forever saying things that confused him. He had mentioned it once to Nate King and Nate had laughed and said not to worry, that NcNair said a lot of things that confused him, too.
“A hearty good morning to you, sirrah,” Shakespeare elaborated. He regarded the net with interest. “I say. I didn’t know you had one of those.”
“We like to fish,” Waku responded, proud he had said it as it should be said.
“I thought you were hunters.”
“Hunt too,” Waku said. He gestured to the east. “We fish much in rivers.” He paused. “I say that right?”
“Close enough.” Shakespeare squatted, set down his Hawken, gripped the net in both hands, and tugged. “This is strong enough to hold a buffalo. What is it made of?”
“Plant,” Waku said. “Not know white name.”
“That’s all right.” Chuckling, Shakespeare said, “Ask and you shall receive.”
“Pardon?” Waku had learned that was the word to use when he was puzzled, and around McNair he was puzzled a lot.
“I have come to ask a favor.” Shakespeare glanced at the net. “Actually, two favors.”
“What I can do, I will,” Waku said.
“Maybe you should hear me out,” Shakespeare suggested. “It could be you don’t want to.”
Waku put his hand on McNair’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “You and Nate King save us. You much kind. Give us new home. Give me hope.” He struggled to find the right words. “I always your friend. Any help I can be, I do for you.”
“I thank you,” Shakespeare said. “I take it you have heard about my Holy Grail?”
“Pardon?”
“Perseus had the Gorgon. Theseus fought the Minotaur. St. George went up against a dragon. And now I am about to pit myself against the demon of the depths.”
“Pardon?” Waku said again. He had been confused before but never this confused.
“Ah. Then you haven’t heard. No matter.” Shakespeare indicated the net. “I wonder if I might borrow that. It appears to be more than big enough for my purpose.”
“Yes. Take. All I have be yours,” Waku said. “You want catch fish?”
“I don’t know what it is I want to catch, but I know I want to catch it, and once I catch it I will know what it is.”
“Ah.” Waku said, but he had no idea what the white-haired white was going on about.
“I would also like to borrow that,” Shakespeare said, and pointed.
“Our canoe?”
“Yes.” Shakespeare led the way over to the side of the Great Lodge, where the canoe sat ready to be carried to the water. Unlike the mountain tribes, who fashioned their canoes from hides or bark molded over wooden frames, the Nansusequa made their canoes using a single large log. They chipped out the center and sanded and smoothed the entire craft. The resultant dugout, while heavy and ponderous, was next to unsinkable.
“Take it,” Waku said.
“I don’t need the canoe right this minute,” Shakespeare explained. “It might be tomorrow, it might be next week, but sooner or later I will, and I wanted to get your permission in advance.”
“Take any time.”
Shakespeare took Waku’s hand in his. “I thank you, Wakumassee.’ Tis sweet and commendable in your nature to be so generous.” He bent and lowered his voice. “One thing more, and it is important. Our arrangement is to be our little secret.”
“Secret?” Waku repeated, trying to remember what the word meant.
“Yes. You are not to tell a soul.”
“Not tell Nate?”
“No. He has a leaky mouth and is bound to mention it to his wife, who will run to mine to inform on me.”
“You not want your wife find out?”
“Her most of all,” Shakespeare said. “The Gorgon and the Minotaur were as kittens compared to her, and as for the dragon, it would call her sister.”
“I not understand. But I do as you want.”
Shakespeare gazed at the lake. “O monstrous beast,” he quoted, “I am ready for you. Pit your wits against mine, and may the loser lead apes in hell!”
Watching and Jousting
For another week Shakespeare and Nate kept diligent watch—and saw nothing, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. It got so Shakespeare took to pacing back and forth and muttering under his breath.
“You are letting it get to you,” Nate commented late one afternoon, as he raked the lake with the spyglass. “I have not seen you this wrought up in a coon’s age.”
Shakespeare shook a fist in the general direction of the creature’s watery realm. “I thought for sure we would have seen it a few times by now and have some idea of its habits. At the very least we should have found out whether it is a fish or something else.”
“We need more time,” Nate said. “More patience.”
“Maybe you can afford to wait, but I can’t,” Shakespeare said. “As everyone keeps reminding me, I am getting on in years. I would like to find out what this thing is before I am looking up at the world through freshly dug dirt.”
“You have twenty good years left in you.”
“My creaking joints say different,” Shakespeare said, and to get back to the issue very much on his mind, he pointed at the lake. “The thing has to have a pattern. Once we have that, we have him, her, or it, as the case may be.”
“You’re guessing,” Nate said.
Shakespeare plopped down on the bench and shook his head. “No, I am not. Everything has its habits. Deer, bear, buffalo, birds, bugs, you name it. They do certain things in certain ways. They graze at the same time each day, or at the same place, or they wait for prey at the same spot, or visit the same patch of wildflowers.”
“That is true to a point. But we are dealing with a fish.”
“Are we?” Shakespeare rejoined. “We don’t know what it is. But let’s say you are right. Let’s assume it is a fish of some kind. What do fish do? What pattern do they stick to?” He answered his own questions. “Fish swim and eat. That is pretty much it. Some, like catfish, stay down low. Bass like to stay near the shore and hide in weeds. Trout like fast-flowing streams and rivers.”
“How does any of that help us with it?” Nate nodded at the lake.
“What do we know about it so far?” Shakespeare asked, and again answered before his friend could. “We know it is alive and big. To get that big, it had to eat a lot of whatever it eats. To stay alive, it has to go on eating. Follow me so far?”
“That is logical, yes.”
“But what does it eat? Plants? I don’t think so. Few fish do. Worms and bugs? Not enough of either to be had. Which tells us that the thing must eat other fish.”