“I have been told there is a girl among the Bear People,” Splashes Blood mentioned. “Those who have seen her say she looks to be but fifteen winters.”
“You and your girls…” Skin Shredder sank his teeth into a piece of meat. “Maybe the Bear People do not age as we do. Maybe they look younger than they are.”
“No matter how old she is, I want her first.”
“You can have her. I want only to spill blood. The rest does not interest me as it once did.”
Another warrior had moved to where the shelf fell away into pines. He now pointed and called out to the others. “Come see. I do not know what it is, but it was not there the last time I spied on them.”
Skin Shredder and Splashes Blood went over.
“Where is this thing, Star Dancer?”
“Look at the east end of the lake, close to the trees. I think it is a lodge. But it is not like the other lodges. It is longer and round at the top.”
“I see it,” Splashes Blood said.
“It is too far to tell much,” Skin Shredder declared. “But you are right. It is different from the others.”
“What can it mean? Have more Bear People come? Or have other people come to the valley?”
The question caused Skin Shredder to clench his fists. “It is as it was by the bay. First a few came, and then more and more, until we were driven from our home.”
“The world has too many people.”
“Will we move again?” Star Dancer asked.
“No.” Skin Shredder was emphatic. “This time we will not let them drive us off. This time we kill them as they come.”
“But if they come in great numbers…” Splashes Blood did not say the rest. They all knew his meaning.
Skin Shredder gloomily ate. That was the problem. The Tunkua were a small tribe. Never had there been more than several hundred of them, and since being forced from their home, their numbers had dwindled. Battles with other tribes, wild beasts, and disease had taken a toll. “They are not in great numbers now. We will kill all those who are here and burn their lodges as a warning to any who come later.”
“And if some come anyway and stay?”
“We will kill them, too. We will be ghosts in the night and stalkers by day, and they will fear us. We might even let some of them leave to tell the rest of their kind that this valley is bad medicine.”
“I like that idea. Fear is more powerful than blood. Fear will keep them away. Spilling their blood will only make them mad and they will want vengeance.” Splashes Blood grimly smiled. “Look at us.”
“Fear is good,” Star Dancer agreed.
“We will talk it over with the Old One when we return to our village,” Skin Shredder proposed. “He is wise in all things and will help guide our steps.”
Refreshed by the meat and the water, they were soon under way. Skin Shredder was in the lead, studying landmarks. To the north gleamed a glacier high atop a mountain. To the south was a cleft peak. To the east, barely visible on the far valley rim, was the gap that led out of the valley into the world beyond.
Splashes Blood cleared his throat. “I have been thinking. We should not burn everything.”
“No?”
“They have many wondrous things, these Bear People. They have thunder sticks that spew fire and death. They have knives made of a new kind of metal. They have blankets much finer than ours, and who knows what else in their lodges.”
“The Bear People own much that we do not.”
“What is to stop us from owning it? After we kill them, why not take all that we want?”
“It will not be much,” Skin Shredder noted. “We can take only what we can carry.”
“We can take a lot if we pack it on their horses.”
Here was a thought that excited Skin Shredder. The Tunkua never had horses of their own. It put them at a great disadvantage when waging war and in moving about.
Star Dancer said to Splashes Blood, “It is a fine idea. I am for it.”
“But we do not know how to handle horses,” Skin Shredder reminded them.
“If the Bear People learned, we can learn.”
“They are animals and we are men,” Star Dancer declared.
“It will be a great thing we do,” Splashes Blood said. “Our people will praise us. Songs will be sung around the campfires about what we have done.”
Skin Shredder tingled with excitement. It was a very fine idea, indeed. He couldn’t wait to start the slaying. Not only would he have his revenge, he stood to stand high in the councils of the Tunkua. “We should thank the Bear People before we kill them.” And he did something he rarely did—he smiled.
Chapter Eight
Zach King tried to tell himself he had no reason to worry. There had been only the one shot. If Lou and Blue Water Woman were beset by hostiles, surely there would have been more. They were tough, strong women; they wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Then Zach remembered that his wife was forever traipsing outside without her weapons and leaving the front door open. He glanced at McNair, riding hard beside him, and said loud enough to be heard over the pounding of hooves, “What do you think?”
Shakespeare thought they were making a mountain out of a prairie dog mound. There could be a perfectly ordinary explanation for the shot. Either woman might have shot a deer or some other animal for the cook pot. Or maybe a fox had got in with the chickens. Or a rattlesnake decided to sun itself close to one of their cabins. He seemed to recollect that Louisa, in particular, was skittish about snakes.
Since Zach was looking at him and waiting for a reply, Shakespeare shrugged and said, “I bet they’re fine, but it doesn’t hurt to check.” He said that last for Zach’s benefit. The boy—Shakespeare mentally caught himself—the young man had a tendency to overreact. When there really was danger, well, heaven help anyone or anything that threatened Zach King or those he cared for.
The south shore came into sight. There stood McNair’s cabin, awash in sunlight, as picturesque as a painting.
Shakespeare counted the horses in his corral. “My wife went somewhere on her dun.” That the packhorses were still there told him that no one had stolen it. No self-respecting horse thief would steal just one animal.
Zach rose in the stirrups to try and see the north shore. He spied his chimney. It was too far to be certain, but he thought wisps of smoke curled to the sky. That was a good sign. Lou was supposed to be doing some baking. “Do we stop at your place or go on to mine?”
“On to yours.”
When they reached the west end of the lake, Zach slowed to a walk to spare their sweaty mounts. “If they ask why we came back, I’ll tell them I forgot my whetstone.”
“ ‘You do advance your cunning more and more,’ ” Shakespeare quoted.
“I just don’t want Lou to think that I think she can’t take care of herself. She’d never let me hear the end of it.”
Shakespeare chuckled. “ ‘Oh, what men dare do. What men may do. What men daily do, not knowing what they do.’ ”
“Can you say that in English or Shoshone so I can understand it?”
“Lout,” Shakespeare said. “It’s not my fault you’re so light of brain.” He quoted again. “ ‘A lip of much contempt speeds from me.’ ”
Zach laughed, but his heart wasn’t in their banter. He’d noticed that the front door to their cabin was wide open. “Why don’t women ever listen?”
“That was a rhetorical question, I trust.”
“A what?”
“Women are the queens of curds and creams, and queens need not stoop to listening to their subjects.”
“I ask a serious question and that’s the answer I get?”