He had left her alone.
Instantly, Lou shifted to try to slide off the pinto. But her legs were partly numb and she couldn’t quite manage it. Suddenly her captor was back. He had a downed tree limb, which he broke into pieces. Each piece was no thicker than his middle finger. One was about a foot long, the other six inches, the third even shorter. As she watched, he sat and drew his knife and started cutting on first one and then the other.
Lou would have to wait for another chance to try to escape. Curious what he was up to, she watched him intently.
The Outcast sharpened the sticks. At the opposite ends of the long one and the short one he cut notches. A rock served to pound the long stick into the ground. Stepping to a thin sapling he had chosen, the Outcast reached overhead and climbed. He used only his arms. Under his weight the tree began to bend. As it bent, his feet sank lower and lower until they were on the ground again. The sapling was now curved like a bow.
The Outcast tied one end of the rope to the sapling, about a third of the way from the top. Holding the rope securely so the tree couldn’t snap back up, he tied the other end of the rope to the short stick, then knelt beside the stake.
Horror gripped Lou. She had divined what he was up to. Zach and Nate used the same trick to kill rabbits and the like. “God, no!” she exclaimed through her gag.
The Outcast glanced at her.
“Why are you doing this?” Lou struggled against her bonds.
The Outcast patted the sapling. He didn’t understand a word the woman was saying, but he understood the worry on her face. “I do what I must. You and your man and your friends are my enemies.”
The Outcast aligned the notch in the short stick with the notch in the stake, setting them so the short stick would release if it was bumped. Rising, he took the third sharpened stick and carefully tied it to the bent sapling at the height of a mounted man. He cast about until he found pine limbs that suited his purpose and set them so they hid the rope and the stake. Now all that was needed was for one of his pursuers to ride by and jar the limb that hid the short stick. The sapling would whip up and impale the rider.
Lou’s mouth went dry. She had realized the awful truth. He wasn’t taking her to his village. He had no interest in her other than as bait. He was using her to lure Zach and Shakespeare to their deaths.
Chapter Nine
Shakespeare McNair was in a simmering rage. At his age it wasn’t often that his emotions ran out of control, but the horrid sight of his devoted wife staggering out of the forest with blood oozing down her forehead and over her face tore a screech of pure fury from Shakespeare’s throat.
Zach was younger by more than fifty years and considered fleet of foot, but it was Shakespeare who reached Blue Water Woman first, Shakespeare who caught her as she collapsed, Shakespeare who gently lowered her to the ground and tenderly touched her cheek.
“God, no.”
Zach hunkered on the other side of her. “How bad is she?” he asked.
Shakespeare was probing with his fingertips to find out. She had been struck; that much was obvious. He found a deep gash above her hairline. It was the only wound, but it was enough. The blood would not stop. “We must get her inside.”
“I’ll help.” Zach was near frantic about Lou, but Blue Water Woman needed immediate attention.
They carried her into the cabin. Zach was all for putting her on the bed, but Shakespeare set her down on the bearskin rug in front of the stone fireplace. Zach brought a washcloth and Shakespeare pressed it to the wound to stanch the flow.
“Water, son. Hot water, as quick as you can.”
“Leave it to me.”
Shakespeare bent and whispered, “Precious? Can you hear me? It’s your Snowball.” Those were the endearments they used most when they cuddled.
Blue Water Woman’s eyelids fluttered. Her eyes opened but didn’t stay open. She weakly stirred and managed to say, “Husband? Is that you? I hurt so much.”
Shakespeare clasped her hand in both of his. A lump clogged his throat and he could barely see her for his tears. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry. I’ll tend you and bandage you and get you to our cabin.”
“Lou,” Blue Water Woman said.
“What about her?”
“She’s been taken. I saw her tied and gagged.” Blue Water Woman found it hard to think. “I saw who took her.”
“How many are there?”
“One.”
“That’s all?” Shakespeare was relieved. He’d imagined an entire war party. “Zach will head out after them in a just a bit. Don’t you worry. He’ll find them and bring her back.”
Blue Water Woman licked her lips. So simple an act, yet it took all her strength. “Shakespeare?”
“Don’t talk. Lie still. You need to rest.”
Struggling to stay conscious, Blue Water Woman got out, “This is important. The warrior who took Lou…”
“What about him?”
“He is a Blood.”
Shakespeare was surprised. The Bloods were part of what the whites called the Blackfoot Confederacy, an alliance had that controlled the northern plains and parts of southern Canada since long before Lewis and Clark. The three principal tribes were the Blackfeet, the Piegans, and the Bloods—at least those were the names the whites gave them. Their real names, the names by which they called themselves, were the Siksika, the Piikani, and the Kainai.
The Bloods—or Kainai—were so called because of the habit they had of rubbing red ochre on their faces. They were a proud, fearless people, fiercely protective of their land. Shakespeare had had dealings with them in the past, before they came to distrust and dislike the white man and drove all whites from their land or slew them.
Shakespeare scratched his beard, pondering. King Valley was far from their usual haunts. Bloods hardly ever ventured this deep into the mountains. For a lone warrior to be there was unthinkable; there had to be more. He reasoned that the Blood his wife had seen must be part of a larger war party.
“Husband?”
“I’m here.” Shakespeare squeezed her hand and kissed her on the cheek, not caring one whit that he got her blood on his lips.
“I am tired,” Blue Water Woman said. In truth, she had never felt so weak, so drained.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you should be all right in a few days,” Shakespeare predicted. He was sugarcoating her condition to put her at ease. Truth was, she might have internal bleeding. Or, worse, the gash was deeper than it seemed, and the force of the blow had driven bone fragments into her brain.
“If you do not mind, I will sleep now.” Blue Water Woman closed her eyes and a dark mist enveloped her.
Zach came hurrying over. “I kindled the fire and have water on. I can’t stay any longer.”
Shakespeare nodded. “Off you go, then. But you should know: Lou is still alive. She’s been taken by the Bloods.”
A hot sensation spread from Zach’s neck to the top of his head. “I’ll count coup on all of them.”
“Blue Water Woman saw only one, but there must be more.” Shakespeare snagged Zach’s sleeve as Zach turned. “Be careful. The Bloods are good fighters and damn clever. They’ll be expecting someone to come after them. They’ll be ready.”
“They won’t be ready for me,” Zach vowed, and ran out the door in long lopes.
Shakespeare listened to the drum of hooves fade. By rights he should be with the boy, watching his back. But he couldn’t leave Blue Water Woman. Not with her like this. He tenderly touched her chin and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Don’t you die on me. You hear? You’re the love of my life. Our hearts are entwined forever.” He coughed and blinked, and tears trickled down his cheeks. A low moan escaped him.