The Outcast came out of the trees and drew rein at the base of a steep talus. To go up it would be foolhardy. The loose stones and dirt would give way. Many a mount had broken a leg on talus, which was why men who cared about their animals avoided them.
But the man who was after him, eager to save the female, might cast caution aside, especially if the Outcast gave him cause. With that in mind, the Outcast started up. He went only a short way, enough to suggest to his pursuer that he braved the slope and to get him to do the same. Then he reined to the right and rode in a loop that brought him down to the bottom.
It was not much of a trick. Anyone with keen eyes would see that he had not gone all the way up. But he counted on his pursuer’s worry for the woman making the man careless. It was worth trying, even if all it did was cripple the man’s horse. An enemy afoot was easier to slay.
The Outcast circled the talus slope until he came to firm ground and turned up the mountain. The sun was bright on the rocky ramparts. High above, an eagle soared, its head white against the blue.
The Outcast liked this valley. It was abundant with life. It had occurred to him that if he killed the white men and the breed and whoever lived in the lodge at the east end of the lake, he would have the valley to himself. He liked that idea.
He had wandered far since being banished from his tribe. It wasn’t that he wanted to, so much as he liked breathing. Lone warriors were inviting targets. That he had lasted so long spoke well of his prowess. But he was tired of always being on the move. It would be nice to have a place he could stay where others wouldn’t bother him. It would be nice to have a lodge over his head once more.
Lou looked at him again. She needed rest. If he didn’t stop soon, she would fling herself from the pinto, and the devil be damned. But just as she was girding herself, they reached the top of the talus and he reined along the upper edge a dozen yards and stopped. Raising a leg, he slid off, then reached up and lowered her to the ground. He wasn’t gentle about it. She winced when a rock gouged her ribs. Rolling onto her side, she gazed down the slope.
Lou suspected he was up to something. The move he did at the bottom must be a ruse, but if it was, he was in for a surprise. Zach and Shakespeare were too savvy to climb a talus slope. They would go around.
Lou struggled to sit up. Her wrists were chafed from the rope, and her ankles were sore. She hated the gag. She worried she might accidentally swallow it and choke. Glancing at her captor, she made noise and bobbed her head, trying to get him to look at her.
The Outcast was deep in thought. The trick alone might not be enough to get the rider out on the talus where he wanted him. An extra lure was called for. The sounds the woman was making gave him an idea. He put his hand on his knife, and she recoiled.
Lou thought he was going to stab her. She tensed, prepared to sell her life and the life inside of her as dearly as she could. He stepped around behind her and she went to pivot, when suddenly the strip of dress tied over her mouth fell away. He had cut it.
The Outcast came back around. He motioned for her to open her mouth wide. When she did, he carefully stuck two fingers in and pulled out the gag. He thought she might try to bite him, but she didn’t.
Lou was so relieved, she smiled. She opened and closed her mouth, working her jaw muscles. Then she said, “I’m obliged.” She knew he couldn’t understand her but maybe he would take her meaning.
The Outcast grunted. He could tell she was grateful. It was silly of her to think he had done it to ease her discomfort. He wanted her able to make noise. He wanted her to help lure the rider onto the talus slope.
Lou tried talking to him in Shoshone. Zach had taught her enough to get by when they visited their village, which he liked to do at least two or three times a year. But it was plain the warrior didn’t understand.
The Outcast wondered what tongue she was speaking. On an impulse he went behind her and untied her wrists but left her ankles bound.
Lou was delighted. She gingerly rubbed her chafed skin and said in English, “Thank you. That was kind of you.”
His bow across his legs, the Outcast squatted where he could watch the slopes below.
An inspiration came over Lou. There was a way to communicate. She wasn’t much good at it, but it was worth a try. She held her right hand up, palm out, her fingers well apart and pointed up, and wriggled her wrist several times. It was sign talk for ‘question’ or ‘what.’
The Outcast gave a mild start. He didn’t know that whites knew sign. His own people were adept at it.
Lou pointed at him. Then she held her right hand with her fingers closed and snapped her index finger at him. She had asked him what he was called. She figured that if she showed she was interested, he might be friendlier.
The Outcast was amused. Leave it to a female to ask his name when she should be begging him to spare her and her man. His fingers flowed swiftly in answer.
His reply puzzled Lou. She thought he said ‘I am outside.’ But that couldn’t be right.
In the trees above, a jay took wing with loud shrieks.
The Outcast didn’t see anything to account for it. He glanced down the mountain and stiffened. The rider was much closer. It was the breed, and he was coming fast, his gaze on the ground.
Lou looked in the same direction, and her breath caught in her throat. Zach was coming to save her!
It was working out exactly as the Outcast had planned. He slid an arrow from his quiver.
Chapter Eleven
Shakespeare McNair sat in the rocking chair in Zach and Lou’s cabin. He didn’t rock. He sat staring at the stone fireplace without seeing it. He was deep inside himself, adrift on tides of fear and despair.
Earlier he had carried Blue Water Woman into the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. She was pale and sweaty, and never stirred. He felt her pulse and was appalled at how weak it was.
Shakespeare was worried worse than sick. He loved that woman, loved her with all that he was. She was his heart given form. He loved her so much that to see her like this tore him to his core. He felt as if his very being were being wrenched and twisted.
He had run out of tears. He had cried until there were none left. Now drained, he sat staring blankly into space and prayed that the woman who was everything to him would go on being everything to him. Life without her would be an unending emptiness.
Shakespeare had been in love twice in his life. Love of the marrying kind. His first wife had been kind and wonderful. After she died he lived alone for years until circumstance conspired to bring him back together with Blue Water Woman.
It was strange. Here Shakespeare thought he had loved his first wife with the deepest love anyone ever felt. But his love for Blue Water Woman eclipsed his first love as the sun eclipsed the earth. The depth of his devotion to her went beyond anything he ever knew. They had a pet expression—“hearts entwined”—that described better than any other words what they meant to each other.
Now she lay at death’s door, and there was nothing Shakespeare could do but wait. Not that he had been idle. He never went anywhere without his possibles bag. In it were a fire steel and flint, a sewing needle, a whetstone, and other things he found regular use for. There were also various herbs.
To aid Blue Water Woman, first he applied a powder ground from the root of what the Shoshones called the wambona plant. It was the best of all medicines to stop bleeding.
Once Shakespeare was sure he had stopped it, he made a poultice from plantain and applied it with a cloth.
At moments like this, Shakespeare took issue with the Almighty. It seemed to him that the suffering people went through—and some folks went through a godawful lot of it—they were better off without. He wasn’t one of those who thought life should be all cream and pie, but he was prone to wonder where the sense was in people hurting and dying.