“Go with God,” Lexington said.
Maklin had slowed and was scowling at the world and everything in it. He glanced around as Nate came up but didn’t say anything.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Maklin growled.
“What was that all about?”
“I told you. Do-goods like them raise my hackles. They go around with blinders on and want the rest of us to do the same.”
“That’s all there is to it?”
“What more do you need?” the Texan retorted. “Damn it. You saw how they are. Smiling all the time. Prattling on about how we’re all brothers and sisters and the rest of that hogwash.”
“That’s cause to hate them?”
“I hate stupid, and they are as stupid as hell. The first war party that finds them will put an end to them right quick.”
Nate had to agree. He told the Texan about their detest for weapons.
“There. See? Not one damn gun, they said? If that isn’t stupid I don’t know what is.”
Nate mentioned that Maklin had acted the same way toward Wendell and his family.
“So? That dirt farmer was just as stupid. He deserved to be rubbed out just as these Shakers do.”
“No one deserves to die,” Nate disagreed, and rubbed his chin. “Did you feel this way before Na-lin was killed?”
“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. I don’t recollect.”
In a flash of insight, Nate saw the truth. “You’re not fooling anyone. At least not me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nate didn’t answer.
“If you think I care, you’re wrong. I don’t care about anyone anymore. Not after Na-lin.” Maklin pulled his hat brim lower. “That’s when I learned my lesson. That’s when I realized how wrong I was. I used to believe, yes. I used to think just like Wendell and Lexington. Oh, I didn’t go around quoting Scripture or praying every damn day, but I believed there was a God and there was a purpose to all of this.” Maklin shook his head. “Not anymore. Now I know better.”
Nate thought of Winona and how he would feel if anything were to happen to her.
“You saw that dirt farmer. You saw what the Pawnees did to his wife and his kids. Look me in the eye and tell me there’s a God of love somewhere that watches over people. Look me in the eye and tell me something like that makes sense to you.”
“I…” Nate began, and stopped.
“I didn’t think so. Where’s the love in a woman having her intestines cut out? Where’s the love in a little girl having her nose and her ears hacked off? Where’s the love in a grizzly tearing the leg off someone?”
“I don’t have all the answers.”
“Hell, if you’re like me, you don’t have any.” Maklin glowered at the sky. “I take that back. There’s one answer I have. The answer to the biggest question of all.” He paused. “There’s no God. There never was. There never will be. We made God up. We had to. Otherwise the intestines and the noses and ears and legs would drive us insane.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Nate said. “I can’t prove it, but there has to be more to all this.”
“More how? That if we die and go to heaven it makes all the rest of it right?” Maklin shook his head. “No. I refuse to be fooled. You want to believe, go ahead. But I’m telling you. If you’re right and I’m wrong, if there really is a God, then either God doesn’t give a damn about us or He’s plumb loco.”
On that they lapsed into silence.
The wagon train had covered a lot of ground since they left. Jeremiah Blunt was happy to hear they had found the Valley of Skulls, but he wasn’t happy about the rest of their news.
“I was afraid of this,” the captain said gravely. “When Arthur Lexington looked me up in St. Louis to hire me to deliver supplies, I tried to talk him out of his venture. I warned him that it was entirely possible he would get himself and his followers killed.”
“How did he take it?” Nate asked.
Blunt colored pink. “He told me that if I was as devout as I claim to be, I’d have more trust in the Lord.”
“I need a drink,” Maklin said, and walked off.
“Remember my rule,” Blunt said after him. “Not on the trail. Whiskey and work don’t mix.” He turned to Nate. “So tell me. This Pawnee who blames you for his uncle’s death. Kuruk, isn’t it? He speaks English, does he?”
“As well as you or me. Other languages, besides.”
“Where did he learn them?”
“From a missionary, I think. Other whites have visited them, too. Major Long. Zebulon Pike. They’ve had a lot of contact with whites.”
“Didn’t the Pawnees send a delegation to meet with the president in Washington?”
“President Jefferson, yes.”
“Do you suppose this Kuruk can write as well as read?”
Nate shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Why are you bringing all this up?”
“While you were gone, our wrangler was killed and some of our horses were run off,” Blunt revealed. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
The body was in the last wagon, wrapped in a tarp. Blunt had it hauled out and set at Nate’s feet and unwrapped the tarp himself. “Notice anything?”
Carved into the dead man’s forehead were the letters NK.
Chapter Ten
There had been no sign of the Pawnees, Blunt told Nate. The wrangler was found dead shortly after Nate and Maklin left to scout for the Valley of Skulls. Blunt ended with “You know what that might mean, don’t you?”
A chill ran through Nate. He was on the bay and ready to ride out in minutes. “Maklin can guide you to the valley. I’ll wait there for you.”
“You’ll be riding in the dark.”
“Can’t be helped,” Nate said, and bobbed his chin at the last wagon. “I won’t be to blame for more.”
“Noble of you,” Jeremiah Blunt said, and offered his hand. “I can spare two or three men to go along.”
“I’ll travel faster alone. Besides, you might need them there.” Nate had dallied long enough. With a slap of his legs he was off. The bay had not had much rest, but he pushed, riding at a trot when he could and only allowing the bay brief rests. He was thinking of the Shakers, those helpless, defenseless Shakers, and what a Pawnee war party would do to them.
Nate wanted to kick himself. If anything happened to the Shakers, their fate fell squarely on his shoulders.
The sun sank below the western horizon in a blaze of pink and yellow and red. Nate rode in near pitchblack. There was no moon, only starlight to ride by, and in the woods and gorges most was blocked out. He had to slow or risk losing the bay to a broken leg.
Nate mused on his encounter with the Pawnees all those years ago. He had been lucky to get out of their village alive. He never expected this to happen, to have his past endanger his present. He was glad Winona wasn’t along, or her life would be in peril, too.
The night dragged. The thud of the bay’s heavy hooves punctuated the haunting howls of wolves and the high-pitched yips of coyotes. From time to time a roar or a screech broke the stillness. So, too, did the cries of prey: bleats, screams, even shrieks.
Nate remembered how it was growing up in New York, remembered visits to an uncle’s farm bordered by forest, and how the night was seldom pierced by bestial sounds. In part, he reckoned, because a lot of the game had been killed off. In part, too, because the presence of man made the animals wary. When they were hunted day in and night out, stealth and silence became their way of life.
Another roar echoed off the high peaks.
Here, life was different. Here, the animals lived much as they had before the advent of man. The wilderness was as wilderness was meant to be: wild, untamed, savage.