Devil Moon

At a steady jog it would take him as long to reach Nate as it would to return to Evelyn.

Which should he do?

Dega frowned and took the reins and led the sorrel to a tree and tied it. Then, squaring his shoulders, he stared up the mountain at the pass.

“I wish we would go,” Bright Rainbow said.

“I have explained why we are staying,” Evelyn replied. She had hold of the girl’s hand and was leading her toward the stream. The afternoon sun was warm on their backs, the high grass stirring in the breeze. “We have nothing to be afraid of.”

A monarch butterfly flitted past and a grasshopper jumped from under their feet. In the woods a finch chirped.

“Yes,” Bright Rainbow said, “we do.”

Evelyn had been through this several times already. “I will protect you. I have my guns. And by morning my folks will be here.”

“We should not stay the night.”

Evelyn was tired of hearing that. They came to the bank and she nodded at a pool. “That will do. I’ll turn my back and keep watch while you strip and jump in.”

“I do not want to.”

“You need a bath. Your hair is a mess and your dress is dirty. Wash it and wring it out and set it on the grass to dry while you clean yourself off.”

Bright Rainbow faced her. “I will do as you ask. You are my new friend. But you make a mistake. I am young. I am not dumb. And I tell you now, Evelyn King. We should go while we can.”

“Take your bath.” Evelyn turned and walked a dozen steps. She could understand the girl’s fear, but it was broad daylight and the mountain lion wasn’t anywhere near or the other animals would be cowering in their thickets and nests. From where she stood she could see the length and breadth of the valley. True, the high grass might hide a skulking cat, but she was confident she would spot it before it rushed them. She heard splashing behind her.

“The water is cold, Blue Flower.”

“Wash good,” Evelyn said. “Especially your hair.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Evelyn smothered a laugh. “Tell me a little about yourself. How old are you?”

“I will have lived twelve winters this winter.”

“Older than I thought,” Evelyn said. The girl was small for her age. “Where are your nearest relatives? Grandparents or an aunt or an uncle?”

“My grandfather was bit by a rattlesnake when I was little. My grandmother took sick and died two winters ago. I have no aunts or uncles. There is only me.”

“There must be someone.” Evelyn reckoned that her mother would want to return the girl to her people. “A close friend of your mother’s would do.”

“Oh. I understand. You want to give me away.”

“You need to be with your own kind, your own people.”

“I like being with you.”

“You hardly know me.”

“I like being with you anyway.”

“Get washed.” Evelyn was annoyed at how stubborn the girl was. Idly gazing at the rocky crags to the north, she stiffened. For a split second she thought she saw a black form gliding down a high slope. It was there and then it wasn’t. Given how far off it was and how big it must be, it had to have been a black bear. Black bears didn’t worry her. Most fought shy of people.

“Blue Flower?” Bright Rainbow said.

“Are you washing?”

“Yes. I wanted to ask what we will do tonight.”

“Stay put so Dega knows right where to find us.”

“And if the Devil Cat comes?”

“I will shoot it.”

“You will not see it, Blue Flower. You will not hear it. It is like a ghost, the Devil Cat.”

“I’ll keep a fire going. That will keep it away,” Evelyn said. A fire kept most every animal at bay.

“We had a fire in our lodge and the Devil Cat came in after us.”

“I will make the fire extra big. Now will you please wash?” Evelyn wriggled her foot in impatience. She looked to the north again. The bear had not reappeared. She imagined that by now Dega had reached the pass. Their spat notwithstanding, she could count on him not to let her down. Once her ma and pa arrived, all would be well.

The dark one was a shadow among shadows. His paws made no sound on the carpet of pine needles. His long body slung low, he stalked to a spur that overlooked the valley floor. He had come to this same spot on many an evening to watch and wait for prey. Cautiously, he raised his head and peered down at the pair below. His tail twitched and he bared his fangs, but he didn’t growl. He must not give himself away.

One of the creatures was in the water. It was small, not much bigger than a fawn, except it stood on two legs and not four. The other was on the bank, watching. It was not much bigger. They would be easy kills, but instinct rooted him to the spur. Not in the daylight. He would wait for night. There was no hurry. He wasn’t hungry.

The dark one lay and watched. He was curious about these creatures. They were different from everything else. They made so much noise, uttered so many strange sounds. They moved in ungainly steps, as slow as turtles. Yet they were dangerous. The hard thing he had stepped in had cost him part of his paw. The long sharp thing the male creature wielded had pierced his shoulder. He must be wary.

The small one was climbing out of the stream. She was clumsy. She slipped and fell back in and made a sharp bark. Again she tried, and stood on two legs and shook herself as the dark one did after a heavy rain. She picked up something lying on the grass and flapped it and then slipped it over her head and down around her thin body.

They were so strange, these creatures. The dark one saw the little one go to the bigger one and together they walked toward a clearing. A tingle ran through him. In the clearing stood one of the four-legged animals that looked like elk but weren’t elk. He would enjoy feeding on its flesh.

Sliding back, the dark one wheeled and padded around the spur and into the trees. Every sense alert, he crept close enough to the clearing to see his quarry. They were sitting next to crackling spurts of red and orange.

The dark one flexed his claws. He had seen something similar in the den of the creatures he killed. It made him uneasy.

He fixed his attention on the little two-legs, studying them and their habits as he had studied deer when he was with his mother.

They were gibbering. Their noises were alien: high and low, slow and fast, clipped and flowing. Chipmunks and squirrels were noisy, too, but not to the degree the two-legs were.

His whiskers twitching, the dark one rested his chin on his leg. The sun was on its downward arc. Until it set he was content to lie there and observe.

Then he would make his kill.

Evelyn poured the last of the stew into the tin cup. “This is all there is,” she said, marveling at the girl’s appetite.

“Thank you,” Bright Rainbow said. “I could not eat much more anyway.”