The Outcast

“The things that come out of your mouth never cease to amaze me. If it’s not all that silly Bard stuff, it’s plants.”

“Have a care. Old William S. was never silly. He played with words the way you used to play with those blocks your pa got you. He was—” Shakespeare abruptly stopped.

Zach had held up a hand for silence. Turning, he gazed to the north. “Did you hear that?”

“No. What?”

“I don’t know,” Zach admitted. “A scream, maybe.”

“A scream?” Shakespeare twisted around, his saddle creaking under him, and listened. All he heard was the rustle of the wind and the swish of the mare’s tail. “Maybe you imagined it.”

“No. I’m pretty sure.”

They waited, but the sound wasn’t repeated. Zach scowled and reined his bay around. “I think we should go back.”

“If they were in trouble, they’d fire shots.”

“I still think we should.”

“We’d end up wasting most of the morning,” Shakespeare replied. “Besides, we haven’t seen any sign of hostiles or other whites since those goldcrazy coyotes paid us a visit a while back.”

“I know.” But Zach wanted to go back anyway. He had an uneasy feeling he didn’t like.

“Listen. You just found out your wife is going to have a baby, so naturally you’re a little nervous about leaving her alone. We’ll look ridiculous, riding all the way back without a reason.”

The next instant they had one. From the vicinity of the lake and the women they loved came the crack of a shot.

Blue Water Woman was happy to have some time to herself. She loved McNair dearly, but she needed quiet spells now and then, and with him around it was never quiet. If he wasn’t quoting his precious Bard, he was griping about aches in his bones and joints or prattling on about anything and everything under the sun. She’d never met a man, red or white, who talked as much as he did.

Today, after she fed him a breakfast of eggs and potatoes and he rode off, Blue Water Woman took up her knitting and sat in the rocking chair. She loved to knit. Winona had given her the metal needles and taught her the white way, which Winona had learned from Nate. It had surprised Blue Water Woman, a man knowing such a thing. Apparently Nate had learned it from his mother when he was a boy, much to his father’s annoyance.

Rocking slowly, Blue Water Woman lost herself in the click of the needles and the intricate weave. She was making Shakespeare what the whites called a sweater. The name puzzled her. Sweaters were usually worn in cold weather, when people sweated least. She thought it made more sense for whites to call it a warmer, but then, the whites did and said many things that to this day perplexed her.

Blue Water Woman sometimes marveled that she had wed a white man. The Flatheads didn’t hate the whites, as the Blackfeet and some other tribes did, but few took white mates.

She remembered when they first met. Back then he’d had brown hair and he didn’t quote the Bard every time he opened his mouth. Truth was, he’d been shy and quiet—as incredible as that was to believe—but he’d had the same wonderful personality. The one thing he did then that he still did now was love to laugh, and that laugh of his was infectious. When Shakespeare laughed, the whole world laughed with him.

He was handsome, too. Age had changed his features, as it did everyone’s. Now he had more lines on his face, but his eyes held the same twinkle. To her he was the handsomest man alive. She would never tell him that, of course. He would boast of it forever.

It was a mystery, love. Part of it was plain to understand; two people met, they were attracted, they wanted to be together. But another part, the deeper part, was a mystery to her people and, she had found, to the whites, as well. It was fine to say that love happened when one heart reached out to another. But why that particular heart out of all the hearts in the world?

Blue Water Woman stopped knitting and chuckled. Here she was, thinking thoughts more fitting for a girl who had seen but sixteen winters.

The sitting had made her stiff. She got up, put her knitting on the rocking chair, and went out. She took her rifle, as she always did, and strolled to the lake. A haze hung over it, as was common in the summer.

The lake teemed with water birds. She liked to watch them swim and dive. She particularly liked the couples, and the mothers with their little ones.

Blue Water Woman regretted not being able to give McNair children. She’d told him she didn’t, but she did. Had they wed when they were young, she would have delighted in having babies until she couldn’t have had them anymore.

Blue Water Woman stretched. She gazed across the lake, toward Zach and Lou’s cabin, barely visible on the far side. She thought she saw two people come out. One had to be Louisa; she was wearing a dress, unusual for her, as Lou preferred buckskins. The other figure was a man—and he appeared to be pushing Lou ahead of him.

Blue Water Woman blinked, and the pair were gone around a corner. She moved to her left to try and see them again, but couldn’t. Alarm spiked through her. The man couldn’t be Zach. Zach was off with Shakespeare. And anyway, Zach would never push Lou, not for any reason.

She told herself she must be mistaken. There had been no sign of strangers in the valley. But she couldn’t deny her own eyes. Quickly, she hurried to the corral and brought out her dun. She didn’t bother with a saddle. She had no need of one; she had been riding bareback since she was old enough to straddle a horse.

Mounting, Blue Water Woman jabbed her heels and brought the dun to a gallop. The wind on her face and in her hair felt nice. She glanced to the north, but she still couldn’t see the two figures.

It was a long way from her cabin to Lou’s. She passed Nate and Winona’s at the west end, and then flew along the north shore until she reined up in a swirl of dust.

The front door was wide open.

Alighting, Blue Water Woman leveled her Hawken. “Louisa? Are you in there?” When she got no answer, she warily stepped to the doorway.

Inside, it was neat and tidy, as Lou always kept it. Pans and a bowl were on the counter. Nothing looked out of place. Blue Water Woman saw no signs of a struggle. She saw Lou’s rifle propped near the door. That puzzled her. If Lou had been taken by hostiles, they would surely have taken it. Guns were as highly prized as horses.

Blue Water Woman went around the corner. The thick woodland that bordered the lake was an unbroken wall of green.

“Louisa! Where are you?”

Again, no answer.

Her dread climbing, Blue Water Woman shouted several more times. When she still got no response, she came to a decision. She moved to the water’s edge, raised her rifle over her head, and fired. The shot would carry a long way. Shakespeare and Zach had not been gone that long. They were bound to hear it and fly back.

Blue Water Woman reloaded. She debated whether to stay and wait for them or to go after Lou by herself. She really had no choice. Lou must be in trouble. The more time that went by, the greater the chance that whoever took Lou would get away.

Blue Water Woman climbed back on the dun. She reined toward the forest. Once more she called out to Lou. The silence preyed on her nerves. It was too quiet. All the birds, the squirrels, everything had gone silent. A bad omen. She wished Nate and Winona were home. She could use their help. Indeed, whoever took Lou would find her father-in-law a formidable adversary. Nate King was a superb tracker and a skilled fighter.

His son was a holy terror.

Blue Water Woman imagined that Zach would be beside himself. It wouldn’t surprise her if when Zach caught whoever took Lou—and Zach would catch him—he chopped the man into bits and pieces. Blue Water Woman cared for Zach, cared for him dearly, but there had been times, especially when he was younger, that he worried her. When his blood was up he was a rabid wolf.