Off in the trees, something moved.
She drew rein, tucked her rifle to her shoulder, and put her thumb on the hammer. But whatever she saw was gone. It might have been a deer. She waited, and when the woods stayed still, she lowered the Hawken and rode on.
Shadows dappled her and turned the vegetation into a patchwork quilt of light and dark. It played tricks on the eyes. Twice she thought she saw a two-legged shape silhouetted against the green, but either it vanished or it was never really there.
Blue Water Woman didn’t realize her mouth had gone dry until she tried to swallow. The clomp of the dun’s hooves was the only sound. She looked every which way so she wouldn’t be taken by surprise, and soon had a crick in her neck. She willed herself to stay calm and shut her worry from her mind. She must stay focused on one thing and one thing only.
A patch of white appeared. Then others, mixed with patches of brown. It took a few seconds for Blue Water Woman to recognize them for what they were—the coat of a pinto. She drew rein.
The pinto was just standing there, head bowed, dozing.
Blue Water Woman looked all around. She swung her leg over the dun and slid down. The pinto must belong to whoever had taken Lou, but where were they? She slowly advanced. As quietly as she could, she cocked the Hawken. Passing under a pine, she paused to scour the undergrowth.
A sound reached her. A low cry, muffled. She tried to pinpoint where it came from. When she heard it again, she moved cautiously. She went around a thicket—and saw Lou.
Louisa was on her side, bound wrists and ankles. She had been gagged with a piece of her dress. Her eyes were wide and she began to shake her head and thrash about.
Blue Water Woman saw no one else. She hastened to her friend, whispering, “Don’t worry. I will cut you free.”
Lou thrashed harder.
Blue Water Woman took her finger from the Hawken’s trigger and put her hand on the hilt of her knife. She heard rustling and started to turn. She wasn’t quite all the way around when a blow to her head sent her stumbling to her knees. Pain exploded. She looked up.
A warrior was poised with a large rock in his hand.
“No,” Blue Water Woman said.
The world faded to black.
Chapter Seven
Louisa King thought she was done for when the warrior gripped her by the throat and raised his knife. But instead of stabbing her, he shoved her toward the front door and came after her, pushing her when she didn’t move fast enough to suit him. She almost made a grab for her rifle. The jab of his blade low in her back dissuaded her.
Lou blinked in the sudden glare of the sun and paused. He pushed her again, toward the corner. She thought he might want her to mount her horse, but then he pushed her toward the woods.
“I’ll do what you want. There’s no need to keep shoving me,” Lou said, even thought she knew it was a waste of breath. She glanced at him and saw that he had taken Zach’s rope from its peg on the wall and brought it along.
The Outcast pushed her again. He was mad at himself and taking it out on her. He didn’t need her alive, but she was still breathing. It was the first weakness he had shown since the day that changed his world. He could remedy that by plunging his knife between her shoulder blades, but he thought of her belly, and couldn’t.
Lou would dearly love to know what his intentions were. To her knowledge, Indians rarely committed rape. Small comfort at best, since there were so many worse things they did. Mutilating enemies was common, and some tribes enjoyed torture. She prayed to God her captor wasn’t from one of them.
The Outcast paused at the tree line to look back. He gazed across the lake, and was taken aback to see a figure moving along the far shore. A woman, it looked like, and she was facing him. It had to be the Flathead.
Lou halted. She wondered why he had stopped. Having second thoughts, she hoped. But no, he shoved her again and barked at her in his own tongue, no doubt telling her to keep going.
The Outcast had seen the Flathead run toward her lodge. Either she was going for help or for a horse. Either way, she threatened to spoil everything.
Lou trudged angrily along. She was more mad at herself than the warrior; he was only doing what was natural. No, she was mad at herself for leaving the front door open and not keeping her rifle or pistols within easy reach. Most of all, she was mad because her carelessness might prove costly for the people she loved most in the world. They were bound to come after her, and her captor did not strike her as the type to die easily.
The Outcast was debating what to do. The important thing was to get away unnoticed. The woman across the lake might spoil that.
Lou tripped over a root and nearly fell. Her dress kept getting snagged on brush and limbs. She’d pull it loose, only to have it catch again ten steps later. She vowed that from here on out, she would only wear buckskins.
A whinny didn’t surprise her. She’d figured that the warrior had a horse. Few entered King Valley on foot. It was too remote, too far from the trails used by whites and red men alike. She rounded a thicket and beheld a pinto. A fine animal, if she was any judge. She seemed to remember Zach saying that some Indians were partial to pintos over all others. It had something to do with the bright colors, which Indians loved.
Her captor jabbed her in the back to get her attention, then motioned at the ground.
Lou gathered that he wanted her to sit. She did, and was roughly pushed onto her back. For a few anxious moments she feared her notion about being raped was wrong; but no, he made her lie on her side with her arms behind her, and he proceeded to cut short lengths from Zach’s rope to bind her ankles and wrists. She didn’t like it, but there was nothing she could do. She noticed that while he bound her tight, he didn’t do it so tight that the rope cut into her flesh. Then he reached for the hem of her dress.
“No!” Lou instinctively bleated, and the razor point of his knife flashed at her throat. All he did was prick her. A warning, she reckoned, and watched as he cut two strips. “Dang you. I sent all the way to St. Louis for this, and look at what you’ve done.”
Her anger puzzled the Outcast. Most women would be groveling in fear. But not this one. She was white, and she was an enemy, but she was gloriously brave. He caught himself and frowned. Gripping her jaw, he motioned for her to open her mouth.
Lou balked. It was bad enough being tied. But when he poked her in the ribs with that long blade of his, she did as he wanted, and the next moment her mouth was filled with a piece of her dress. “Wonderful,” she said, only it came out as “Unerful.”
The Outcast tied the other strip over her mouth so she couldn’t spit out the gag. Rising, he faced their back trail. In the distance hooves drummed. He went around the thicket until he was out of sight of the woman. Crouching, he wormed his way into it until he could see her without her seeing him.
Lou wondered where he had gotten to. She tried to rub off the strip over her mouth. Failing, she went to sit up and froze. Someone was calling her name. With a start, she recognized Blue Water Woman’s voice. She tried to yell, but the gag muffled her cries.
Blue Water Woman stopped shouting.
Lou wriggled toward the lake. She figured her friend was wondering where she had got to. Blue Water Woman wouldn’t know what had happened and might turn around and go back to her own cabin.
Then, to Lou’s relief, she saw her. Blue Water Woman, her rifle at the ready. Lou almost laughed for joy. She wanted to scream for Blue Water Woman to hurry and cut her free before the warrior came back. Her friend glided past the thicket—and a figure rose out of its depths.
Frantic, Lou shook her head and thrashed about, trying to warn Blue Water Woman before it was too late. She watched, aghast, as the warrior picked up a rock. Blue Water Woman started to turn. Lou thrashed harder but
