“One.”
“That’s all?” Shakespeare was relieved. He’d imagined an entire war party. “Zach will head out after them in a just a bit. Don’t you worry. He’ll find them and bring her back.”
Blue Water Woman licked her lips. So simple an act, yet it took all her strength. “Shakespeare?”
“Don’t talk. Lie still. You need to rest.”
Struggling to stay conscious, Blue Water Woman got out, “This is important. The warrior who took Lou…”
“What about him?”
“He is a Blood.”
Shakespeare was surprised. The Bloods were part of what the whites called the Blackfoot Confederacy, an alliance had that controlled the northern plains and parts of southern Canada since long before Lewis and Clark. The three principal tribes were the Blackfeet, the Piegans, and the Bloods—at least those were the names the whites gave them. Their real names, the names by which they called themselves, were the Siksika, the Piikani, and the Kainai.
The Bloods—or Kainai—were so called because of the habit they had of rubbing red ochre on their faces. They were a proud, fearless people, fiercely protective of their land. Shakespeare had had dealings with them in the past, before they came to distrust and dislike the white man and drove all whites from their land or slew them.
Shakespeare scratched his beard, pondering. King Valley was far from their usual haunts. Bloods hardly ever ventured this deep into the mountains. For a lone warrior to be there was unthinkable; there had to be more. He reasoned that the Blood his wife had seen must be part of a larger war party.
“Husband?”
“I’m here.” Shakespeare squeezed her hand and kissed her on the cheek, not caring one whit that he got her blood on his lips.
“I am tired,” Blue Water Woman said. In truth, she had never felt so weak, so drained.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you should be all right in a few days,” Shakespeare predicted. He was sugarcoating her condition to put her at ease. Truth was, she might have internal bleeding. Or, worse, the gash was deeper than it seemed, and the force of the blow had driven bone fragments into her brain.
“If you do not mind, I will sleep now.” Blue Water Woman closed her eyes and a dark mist enveloped her.
Zach came hurrying over. “I kindled the fire and have water on. I can’t stay any longer.”
Shakespeare nodded. “Off you go, then. But you should know: Lou is still alive. She’s been taken by the Bloods.”
A hot sensation spread from Zach’s neck to the top of his head. “I’ll count coup on all of them.”
“Blue Water Woman saw only one, but there must be more.” Shakespeare snagged Zach’s sleeve as Zach turned. “Be careful. The Bloods are good fighters and damn clever. They’ll be expecting someone to come after them. They’ll be ready.”
“They won’t be ready for me,” Zach vowed, and ran out the door in long lopes.
Shakespeare listened to the drum of hooves fade. By rights he should be with the boy, watching his back. But he couldn’t leave Blue Water Woman. Not with her like this. He tenderly touched her chin and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Don’t you die on me. You hear? You’re the love of my life. Our hearts are entwined forever.” He coughed and blinked, and tears trickled down his cheeks. A low moan escaped him.
Shakespeare broke down and sobbed.
The Tunkua descended the slope with the agility of mountain goats and the stamina of Apaches. Powerfully built, their short, muscular bodies lent them superb endurance. They could jog half a day without tiring. This served them well now, as it was a long way from the top of the mountain to the bottom, many leagues of steep slopes and thick woods.
Skin Shredder pushed to descend as low as they could before the sun went down.
They took infrequent rests. When they came to a ridge that afforded a sweeping view of the valley, Skin Shredder raised an arm and the other warriors stopped. Some took out their food bundles to eat. Others gazed about the pristine wonderland, marveling at the abundance of wildlife. Their own valley had much to recommend it, but this valley, the Valley of the Bear People, as they had come to call it of late, was a paradise.
Black-capped chickadees played in the thickets. Grosbeaks frolicked in the pines. Red crossbills winged through the air bobbing their heads and uttering their strange cry of
The evidence of mammals was everywhere. Tracks of elk and shaggy mountain buffalo. The weasel called the valley home. So did the mink and the marten. Mountain sheep could be seen on the heights. Badger burrows dotted open slopes. In the waterways beaver thrived, and in the largest stream, otter. Noisy squirrels sat on pine limbs, chewing nuts. Others scampered about the ground. Chipmunks would run in fright with their tails high.
There was sign of meat eaters, too. Bear, mountain lion, bobcat. Wolves and foxes. Coyotes were especially numerous.
Back when the Tunkua first came to the mountains, the tribe was delighted when they discovered the valley. It had everything they could want. They’d camped by the lake and held council. Everyone agreed it should be their new home.
But the next day something huge stirred the waters of the lake. All of them saw the water roil, saw a giant form swim just below the surface. A water devil, the older among them called it. Bad medicine.
The second night they heard strange cries. Not the howl of wolves or the yip of coyotes, but ululating wails and fierce roars from the vicinity of the glacier, borne to them by the wind. It filled them with unease. More bad medicine.
The morning of the third day dawned bright and beautiful until it was learned that one of their number was missing. A woman had gone into the forest to gather firewood and hadn’t returned. A search was conducted, with every warrior taking part. The best trackers among them were able to follow her tracks into the woods as far as a small clearing, where they abruptly stopped. There they also found other tracks, huge tracks, tracks unlike any bear but vaguely bearlike, tracks with long claws and narrow heels. The story the tracks told was plain. The woman had entered the clearing and the thing that made the huge tracks rushed out at her. She never got off a cry. Drops of blood told them they would never see her again.
This was the worst medicine of all. Another council was held and this time the tribe decided to move on. It was with reluctance that they climbed the west slopes and filed through a pass into the valley beyond. This other valley proved to be almost as bountiful. There was no lake—but no mysterious water creature, either. There was no glacier—but the nights were not disturbed by hideous cries. Best of all, they stayed there a week and no one disappeared. It became their new home.
Now, gazing out over the blue of the lake and the green of the valley bottom, Skin Shredder almost wished that this valley was their home. From time to time warriors had ventured here to hunt and fish, but they never stayed more than a few sleeps. The cries from the glacier and the roiling of the lake water always reminded them it was the haunt of creatures better left undisturbed. Creatures from when the world was young.
The Tunkua believed that at one time the earth had been filled with animals unlike any they were familiar with. Huge creatures, many covered with thick hair, creatures that dwarfed even the elk and the buffalo. Cats with teeth as long as a man’s arm. Bears that could reach the tops of trees. Fourlegged giants with two tails, one at each end, and two teeth, each as long as a canoe.
Tunkua legend had it that most of these creatures had died out. But not all of them. The same with the red- haired cannibals, once so numerous and the scourge of tribes everywhere. The Tunkua also passed down tales of the little people who once lived in the hills near the bay but retreated into the interior when the tribes grew in number.
Skin Shredder thought of all of this as he stood staring across the valley.
“You should eat,” Splashes Blood said, breaking into his reverie.
