Remy grabbed the Breed by the shoulders. “The women! Not the women too? Where is Pensee? And Delmare?”
“I—” the Breed began, and sadly shook his head. “I am sorry, my friend. All the women are dead. Pensee is one of the worst. The beast split her like a melon.”
“No!” Remy looked wildly about. “
“All.”
Halette began crying.
Remy sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. Chin bowed, he said morosely, “They counted on me. I was their leader. I was to keep them safe.”
“You took precautions,” the Breed said. “No one could have foreseen this.”
“I should have,” Remy insisted. “A good leader thinks of everything. I should have had two men on guard, not just one.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
Fargo agreed. There was no way in hell anyone could have guessed a giant razorback was running amok in the Atchafalaya.
“This razorback has never done anything like this before,” the Breed was saying. “It has never attacked so many people at once.”
Another good point, and food for Fargo’s thought. Until now, except for Emmeline and Halette, the thing attacked only those who were alone.
“Show me the women,” Remy said, rising. “Show me each of them.”
“You don’t need to see.”
“Yes, I do. I want it seared into my memory so I never forget.” Remy motioned and the Breed led the way.
Halette held out her arms to Namo and he squatted and hugged her. “There, there, little one. God was watching over us. None of us were harmed.”
“But those nice ladies. I want to go home, Papa. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want our roof over my head.” Halette stared wide-eyed out over the great swamp. “I don’t want to be here any more.”
“We will leave in the morning.”
“Please. Now. I’m afraid.”
Fargo turned and walked to the water’s edge. He thought of Pensee, of her ravaged body. He thought of how close the razorback came to killing him. And then and there he decided he wasn’t leaving Louisiana until the creature was dead. “No matter how long it takes,” he said out loud.
“How long what takes?”
Fargo nearly jumped. “Damn, boy. Don’t sneak up on folks like that.”
Clovis was glumly cradling his rifle. “
“Me either.”
“This razorback. How can it be so big and yet be so fast? It was faster than any horse. Faster even than deer.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” But Fargo agreed it was ungodly quick. Anyone who tried to outrun it wouldn’t have a prayer.
“I used to love the swamp,” Clovis said. “It has been my home since I was born. I know the animals, the birds, the trails. The gators and the snakes, they don’t scare me like they scare some. But this—” and the boy gestured at the inky veil. “I want no part of this. I have lost my mama. I would not lose my papa or my sister as well.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Help me, Monsieur Fargo. Talk to him. Talk to my father and convince him to give up the hunt. Now, while he still can. Before it’s too late.”
“I doubt he’d listen to me. You should talk to him yourself. Blood counts for more than the advice of a stranger.”
“You mean the blood in our veins?” Clovis said. “Yes, I’m his son, but I’m only a boy. You are a grown man.”
“You talk old for your age. Give it a try. What can it hurt?”
Along the shore came the Breed. He didn’t say anything. He stopped and did as they were doing: stared out over the sinister swamp.
“Where is Uncle Remy?” Clovis asked.
“With your father.” The Breed poked a clump of grass with his toe. “They are going to join forces. For Remy this is personal now. He won’t rest until he has his revenge.”
“What about you?”
“Where Remy goes, I am, always,” the Breed said. “We are brothers, him and I. Not in body but inside.” He thumped his chest with a fist.
Fargo asked, “Do you have a name?” Few men liked being called breeds. To many it was an insult.
A look of surprise came over him. “Yes. I am called Hetsutu. In your tongue that would be Yellow Jacket.” He smiled. “You are the second white man to ever ask.”
“Who was the first?”
“Remy Cuvier.”
Wind gusted from the swamp, bringing with it a far distant squeal and then the shriek of a hapless animal caught in the razorback’s rampaging path.
“It doesn’t kill just people,” Clovis said.
“No,” Hetsutu replied. “The madness is in its veins. It kills everything, and it won’t stop killing until it is dead. Many more lives will be lost if we do not stop it.”
“White lives,” Fargo said.
“You suggest it isn’t my fight? But Remy is white and he is my friend. Pensee was a good friend, too. Even Onfroi treated me as an equal.” Hetsutu squared his shoulders. “I have told you I am part Washa. Perhaps the last of my kind. I swear to you on the blood of my ancestors that I am with you in this. Come what may.”
“Come what may,” Fargo said.
The wind off the swamp suddenly seemed chill.
11
The two pirogues glided along the bayou in the bright of day.
Fargo was in the second craft with Namo and the kids. Remy and Hetsutu were up ahead.
“We will reach Gros Ville by nightfall,” Namo announced. He did not sound happy about it.
“It’s for the best.”
They had talked it over, all of them, and agreed that the smart thing to do, the safe thing to do, was take the children to the settlement and leave them with someone Namo trusted. Then the men would begin the hunt for the razorback.
But Namo had balked. He insisted on keeping his children at his side. It took a lot of arguing to get him to change his mind. Remy finally did it by saying that if Namo really loved them, he wouldn’t expose them to the danger of what Remy called “that vile horror.”
“No one can say I don’t love my children,” Namo had bristled.
“Then prove it.”
Now here they were.
They had agreed to spend a couple of days in Gros Ville resting. Fargo and Namo needed it. Namo, especially. They were worn down and on edge from living in constant peril.
“But what about Remy?” Namo had brought up. “Some of the people there see him only as a criminal.”
Remy had laughed that big laugh of his. “What do I care about those sheep? They will do nothing. Oh, they’ll
