“What? No. You make an insult where none is intended.”
“Now I’m stupid as well as yellow.”
“Damn it,” Logan said. “Stop putting words in my mouth. I don’t blame you for being angry. That wagon boss made you eat crow. But don’t take it out on me. Go back there and knock his teeth in.”
“I have a better idea.” Venom drew his pistol and shot him.
Chapter Ten
The hard part was not knowing when the scalp hunters would catch up. It was like sour food in the pit of Evelyn’ s stomach, an ache that wouldn’t go away. The others were worried, too. She could see it in their faces. Except for Plenty Elk. He didn’t seem worried at all. Maybe it was the deaths of his friends. He acted eager for a fight, as if he had something to prove. Whatever his reasons, Evelyn was glad he was there.
Waku and his family weren’t fighters. The Nansusequa had been a peaceful tribe. They fought only when provoked. From what Evelyn could gather, most eastern tribes didn’t esteem counting coup as highly as tribes west of the Mississippi River. Why that should be was another of life’s many mysteries.
All morning they rode hard. When the sun was at its zenith, they stopped to rest their lathered mounts.
Evelyn passed out pemmican. She gave a piece to Plenty Elk and he signed his thanks. He had more to sign.
‘Scalp men catch us tomorrow.’
‘No today?’
‘They have far ride where black man kill my friend. They have far ride here.’
Evelyn wasn’t so sure. The scalp hunters would push hard, too. ‘Maybe when sun go down.’
‘Question. White men fight night?’
‘Yes.’ Evelyn was aware many tribes usually only waged war during the day. Some whites believed it was due to a superstitious taboo. Common sense was the real reason. Fighting in the dark, when a person could hardly see, was an invite to an early grave.
‘Question. You have husband?’
Evelyn was startled. It had been her experience that Indian men, especially Indian men her age, only asked that question when they had designs in that direction. ‘I have no mate,’ she signed.
‘You beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You smell good.’
Evelyn was flabbergasted. Here they were, fleeing for their lives from a pack of demons in human guise, and this young warrior was trying to court her. ‘You smell my sweat,’ she signed.
‘Sweat smell good,’ Plenty Elk persisted.
Men, Evelyn decided, were too ridiculous for words. She smiled and went over to Dega and gave him a piece of pemmican from the beaded parfleche her mother had made.
“What you two hand talk about?” Dega asked.
“Nothing much.”
Dega had been watching them closely, and he was sure it was more than nothing. He had seen her face, seen how she reacted to something the Arapaho warrior signed. “Him have big ears.”
“Excuse me?”
Dega touched one of his own ears to emphasize how much smaller his were. “His ears too much big. Look funny.”
“I thought the Nansusequa don’t judge people by how they look but by how they are inside,” Evelyn reminded him.
“We do.” Dega felt it necessary to justify his lapse. “I not judge his ears. I just say they big.”
“He can’t help how he was born.”
That she would defend the Arapaho worried Dega considerably. “You like his ears more or my ears more?”
“Ears are ears.”
“Please. Which ears best?”
Was it her imagination, Evelyn asked herself, or was Dega jealous? “Mountain lion ears are sharpest,” she answered, and went over to Teni. The older girl took a piece of pemmican and thanked her in the Nansusequa tongue.
Dega squatted and held a counsel with himself. Perhaps it was time he told Evelyn how he felt. Until now he had hidden his true feelings, afraid that if he revealed them, she would want nothing more to do with him.
Evelyn faced east and shielded her eyes with her hand. The distant haze was unbroken save by a flock of birds in flight. She turned and nearly bumped into Waku, who had come up behind her. “Goodness. Scare a person, why don’t you?”
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I’m jumpy.”
“No sign of the scalp men yet.” Waku had been anxiously watching their back trail all morning.
“Not yet, no.” Evelyn had been thinking, and she had an idea. For it to work, she needed to know something. “Tell me. Will your family kill if they have to?”
“My son and me kill if bad men catch us,” Waku promised.
“No, not just you two,” Evelyn clarified. “What about Tihikanima and Teni and little Miki? Have they ever killed?”
“They are women. They are not warriors.” Waku liked the Kings, liked them dearly, but they were too prone to violence. In that regard they were no different from the tribes of the region, who waged war for the sheer excitement. An attitude that ran contrary to all he believed. The Nansusequa valued peace above all else.
“Shoshone women will kill to defend their village. The same with the Sioux and the Crows and the Blackfeet,” Evelyn said. “Will your wife and daughters do the same?”
It hit Waku, then, what she was suggesting. “You want them to help kill the scalp men?”
“We could ambush the whole bunch,” Evelyn proposed. “Plenty Elk says there are nine of them. Well, there are seven of us. I could give one of my pistols to your wife and another to Teni. You and Dega both have bows. So does Plenty Elk. I have my rifle. If we did it right, if we let them come up close so we couldn’t miss, we could drop six of them before they got off a shot. That would leave three for us to deal with.”
Waku was amazed she would propose subjecting his wife and daughters to such terror. “Not Tihi, Teni and Miki.”
“I can teach Tihi and Teni to shoot the pistols. It’s no feat at all if your target is near enough. You just point and squeeze.”
“No.”
“Why not? It’s our best chance of ending this and saving all our lives. The scalp hunters won’t ride into an ambush twice.”
“Not my wife and daughters.”
“You don’t want them to kill even when they might be killed? Where’s the logic in that?”
“You do not understand,” Waku said.
“Enlighten me.” Evelyn was convinced an ambush would work but only once. They must make it count. They must slay as many scalp hunters as they could with their first volley of lead and arrows.
“You are a white girl…”
“I’m half Indian,” Evelyn reminded him.
“Your mother is Indian, yes. But you do not look like her. You look like your father. You are more white than Indian.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Tihikanima and Tenikawaku and Mikikawaku are Nansusequa. They live the Nansusequa way. We are raised
