Devil Moon w-64

by David Thompson

  Her father had tried to instill his love of reading in her, too. He read every evening and often took one of his cherished books to bed with him. She would read when she had nothing better to do. Her brother hardly ever read at all. She’d asked Zach once why he hated to read so much and he said that it made his head hurt. Something about the print on the page didn’t agree with him.

  The coffee was hot enough. Evelyn filled her tin cup and held it in both hands. She sipped and smacked her lips. She was glad the sun was rising. Ever since she was little, she’d been a smidgen scared of the dark. Her mother said that was natural, but she’d noticed that her brother wasn’t scared of it. Her brother wasn’t scared of anything.

  Evelyn wondered why she was thinking of Zach so much. Maybe it was because of all that talk with Dega about having children, and Zach and his wife were going to have a baby. She opened the picnic basket and helped herself to a piece of pemmican.

  The woods were quiet. Almost too quiet. Evelyn probed every shadow for sign of the little Tukaduka. She figured the child must have a hiding place, somewhere she was safe. It could be anywhere.

  A golden crown lit creation. The sky rapidly brightened and the valley stirred to life.

  Evelyn stayed where she was. She would let the girl come to her rather than go searching. She remembered how hungry the girl had been, and with that in mind she filled a pot with water and added bits of pemmican and carrots and wild onions and let it simmer so that its scent filled the clearing and the breeze would carry the aroma a good long way.

  The morning passed as slow as a turtle. Evelyn drank three cups of coffee and couldn’t drink any more. The smell of the stew made her mouth water, but she refused to eat.

  Now that she was alone, every unusual sound and sight rubbed at her nerves. The rustle of brush, the slightest movement of the vegetation, the distant crash of a limb falling. She kept her Hawken in her lap and a hand on one of her pistols. The truth be known, she didn’t like toting the flintlocks everywhere. They were heavy, and after a long walk they were like anchors around her waist. But her pa had instilled in her that one gun was never enough, that one shot didn’t always kill.

  Evelyn looked down at the Hawken in her lap. Her father had had it custom-made for her by the Hawken brothers in St. Louis. It was shorter and lighter than most Hawkens, but it was powerful enough to drop a buffalo provided she hit the buff in the vitals.

  The thing was, Evelyn didn’t like to kill. Her brother used to poke fun at her because she wouldn’t even shoot rabbits for the supper pot. He had teased her about being too tenderhearted, or as he put it, “weak in the head.” Which always made her bristle.

  Evelyn never could understand why there was so much killing in the world. Why creatures had to kill other creatures. Why people killed other people. Why people had to kill animals to eat. Her father and mother said that was just the way things were, but that wasn’t enough of an answer. She hated to spill blood, human or otherwise. When she was young, that was a large part of the reason she had entertained the notion that she would leave the wilderness one day and live east of the Mississippi, where people could go their whole lives without killing anything except maybe a few flies and mosquitoes.

  Evelyn stirred the stew. She raised the wooden spoon to her lips and sipped. Not bad, she thought. The wild onions gave it a potent flavor. She put the spoon in the pot and shifted to relieve a cramp in her leg, and tingled with excitement.

  The bait had worked.

  Over by an oak stood the little girl. In the daylight she looked worse. Her hair was a tangled mess of dirt with bits of grass and leaves in the tangle. Her dress was a shambles. She was as thin as a broomstick and there were dark shadows under her eyes.

  Evelyn almost blurted, My God! Instead she smiled and said quietly in English, “Look who it is.” The girl cocked her head and gave her a quizzical look. “Sorry,” Evelyn said in Shoshone. “I am happy to see you again. Would you like to sit at my fire?”

  The girl didn’t move.

  “I will not hurt you.”

  The girl took a couple of wary steps but came no farther.

  “You sure are skittish,” Evelyn said in English, and once again switched to her mother’s tongue. “I am Blue Flower, remember? What is your name? I would very much like to know.”

  A slight sound escaped the girl’s throat.

  “I am sorry. I did not hear. Will you say your name again?”

  The girl mumbled.

  “I still do not understand. You must speak louder.”

  “Rainbow,” the girl said. “Bright Rainbow.”

  Evelyn chuckled. She had broken through. “That is a pretty name. I like rainbows. Do you like rainbows?”

  “Yes.”

  Evelyn stirred the soup, took a long sip, and smacked her lips. “Are you hungry?”

  Bright Rainbow stared longingly at the pot. She rubbed her belly and said, “Very hungry.”

  Evelyn patted the ground. “Then come eat. I have plenty. And after you have eaten we can talk.”

  “Where is the man?” Bright Rainbow asked.

  “I sent my friend away so he would not scare you. There is just you and me.” Evelyn gave the ground a few more pats. “You should eat while the stew is hot.”

  Slowly, fearfully, Bright Rainbow approached. She took small steps and was poised to flee at the slightest hint of deception.

  Evelyn sat perfectly still and smiled. She was tempted to lunge and grab hold once the girl was close enough, but she stifled the urge. To put her more at ease, she rambled, “Would you like to be my new friend? I would like to be yours. I did not have any sisters growing up and I always wanted one. Girls are easier to talk to than boys. My brother used to say I talk too much and would walk off when I bored him and…”

  Bright Rainbow stopped and trembled and said in a tiny voice, “I had brothers.”

  Evelyn remembered the remains in the lodge.

  “Two of them.”

  “I hope they were nicer to you than my brother was to me.”

  “They were nice, yes,” Bright Rainbow said. “Fox Tail and Elk Running. It killed them. Both of them.”

  “What did?” Evelyn asked, although she knew full well.

  “The Devil Cat.”

  “The what?”

  “My people call it that. I thought my mother made it up. But it was real, as real as you and me.”

  “Doyadukubichi,” Evelyn said, which was Shoshone for “mountain lion” or “cougar.”

  “Kai.”

  “No?”

  “It is not a cat. It is a devil.”

  By then the girl was near enough for Evelyn to touch. “Have a seat and I will feed you.”

  Bright Rainbow folded her legs and delicately perched on her knees, her hands in her lap. She could not take her eyes off the bubbling stew.

  “You have not eaten a meal in a while.” Evelyn stated the obvious.

  “No.”

  Evelyn heard the girl’s stomach growl. She ladled stew into a tin cup and held it out. “I have plenty so eat as much as you want.”

  Bright Rainbow stared at the cup as if she had never seen one before. She tentatively went to wrap her hand around it.

  “Be careful,” Evelyn cautioned. “It is hot. Use the handle.” She demonstrated how to hold it.

  “A great thing,” Bright Rainbow said. She tried a taste and her face lit with pleasure. “You are a good cook, Blue Flower.”

  “My mother is ten times as good. Her cakes make your mouth water and her bread is always delicious.”

  “My mother…” Bright Rainbow began, and her face clouded. She stopped and bit her lower lip and said, “I miss her. I cry and cry, I miss her so much.”

  Against her better judgment Evelyn asked, “What about your father? Did the Devil Cat get him, too?”

  “He pushed me in a hole and…” Again Bright Rainbow stopped. Tears welled, and she bowed her head and spoke in a rush. “I saw him die. I saw him turn and stab at
the cat with his spear and his knives and I think he cut it, too, but the cat was too big and too strong and it jumped on his chest and pinned him and tore at him with its teeth and its claws and he…” She stopped and shuddered.

  Impulsivly, Evelyn threw her arm around the girl’s frail shoulders and pulled her close. “Enough,” she said. “Do not relive his death.”

  Bright Rainbow closed her eyes, set down the tin cup, and groaned. She uttered a loud sob and her whole body shook, and suddenly she was weeping in Evelyn’s arms, her face pressed against Evelyn’s dress. She cried and cried and cried and cried some more, and Evelyn held her and stroked her hair and patted her back and said over and over, “There, there.” Bright Rainbow wept herself dry and finally stopped and sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

  “I am sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I made you wet.” Continuing to sniffle, Bright Rainbow pulled away and tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her thin legs.

  “It is nothing.”

  “I heard him scream.”

  “You do not need to tell me,” Evelyn said.

  “I saw the Devil Cat tear at him. I saw his blood. He tried not to cry out. He grit his teeth and the veins in his neck stood out and then he threw back his head and he screamed and screamed.”

  “Please stop.”

  Bright Rainbow quaked. “He looked at me and I saw how scared he was. Then he smiled.”

  “Oh God,” Evelyn said in English.

  “He smiled and he looked at me as he used to when he held me in his arms and told me that he loved me.” Bright Rainbow pressed her face to her knees. “The cat bit his throat and that was the end.” She wept some more, quietly, her hands clenched so hard, her knuckles were white.

  Evelyn was patient with her. She hadn’t lost her parents or her brother, but she had lost friends and others she cared for and keenly remembered her sorrow. She could imagine what the girl was going through.

  On all sides of them the valley buzzed and chirped and chattered with life and vitality.

  After a long interval Bright Rainbow sniffled and raised her head. Her cheeks glistened but her eyes were dry. “I am sorry.”

  “Stop saying that.” Evelyn stroked her matted hair. “Finish your soup and then we’ll talk some more.”

  Bright Rainbow ran her sleeve across her face, leaving a smear. She resumed eating, cradling the cup in both hands. She had eaten about half when she turned to Evelyn and said, “As soon as I am done we must leave.”

  “You are in no condition to ride,” Evelyn said. She planned to clean the girl up and get more food into her and wait for her folks.

  “We must,” Bright Rainbow insisted.

  “Finish your stew.”

  Bright Rainbow gripped Evelyn’s arm. “You are not listening to me. Heed my words.” She paused. “If we do not leave, we will die.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Degamawaku rode hard for the pass, climbing through thick timber. Ordinarily he would not push his horse so hard, but he was worried about Evelyn. He did not want to leave her alone. He did not want anything to happen to her.

  Dega had never been in love before. He had liked some of the girls in his village, liked them a lot, but none had claimed his heart as Evelyn King had. She was all he thought about when he was not with her, all he dreamed about when he slept.

  Dega hated that they had argued. He hated that his mother had caused a rift between them. But he didn’t hold her at fault. His mother had been right; he did owe it to his people to do what he could to restore the Nansusequa to as they were. A terrible responsibility had been placed on his shoulders, and the weight was driving a wedge between Evelyn and him.

  A tree limb materialized and Dega ducked. He concentrated on his riding. He would be the first to admit he was not a good rider, but then, the Nansusequas had never used horses. The first time he sat a horse was when Nate King gave them one as a gift.

  Nate King. Now, there was a man Dega respected. For a while after the massacre of his people he had hated whites, hated all that they were and all that they stood for. Then he met the Kings. Evelyn had stirred him from the moment he set eyes on her, and her father had proven to be as considerate and decent as any Nansusequa ever born. As his people would say, Nate King had a good heart. So did Evelyn. Her brother, Zach, was different. Zach had a darkness about him, a passion for violence that burst from him as a stream burst its banks in a flood.

  Dega had to swerve to avoid a boulder. Above him, and yet a long way off, was the pass. He craned his neck to try and see it but couldn’t. He slapped his legs. His horse was lathered with sweat, but he didn’t care. He would ride it to exhaustion if need be.

  The slopes became steeper. Dega had to slow and didn’t like it. The delay gnawed at him like a beaver gnawing at a tree.

  Without warning the sorrel stumbled and nearly went down. Dega was almost pitched off. He grabbed the mane to keep from falling, and when the horse righted itself, he used his reins.

  A hawk was circling high in the sky, but he paid it no mind. A doe dashed from a thicket, but he hardly glanced its way. His mind was on Evelyn and only on Evelyn.

  The cliffs hove into sight, and Dega smiled. Soon he would be through them and then it was downhill to King Lake and their families. He hoped Nate was home and not off hunting. If that was the case, he would go to Zach. Now that he thought about it, he would go to Zach anyway and bring him back, too. Zach was as good a tracker as his father and much deadlier.

  The sorrel slipped again. Dega patted and urged it on. A jay squawked at him and took wing. A marmot whistled a shrill warning and darted into its den.

  The sorrel began to limp.

  Dega looked down. He did not know a lot about horses, but he knew this was not good. He kept going in the hope it would stop limping, but instead the limp grew worse. Reluctantly, he drew rein and slid down. Squatting, he examined its front leg. Even to his untrained eye it was obvious the leg was swollen. He ran his hand up and down it as he had seen Nate King do and then lifted the hoof to inspect it. The hoof appeared to be fine. He set it down and unfurled and bit his lower lip. A long time ago Nate had told him that a horse with a limp should never be ridden. But he had no choice. There was Evelyn to think of. Accordingly, he climbed back on and goaded the sorrel higher.

  The horse could barely walk.

  Dega was in a quandary. He had to reach Nate quickly, but on foot it would take him the rest of the day and most of the night, and in the meantime, Evelyn was alone in that terrible valley.

  The horse dipped with every step. Suddenly it stopped.

  “Go,” Dega said, and used the reins. The sorrel didn’t move. He jabbed his heels as hard as he could and the sorrel turned its head and looked at him. “All right,” Dega said, and climbed down. He glanced at the high cliffs and then back the way he had come.

  He had a decision to make.

  At a steady jog it would take him as long to reach Nate as it would to return to Evelyn.

  Which should he do?

  Dega frowned and took the reins and led the sorrel to a tree and tied it. Then, squaring his shoulders, he stared up the mountain at the pass.

  “I wish we would go,” Bright Rainbow said.

  “I have explained why we are staying,” Evelyn replied. She had hold of the girl’s hand and was leading her toward the stream. The afternoon sun was warm on their backs, the high grass stirring in the breeze. “We have nothing to be afraid of.”

  A monarch butterfly flitted past and a grasshopper jumped from under their feet. In the woods a finch chirped.

  “Yes,” Bright Rainbow said, “we do.”

  Evelyn had been through this several times already. “I will protect you. I have my guns. And by morning my folks will be here.”

  “We should not stay the night.”

  Evelyn was tired of hearing that. They came to the bank and she nodded at a pool. “That will do. I’ll turn my back and kee
p watch while you strip and jump in.”

  “I do not want to.”

  “You need a bath. Your hair is a mess and your dress is dirty. Wash it and wring it out and set it on the grass to dry while you clean yourself off.”

  Bright Rainbow faced her. “I will do as you ask. You are my new friend. But you make a mistake. I am young. I am not dumb. And I tell you now, Evelyn King. We should go while we can.”

  “Take your bath.” Evelyn turned and walked a dozen steps. She could understand the girl’s fear, but it was broad daylight and the mountain lion wasn’t anywhere near or the other animals would be cowering in their thickets and nests. From where she stood she could see the length and breadth of the valley. True, the high grass might hide a skulking cat, but she was confident she would spot it before it rushed them. She heard splashing behind her.

  “The water is cold, Blue Flower.”

  “Wash good,” Evelyn said. “Especially your hair.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  Evelyn smothered a laugh. “Tell me a little about yourself. How old are you?”

  “I will have lived twelve winters this winter.”

  “Older than I thought,” Evelyn said. The girl was small for her age. “Where are your nearest relatives? Grandparents or an aunt or an uncle?”

  “My grandfather was bit by a rattlesnake when I was little. My grandmother took sick and died two winters ago. I have no aunts or uncles. There is only me.”

  “There must be someone.” Evelyn reckoned that her mother would want to return the girl to her people. “A close friend of your mother’s would do.”

  “Oh. I understand. You want to give me away.”

  “You need to be with your own kind, your own people.”

  “I like being with you.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  “I like being with you anyway.”

  “Get washed.” Evelyn was annoyed at how stubborn the girl was. Idly gazing at the rocky crags to the north, she stiffened. For a split second she thought she saw a black form gliding down a high slope. It was there and then it wasn’t. Given how far off it was and how big it must be, it had to have been a black bear. Black bears didn’t worry her. Most fought shy of people.