An ax was leaning against the logs. At one end the stack had collapsed and dozens were in a heap.
“Odds are it’s gone,” Shakespeare said.
“Sometimes they find a spot they like and stick,” Nate said. He nudged a log with his foot and stooped and rolled a few from the pile. “Maybe it’s still in here.” He reached for another log and a thin bolt of scales and fangs shot out from between two others. There was no warning. No rattling or hissing. He jerked his hand back but wasn’t quick enough. The fangs sank into his sleeve.
“Nate!” Winona cried.
Emala Worth screamed.
Nate whipped his arm from side to side but the rattlesnake clung on. It had no choice; its fangs were caught fast.
“Horatio!” Shakespeare bellowed, and pointed at the ground.
Nate placed his arm flat. The viper twisted and squirmed and rattled, frantic to free itself.
“Let me,” Shakespeare said, and stepped on it, pinning it behind the head. “Now you can pull it off.”
Instead Nate drew his Bowie. He tapped the tip on McNair’s moccasin and Shakespeare moved his foot half an inch. Nate slashed, severing the head from the body. Shakespeare raised his leg and the body went on twisting and whipping about.
“Oh Lordy!” Emala exclaimed.
Nate raised his arm and stared at the head. The head stared back. He sheathed the Bowie and reached over his wrist and tried to pry off the head. It was stuck fast.
Winona came to his side and placed her warm hand on his. “Are you all right?”
Nate nodded.
“It didn’t bite you?”
“It tried real hard.” Nate smiled and kissed her on the check and she surprised him considerably by kissing him on the mouth. She rarely did that around others.
“It scared me,” Winona said.
“It scared me, too.”
Shakespeare chortled and said, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!”
“That was sweet of you,” Winona said.
“Why is it he never quotes that to me?” Blue Water Woman asked.
“Uh-oh,” Shakespeare said.
They all laughed.
Emala Worth stared at each of them and shook her head. “How can you be so happy after Mr. King was nearly bit? That was awful. I thought my heart would stop.”
“Rattlesnake bites don’t always kill,” Nate remarked.
“They do often enough that most people don’t keep them as pets,” Shakespeare said.
“Most?” Winona repeated.
“I knew a Southern gent years ago. Before I ever came west. He kept a dozen or so in a shack. Used them in their church service.”
Winona showed her confusion. “A church, you say? I have seen them when my husband took me to St. Louis. It is where whites worship the Great Mystery.”
“I was raised Mennonite,” Shakespeare said. “We had a meeting hall, but it was the same thing.”
“Why do whites use snakes in a church? Nate has never told me that.”
“He tends to be forgetful,” Shakespeare said. “Infants often are.”
Winona actually giggled.
“I am right here,” Nate said.
“The snakes?” Winona said to McNair.
“You’re familiar with the Bible? I know Horatio has a copy in his little library—”
“Little?” Nate said.
“I am familiar with it,” Winona responded. “I have not read it through as he has, but he has read much of it to me and I have read a little on my own. I speak the white tongue much better than I read or write it.”
“You are a marvel,” Shakespeare said. “But back to the Bible. In it are all sorts of sayings about what we should and shouldn’t do. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Thou shalt not kill. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Be perfect as thy Father in heaven is perfect.”
“Does it mention snakes?”
“There’s the serpent in the Garden of Eden, the one who tricks Eve into taking a bite of the forbidden fruit. Some folks say that wasn’t a serpent at all but Satan.”
“Nate has told me about him. Satan is the one whites say brings much evil into the world.”
“Has he told you about the part where people who believe in the Almighty can handle snakes?”
“I do not remember him ever saying anything about that, no.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Shakespeare said to Nate.
Winona turned. “I do not understand, husband. What kind of snakes does the Bible say they can pick up?”
“It’s in one of the four Gospels,” Nate explained. “Toward the end of Mark. It says that those who believe will be able to cast out devils and speak in new tongues and pick up serpents.”
When he didn’t go on Winona said, “That is all? Serpents? Does it say poisonous serpents?”
“No.”
“Does it say rattlesnakes or some other kind of snake that can kill when it bites?”
“No and no.”
“It just says serpents? But isn’t the word ‘serpent’ another word for ‘snake.’”
“Yes and yes.”
“I still do not understand,” Winona admitted.
“Some whites think it means poisonous snakes,” Nate elaborated. “Maybe because the next part says that those who believe can drink any deadly thing and it won’t harm them.”
“Are you saying that some whites like to drink snake venom?”
Shakespeare chortled. “Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t put it past a few lunkheads to try. But there are folks who think Mark is talking about poisonous snakes. So when they worship, they pick up rattlesnakes and copperheads and the like and handle them to show they have true faith.”
“Please do not take this the wrong way,” Winona said, “but whites are very strange.”
“I know that better than anyone,” Blue Water Woman said. “I live with a crazy white.”
“Here now,” Shakespeare said. “What did I do to deserve that? I’m as ordinary as butter.”
Blue Water Woman looked at Nate. “Do you spend your whole day quoting a writer who died more winters ago than anyone can remember?”
“I do not,” Nate said. “I think that would be silly.”
Shakespeare turned red in the face.
“And you?” Blue Water Woman said to Samuel. “Do you go around quoting a dead man all day?”
“Heck no, ma’am,” Samuel said. “To be honest, I can’t read worth a lick. I couldn’t quote one if I wanted to.”
Blue Water Woman smiled at McNair. “I have made my point.”
“How the blazes did we get on this subject?” Shakespeare complained.
Emala said, “I thought we were talkin’ snakes.”
The whole while, Nate had been prying at the head. He finally got it off and threw it away and stood. “I propose we organize a snake hunt. Shakespeare has lost a horse and I nearly got bit and my daughter nearly stepped on one, all since we got back.”
“What about them?” Shakespeare asked with a nod at the Worths. “Weren’t you fixing to raise a cabin?”
“Samuel and his family can stay with us,” Nate said. “Tomorrow we hunt. The day after we’ll start on their new home.” He turned to the Worths. “That is, if you two don’t mind?”
Emala took Samuel’s big arm in hers. “Mr. King, we were talkin’ about you last night and Samuel, he said you don’t know how we feel about you, and now I see he’s right. You surely don’t.”
“Feel how?”
It was Samuel who answered. “Do you know what it’s like to be a slave?” He didn’t wait for Nate to answer. “Of course you don’t. You’re white. But I was born a slave. Emala and me, both. We were told how to behave and where to live and what work we were to do. Our masters—that’s what they called themselves and that’s what we were to call them—our masters lorded it over us. We hardly had any say. I hated it. I hated it so much I had a powerful ache deep in me that wouldn’t go away.”
Nate listened with interest. He had known the Worths for a few months now, and this was the first time Samuel had gone into detail about their old life.
“I hated bein’ made to do work I didn’t want to do. I hated bein’ made to live in a shack barely big enough for two people let alone four. I hated that I had to do what our masters said or I’d be whipped.”
“How terrible,” Winona interjected.
“You don’t know the half of it, Mrs. King,” Samuel said sadly. “But my point is this. I wanted out. I wanted a new life. I wanted to be a free man, to do as I please when I please. I wanted it with all I am. But I never became a runner. I wasn’t sure we could survive.”
“You’ve done fine if you ask me,” Nate said.
“We’ve done fine thanks to you. You befriended us. You helped us against the slave hunters. You brought us across the prairie to the mountains. You said we could come live in your valley if we wanted and have a place of our own.”
“You saved us,” Emala said.
Nate didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
“We owe you,” Samuel said. “We owe you more than we can ever repay. So you want to wait a day to start our cabin? We don’t mind. Hell, wait a month if you have to.”
“What have I told you about swearin’?” Emala said.
“Not now, woman.”
Nate said, “You don’t owe me anything. I did the same for you as I’d do for anyone.”
“That’s another thing,” Samuel said. “You look at us, you don’t see the color of our skin.”
“You don’t know how rare that is,” Emala said. “You don’t know how special that makes you.”
“I’m just me,” Nate said.
“A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy,” Shakespeare quoted. “He hath borne me on his back a thousand times.”
“Enough about me,” Nate said. “We have a problem and it has to be dealt with. Tomorrow we hunt snakes.”
Chapter Four
Nate sent word to his son and the Nansusequas. By eight in the morning everyone in the valley was gathered at Nate and Winona’s cabin. There were Zach and his wife, Louisa, Shakespeare and Blue Water Woman. There were the Nansusequas: Wakumassee, the father; Tihikanima, the mother; Degamawaku, their son; and their two girls, Tenikawaku and Mikikwaku.
The Worths were there as well. Samuel had offered to help, and Emala had said that of course they would but secretly she was more than a little afraid. She didn’t like snakes. She didn’t like snakes even a little bit. Now she and Samuel stood to one side as the rest talked and laughed, and the one thing she noticed, the one thing that struck her most, were all the guns. She had never seen so many guns on so few people in all her born days. All of them had rifles. Even the girls. Evelyn had what they called a custom-made Hawken. Teni and little Miki had rifles given to them by Nate and Winona. All the men wore at least two pistols. As did Winona, Evelyn and Blue Water Woman. Zach usually wore two, but for this occasion he had four wedged under his wide leather belt. Emala marveled that he didn’t clank when he walked. Zach and his father and McNair also had big knives and tomahawks. Waku and Dega had knives. There were so many firearms and blades that at one point Emala turned to Samuel and said, “Land of Goshen. Look at all the weapons. They could start their own army.”
“Don’t you dare say anything to them,” Samuel cautioned. “They are our friends and I won’t have you carpin’.”
“Who’s carpin’, for goodness sake?” Emala rebutted. “All I’m doin’ is tellin’ you they have a heap of guns and whatnot.”
“I aim to have my own heap before too long.”
“What?”
“We each have rifles the Kings gave us. And I have a pistol. But that’s all we have. As soon as we can, I am getting a rifle for Randa and Chickory and two pistols for each of you.”
This was news to Emala. “We didn’t need guns on the plantation.”
Samuel gave her his look. “Are you addlepated, woman? They wouldn’t let us have guns. They didn’t want us risin’ up against them.” It was a subject dear to him. “When folks take it into their heads to lord it over other folks, the first thing they do is take away their weapons. You can’t lord it over wolves. You can only lord it over sheep.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Emala conceded. “But we aren’t bein’ lorded over anymore. What do we need with so many guns?”
“I want guns,” Chickory said.
“Hush, boy,” Emala said. “You’re only fourteen. You are too young to be totin’ an armory like that Zach King does.”
“I want guns, too,” Randa said.
Emala scrunched up her mouth as she had a habit of doing when she was displeased. “Listen to this. My whole family has gone gun crazy.”
“It’s not crazy,” Samuel said. “It’s practical. Out here ain’t like back at the plantation. We are in the wilderness now. The real wilderness. Not woods that have been tamed, like back there. Out here there are things that will kill us as soon as they smell us. Bears and those big cats and wolves.”
“You’re exaggeratin’. And we had bears and stuff back there, too.”
“Black bears that were so scared of people they’d run off. Out here they ain’t scared. And it’s not just black bears. There are grizzlies. There are hostiles, too. Indians who won’t care we’re black and—what is it Nate calls it?” Samuel had to think. “Countin’ coup. That’s it. Indians like those Blackfoots. They’d kill us and rip off our hair.”
“I haven’t done the Blackfeet any harm,” Emala said. “Why would they want to harm me?”
“Because you ain’t one of them.”
“That’s hardly cause.”
“Tell that to the whites who hate us because we’re black. That ain’t hardly cause, but they hate us anyway.”
“Well,” Emala said. It was the only thing she could think of to say, and that bothered her. Usually she could think of a lot more.
Nate came over. “Are you folks ready to hunt?”
“We are ready, Mr. King,” Samuel said.
“Hopes the snakes are ready,” Emala said.
“Excuse me?”
“Pay her no mind, Mr. King. She’s in one of her moods. We’ve just been talkin’ about how dangerous it is hereabouts and how we need weapons, and she thinks it’s silly.”
Nate smiled at Emala. “Your husband is right. This isn’t like back East. You never know what you’re going to run into. You can walk out the door one morning to fetch water from the lake and meet up with a griz. Or you can go for a ride with your daughter and come across a war party. You must always be prepared for the worst but hope for the best.”
“I trust that the Lord will watch over us,” Emala said.
“You take your faith seriously.”
“You can bet your boots I do. Or your moccasins.” Emala proudly held her head high. “I can read, Mr. King. I have my Bible and I read from it each and every day. And I trust in the Lord like the Bible says to.”
“That’s good,” Nate said. “I trust in the Lord, too. But trust won’t stop a hungry griz from eating you. Or an Apache or a Sioux from putting an arrow in you.”
“Faith can move mountains,” Emala said.
“This isn’t about faith. It’s about breathing. If you don’t go armed, you won’t be around for long.”
“I don’t know as I believe that.”
“Emala,” Samuel said.
“I mean, what are the odds of me walkin’ out my door and there’s one of those big bears or an Indian out to kill me? I bet it hardly ever happens.”
“It only takes once,” Nate said.
“We don’t need a heap of weapons,” Emala insisted.
Samuel gave her another of his looks. “Darn you, woman. Don’t listen to her, Mr. King—”
“Nate. Please call me Nate.”
“Don’t listen to her, Nate. She is set in her ways. I want weapons. I want weapons for all of us. As soon a
s I can afford them.”
“I’ve been thinking about that and I might have a way to help. We’ll talk more about it later. For right now, our plan is to sweep the entire lakeshore from end to end. We’ll each take a section. You and your family can start here and work north to Zach’s. Zach is going to do the stretch from his cabin to Waku’s lodge.”
“We are honored to help.”
Nate clapped Samuel on the arm and walked off and as soon as he was out of earshot Samuel turned to Emala.
“You are a trial.”
“What did I do?”
“Arguin’ with him like that. After all they have done for us.”
“I was just speakin’ my mind,” Emala said. “Can I help it if I have a lot of mind to speak?”
“Enough. We have snakes to hunt.”
“At last,” Chickory said, and grinned. “I can’t wait to bash a few.” He hefted a log he had taken from the woodpile to use as a club.
Randa held up her hands. In each she held a fist-size rock. “If I can bean a rabbit on the hop I can surely bean me some snakes.”
“Lordy,” Emala breathed. “My family have become killin’ fiends.”
“Let’s go,” Samuel said, and moved toward the trees. “We’ll spread out. We want to do this right so look under every rock. Every rattlesnake we find, we kill. If it’s a big snake and you need help, give a holler. Just don’t get bit.”
They spaced themselves. Samuel was near the trees. Then came Chickory with his club and Randa with her rocks.
Emala, with her rifle, was by the lake. For some reason the weapon felt heavier than it usually did. She put her thumb on the hammer as Winona King had showed her how to do. She still didn’t have the hang of loading. All that business about pouring the black powder and the patch and ball and the ramrod. Samuel always had to load for her.
Emala was glad to be by the lake. She figured there’d be fewer snakes near the water. She didn’t know much about rattlesnakes, but she was pretty sure they didn’t like water. Water moccasins did. Water moccasins terrified her. She remembered seeing one when she was little. She’d been six or seven and sitting on the bank of a pond when a water moccasin swam past. It scared her silly. She’d screamed and her ma snatched her up and backed away from the water moccasin, which paid no attention to them.
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