The Tears of God

by David Thompson

The clatter of the bay’s hooves on rock was like the beat of hammers.

  Nate swept out of the valley and promptly drew rein. He glanced right and left but saw no sign of Sister Benedine. The scream had been her only outcry, and he was unsure which way she had gone. Then he spied her basket lying at the edge of the forest and he used his heels on the bay.

  Scarlet drops spattered the basket and the grass. Fresh, glistening, dripping, the start of a trail of red that led into the trees.

  Nate had his Hawken in his left hand. He rode slowly, cautiously. He had yet to determine who or what had attacked her.

  Another dozen strides of the bay and Nate had his answer. He stopped and stared down in horror at the print clearly outlined in a plate-sized ring of blood. The shape, the size, the length of the claws. “Griz,” he said aloud.

  The bay snorted and whinnied and stamped. It didn’t like the blood. It didn’t like the scent of the grizzly, either.

  “Easy, boy,” Nate said, and patted its neck.

  The thud of hooves, the crackle of brush, and Maklin was next to him. The Texan took one look at the print, and swore. “I heard the girl and saw you light out.” He raised his rifle. “She’s dead by now. You know that, don’t you?”

  Nate nodded, and rode on. Every nerve in his body jangled with dread. He had tangled with enough grizzlies to be all too aware of how unpredictable they were, and how deadly. When aroused, they were savagery incarnate and virtually unstoppable.

  “Those idiot Shakers are coming, but a fat lot of good they’ll be. You can’t fight a griz with love.”

  “Quiet,” Nate said. He was straining his ears for the slightest sound. For all their bulk, grizzlies could be as silent as ghosts when they wanted to be, and it wouldn’t surprise him if this particular griz had heard them and was waiting to charge.

  From somewhere up ahead came a crunch, as of teeth on bone.

  The bay stopped and stamped. Nate quickly slid down and thrust the reins at Maklin. “Stay here,” he whispered, and advanced alone. He made less noise and with luck could take the bear by surprise.

  The crunching grew louder.

  Nate shuddered to think what was happening. Steeling himself, he crept past several spruce to a shoulder-high boulder. He crouched and edged far enough around to see a clearing on the other side—and what was in the middle of the clearing. His stomach did a flip-flop and bile rose in his gorge.

  Typical of its kind, the grizzly was huge. Monstrous with muscle and bristling with hair, with a huge blunt head and a maw rimmed with razor daggers, it was chewing on a leg. Just a leg; it had ripped the limb off Sister Benedine and was feasting on the flesh.

  The bear’s back was to Nate. He didn’t have a clear shot. Nor could he see Sister Benedine. Staying low, he began to circle. A few steps and he saw her.

  The young Shaker lay on her side, her arms and remaining leg akimbo. Her cap was missing. Her dress was slashed and bloody and part of it, and parts of her, had been torn away. A crimson pool was forming under her; her cheek lay in her blood. Her eyes were wide.

  Nate thought she was dead. Then she blinked, and moved. She was alive—and she was looking right at him.

  “Please,” she said.

  The bear growled and raised its red-rimmed mouth from her leg.

  “Please,” she said again.

  Nate knew what she wanted. He knew the risk it would put him in. He knew, too, what it would do to him, the nightmares it would bring. She wouldn’t survive what the bear had done; she was suffering terribly and would endure worse when the bear turned from her leg to devour the rest of her.

  Nate raised the Hawken. He thumbed back the hammer. He pulled on the rear trigger to set the front trigger and curled his finger around the front trigger.

  Sister Benedine did the last thing he expected. She smiled and said with tears in her eyes, “Thank you.”

  At the blast the grizzly wheeled around and roared. Instantly, Nate clawed for a pistol. His were .55-caliber smoothbores. At this range they were almost as effective as a rifle. He swept one up and out and thumbed back the hammer, bracing for the bear’s rush and the onslaught of fang and claw.

  Only the bear wasn’t there. The grizzly had spun back again and was halfway across the clearing. Bellowing at the top of its lungs, it plunged into the vegetation on the other side and crashed off into the woods, raising a racket that sent birds winging in panicked flight and squirrels scampering in fear to the tops of trees.

  Nate waited, every sinew tense. He refused to accept the griz was gone. It would circle and attack. The seconds stretched into a minute and the minute stretched into several, and the bear didn’t appear. “I’ll be switched,” he said. Luck had favored him. The bear had been rattled by the shot and the smoke.

  Nate moved into the open. Sister Benedine’s leg lay a few feet away, chunks missing from the thigh. As for Benedine herself, her eyes were still wide, but they were glazing over. “You asked an awful lot of me,” Nate sadly told the body.

  With barely any sound at all, Maklin was there. He stood over Sister Benedine and said simply, “Hell.”

  “She asked me to,” Nate said softly.

  “You did right. That bear would’ve ripped her to bits. You spared her a lot of pain and suffering.”

  Nate stooped and gently closed her eyes. “I’ll fetch a blanket and we’ll wrap her in it and bury her.” He turned as the undergrowth crackled anew. Into the clearing burst Elder Lexington and Sister Amelia and others. They showed little emotion as they ringed the ghastly corpse.

  “Poor Sister Benedine,” Lexington said. “Taken from us when she was so young and so vibrant with the love of the Lord.”

  “It was God’s will,” another Shaker said.

  “His works He performs in mysterious ways,” remarked another.

  Maklin swore and jabbed a finger at Lexington. “You’re the one they should blame. You’re the one who dragged these people out here. If you hadn’t gotten your harebrained notion, that girl would still be breathing.”

  “It was the Lord’s idea for us to come here, not mine.”

  Maklin nodded at the girl’s remains. “The Lord should be right pleased with Himself.”

  Sister Amelia swung toward him. “This makes twice now you’ve taken our Maker’s name in vain. I won’t have it again, do you hear?”

  “Be at peace, Sister,” Lexington said.

  “I can’t help it, Elder. He has no faith, this one. He slanders us and he slanders He who made us.”

  “How about you, Brother King?” Lexington asked. “Do you blame us for Sister Benedine’s death as well?”

  “You should have sent someone with her,” was all Nate said.

  “If I had, we would have two bodies to bury.” Lexington raised his arms to his followers. “Heed me. Brother Simon, you and Brother Bartholomew build a coffin. Keep it plain. Use pine and pitch. Sister Barclay, we’ll need refreshments. Sister Amelia, spread the word that we will conduct the service right after the sun goes down.”

  “You’re holding a funeral?” Maklin said.

  “Oh, goodness, no. We celebrate life, not death. Our service is a loving testament to Sister Benedine. We are committing her spirit to the care of the Lord. Both of you are invited.”

  “No, thanks,” Nate said. “We should get back. Jeremiah Blunt is waiting to hear if we’ve found the Valley of Skulls.”

  Lexington grinned and wagged a finger at him. “Ah, ah. The Valley of Skulls is no more. We call it Second Eden now, remember?”

  “Calling a hog a cow doesn’t mean it will moo,” Maklin said.

  “How is that again?”

  Maklin turned to Nate. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Another minute of these lunkheads and I’ll bust a vein.” He lashed his reins and trotted off.

  “What on earth is the matter with him?” Sister Amelia asked. “He has acted bitter toward us from the moment we met.”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Nate said, and lifted his reins. �
��I should catch up. Nice meeting you.”

  “Go with God,” Lexington said.

  Maklin had slowed and was scowling at the world and everything in it. He glanced around as Nate came up but didn’t say anything.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Maklin growled.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I told you. Do-goods like them raise my hackles. They go around with blinders on and want the rest of us to do the same.”

  “That’s all there is to it?”

  “What more do you need?” the Texan retorted. “Damn it. You saw how they are. Smiling all the time. Prattling on about how we’re all brothers and sisters and the rest of that hogwash.”

  “That’s cause to hate them?”

  “I hate stupid, and they are as stupid as hell. The first war party that finds them will put an end to them right quick.”

  Nate had to agree. He told the Texan about their detest for weapons.

  “There. See? Not one damn gun, they said? If that isn’t stupid I don’t know what is.”

  Nate mentioned that Maklin had acted the same way toward Wendell and his family.

  “So? That dirt farmer was just as stupid. He deserved to be rubbed out just as these Shakers do.”

  “No one deserves to die,” Nate disagreed, and rubbed his chin. “Did you feel this way before Na-lin was killed?”

  “Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. I don’t recollect.”

  In a flash of insight, Nate saw the truth. “You’re not fooling anyone. At least not me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Nate didn’t answer.

  “If you think I care, you’re wrong. I don’t care about anyone anymore. Not after Na-lin.” Maklin pulled his hat brim lower. “That’s when I learned my lesson. That’s when I realized how wrong I was. I used to believe, yes. I used to think just like Wendell and Lexington. Oh, I didn’t go around quoting Scripture or praying every damn day, but I believed there was a God and there was a purpose to all of this.” Maklin shook his head. “Not anymore. Now I know better.”

  Nate thought of Winona and how he would feel if anything were to happen to her.

  “You saw that dirt farmer. You saw what the Pawnees did to his wife and his kids. Look me in the eye and tell me there’s a God of love somewhere that watches over people. Look me in the eye and tell me something like that makes sense to you.”

  “I…” Nate began, and stopped.

  “I didn’t think so. Where’s the love in a woman having her intestines cut out? Where’s the love in a little girl having her nose and her ears hacked off? Where’s the love in a grizzly tearing the leg off someone?”

  “I don’t have all the answers.”

  “Hell, if you’re like me, you don’t have any.” Maklin glowered at the sky. “I take that back. There’s one answer I have. The answer to the biggest question of all.” He paused. “There’s no God. There never was. There never will be. We made God up. We had to. Otherwise the intestines and the noses and ears and legs would drive us insane.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” Nate said. “I can’t prove it, but there has to be more to all this.”

  “More how? That if we die and go to heaven it makes all the rest of it right?” Maklin shook his head. “No. I refuse to be fooled. You want to believe, go ahead. But I’m telling you. If you’re right and I’m wrong, if there really is a God, then either God doesn’t give a damn about us or He’s plumb loco.”

  On that they lapsed into silence.

  The wagon train had covered a lot of ground since they left. Jeremiah Blunt was happy to hear they had found the Valley of Skulls, but he wasn’t happy about the rest of their news.

  “I was afraid of this,” the captain said gravely. “When Arthur Lexington looked me up in St. Louis to hire me to deliver supplies, I tried to talk him out of his venture. I warned him that it was entirely possible he would get himself and his followers killed.”

  “How did he take it?” Nate asked.

  Blunt colored pink. “He told me that if I was as devout as I claim to be, I’d have more trust in the Lord.”

  “I need a drink,” Maklin said, and walked off.

  “Remember my rule,” Blunt said after him. “Not on the trail. Whiskey and work don’t mix.” He turned to Nate. “So tell me. This Pawnee who blames you for his uncle’s death. Kuruk, isn’t it? He speaks English, does he?”

  “As well as you or me. Other languages, besides.”

  “Where did he learn them?”

  “From a missionary, I think. Other whites have visited them, too. Major Long. Zebulon Pike. They’ve had a lot of contact with whites.”

  “Didn’t the Pawnees send a delegation to meet with the president in Washington?”

  “President Jefferson, yes.”

  “Do you suppose this Kuruk can write as well as read?”

  Nate shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Why are you bringing all this up?”

  “While you were gone, our wrangler was killed and some of our horses were run off,” Blunt revealed. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

  The body was in the last wagon, wrapped in a tarp. Blunt had it hauled out and set at Nate’s feet and unwrapped the tarp himself. “Notice anything?”

  Carved into the dead man’s forehead were the letters NK.

  Chapter Ten

  There had been no sign of the Pawnees, Blunt told Nate. The wrangler was found dead shortly after Nate and Maklin left to scout for the Valley of Skulls. Blunt ended with “You know what that might mean, don’t you?”

  A chill ran through Nate. He was on the bay and ready to ride out in minutes. “Maklin can guide you to the valley. I’ll wait there for you.”

  “You’ll be riding in the dark.”

  “Can’t be helped,” Nate said, and bobbed his chin at the last wagon. “I won’t be to blame for more.”

  “Noble of you,” Jeremiah Blunt said, and offered his hand. “I can spare two or three men to go along.”

  “I’ll travel faster alone. Besides, you might need them there.” Nate had dallied long enough. With a slap of his legs he was off. The bay had not had much rest, but he pushed, riding at a trot when he could and only allowing the bay brief rests. He was thinking of the Shakers, those helpless, defenseless Shakers, and what a Pawnee war party would do to them.

  Nate wanted to kick himself. If anything happened to the Shakers, their fate fell squarely on his shoulders.

  The sun sank below the western horizon in a blaze of pink and yellow and red. Nate rode in near pitchblack. There was no moon, only starlight to ride by, and in the woods and gorges most was blocked out. He had to slow or risk losing the bay to a broken leg.

  Nate mused on his encounter with the Pawnees all those years ago. He had been lucky to get out of their village alive. He never expected this to happen, to have his past endanger his present. He was glad Winona wasn’t along, or her life would be in peril, too.

  The night dragged. The thud of the bay’s heavy hooves punctuated the haunting howls of wolves and the high-pitched yips of coyotes. From time to time a roar or a screech broke the stillness. So, too, did the cries of prey: bleats, screams, even shrieks.

  Nate remembered how it was growing up in New York, remembered visits to an uncle’s farm bordered by forest, and how the night was seldom pierced by bestial sounds. In part, he reckoned, because a lot of the game had been killed off. In part, too, because the presence of man made the animals wary. When they were hunted day in and night out, stealth and silence became their way of life.

  Another roar echoed off the high peaks.

  Here, life was different. Here, the animals lived much as they had before the advent of man. The wilderness was as wilderness was meant to be: wild, untamed, savage.

  Woe to the unwary, to those like the Shakers who came into the wilds like babes into the world, filled with trust and peace and convinced the rest of the world was as they were. Maklin was right about them
having blinders on.

  It was well past midnight when Nate neared the Valley of Skulls. Twice he heard grunts that might be the same griz that killed Sister Benedine, but they were off in the brush. At the valley mouth he drew rein and tested the night with his senses.

  Once around the bend Nate drew rein again. The valley was completely dark. Not one of the windows glowed with the light from a lamp or candle. He imagined—he hoped—they had doused the lights when they turned in, and there wasn’t a more sinister explanation.

  An eerie feeling came over Nate as he rode amid the littered bones of bygone creatures while above reared the heights pockmarked with caves. He would like to explore those caves sometime soon. Who knew what he might find?

  A bubbling sound reminded Nate of the hot springs. There was a hiss, and he flinched when hot drops spattered him. The bay nickered. Quickly, he reined away from the pool.

  The Shakers were asking for misery by staying there. Somehow, Nate must convince them to go back East or else pick a more habitable spot.

  The hoot of an owl from somewhere above was followed by a cry such as Nate had never heard, a wavering moan that might have come from out of one of the caves, a moan so human it made Nate think of a soul in torment. Involuntarily, he shuddered.

  A gust of wind brought with it a whiff of a foul odor, sulfurous and vile. Nate almost gagged. He had not smelled anything like it when he was there earlier.

  Suddenly Nate drew rein. High up at the caves a pale shape had appeared. It seemed to roil and writhe as if alive, yet it was as formless as fog. It was there and then with another gust of wind it was gone. He didn’t know what to make of it.

  Presently, Nate reached the corral. He stripped the bay, draped his saddle and saddle blanket over the top rail, and put the bay in with the other horses. Rather than knock on a door and wake the Shakers, he went to the Conestogas and climbed into the first one he came to. It was empty. The bed was hard but comfortable enough and he was out of the wind and night chill.

  Curling onto his side, Nate willed his body to relax. A strange sense of forboding gripped him, a sense that he shouldn’t be there, that he should flee while he could. It was silly, he told himself. Those stories about the valley had frayed his nerves.