Devil Moon

by David Thompson

  “Dang it,” Evelyn said. “Why are you being so pigheaded?”

  This was a new one to Dega. A pig was an animal the whites raised. He had seen a few and their heads were nothing like his. “I do what must,” he said. Since the thing in the woods was gone, he wheeled and made for the fire. He sat cross-legged with the bow across his legs and glumly stared into the flames.

  Evelyn had never seen him behave this way. She walked around and sat on the other side, her rifle in her lap. On the heights to the west a bear roared. To the northeast a wolf raised an ululating cry to the moon. She barely noticed. Neither was near enough to pose a danger. “I thought you cared for me.”

  “I do,” Dega said.

  “Then what in the world is going on? Why are you acting this way? You never said anything about this Nansusequa stuff before.”

  “Not think of it before.”

  “What brought it on?”

  Dega hesitated. She might become mad at his mother if he told her the truth, so he said, “It bring on itself.”

  Evelyn lapsed into silence. She supposed that from his point of view it was fitting that his children be raised Nansusequa. But to only raise them Nansusequa was asking too much. Besides, how could she, when she wasn’t a Nansusequa herself? She had no objection to learning their ways, but she couldn’t just stop being part white and part Shoshone. It was ingrained into her. She put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands and stared sadly at the picnic basket. Her getaway had been ruined.

  Dega had never seen her so sorrowful. He squirmed and bowed his head and wondered if he was asking too much of her. Which led him to wondering if his mother was asking too much of him. He and his sisters were the last of their kind, yes. Unless he married one of them—and the Nansusequa never did that—any woman he took for his wife would have beliefs and habits of her own and would desire to raise their children accordingly. How, then, could he raise his children strictly as Nansusequa? He ran a hand over his brow. All this thinking was hurting his head.

  Evelyn happened to gaze past him and stiffened. Something had appeared at the edge of the clearing. Not the mountain lion, something else. She discerned a low hump that could be…anything…watching them. “We have company,” she quietly announced.

  Dega snapped out of himself. “Where?”

  “Behind you. Don’t turn around. We don’t want to spook it.” Evelyn put another branch on the fire and the flames grew. So did the circle of firelight but not far enough to reach the…thing.

  “Maybe it what we chase.”

  “Do you have any notion what it is?”

  Dega did, but his eyes might have been mistaken. “Night play trick on me. I not sure.”

  “It’s not big enough to be a threat,” Evelyn said. “Maybe it will just go away.” The next moment, to her astonishment, the thing started to grow. It rose until it was three times as tall. Its silhouette was too vague for her to identify, but one fact was apparent. “My God! It’s standing on two legs.”

  Not only that, it was coming toward them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Evelyn held her breath. She wrapped her hands around the Hawken, ready to jerk it up and shoot.

  Dega looked over his shoulder. He had been right, then. The night hadn’t played tricks on him. “It is a person.”

  Evelyn had reached the same conclusion. She forced a smile and said, “How do you do?”

  Whoever it was halted just beyond the firelight.

  “Do you speak English?” Evelyn asked, and when she got no response, she asked the same thing in Shoshone.

  The figure stood motionless.

  “We’re friendly,” Evelyn said. “We’re only staying the night.” She noticed that the horses had raised their heads and were staring at the figure. Neither betrayed any alarm. “Why don’t you come closer? We won’t hurt you.”

  The figure stayed where it was.

  “What do we do?” Evelyn whispered to Dega.

  “We not move,” Dega said. It pleased him that she had asked his opinion instead of telling him what to do.

  Evelyn had a thought. She picked up a corn cake and held it out. “Would you like something to eat? There’s plenty if you’re hungry and we’re more than happy to share.”

  The figure took a step and the firelight played over it.

  Astonishment caused Evelyn to stiffen and blurt, “My God! It’s a little girl!”

  The child was dirty and disheveled, her face smeared with grime. Her buckskin dress was filthy and torn. Her knees had been scraped raw. Her eyes were pools of fear.

  Evelyn went to rise and stopped. The instant she moved, the girl took a step back. “Wait,” she urged, and willed herself to keep her voice calm. “Don’t go. You’re welcome here.”

  “We are not your enemies, child,” Dega said in Nansusequa. “I bid you welcome in peace.”

  The girl raised a hand to her matted hair and scratched.

  “Why won’t she speak?” Evelyn wondered. “Who can she be, wandering around in the dark all alone?” In a flash of inspiration, the explanation came to her. “I’m so stupid.”

  “What?”

  “That lodge we found. The dead woman and the dead boy.” Evelyn nodded at the girl. “She must be part of the same family.” Evelyn tried to communicate anew with “Behne.”

  The girl didn’t answer.

  “Pehnaho.”

  Still no response.

  Evelyn tried, “Ne dei’.” It was Shoshone for, I am a friend. But it brought no reply, either. To Dega she said, “How can we get her to talk?”

  “I not know.”

  “Ne qai neetsiiqwa en.” Evelyn had told the girl that she wouldn’t hurt her. Once again, with no result.

  “Keep trying,” Dega urged.

  “Kui yekwi.”

  “What that one?”

  “I asked her to come sit with us,” Evelyn translated. She moved her hand that held the corn cake to her lap and saw the girl follow the movement. Another inspiration struck. “Deka,” she said, and tossed the cake.

  It landed a foot or so from the girl. She took a step and reached for it but then cast an anxious glance at them and drew her arm back.

  “It is yours,” Evelyn said in Shoshone. “Eat it.” She couldn’t remember if the Tukaduka spoke the exact same dialect as her mother’s people, but the tongues were close enough that the girl should be able to understand her. “Damn, I wish she would say something,” she whispered to Dega, and then realized what she had said. “Don’t tell my pa I cussed or he’ll want to wash out my mouth with soap.”

  “What is cussed?” Dega couldn’t recall hearing the word before.

  “I said ‘damn’ and ladies aren’t supposed to swear.”

  “What is swear?”

  “It’s when you use bad words.”

  Once again, Dega was confused. “How words be bad?”

  “You know. Words that people say when they’re mad. Or words about things people shouldn’t talk about.”

  Dega sighed in frustration. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. The Nansusequa used the same words whether they were mad or not. “Why ladies not say those words?”

  “Don’t ask me. It’s all right for men to use them but not women, although when I was back in the States I heard plenty of women swear worse than my pa ever does.” Evelyn had forgotten the girl. She looked over and smiled.

  The girl had picked up the corn cake and was tearing ravenously at it with her teeth. She made mewing sounds as she ate, as if the food were delicious beyond compare.

  “Look at her.”

  “I see,” Dega said.

  “The poor thing is starved.” Evelyn took another corn cake and threw it. This one landed at the girl’s feet. Quick as thought, the girl pounced on it and commenced to gobble both at once, virtually stuffing them into her mouth.

  “Where she live?” Dega brought up.

  Evelyn had been wondering the same thing. The state the girl was in—fi
lthy and famished—suggested she must be on her own, all alone in the wilderness. That she had lasted this long was a miracle. Smiling, she said in Shoshone, “When you are done eating those cakes, come and sit by the fire with us and we will share more of our food with you.”

  The girl stopped and stared at her.

  “You do understand,” Evelyn guessed. She patted the ground. “Sit by me, little one.”

  Her fright transparent, the girl straightened and took a step. What was left of the two cakes was clutched tight in her hands.

  “Neither of us will touch you,” Evelyn said. “We want to help.”

  The girl took another step.

  “How are you called?” Evelyn asked. “My name is Blue Flower.” It was her Shoshone name, bestowed on her at birth by her mother. “I would like to know yours.”

  Dega was impressed at how Evelyn was so earnest and nice. The girl was impressed, too, because she came closer and stopped just out of reach. Crumbs speckled her dirty chin. He smiled to show that he, too, was friendly, and said in his own tongue, “We welcome you.”

  “You must have a name,” Evelyn said in Shoshone. “Is it Morning Dove? Little Fawn? Rabbit Tail?” All were names of girls she knew.

  The girl went on chewing.

  “Is it Buffalo Hump?” Evelyn asked, referring to a noted warrior, and chuckled in amusement. She wasn’t sure but she thought the corners of the girl’s thin mouth quirked upward. “Is it Bear Running? Drags The Rope? Touch The Clouds?” Again, all names of warriors.

  The girl took another bite of corn cake.

  “I know.” Evelyn grinned. “It must be Cat By The Tail.” She meant it to make the girl smile and realized her mistake the moment the words were out of her mouth. The girl recoiled and stopped chewing and cast apprehensive looks over her shoulders.

  “It all right,” Dega said in English. “No cat here.”

  The girl turned toward Evelyn. Her eyes shimmered with tears and she tried to speak.

  “We will not let anything hurt you,” Evelyn assured her. “We are friends.” She touched her chest. “Dei’.” She pointed at Degamawaku. “Hainji.”

  The girl took a step back.

  “Wait!” Evelyn reached for her.

  Uttering a plaintive wail, the girl whirled and bolted.

  “Catch her!” Evelyn cried, and was up and running. She had always been fleet of foot and she ran full out, but the girl was incredibly swift and widened her lead.

  Dega sped to help. He had raced Evelyn once and beaten her, but it had taken all he had. Now he ran full out and caught up just as she reached the woods. He plunged in among the pines and oaks, heedless of the limbs that whipped at him and the brush that tore at his legs. He spied the girl and pointed. “There!”

  Evelyn hadn’t taken her eyes off her. She was determined to catch the child no matter what; a little girl like that shouldn’t be left alone in the wild. So far the girl had defied the odds, but no one’s luck held forever. Evelyn flew, holding the Hawken at her side so it wouldn’t snag.

  The girl glanced back, her small feet flying. She still held on to what was left of the corn cakes.

  “Don’t be afraid!” Evelyn hollered.

  “Stop!” Dega shouted.

  The girl darted around a small spruce. They were no more than ten feet behind her yet when they rounded the spruce, she had vanished. They stopped in bewilderment.

  “Where did she get to?” Evelyn asked, turning right and left. She listened but other than her heavy breathing and Dega’s, the forest was quiet.

  “I not know,” Dega answered. He took a few more steps and cocked his head. “She disappear.” He was proud of that word. His English was improving.

  “We can’t lose her.” Evelyn barreled into the dark tangle of vegetation. “Little girl? Where are you?” she yelled in English. Realizing her mistake, she switched to Shoshone.

  Dega stayed near Evelyn. Encountering the girl had reminded him of the bodies, a fate he did not care for Evelyn to share.

  Evelyn stopped. “She has to be here somewhere.” She pointed to the left. “You go that way. I’ll go this. Stay in earshot.” Without waiting for him to answer, she charged into the darkness.

  Dega almost went after her. He didn’t consider it a good idea to separate. But she was counting on him to help, so he reluctantly bent his steps in the direction she had indicated. “Little girl?” he called out in Nansusequa and in English.

  For a quarter of an hour they roved and hunted until finally Evelyn shouted his name and Dega jogged to meet her. She was sitting on a log, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “I can’t believe she got away from us.”

  “She like rabbit,” Dega said.

  “Even so. She’s so small.” Evelyn thumped the log. “We’ll rest a spell and then head back.”

  “That fine.” Dega perched next to her, careful not to let his body brush hers. Just a few days ago he would have rubbed against her on purpose.

  “We have to find her. We can’t leave until we do.”

  “Yes,” Dega said.

  “Can you imagine what she’s been through? Her mother and brother killed by that mountain lion and now she’s all alone.”

  “Where be father?”

  “Maybe he was killed, too.” Evelyn rested the Hawken’s butt on the ground and leaned it on the log. “One of us should ride back at first light and fetch my folks.”

  The suggestion startled Dega. “What?”

  “We can use their help. Maybe fetch your folks, too. And the McNairs while you’re at it.”

  “Me?”

  “The girl was taking a shine to me. I could tell. She might come if I keep calling. So it has to be me who stays and searches for her while you ride for help.”

  “No,” Dega said flatly.

  “Pardon?”

  “No,” Dega said again. “I not leave you alone.”

  Evelyn swiveled toward him. “Why on earth not?”

  “The cat.”

  “What about it? It’s long gone by now. And I have these.” Evelyn patted the Hawken and her flintlocks. “I’ll be perfectly fine.”

  “I not go.”

  Evelyn’s temper flared. Here she was, trying to save that poor girl’s life, and he was balking. “I was right about you being pigheaded.”

  “I not pig.”

  “You’re close enough. Or don’t you care that that little girl could die and it would be on your shoulders?”

  Here was another mind-twister Dega must unravel. Evelyn seemed to be saying that if the girl died, he must carry her. “Why not dig hole and bury her?”

  “What?” Evelyn shook her head. “I must not be making myself plain. That girl won’t last much longer by her lonesome. You saw how scrawny she is. She’s barely eating enough to stay alive. We have to save her and we have to do it before something happens to her. Do you agree I’m right about all that?”

  “Yes,” Dega reluctantly conceded.

  “Let’s say I can lure her in. What then? You and me don’t know a lot about raising kids. My mother and my father do. Another reason you have to bring them, and bring them fast.”

  “But the cat…”

  “Will you stop harping on that? Have we seen any sign of it? No. I told you they roam a large area. It’s probably miles and miles from here.” Evelyn put her hand on his arm. “Do you care for me or not?” she asked bluntly.

  “I care,” Dega said. He cared for her more than he had ever cared for anyone. Which was why he was so torn up inside. His caring for her was at war with his devotion to his mother.

  “Then do this for me,” Evelyn said. “Fetch my folks. Your folks, too, if you want. Please.”

  Dega felt all twisted inside. “All right,” he heard himself say, although every particle of his being screamed at him that he shouldn’t go.

  “Good.” Evelyn beamed. “We’ll get a good night’s sleep and you can leave at first light.”

  “As you want,” Dega said.
r />   “Don’t look so down at the mouth. You’re doing the right thing. Saving that girl is more important than you and me at the moment.”

  “Evelyn…” Dega began. He wanted to tell her about his talk with his mother and why it was important his children be raised as Nansusequas.

  “Yes?”

  Dega changed his mind. It might make her mad that his mother objected to raising their children white. “Nothing,” he said softly.

  “You’re sure acting strange tonight.” Evelyn had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to make of it. She feared that maybe he didn’t feel for her as she felt for him.

  “Sorry.”

  “Let’s head back and turn in.”

  The mountains around them were alive with cries. From all quarters came howls and wails and bleats and the occasional roar of a roving grizzly high on the heights. A feline screech revealed the presence of a bobcat.

  Not once did Evelyn hear the telltale scream of a painter. She put the food back in the basket and lay on her back on her saddle blanket with her saddle for a pillow. She tossed. She turned. She glanced countless times at the dark woods in the hope the girl would return. She gazed countless times at Dega, too, rolled up in his blanket and not moving, apparently sound asleep.

  Dega heard her fidget. He lay with his back to her, unable to sleep except in fits and snatches. His chest felt as if that cat were clawing at it. He yearned to go to her and take her in his arms and tell her that he was sorry and they could raise their children any way she wanted.

  But he didn’t.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rosy blush of dawn painted the eastern sky when Dega climbed on the sorrel. He was stiff and hungry, and he dearly wanted to stay. But Evelyn was still insisting he go, so he looked down at her and said, “You be much careful, Evelyn King.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Evelyn replied. “I’ve lived in the wilds all my life. I can take care of myself.”

  Dega lifted the reins, then hesitated. “I not like this.”

  Evelyn stepped to the rear of his horse. “Off you go, whether you like it or not.” She gave the animal a hard smack, then grinned and waved. “Hurry back, you hear!”