Ella laughed to feel the wind on her face as she spurred Mr. Butler into a gallop. After being cooped up indoors for so long she was glad—glad—to be back out in the wide open.
They crossed the Powder by nightfall and made camp in a little grove of trees beside the river. Montana! They were finally in Montana. After so many months, they had arrived. How much had changed in those months1 She looked fondly ahead to where Kinnicut rode easily in his saddle.
It was a pretty sort of country. Blue, hazy mountains reared up in the west, but the land they rode was grassy and rolling, starred with pine forests and winding, rocky streams. Good cattle land—the best kind of cattle land. The sky seemed so wide and close and the air smelled clean and cool. Ella laughed again as she opened her mouth to taste it. Montana!
The weather had changed from cool to balmy overnight ("Indian Summer," Buck had explained), and it was warm enough so that Ella thought she might like to sleep outside by the fire, instead of in her tent. They were half a mile away from a little town—hardly more than one street of rough-hewn buildings. She had seen dozens of such little towns, but this one affected her peculiarly. She sat watching it as the sun went down, and felt reassured in the fact that civilization was only a short way away.
She and Buck and Margot ate the good food in their hamper, and Ella blessed kind Mrs. Johnston again for her thoughtfulness in packing it for them. She had got used to home-cooking again, and did not relish the idea of eating tinned pork and beans after a week of fluffy beaten biscuits dripping with butter. Much better than those old Pecos strawberries that Ignacio cooked up every night. Ella thought of Ignacio with a pang that was akin to homesickness.
"I wonder where our folks are tonight."
She missed the noise and laughter of the boys—missed Tiny's banjo, Boots jokes, Cake's philosophical musings and Looky telling her to look at things. She missed the Captain's comforting presence, and as the sun disappeared below the horizon, she shuddered, for she had the distinct feeling that they were all alone and exposed on the flat prairie. If only Kin would stop skulking around in the darkness and come and sit with her.
He loped over, and even in the flickering firelight she could see his brow was furrowed.
"What is it?" she asked, suddenly alert.
Kin's lip turned down in its old way.
"Someone's following us," he said.
"Following us!"
"There's a set of tracks to the southeast. I spied them this morning and have been watching for them ever since. They double back around on themselves and disappear into the river bottom. I didn't want to go further than that without my gun."
He reached into his saddle-bag and pulled out his silver six-shooter, sliding it into his jacket pocket. Ella checked her own pocket and felt her derringer's heavy weight, and then reached down around her ankle for the Bowie knife she kept in her boot top. When Kin was nervous about something—it made her jumpy, too.
Buck had his arm around Margot, his long legs stretched out before the fire. He laughed.
"You're getting tetchy as old Dublin Gray in your old age, Kinnicut," he said. "Remember how Dub would shoot at them chaparral bushes if the moonlight hit on them wrong? Ain't nobody following us. Why would they? We ain't got anything they want. It's likely just some poor souls who are unlucky enough to be going to Montany, too. Come on, Margot, little squaw—let's hit the hay."
They trotted off a short distance, Buck whistling easily and Margot following obediently. Ella went to her own bedroll and lay down uneasily. "Come to bed," she called to Kin, and he turned, keeping his eyes on the horizon, and came over.
"Maybe we should go on into town tonight." He said it thoughtfully, as though he were weighing the words. "We could find a boarding house, maybe. Stay there instead."
"We won't have any trouble," Ella reassured him. How sweet and serious he was when he was worried! She put her arms about him and felt his shoulders unknot. Kin rubbed his eyes—he was tired. She kissed his hair and nestled against him as he stretched out beside her. In a moment his eyes were closed but he tossed and turned restlessly in his sleep.
Before Ella slept, she remembered something that made a strange shiver run through her body. Margot had smiled when Kin had spoken. She had noticed it distinctly, and she saw again, in her mind's eye, the girl's red lips as they curled into a secret smile.
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Ella awoke with a start. The fire had burned into embers. A great red moon was low in the sky. Kin had told her it was the harvest moon, but she did not like it. It was goblinish—eerie. It reminded her of her old nightmare, and it cast such an odd, luminous light over everything.
In the light of that moon she saw a movement from the corner of her eyes. "Kin! Kin!" she cried, suddenly terrified. "Buck!"
In a flash they were all awake, bolt upright, and a shadowy figure appeared against the darkness. Ella gasped and shrank back to see that it was an Indian. He was alone and on foot; he walked casually, with an easy, assured gait. The hair on the back of her neck prickled to see that his head was shaved, except for a thin lock running down the side of his scalp. His teeth flashed yellowly, and there was a glint of metal in his hand. A gun. Why did he have a gun?
A whirling set of images flew through her mind. Margot, smiling. Margot, watching the horizon—waiting. Three little wooden crosses in the soft dirt of the river bottom. A coiling pattern of white river stones. She turned to her, accusing, as everything clicked into place.
"You've been calling somebody—you called him here!"
Margot's trembled and for the first time Ella saw true emotion in her blank, inscrutable face. The other girl's eyes were full of horror and fear—and something akin to panic. And then she knew that Margot had been calling someone—but she had not expected this. She had not wanted this.
"I didn't—I didn't!" she cried, and she clung to Buck, cowering behind him.
The Indian fired one shot into the air that made them all freeze. He motioned for them to go near to the campfire. Ella saw a glint of silver and realized that Kin and Buck had drawn their pistols. Quick as lightning, the Indian brave reached out and grabbed Ella's arm. She gave a sharp cry as she was crushed against his chest and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her arm. The cold, unyielding barrel of his gun was pressed hard against her temple.
"Put down," said the brave, in a low, husky voice, motioning with his free hand for the men to give up their weapons. Buck threw his pistol, and it skittered close to the Indian's feet. He kicked it further, out into the black darkness beyond the little circle of light thrown by the dying fire.
Kin hesitated, holding his pistol steady at the Indian's chest. The brave seized Ella's hair and pulled roughly and she cried out again. A silvery flash—and the brave threw the handle of his gun across her face. Her lip split and Ella tasted a warm, salty wetness. Kin's eyes were large and afraid and tormented.
"Put down," said the brave again, and his voice was steely this time.
Kin threw the pistol, unwillingly, and stepped back next to Buck, his hands raised in the air.
Ella began to shudder as the brave reached inside her sheepskin coat. His hand was warm and brushed against her breast. For a moment she thought that he wanted—that he was going to—but he found in the inner pocket what he was looking for. Her own gun. He considered it a moment, scrutinizing the mother of pearl handle, and then he slipped it inside of his own coat.
Keeping his hold of Ella, the brave moved to the side and began to rifle through their saddlebags. With one hand he picked through their belongings, as though he were separating the wheat from the chaff. He threw a rope and a tin of beans to one side, and pocketed a roll of greenbacks, a flint, and some tobacco. Ella made a small noise in her throat when she saw his thin brown hand clasp, viselike, over her grandfather's pocket watch.
"Please," she murmured. "Please."
The brave tugged at her hair again and she choked back her words as the watch disappeared into his pocket, along with the other things. The brave stood, jerking her to her feet.
He advanced on Margot, and Ella gasped with relief as he took the gun away from her head and used it to lift Margot's chin, raising her face so that she had no choice but meet his eyes. Ella recoiled as he reeled back and then spit into the girl's face. She said something, pleadingly, in her language and the brave replied, reaching for the baby, which Margot held in her arms. His voice was cold and low.
"No!" said Margot. "No!"
The brave raised the barrel of his pistol and brought it down, hard, against her cheek. With a cry Margot fell to the ground, still clutching her child against her chest.
Ella felt, rather than saw, Buck bristling. "Now, see here," he began, indignantly, and after that, they were in hell.
There was a burst of smoke and an acrid smell and Buck fell back against the tall grass. Blood poured from the back of his head and ran down the little slope in a dark, fast moving stream. Buck was dead—dear, darling Buck! He was dead—dead—his eyes were wide and staring at the starry sky. Ella went numb from her head to her toes. She found she could not make a sound—her mouth moved in the shape of his name, but the sound would not come out. She made an involuntary move toward him, but the brave jerked her back and brought his fist down against her cheek. There was an explosion of light and pain and sound, as Margot began to scream and her baby began to cry.
There was another shot, and she fell and tumbled over backwards, sprawling awkwardly on the grass, arms and legs thrown out, her head tilted at a terrible angle. Her scream had been cut off abruptly but the sound lingered. The baby had stopped its crying.
Once, a thousand lifetimes ago, Ella had seen Uncle Will shoot a horse that was lame. The brave disposed of Margot in the same way—as though she were a thing broken, which could not be fixed. As though she were hardly worth the little effort it took to finish her. Only, Ella thought, only Uncle Will's eyes had been filled with pity for the poor beast. The brave had no pity for Margot. His eyes were cold and cruel.
Things began to move slowly—with a terrible, otherworldly slowness, although when Ella looked back on it, in later years, she would know that it could not have lasted more than a second. She watched from where she was floating someplace above it all, as the brave turned and came face to face with Kin. His fingers were still tangled in her hair. For the smallest moment everything was completely still.
Ella's eyes welled with tears as she looked, for a second that stretched on forever, into the face of the man whom she loved more than she loved life itself. He was her life—he had given life to her—for had she ever really lived, before she met him? Oh, she loved him! He was impossibly dear to her. She made a low noise, somewhere between a moan and a sob, and stretched out her hands to him without thinking. And Kin stepped toward her, as though he would reach out and take her. Another gunshot split the night, and a lazy twirl of smoke curled up toward the terrible red moon.
There was a sound, almost inaudible, no more than a breath exhaled. Kin sat down hard on the ground and a red stain bloomed suddenly—sickeningly—against his shirt front.
"Ella." Kin's voice was tinged with faint surprise. He looked down at the blood and up at her again. "Ella."
And then he slumped back and his eyes closed. Her knees began to knock together. Every moment was a part of a great, crushing machine, yet separate and unto itself. The brave jerked her roughly to his chest. The pistol dug into the soft skin of her temple. Ella's bowels had turned to water and she was cold with sweat and fear. There was a tiny click as the hammer went back. For a moment, the world stood still, and time seemed not to exist.
And then she moved. She lunged forward and it was enough to throw the brave off balance. He lost his grip on her, and the shot that had been meant to end her life went wide. Quick as a flash her hand went to her boot top, and she had her knife in her hand. She did not hesitate. From a great distance above she watched as the knife plunged into the Indian's chest. She lifted it out and felled it again—and again. Her eyes were savage, her teeth were bared. He slumped forward onto his knees and fell face-first onto the cold ground. There was a rasping in his chest. He shuddered, and did not move again.
The night was quiet and still—too quiet, too still. What had happened? What had happened? Oh—she had killed a man. What would Aunt Pitty say? What would mother think? But he killed Buck, came the thought unbidden to her mind. He killed Margot—and the baby? What about the baby? He would have killed me. And then her blood froze in her veins. Kin—he had shot Kin. Again, and slowly, she saw the way the blood had bloomed so suddenly on his chest. Dark, treacherous blood. He had shot Kin—had he killed Kin, too?
Kin—Kin! He was lying on his back, with his hand covering the wound on his chest. His eyes were closed, and his face was waxy white. Her knees crumpled and she crawled to him. Someone was making strange, keening noises. Who was it—oh, who was it?
She reached out and her hands touched his lifeless form and she shook him, timidly at first, and then violently, when he did not respond.
"Kin! Kin!" someone was screaming his name. "Kin! Kinnicut!" There was a long, high wail. Who was it? Who was it?
Oh, he mustn't leave her! He mustn't be dead! He was dead, he was so cold and white. Why did he not open his eyes? Oh, she loved him—she loved him so much that she wished she, too, were dead. Why hadn't she let the brave shoot her? How could she live without Kin? Why wouldn't he open his eyes? Perhaps he was not dead. Her fingers fumbled at his wrist for a pulse but she could not find one, or else she was shaking too badly to be able. Kin! Kin! Open your eyes, darling! Don't be dead!
She shook him and shook him, screaming gibberish, begging, pleading, her words rising away to a wail. She raised a hand to her face and when she pulled it away she saw that it was smeared with something dark and viscous. She leaned over the grass and retched, and shook him again. Kin! Why wouldn't he open his eyes and talk to her?
She was vaguely conscious of pulling herself to her feet, of stumbling away, and then she felt muscle and sinew begin to work and she started to run. Her mind and body did not seem to be connected. The town—the town. She must get to the town. She needed help. Someone could help her, there! She ran furiously, pumping her legs, and her wild cry of terror rent the night which had grown so terribly still.
"Help! Help me!"
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The moon was low and dark as it had been in her nightmare. Ella found herself running through a darkened street. Her throat burned and her chest ached. Twice she stopped to retch again and then stumbled further down the dark main road. The buildings on either side looked deserted and Ella began to think she was in a ghost town, that there was no one alive in it but her. She was the last living person on earth. There was a dark stain on her hands and she looked at them dazedly, flexing them as though she was not sure that they belonged to her. What was that, which stained them? What was it? Oh, it was blood—his blood—Kin's blood.
"Oh, help me!" she screamed again, and began pounding on the nearest door. She moved across the street, and pounded, kicked the wood. "Help me—someone!"
There was no response and she shrieked wildly as she went into the street, panic and fear and terror and loss making her dizzy and sick-feeling again. "Help me!" she screamed, so raw and terribly that her throat ached with it. She sobbed crazily. Wouldn't someone come and help her? Wasn't there anyone else who could help her in this horrible, cruel, dead world?
Everything tilted dangerously and she sobbed and screamed, and sobbed again.
And then a light came on in one of the darkened windows.
