“You can’t blame all snakes over this one. Another might have crawled off.”
“I want you and the baby safe. So I mean it. Every rattler from now on is dead.”
Lou snuggled and kissed his neck. “That’s another thing I like about you. You don’t do things in half measure.”
“We should show it to my pa.”
“Which piece?”
Zach started to laugh and caught himself. Lou started, and didn’t stop. She let herself go. It felt good to laugh and feel the tension seep from her and leave her restored and happy. “I’m all right now.”
“I lost control again,” Zach said.
“You had cause.”
“I told myself I would never lose control again, and I did.”
“The important thing is that the snake is dead. Now we can get on with the hunt.”
Zach let go of her and stepped back. “I’ll go on with the hunt. You’re going back to the cabin.”
“We’ve been all through that. I’m not helpless. I’m taking part.”
“No,” Zach said firmly. “You’re not.”
Lou went to say that she was a grown woman and could do as she pleased, and looked into his eyes. “Oh,” she said. “I guess I’m not.”
Zach stepped to the lake and dipped the tomahawk in the water, swishing it until the gore was off, and wiped the tomahawk dry on his pants. Tucking it under his belt, he retrieved his rifle and held out his hand to her. “I’m sorry, but we can’t risk the baby.”
“No, we can’t,” Lou agreed.
“I’m sorry I lost control, too.”
“Enough about that.”
“I worry that one day I’ll lose control and bring more trouble down on our heads, like I did with the army that time.”
“Stop fretting. You were just being you. It’s not the most important thing, anyway.”
“What is?”
Lou turned to him. “Our love.”
Chapter Six
“I think a rattlesnake just crawled up my leg,” Shakespeare McNair remarked.
Nate was looking under a rock. “You’re not half as humorous as you think you are.” They had scoured most of the south shore and not come across a snake of any kind. He and McNair were near the grass, Winona and Blue Water Woman were over by the lake. They had been hunting for an hour now and would soon be at the east end.
“You think I jest, Horatio?” Shakespeare gave his right leg a vigorous shake and then bent as if to check if anything had fallen out. “I reckon you’re right.”
“Is this your way of saying my idea was a waste of time?”
“Not at all. Just last night I looked out my window and saw six rattlesnakes roll themselves into hoops and have a contest to see which of them could roll the farthest.”
“You are a strange man.”
Shakespeare put a hand to his chest as might an actor in a play. “I am giddy,” he quoted. “Expectation whirls me around. The imaginary relish is so sweet that it enchants my sense.”
“You have some?” Nate said.
About to go on, Shakespeare cocked his head. “Eh? I have some what? Snakes?”
“Sense.”
“Oh my. A palpable hit. Yes, that is worthy of my illustrious wife, who delights in sinking her verbal claws into my innocent flesh.”
“Anyone would,” Nate said.
“Ouch. Twice pricked,” Shakespeare said indignantly. “I never realized how grumpy snake hunting makes some people.”
Nate came to an old log and rolled it over. Nothing was under it. “I’m surprised we haven’t found any.”
“It could be there aren’t any to be found. Or it could be they heard about your hunt and are lying up in fear somewhere.”
“There must be a den,” Nate said.
“Figured that out, did you?”
“Have you ever seen one? As old as you are, I bet you have.”
“As old as…” Shakespeare stopped and puffed out his cheeks. “Were I a mongoose, I would bite you. I have never seen a snake den, no. I did have a friend who did, during the beaver days. His name was Franklyn. He kept seeing garter snakes go down this hole. His curiosity got the better of him and he dug at the hole until he found out why the garters were going down it.”
Nate waited.
“According to Franklyn, he found a huge ball of them. Must have been hundreds. This was in the fall when they hole up for the cold weather.”
“Hundreds?” Nate said.
“So Franklyn claimed. I had no cause to doubt him. He was a good man. Had a wife and a little one back home. Thought he’d save enough trapping beaver to give them a boost up in life.”
“Was he good at it?” Nate had known men who tried their best but never were any good at skinning and curing.
“Very good, yes. He had about two thousand dollars on him the day the Blackfeet got him. Me and some others tracked them and found Franklyn in a clearing in the woods. They had staked him out and amused themselves chopping off his fingers and toes and ears. They’d cut his belly, too, and his guts were hanging out. He begged one of us to put him out of his misery.”
“Let me guess. You did.”
Shakespeare shrugged. “I never could stand to see anyone suffer. I made sure the money got to his family along with a note saying how he always talked about how much he cared for them.” His features saddened. “The wife wrote me back. Thanked me for being so considerate and asked if I was in the market for a woman.”
“She didn’t.”
“Not out plain, but it was there between the lines. Can’t blame her, I guess. It would be hard raising children alone.”
Nate stopped and placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the stretch of shore they had covered. “I reckon I was worried over nothing. There aren’t all that many rattlesnakes around, after all.”
“Better safe than bit.”
“You’re standing up for me? I figured you would poke fun from now until Christmas.”
“Let’s further think of this,” Shakespeare quoted. “Weigh what convenience both of time and means may fit us to our shape if this should fail, and our drift look through our bad performance.”
Nate shook his head. “I’ve put everyone to a lot of bother for nothing. It was coincidence, nothing more, those rattlers appearing so close together.”
“If it had been two grizzlies or two mountain lions you’d have the same cause for concern.”
“You can come right out and say when I’m wrong. I’m a grown man. I can take it.”
“Oh, all right.” Shakespeare quoted the Bard, “In the reproof of chance lies the true proof of men.” He chuckled. “How’s that?”
“You call that being hard on me?”
“Later I’ll beat you with a switch if it will make you feel better.”
“I’ve inconvenienced everyone.”
Shakespeare put his hand to his chest again. “A true knight, not yet mature, yet matchless, firm in word, speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue, not soon provoked nor being provoked, soon calmed. His heart and hand both open and both free.”
“I’m no saint,” Nate said gruffly.
“You’re human. We all are. And as humans go, you are one of the few I have admired with all that I am.”
“Why are you talking like this?”
“You never know,” Shakespeare said.
Nate had a thought that troubled him. “This has something to do with your age, doesn’t it? All you’ve done lately is talk about how old you are and how you don’t feel as spry as you used to.”
“I don’t.”
“Good God. You’re over eighty. How spry do you think you should be?”
Shakespeare placed his hand on Nate’s shoulder and said earnestly, “I’m preparing you, is all.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”