Wilderness: Venom Part 5

Louisa was pleased with herself. It took some doing to get him to not take things so seriously. Sure, he was serious by nature, but he had a wonderful sense of humor if he would only let it out more.

Lou came to a group of small boulders and carefully picked her way among them. She didn't dare slip. A fall might cause her to lose the baby. She smiled in antic.i.p.ation. Her very own son or daughter. She hoped it was a girl, but Zach hoped it was a boy. She wished there were some way to tell. She had asked Winona and Winona said that her people believed that if a woman was carrying the baby high, it was likely to be a girl, and if she was carrying the baby low, it was likely to be a boy.

Lou looked down at herself. She had barely begun to show. It was much too soon to tell if she would carry high or low. Another few months maybe. She stepped around a knee-high boulder and over an ankle-high slab of rock and was within a few feet of the water's edge. She crouched and dipped her hand in and touched her wet hand to her neck and her forehead.

"What are you doing?" Zach asked from off a ways.

"Cooling off."

"Be careful you don't fall in."

Louisa looked at him to see if he was serious, and he was. As if by being pregnant she must be clumsy. A sharp retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. She dipped her hand in again and this time took a sip. Across the lake to the south was Shakespeare's cabin, figures moving near it.

Lou stood and wiped her right hand on her dress. With her rifle in her left hand she turned to catch up to Zach. She had to pa.s.s a couple of boulders that made her think of giant eggs. She was almost around them when a rattlesnake reared in a patch of shadow.

"Oh G.o.d," she blurted.

The snake was big and thick and its eyes seemed to bore into her with wicked intent. Its tail began to buzz.

Lou almost bolted, but the rattler was too close. She thought of the baby, and of how sick a bite would make her even if she didn't die. All that poison, it might harm the baby, might cause her to lose it. So she stood still, goose b.u.mps breaking out all over.

The hideous head swayed in her direction.

Lou prayed that by not moving she wouldn't provoke it. She wanted to look to see if Zach had noticed, but she was afraid to even move her eyes. The snake might strike.

The buzz of its tail grew louder. For some reason the snake was becoming more agitated.

What could she do? She could try to shoot it, but it was bound to bite her before she got off a shot. She had heard they were lightning quick. And besides, she wasn't Zach. She couldn't shoot without aiming. In the time it would take her to take aim the snake could bite her three or four times.

All Lou could do was stand there and hope. She began to sweat. She hated when that happened. Sweat made her feel sticky, and she wasn't fond of how she smelled. Please, she inwardly prayed, just go away and leave me be. Their eyes met, or so it appeared to her, and a chill rippled through her clear to her toes. There was something awful, something alien about those eyes.

In her ears the buzzing rose to a crescendo. Although "buzzing" didn't quite fit. It was more like the rattle of seeds in a dry gourd. Its tail was sticking up in the air and vibrating fiercely.

Any moment now.

Lou resigned herself. It was going to strike. She must be ready and try to jump out of the way. She knew she would still get bitten but she had to try. She also knew that if she slipped and fell on the boulders, she might harm the new life taking form inside her.

The rattler's thick body was in an S, the head at the top of the S with the mouth parting.

This was it. Lou tensed and was on the verge of springing when the stock of a rifle flashed out of nowhere and struck the snake on the head with such force the reptile was flung against a boulder. It immediately started to coil and rear, but a moccasin-clad foot stomped on it just below the head, and the next thing, Zach bent and grabbed hold of the tail and began to swing the snake as if it were a rope. With each swing he smashed it against a boulder, again and again and again, smas.h.i.+ng and smas.h.i.+ng.

"Zach," Lou said.

Zach didn't hear her. He was making small animal sounds deep in his throat, snarls and growls as if he were a wolverine gone berserk. He swung and smashed and smashed some more so that the snake was turning to pulp.

"Zach?"

The snake was limp and had to be lifeless, but Zach suddenly slammed it down one more time and let go and drew his tomahawk. With a swift blow he separated the head from the body and then went on swinging, chopping the body to bits and pieces.

"Zach," Lou said, and put her hand on his arm.

Zach stopped chopping. He looked at her, his eyes wild with savagery and his lips curled back so that he looked as if he was about to bite her. His face was flushed with fury and he was breathing hard.

"I think it's dead."

Zach glanced down. He slowly straightened. The savagery faded from his eyes and he slowly became his usual self. He stared at the gore on his tomahawk. "I think you're right."

"I'll say one thing for you. When you kill a snake, you kill a snake."

"It was going to bite you," Zach said quietly.

"I know."

"I couldn't let it. I'll never let anything or anyone harm you so long as I'm breathing."

"No need to justify what you did." Lou gently squeezed his arm. "You did what you had to. You always do what you have to."

"That's what a man does," Zach said, and his voice was husky and almost hoa.r.s.e.

"You do it well."

Zach coughed again, and set down his tomahawk and took her into his arms. "G.o.d," he said. "I almost lost you."

Lou snuggled against him. She was still holding her rifle and it was pressed between them and gouging her, but she didn't want to break the hug to set it down. She snuggled and kissed him on the neck, and said, "Thank you."

"Anytime."

"I know I can always count on you."

"It was ready to strike. If I'd come a second later..." Zach stopped.

"It's over."

"From this day on I'm killing every d.a.m.n rattler I see."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"You might have died."

"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, swis.h.i.+ng 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 sh.o.r.e and not come across a snake of any kind. He and McNair were near the gra.s.s, 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 c.o.c.ked his head. "Eh? I have some what? Snakes?"

"Sense."

"Oh my. A palpable hit. Yes, that is worthy of my ill.u.s.trious wife, who delights in sinking her verbal claws into my innocent flesh."

"Anyone would," Nate said.

"Ouch. Twice p.r.i.c.ked," 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."