By Sorrow's River: A Novel (Berrybender Narratives Book 3) by Larry McMurtry

Author:Larry McMurtry [McMurtry, Larry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2010-05-24T07:00:00+00:00

“The Sin Killer hunts with a bow,” Rattle reminded them. “He’s around here somewhere—old Greasy Lake said so.”

This reminder sobered Red Knee a little. Though privately he considered himself a match for the Sin Killer, or any other of the trappers, he knew that if he said as much the others would just laugh at him and then probably turn and go home. Everyone knew that the Sin Killer had eaten the lightning and thus could not be killed by conventional means. Only someone in league with a powerful witch would have a chance against the Sin Killer.

Of course, Slow Possum had just been guessing—he had no way of knowing whether the Sin Killer was with this party of whites.

“I don’t think he’s here—it’s just some hunters—and I see some women,” Red Knee remarked, pointing. “Maybe we could catch a woman, or at least scalp one.”

It usually fell to Rattle to make the case for conservative behavior. They had been lucky with the Cheyenne, but they might not be lucky with the whites.

“It’s too risky—let’s just watch them for a day or two,” he suggested. “At least we could crawl a little closer and try to get a count.”

“He’s right,” Slow Possum counseled. “There’s whites all over the place. There might be some hiding—maybe they spotted us.”

He and Rattle and the others waited anxiously—it seldom did any good to try to talk Red Knee into behaving reasonably. He took all such counsels as affronts to his courage. Red Knee would only restrain himself if an older, proven warrior reined him in. Of course, raiding was always a little dangerous; even very great warriors were sometimes killed, usually because their courage propelled them into hopeless situations.

Rattle was hoping that, for once, Red Knee would be sensible and spend a few hours scouting the white party to see how many men it contained. But Rattle knew this wasn’t likely. If Red Knee charged the whites, the rest of them would have no choice but to follow him. Not to support a comrade would be the blackest cowardice.

Red Knee didn’t want to hesitate, to think it all out. He was a warrior—and in no mood to wait, or plan. The fact that there were several women in the group convinced him that these white scalps would be easy picking. What glory that would mean when they got home—whereas, otherwise, only derision awaited them, for they would be returning without a single stolen horse. He had no interest in sitting around arguing with Rattle and Slow Possum.

“Maybe if we wait until tonight we can steal their horses,” Rattle suggested, though he doubted that Red Knee would accept this sensible compromise.

His doubt was accurate.

With a high, echoing war cry Red Knee raised his lance and charged.

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