The Outcast by David Thompson

so mad that he sometimes lost control and did things he later regretted. In a few instances he had gone berserk.
    His father and mother always cautioned him that if he wasn’t careful, one day his temper would get him into trouble. They were right. He ended up being put on trial and nearly hanged.
    Since meeting Lou, Zach had tried extra hard to keep his temper under control. He got angry, sure, but these days he rarely became so mad that he was beside himself with fury.
    This day was one of them.
    As Zach tracked the warrior who had taken his wife, he boiled like molten lava. The woman he loved, abducted. That Zach had just found out she was with child added to his rage. If anything happened to her, if anything happened to them, Zach would wage a war of extermination on the Bloods. He couldn’t kill them all. They would probably slay him in the end. But he would rub out as many as he could. They would pay a hundredfold for what they had done.
    Zach was so mad that when he had gone barely a hundred yards into the forest, he drew rein and took deep breaths to calm himself. He had to concentrate, to keep his senses sharp. The Blood would count on being pursued and be watching his back trail.
    As McNair had pointed out, it was unlikely the warrior was alone. There must have been more. How many, Zach wouldn’t know until he struck their trail. They were probably waiting in ambush. All the more reason for him to keep his wits and not let his wrath sweep him away.
    The tracks were easy to follow, as fresh as they were. Zach came to where they entered a stream. He crossed to the other side and stopped. The ground was undisturbed. The warrior had stayed in the water and gone either upstream or down-stream.
    Zach reined around and rode to the middle. Bending as low as he could, he examined the stream bed. Much of it was gravel. Some of it was rock. Here and there was plain mud, and in a muddy spot a partial hoof pointed upstream toward the mountains to the west.
    Straightening, Zach gigged the bay. He held his rifle across his saddle in front of him. Eyes narrowed, he scanned both banks. Sooner or later the warrior had to leave the stream, and when he did, there would be evidence of it.
    Zach struggled to focus on the hunt. He kept thinking of Lou, of what she must be going through. It was like having a knife pierce his heart. The ache was almost more than he could bear. He resisted the urge to fly blindly ahead so that he could rend the warrior limb from limb.
    Zach would do it, too. When he caught up to them he would kill the warrior slow so that he suffered as few ever had. Anyone who would abduct a pregnant woman deserved no less.
    Zach wondered how it was that the Bloods found the valley. There was only one way in, as far as he knew. His father and Shakespeare had blocked the other passes. They did it to keep something like this from happening, yet it had happened anyway. Life was fickle. The things a person least wanted to happen happened.
    Zach remembered Lou’s last embrace. How she had looked into his eyes, her own so happy and alive with love and the knowledge that in nine months they would be parents. She’d told him that she loved him. She said it a lot, far more than he did. His nose clogged and his throat grew tight. He went to cough to clear them but caught himself. Sounds could carry.
    He wished his pa were there. There was no finer shot, no man alive more resourceful. With his pa at his side, Zach would be assured of rescuing Lou and bringing her home safe.
    The grass on the left bank was trampled.
    Zach drew rein. He had found where the Blood’s horse climbed out. Of the Blood and Lou, there was no sign. Apparently the warrior had gone off up the mountain, perhaps to rejoin the rest of the war party. Zach poked the bay with his heels. The bay started out, slipped, and fell back when part of the bank broke and slid into the water.
    The bay snorted and stamped.
    â€œEasy, boy,” Zach said,