“I’d have to be,” Sam said. “It’s obvious that you’ve met him. You’re one of the Twelve he’s picked. It was a he, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t jump him to find out,” the man said. “I tell you, this child ain’t ever run up against a human, red, black, or white, that ever threw a scare-fit into me. But that Stranger, he’s the one that’d make a grizzly scoot just by looking at him. Not that I’m afraid of him, you understand, it’s just that he makes me feel . . . strange. Like I was a feather-plucked bluejay.”
“Enough of that. My handle’s Johnston. Mought as well give you my history, since it’ll save a lot of jawing later.
John Johnston. I was born in New Jersey about 1827, I reckon, and died in Los Angeles in the veterans’ hospital in 1900. Between times, I was a trapper in the Rocky Mountains. Up to when I came to this River, I killed me hundreds of Injuns, but I ain’t never had to kill a white man, not even a Frenchman. Not till I got here. Since then, well, I collected quite a few white scalps.”
The man stood up and moved out into the starlight. His hair was dark but looked as if it would be a bright red in the noonday sun.
“I talk a hell of a lot more’n I used to,” he said. “You can’t get away from people in this valley. People give a child bad habits.”
They walked over to Lothar. On the way, Sam said, “How’d you happen to get here? And at this time?”
“The Stranger told me where to find you, told me about you and your big boat, the Misty Tower, and all that. Why hash it all over? You know. I agreed to find you and go with you on your boat. Why not? I don’t like being set down here. There ain’t no elbow room; you can’t turn around without knocking noses. I was about thirty thousand miles upRiver when I wake up one night, and there’s that man sitting in the shadows. We had a long talk with him doing most of it. Then I got up and set out. I heard about some of what was going on here way up The River. I snuck into here while the fighting was still going on, and I been looking for you ever since. I listened to them blacks talking; they said they couldn’t find your body. So I been skulking around, seeing what I could see. Once, I had to kill me one a those Ayrabs cause he stumbled across me. I was hungry, anyway.”
They had reached Lothar, but Sam straightened up at the last words. “Hungry?” he said. “You mean. . . ?”
The man did not reply. Sam said, “Say, uh, you . . . you wouldn’t be that Johnston called ‘Liver Eating’ Johnston, would you? The Crow Killer?”
The voice rumbled, “I made me peace with the Crows and became their brother. And I quit eating human liver some time after. But a man has to eat.”
Sam shivered. He stooped down and untied Lothar’s bonds and removed the gag. Lothar was furious, but he was also curious. And, like Sam, he seemed to find Johnston a little awing. The man exuded a peculiar savage force. Without even half trying, Sam thought I’d hate to see him in action.
They walked back to the dam. Johnston did not say anything for a long time. Once, he disappeared, leaving Sam feeling strange and cold. Johnston was about six and a half feet tall and looked as if he weighed two hundred and eighty pounds, all bone and muscle. But he moved as silently as a tiger’s shadow..
Sam jumped. Johnston was back. Sam said, “What happened?”
Johnston said, “Never mind. You say you didn’t get around much. I been all over this place; I know the sitchyation passing well. Lots a your people to the north and the south got away over the walls. If they’d a stood up, they might’ve licked the blacks. But the blacks ain’t won by a long shot. Iyeyasu is getting ready to move against them. I wouldn’t be surprised none if he invades tonight. I scouted around his place some before I came here. He ain’t going to put up with the blacks owning all this iron and the boat. He will take it away from them or know why.”