cave, then the mountains would be the logical place.
My thinking left me uneasy. Surely, the possible hiding places along the creeks and rivers would be few and easily found. Kapata would know of the Conejeros, and if he had not allied himself with them he would know where they had been, so one by one the possibilities would be eliminated.
It was cold out there now ... cold!
Kapata would be seated in a shelter now, fuming at the delay, impatient to be out and doing. At any time the cold could break, and then he would come seeking.
Itchakomi's fighting men were few and not so fierce as those they must meet, for the Natchee by shrewd diplomacy had avoided wars and fighting more than most. The Conejeros were not interested in peacemaking.
Nothing moved out there. The snow stretched away white and endless. I looked again and then returned to my map-making.
Keokotah slept. Few Indians moved about in the cold, knowing too well the dangers and how easily a man might die if injured. It was the Indian way, the sensible way, to lie by the fire. It was storytelling time for them.
I added fuel to the fire.
Before the day was out I would have to bring more fuel into the cave, for the flames were hungry and the dry wood burned swiftly. After a while I put down my map and broke off a piece of frozen jerky, which snapped like wood. Tucking the piece into my mouth I went again to the cave mouth.
Nothing stirred.
Going to a fallen tree I broke some of the larger branches and carried them back inside. Working steadily, I had in a few minutes gathered wood for the day and most of the night.
With a last armful of wood I was turning back to the cave when a movement caught my eye. I stopped dead still, and then slowly turned my head.
Out there, in the snow, and yet far away, something moved! Something, a man or an animal, moving toward us.
Fascinated, unbelieving, I stood, watching.
How far away? A mile? Oh, more than that! Perhaps two miles?
What was it? Who was it?
I waited, watching.
Chapter Nineteen.
Keokotah was beside me. 'He hurt,' he said. 'No walk good.' We watched the distant figure struggling through the snow, and my feelings were not Christian. Whoever it was down there could bring us nothing but grief. Whatever else he was doing he was marking a trail right to our door at a time when we could not afford to attract attention.
He seemed to be alone, which probably meant that he was fleeing from something--perhaps he had been a prisoner of Indians and was escaping.
'He know about caves,' Keokotah said.
It was the only explanation. We had deliberately not moved about, so he could not know of our presence. The only reason he could have for coming this way was that he knew about the caves and was seeking shelter from the cold. He was still a long way off and was having a hard time of it. We looked beyond him but saw no pursuit in sight.
The man paused then and looked back. Was he followed? Or merely afraid of being followed? In this snow, following his tracks would offer no problem. All our efforts to remain hidden were being wasted.
Now he was coming toward us again. The snow was deeper out there than we had believed. Once he stopped and shaded his eyes toward the cliff where the caves were. He looked right where we stood, but we knew he could not see us, for we stood among trees and brush.
Drawing back a bit further against the cliff, where there was a depression caused by runoff water, I went to the next cave. The Natchee Unstwita was on guard there. He spoke neither English nor Creek, so I made signs to indicate a man was coming. He went at once to look, and then vanished within the cave, where I heard a low mutter of voices.
Itchakomi came to the mouth of the cave, stooping to emerge. She went to look, and then turned to me. 'He is a white man.'
A white man?Startled, I looked again. Yes, it could be. But a white man?Here?
Well, I was here. And there were French far to the north and Spanishmen to the south. I drew my blanket about me to conceal my guns.
'Let them stay inside,' I suggested. 'Only Unstwita and Keokotah.'
She agreed, and studied the man again. 'Keokotah says he is hurt,' I commented.
'It is so.'
He must have been desperate indeed. An injured man has small chance of survival in intense cold, and the day had grown no warmer. I looked back the way he had come. There was no pursuit. Had he escaped scot-free then? Or were they taking their time, knowing he could not go far in this weather?
We waited, watching him flounder through the snow. He was quite close when he stopped suddenly, crouched as if to turn, and glanced wildly about. He had seen where we had been gathering fuel and some fragments of bark atop the snow.
'It is all right,' I spoke quietly, 'you may come in.'
His only visible weapon was a stout stick that he must have taken up from the ground somewhere. He stared toward us but could see nothing, for we had remained behind the brush and trees.
'Who is it?' He spoke in Spanish.
'A friend,' I replied in the same language, 'if you are friendly.'
He came on few steps further and then halted. Now he could see me, and he could see Keokotah. 'Who are you?'
'Travelers,' I said, 'and you?'
He did not reply, but came a few steps closer. 'I am hungry,' he said.
'Are they far behind you?'
'Who?' He stared at me. 'Nobody is behind me.' He peered at me. 'I need a horse. I can pay.'
'We have no horses,' I replied.
'Nohorses? ' He almost screamed his frustration. 'I must have a horse! At once!'
'We have no horses,' I repeated. 'You are escaping from the Indians?'
He was facing me now, a squarely built, not unhandsome rascal, bearded and with what seemed a freshly broken nose. He was Spanish without a doubt, and he had recently been in a fight of some kind.
'I have seen no Indians,' he replied stiffly. 'Not lately, anyway. I must get back to Mexico.'
'It is a long way,' I replied. 'You can get a horse in the Spanish settlements.'
'Days!' He spoke angrily, impatiently. 'Every minute is precious!'
'There is food,' Itchakomi said.
He glanced at her, looked again. 'My God,' he said. 'You're beautiful!'
I was suddenly angry. Who did he think he was, anyway? 'She is a Sun,' I spoke coolly, 'a Sun of the Natchee. She is a princess.'
'I can believe it.' He looked at her again. 'Such a woman! In such a place!'
He irritated me, so I grabbed his arm and pointed the way. He tore his arm free and reached for his belt. There was a dagger there.
He glared at me and I shrugged. 'Keep on going, then. You've a long way before the settlements.'
He swore. Then he said, 'I am a fool! You spoke of food?'
Indicating our cave, I led the way. When I glanced back Itchakomi was watching me. I thought she was smiling, and for some reason, that made me angrier still.
He was no common soldier--that was obvious. Perhaps the leader of a wiped-out expedition? I asked him. 'No,' he replied to my question, 'not wiped-out.' He accepted the food I offered and began to eat. 'We quarreled,' he said then. 'Diego wished to go no further. I wanted to push on. We fought.'
'You lost?'
