Fear Weaver

a log by the fire, his rifle across his thighs, he sipped coffee and listened to the night sounds.And there were a lot. The meat-eaters were abroad. Coyotes yipped. Owls screeched. Occasionally the roar of a griz announced that the monarch of the land was on the prowl. The screams of mountain lions were rarer yet. Twice, Nate heard howls that he was sure were made by wolves. He didn’t hear the strange howls again.

Before long, Fitch took over.

Nate lay on his back with his saddle for a pillow and a blanket pulled to his chin. He gazed up at the myriad of sparkling pinpoints in the night firmament, waiting for sleep to claim him.

Nate was on the verge of dozing off when Fitch whispered, “Mr. King, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“I think something is out there.”

Smothering a yawn, Nate rose on his elbows. “I didn’t hear anything.” He saw only darkness.

“It was there.” Fitch pointed to the southwest. “Something moved. I didn’t get a good look at it.”

Nate stared until his eyes ached. “There’s noth—” he began, and stopped. Something did move, a flicker of white against the backdrop of black. He sat up and grabbed his Hawken.

“Did you see that?” Fitch breathlessly asked. “What on earth was it? A deer?”

Nate didn’t know. He had never seen anything like it: a hunched-over form, as pale as a sheet, that was lightning quick. He would almost swear it was on two legs but that was preposterous. It moved too silently, too swiftly.

“Mr. King?”

Nate threw off his blanket. “I’ll keep watch awhile. You turn in.”

“That wouldn’t be fair. You just laid down.”

Of all of them, Nate had talked to the boys the least. Fitch and Harper tended to keep to themselves. They had their father’s reserve and were not as open as the girls. But Nate liked them. They were dutiful, decent young men who would soon make their own mark in the world. “I don’t mind.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Nate smiled in wry amusement. His own son hardly ever said “sir” to him. Zach was too independent, too much his own person. Nate wished Zach were there now. With his son to back him, he would take on anyone or anything without any qualms.

Nate took Fitch’s place on the log. The night had gone quiet, a temporary lull in the beastly bedlam of predator and prey. It sobered Nate to contemplate that at that very moment, scores of meat-eaters, everything from martins to bobcats to wolves to grizzlies, were feasting on fresh, succulent flesh. It made a man thankful for the senses God gave him, and the brains to use them.

Nate refilled his tin cup. His eyes were leaden, his limbs sluggish. He probably should have let Fitch continue to keep watch, but Nate was a firm believer in the old saw that if you wanted something done right, do it yourself. And while Fitch was able enough, the boy lacked Nate’s experience.

Half a cup later, Nate was having trouble keeping his chin up when a feeling came over him that he was being watched. He gripped the Hawken and peered into the dark, but nothing moved. Dismissing it as nerves, he went on sipping and struggling to stay awake.

The feeling persisted. Nate set the cup down and stood. His Hawken level at his waist, he warily stepped to the edge of the clearing.

Everyone else was sound asleep. Erleen snored loud enough to be heard in California. The horses dozed.

Nate grinned at his foolishness. He was about to turn back when he thought he saw, at the limit of his vision, a pair of tiny dots, virtually pinheads of light. It took him a few moments to realize what they were. Eyes, reflecting the glow of the campfire. Eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. As Nate looked on, a second and then a third pair of dots appeared. There were three of them. He snapped the Hawken to his shoulder even though he didn’t intend to shoot, not without knowing what they were. But the instant he raised the rifle, the three pair of dots disappeared, as if they had blinked out of existence, or melted away.

A shiver ran through him. More nerves, Nate thought. Whatever those things were, they hadn’t tried to harm him or any of the others.

What were they? Despite Nate’s many years in the mountains, despite his familiarity with every animal in the wild, he couldn’t say. And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like it one bit.

Nate hoped he had seen the last of them.

Hidden Valley

From a distance the sandstone cliff did indeed look like a giant red V. The cliff was part of a horseshoe ring of stone that cut the valley off from the outside world. The only way in was through the open end of the horseshoe.

As Nate and the Woodrows wound down the last slope, the hooves of their horses pinged on rock. Anyone in the valley was bound to hear them long before they got there.

Ryker, in the lead, held up an arm, bringing everyone to a stop. He bent toward the ground, then straightened and beckoned to Nate. “You need to see this!”

Nate trotted past the others. Tyne grinned as he went past. Aunt Aggie smiled and winked. Peter asked what he thought was the matter, and Nate answered that he had no idea. Which wasn’t entirely true. Nate figured Ryker had found tracks of some kind, and Ryker had. But not plural; just one track.

“What the hell do you make of that?”

The print was in a patch of soft earth. Whatever made it had five toes. Not claws or pad, but toes. Crooked toes, splayed wide apart. There was no sole or heel. Just the toes and a ridge of callus.

“Someone barefoot, running on their toes,” Nate speculated.

“That’s what I thought. But look at how those toes are twisted. They aren’t natural.”

Nate had to agree.

“And look at how deep the toes dig into the dirt. Whoever or whatever made it was either very heavy or has iron leg muscles.”

Nate thought of the pale specter the night before, and the eyes gleaming with fire shine.

“I wanted you to see it before the others rode over it.” Ryker paused. “I wonder if it has anything to do with those howls we heard.”

Nate shrugged.

“I still can’t get over Sully Woodrow coming this far into the mountains. What in God’s name was he thinking?”

“Peter says he wanted to get away from people.”

“Well, he picked a damned good spot. This is as off the beaten track as you can get. His wife must have been fit to be tied. Most women wouldn’t like living in the middle of nowhere.”

Erleen cleared her throat to call out, “Mr. Ryker, can we keep moving? We have a long ride ahead of us yet, and I, for one, would like to get it over with.”

“Sure, lady. Keep your britches on.”

“Mr. Ryker!”

Nate lifted his reins. “I’m going on ahead. I’ll blaze trees as I go so keep your eyes peeled. Take it nice and slow. If you hear a shot, have the rest wait and you come on alone. We don’t want any of them harmed.”

“Hell, I don’t want me harmed. But why this sudden urge to scout around? Do you know something I don’t?”

Nate bobbed his chin at the track. “I wouldn’t call it sudden.” He went past Ryker and made his way lower. He was on the lookout for more of the strange tracks but didn’t see any. Soon he came to the base of the mountain and the valley floor spread out before him. Trees formed an impenetrable phalanx except where a game trail threaded among them.

Nate had only gone a few yards when he drew abrupt rein. Other riders were ahead of them. Hoof-prints