“You and she don’t get along?”
“Oh, she’s always been civil enough. But I have long believed Sully could have done better.”
“Better how?”
Agatha checked that no one was near. “Less bossy, for one thing. I’ve always thought marriage should be a fifty-fifty proposition. But Philberta is a lot like Erleen. They snap their fingers and their husbands jump.”
“Yet it was Sully who dragged her and their boys west,” Nate noted. “He must do some snapping himself.”
“I’ve wondered about that. If Philberta had no yen to come, Sully wouldn’t.” Agatha shrugged. “But that’s neither here nor there. The real reason I have never gotten along with her is that she treated me coldly. From the very first day I met her, nearly twenty years ago, she gave me the impression she wouldn’t mind one bit if I were to be run over by a carriage.”
“Didn’t you say Sully and you were close?”
“So?”
“So maybe Philberta was jealous. Some women refuse to share their husband’s affections with anyone, even a doting sister-in-law.” Nate smiled to lessen the sting.
“There’s always that, I suppose, although I suspect her dislike of me ran deeper. Anyway, what’s done is done. What is important now is to find out where Sully and their sons got to. It’s very strange they’re not here if she is.”
“You want strange? She kept reciting nursery rhymes, as if I were five years old.”
Aunt Aggie chuckled. “That’s Philberta, all right. She has always been fond of them. When her boys were toddlers, she read them rhymes by the hour. I thought she overdid it, but Sully didn’t object, so I never said anything.”
Edwin Ryker picked that moment to walk up and hold out a hand to Agatha. “I’ll take the rest of my money now.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“What?” Nate said.
“Didn’t you know?” Ryker asked him. “Aggie here is paying for my services. She paid for the horses and supplies, too. Peter and Erleen couldn’t afford to do it on their own.”
“I am glad to help them,” Agatha said.
“You hired me to bring you to Sullivan. Half in advance and the other half when I got you here. That was our deal.” Ryker bobbed his chin at the cabin. “Well, here we are. I’ll take the rest of what is owed me.”
“Are you a simpleton, Mr. Ryker?”
“Ma’am?”
“Because I know I’m not. I paid for you to bring us here and take us back. Safely, I might add.”
“There was no talk of back too. Hell, you told me you might stay with Sully’s family a month or so. You can’t expect me to wait around that long.”
“You will if you want to be paid.”
Ryker jabbed a finger at her. “Now you listen here, lady—”
Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a shriek of terror from the direction of the stream.
“Anora!” Aunt Aggie cried.
Nate was already running. He half expected the Blackfeet were to blame. But when he came to the bank, Anora was on her knees at the water’s edge, staring aghast at the woods on the other side. “Why did you scream?”
“Something!” Anora gasped. “I didn’t get a good look at it. But it was watching me, and its face was terrible.”
Nate plunged across the stream and up the other bank. He charged into the vegetation, the brush crackling to his passage. He went a dozen strides and spotted a bulky form off through the boles. It was four-legged, whatever it was. An elk, he thought, or maybe a mountain buffalo. But it turned out to be neither.
There was the snap of underbrush, and the horse Black Elk had been riding came barreling out of the shadowy greenery to stand in front of Nate and whinny. He grabbed the rope bridle to keep it from running off. As he did, it occurred to him that this might be a ruse, that the Blackfeet were using the horse as bait to lure one of them within arrow range.
The way Nate had the events worked out in his head, the Blackfeet had stumbled on the cabin and killed Sullivan Woodrow and his three sons. That explained the blood in the grass and Philberta’s hysterics. And now the Blackfeet intended to kill the rest of them.
“Mr. King?” Aunt Aggie called. “Are you all right?”
“Get your niece back to the cabin!” Nate pulled the horse toward the stream. To his surprise it didn’t resist. In fact, the horse acted eager to be in his company.
Ryker was waiting on the bank, and at sight of the horse, he swore. “That there belongs to a redskin. What the hell is it doing here?”
“You wanted to tangle with those Blackfeet I met,” Nate reminded him. “Could be you will get the chance.”
“It’s one of theirs?” Ryker’s flinty features gleamed with vicious glee. “And here I was ready to light a shuck.”
Nate waded the stream, pulling the horse after him. That the Blackfeet let him take it surprised him. Horses were immensely valuable to them, the most prized possessions of any warrior.
“They must have followed us without us catching on,” Ryker said.
“I think they got here ahead of us.”
“How? They didn’t beat us through the pass or we would have seen sign.” Ryker scanned the forest, his thumb on his rifle’s hammer. “Not that it matters.Just so they show themselves. I aim to blow out their wicks, every last one of the bastards.”
Nate passed him. “Cover me,” he said, and quick-stepped toward the cabin. Ryker backed along after him. Aggie and Anora were almost there, Aggie carrying the pot Anora brought to the stream.
Nate was surprised that no war whoops pierced the gloom and arrows didn’t whiz out of the air. At the cabin he handed the reins to Ryker. “Wait with the others until I get back. Don’t let anyone come outside.”
“Where will you be?”
“Prowling around,” Nate said. But not on horseback. The dense brush made it too easy to be picked off. Sprinting around the corner, Nate angled into the woods. He was in among the trees before a feathered shaft or heavy lance could find him. Crouching, he scoured the undergrowth. If the Blackfeet were there, they blended in so well they were invisible.
Working his way with consummate care, Nate headed toward the junction of the high cliff walls. The forest was as dark and quiet as ever. He searched for tracks, human or animal, but didn’t find any. That in itself was peculiar. There should be wildlife, what with the stream. If he didn’t know better, he would think the wild things shunned the valley.
“Mr. King! Mr. King! Where are you?”
Nate drew up short. That was Tyne. He had told Ryker not to let anyone venture outdoors. Reluctantly, he pivoted on a heel and jogged back. She was a good twenty feet from the cabin, alone and unarmed, as defenseless as a fawn. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Mother and Father sent me to find you. Aunt Philberta has come around, and Mother wants you to hear what she has to say.”
“Where’s Ryker?”
“Mr. Ryker found a bottle in one of the cupboards. He is at the table, drinking.”
Nate’s blood boiled. Taking her hand, he ushered her inside, making sure to close the door after them. On a blanket on the other side of the room lay Philberta, Peter and Erleen on their knees beside her. Anora was making tea. Aunt Aggie, Fitch and Harper whispered together in one corner.
Ryker was at the other end of the table, and had just taken a swig. Smiling crookedly, he beckoned. “Care for a sip? It’s brandy, not whiskey, but it goes down smooth just the same.”
Nate walked over and did the last thing Ryker expected.
He hit him.
