“But he was right. It
Peter scowled. “It can’t be helped. I care for my brother and his boys. I need to know what happened to them.”
“They are long dead by now,” Nate said bluntly.
“Possibly. Even probably. But we won’t know for sure until we find them or their remains.”
“You’re asking the impossible.”
“My wife and I have talked it over and we are in agreement. We intend to scour the valley from one end to the other.”
“You might not find anything.”
“Unless someone buried them there will be bones, at the very least. The remains could reveal their fate.”
“And if we don’t find anything?” Nate asked. “How long are you willing to put your family in peril before you decide enough is enough and return to civilization?”
“We have given ourselves a week. If we haven’t found Sully or the boys by then, we will pack up and head for Bent’s Fort. You are welcome to accompany us.”
“I’ll see you as far as the foothills,” Nate offered. That should be near enough. At the trading post they could hire another guide to see them across the prairie to the Mississippi.
“Your Shoshone friends will wonder what has become of you,” Aunt Aggie said.
Just then, Philberta commenced to toss about and mutter in her sleep, her hands clenching and un- clenching.
“The poor dear,” Erleen commiserated. “She’s suffered terribly. It’s a wonder she is still alive.”
“One of us must stay with her at all times while the rest are off searching,” Peter said.
Nate set down his cup. “The only ones who will do any searching are you and me.”
“I beg your pardon? My sons are perfectly capable of lending a hand. And my wife and Agatha have volunteered to help.”
“The more of us who search,” Aunt Aggie said, “the sooner we can be done and on our way.”
“No.”
“You overstep yourself, Mr. King,” Peter said. “I appreciate your concern for our welfare, but it is my brother who has gone missing, my nephews who have vanished. I have the final say.”
Nate sighed.
“My husband has it exactly right,” Erleen parroted. “It’s our family, our responsibility. If you want to help we will be eternally grateful, but it is ours to do.”
Aunt Aggie agreed. “As much as I might like to side with you, Nate, I can’t. Family is family. We must always be there for one another.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“Which is?” Peter asked.
“That all of you could end up like Sully and his sons. Do you really want to bury one another? Do you want to bury Tyne and Anora?”
Erleen puffed out her cheeks like an agitated chipmunk. “That was uncalled for. We love them dearly. The last thing we want is for them to come to harm.Which is why they will stay at the cabin with an adult to watch over them while the rest of us are off searching.”
“Then do me one favor,” Nate said. “Don’t scatter all over. Hunt in a group. You are less likely to be attacked.”
“Staying together would slow the search,” Peter objected. “We must split up. Work in pairs, say. And everyone will have a gun. That way we will be perfectly safe.”
“Mr. King,” Erleen took up the argument, “we don’t know that Sully and his boys were set upon by hostiles. It could be they were attacked by a wild beast. A grizzly, perhaps. Or a wolverine. I hear they are especially savage. Or maybe Sully and his sons had a mishap. Accidents happen, you know.”
Disgusted, Nate stood and took hold of his rifle. “I need some air.” He closed the front door quietly, then stood letting the cool breeze play over him. Off up the valley an owl hooted, a commonplace call, reassuring in its normalcy.
Nate walked around to the rear of the cabin to check on the horses. The corral was barely big enough to hold them but it had to do. His bay came over to nuzzle him and receive a few pats.
Since the night was moonless, the valley floor was plunged in gloom. The high cliffs blocked out most of the starlight.
Nate groped along the rails until he was at the gate and verified it was tied shut.
All appeared peaceful, but Nate wasn’t fooled. Nowhere was the old saying about appearances being deceiving more appropriate than in the wild. Nothing was ever as it seemed. Tranquil woods might hide painted warriors. The high grass of a scenic mountain meadow might conceal a crouching cougar. A person must always be on his guard.
Nate turned to retrace his steps. He was almost to the cabin when the undergrowth bordering it crackled. Crouching, Nate sought the source.
Mired in murk, something was moving low to the ground.
Nate tensed. No meat-eater would make so much noise. A porcupine, maybe. Or a small bear.
Suddenly the sound stopped.
Nate imagined the animal had caught his scent. In a few moments it would wander away on its nocturnal rounds. But the night stayed silent save for the owl up the valley and the gurgling of the stream.
Nate had never known a porcupine or a bear to stay still so long. They loved to roam and poke their snouts into everything that interested them. He scoured the ground in his vicinity, but only saw a few downed branches and a log.
The next second the log moved.
Nate sighted down the Hawken. It had to be a man. A man who was stalking him. He fixed the sights on what might be the man’s head.
Then the figure gasped and said something in a tongue Nate didn’t speak but which he was familiar with. Wary of a trick, Nate stayed where he was.
The man crawled closer. Or, rather,
Nate inched forward. The rank smell of blood and urine washed over him. The figure on the ground reached out, and moaned.
Discarding caution, Nate stepped to the man’s side and sank onto a knee. “Do you speak the white man’s tongue?” When he didn’t get an answer, he switched to his wife’s. “Do you speak Shoshone?”
A hand clutched at his, the skin hot to the touch.
“You are a Blackfoot, aren’t you?” Nate reverted to English again, knowing full well he wouldn’t get a reply. He looked for sign of the others, but the warrior was alone.
Coming to a sudden decision, Nate slipped both arms under the man. It was awkward, carrying the warrior and his rifle, both, but he managed. He worked the latch with his eblows and pushed the door open with his foot. Candlelight splashed over his burden and he nearly recoiled in revulsion.
The warrior was a ruin. His left eye was gone, ripped from the socket, a black cavity all that remained. The right eye was so bloodshot, the white of the eye was red. Scratch or claw marks criss-crossed his face and there were bite marks on his throat. One of those bites had severed a vein, soaking his buckskins with blood. It was a miracle the man was alive.
Peter, Erleen and Aunt Aggie were still at the table. Astonishment had rendered them mute, but not for long. Erleen threw herself out of her chair, crying in dismay, “Where did that heathen come from?”
Nate carefully laid the warrior on the floor. Each breath the man took threatened to be his last. “Question?” Nate asked in sign language. “Enemy wound you?”
The warrior tried to reply, but couldn’t make his fingers work. He tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a trickle of fresh blood.
“Someone get a glass of water for him,” Nate said.
