Frank sniffed the air. The tang of burned powder still hung there faintly. This was where the shot had gone off, all right. He was sure of it.
He shifted his position, circling the camp in as close to absolute silence as he could manage. When he stopped and peered through another gap in the thick foliage, he could see all the camp that he hadn’t been able to see before.
The lame horse stood there, but the other saddle mounts and the pack mules were gone.
More importantly, so were Salty and Meg.
Chapter 11
A short time earlier, Anton Mirabeau had had nothing more on his mind than the lovely Charlotte Marat. She filled his thoughts as she often did. He should have been paying more attention to where he and the other men were going.
If he had, they wouldn’t have ridden right into trouble.
As it was, Mirabeau and the half-dozen other Metis with him had emerged from the trees into a clearing on the creek bank only to find themselves looking down the barrels of a rifle and a revolver, held by a couple of people who had taken cover behind some pines.
“Hold it right there, mister!” a man’s voice ordered.
From the sound of it, Mirabeau thought the voice belonged to an old man. But an elderly finger could pull the trigger of a gun the same as a young one, provided, of course, that age had not stiffened it.
Mirabeau reined his horse to a stop and motioned for the other men to do likewise. His gaze darted around the campsite. He saw three horses and three saddles, along with a couple of pack mules and the packs of supplies lying on the ground.
Three saddle horses meant three people, but he saw only two pointing guns at him and his companions. The third man was probably somewhere nearby, out of sight, likely with a rifle pointing at him right now.
“Easy, my friend,” Mirabeau said, taking care to keep both of his hands in sight. “We are not hunting trouble.”
“Then what do you want?” the old-timer demanded.
“We are looking for some friends of ours. A man and a woman. Brother and sister, actually. Perhaps you have seen them. They both have dark hair. The young woman is very attractive.”
“I don’t know who in blazes you’re talkin’ about,” the old man said. Mirabeau caught a glimpse of white hair and beard as the man peered around the trunk of the tree where he had taken cover. The man added in a disgusted mutter, “Who’d’a figured these woods would turn out to be so blamed crowded?”
Mirabeau knew what he meant. This area of the mountains had been chosen for the rendezvous precisely because it was so remote, so isolated, so empty of humanity.
He looked at the other tree, the one where the man with the rifle crouched.
Or perhaps the rifleman was not a man at all, Mirabeau thought suddenly, as he took note of how the denim- clad hip he could see behind the tree curved. Though he had lived his entire life in Canada, he credited the blood of his French ancestors for giving him an appreciative eye for the female form.
The blue eyes and the blond curls stuffed under a flat-crowned hat just confirmed his suspicion. He and his companions were faced with an old man and a girl.
But even such as them could be dangerous.
“We will be on our way,” Mirabeau said. “Please forgive the intrusion.”
“Hold on just a dang minute,” the old-timer said. “Who are you fellas, and what are you doin’ out here in the middle o’ nowhere?”
“We could ask you the same,” Mirabeau pointed out, “but we did not.”
The old man ignored him and demanded, “Are you lookin’ for that varmint Palmer? Is he a friend o’ yours?”
Mirabeau shook his head. “I do not know anyone named Palmer.”
“Yeah, well, you’d probably lie about it if you did. That’d make you the same sort of thievin’ polecat he is.”
Suspicion suddenly reared up in Mirabeau’s mind. “This man Palmer is a thief?”
“Dang right he is!”
“And he is an American?”
“What else would he be?”
The response brought a faint smile to Mirabeau’s lips. So typical of the Americans to think without hesitation that they were the only ones occupying the continent. But despite their arrogance, they had their uses.
Such as providing the weapons that Mirabeau, the Marats, and the rest of the Metis so desperately needed if their plans were to succeed. It was possible this man Palmer was part of the group that was supposed to rendezvous with Joseph and Charlotte. If that was true, then these two were after him. Could the old-timer be an American lawman? Mirabeau couldn’t rule out that possibility.
That meant he and his friends couldn’t just ride away. They had to find out the truth. Nothing could be allowed to disrupt the plan. Not now. Not when they were so close to achieving their objective.
Even though Mirabeau’s thoughts were whirling madly in his brain, he didn’t allow that to show on his face. Instead he kept smiling and said, “I give you my word, we know nothing about the man you seek. We are innocent
