«Why?»
«An old trapper told me it was to warn off other males. If a wandering male couldn’t measure up to the resident claw marks, he just put on his best behavior and drifted to new territory.»
Shannon looked at the claw marks and tried not to think about the size and power of the grizzly bear that had left its sign so high in the tree.
«From the looks of those marks,» Whip added, «there’s a fair-sized grizzly that stakes his claim here in the summer.»
Instinctively Shannon’s fingers went to the saddle scabbard. The shotgun’s cool stock reassured her. The weapon was loaded, needing only to be cocked before it was ready to fire.
«Don’t worry,» Whip said without looking at Shannon. «It’s early for bears at this altitude.»
«Maybe. After the mule was killed, Silent John told me bears are notional creatures. Like Indians. They do or don’t do according to their own whims. And a female with cubs is pure poison. You see one and you go the other direction. Quick.»
Shannon looked away from the forest and smiled oddly at Whip.
«I think that was the most words Silent John ever spoke to me all at once,» she said. «It was his way of telling me how important the information was.»
The thought that Shannon had been so essentially alone for the past seven years troubled Whip. It made him feel like he was scheming to steal candy from a baby instead of planning to share mutual pleasure with a widow who understood what passed between men and women.
«Don’t worry,» Whip said tightly. «Those claw marks aren’t fresh. Anyway, most of the time bears want nothing to do with men, except to steal food if you’re fool enough to leave some lying around where you’re sleeping.»
Despite his reassuring words, Whip kept checking the back trail, as well as both sides of the vague track that led to the high claim.
As Silent John had warned, bears were notional creatures.
Whip saw nothing for his efforts but the untamed beauty of the country itself. It was a place of jagged stone crowns thrust up to the clean wind, of high green divides, and of quaking aspens whispering among themselves while thunderstorms stalked the skyline on stilts made of lightning.
«Can’t you get more speed out of the mule?» Whip asked after a long time of silence.
«I’ll try.»
«There will be sleet before long.»
«Hail, more than likely,» Shannon said. «Those are mean-looking clouds the wind is pushing toward us.»
She urged Razorback to a quicker pace. The mule didn’t object much. It, too, had smelled the raw edge of ice on the wind.
Once in the meadow, Whip and Shannon went about making camp as quickly as possible. While she picketed her old mule and Whip’s horse, he took the packhorse he had named Crowbait to the south edge of the meadow. There among the trees was a burned ring where Silent John had camped from time to time.
But not recently.
«How did you know this was the most sheltered campsite?» Shannon asked, coming up behind Whip.
«I’ve been here before.»
«When?»
«When I was looking for signs that Silent John was still in the area.»
«And?» she asked tightly, afraid that Whip might have discovered proof of Silent John’s death.
«No new sign. Not then. Not now. Near as I could tell, no one has been here but me, and I left damn few tracks.»
«Did you get up to Rifle Sight?»
«Yes.»
Shannon’s eyes widened. «Was there any sign of Silent John?»
«Nothing fresh. A broken pickax. A tin can filled with paraffin and sporting a tail of rag for a wick. The rag hadn’t been burned at all. The charcoal had been scattered by wind. There were signs of avalanche and a rock slide old enough to have wildflowers growing in the cracks.»
Shannon swallowed and tried very hard not to think of Silent John buried beneath the rubble.
«What about the Chute?» Shannon asked.
«If it’s over that ridge and off a bit to the north —» Whip began, pointing.
«It is.»
«— then it’s still buried in snow. Anyone there is buried, too. There are a few other places someone has been digging, but they’re up the north fork and don’t show any signs of recent —»
«Why didn’t you tell me?» Shannon interrupted.
«That I was looking for Silent John?»
Shannon nodded curtly.
«You weren’t talking to me then,» Whip said, his voice dry.
«Then why were you looking?»
«Because I don’t hold with adultery.»
The blunt words weren’t what Shannon had expected. She didn’t think of herself and Silent John in those terms, because it hadn’t been a real marriage.
Whip turned and faced Shannon fully. He looked very large to her with his broad shoulders and heavy wool coat and his collar lifted to turn the wind. But it was his eyes that held her. His eyes were as untamed as the sky.
«More than once in those first few days,» Whip said, «I tried to ride off and keep on riding. But I wanted you too much to keep my hands in my pockets.»
«You’ve done a fine job of overcoming that,» Shannon said ironically. «I’m proud of you.»
«You’re proud, period.» Whip smiled a slow, off-center smile. «I like that, Shannon. Gives you sass and vinegar to go with all the honey and cream.»
Abruptly Shannon turned her back and found something to do. She was no longer able to meet the sensual knowledge in Whip’s eyes without putting her arms around his neck and begging for a kiss that would never end.
Not until camp was secure and a cold supper had been eaten did Shannon say anything to Whip again. She hadn’t meant to speak at all, but lightning struck and thunder pounded and then hail started hammering down.
Quickly Whip pulled Shannon beneath the tarpaulin he had drawn over himself when he realized how fast and furious the storm would be. With a few deft, powerful motions, he seated Shannon between his drawn-up knees with her back to his chest.
«Pull your knees up or else your feet will get hammered,» Whip said.
Shannon was drawing up her knees even before Whip spoke. Beneath the canvas it was like a sheltered golden dusk, except for the times when the wind tugged some of the tarpaulin out of Whip’s fingers or lightning burned so brightly that it turned the world white for a few instants.
«Hang on to this,» Whip said.
With her right hand, Shannon grabbed the corner of cold, stiff canvas he was holding out to her.
«And this,» he said.
The fingers of her left hand closed around the second bunch of tarpaulin Whip gave her.
«Got them?» he asked.
«Yes.»
«Good. Whatever you do, don’t let go, or we’ll get the coldest bath you’ve ever taken.»
Shannon nodded.
The motion knocked her hat askew. Instinctively she reached up to right the hat. A blast of ice-tipped air swept beneath the tarpaulin. Quickly she dragged her hand — and the cloth — back into place on the ground.
«Sorry,» she muttered. «My hat.»
«Come back more toward me.»
