“One is quieter than two.” Nate slid down and held the bay’s reins for Maklin to take.
“It should be me. I don’t have a wife and kids.”
Nate whispered back, “You don’t fool me anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Not now.” Nate nodded toward the fire. “Whatever happens, stay with the horses. We can’t afford to lose them.”
“I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have a wife and kids, true, but I know Pawnee,” Nate explained. He didn’t mention that he knew very little.
Pines reared in darkling ranks. The brush was thick and dry. Nate placed each moccasin as lightly as he could. Bent low, he stalked to within earshot.
They were there, all eleven Nate had previously counted, hunkered around the small fire, talking in low tones. Kuruk was doing most of the talking. Only a few words reached Nate clearly and they were not enough to give him any idea of what the Pawnees were discussing.
Nate raised the Hawken. Kuruk was the key. Kuruk’s hate had brought the rest. Were Kuruk to die they might decide to return to their village. Nate sighted down the barrel. He couldn’t see the bead at the end, but he was sure he could hit Kuruk square in the chest and that should do the job.
Unexpectedly, a Pawnee rose and came toward the pines. He was scratching himself, down low. He came directly toward the spot where Nate was crouched and said something over his shoulder that caused some of the others to laugh.
Nate froze. He was far enough from the fire that he should be invisible. The warrior came closer and closer until he stopped barely ten feet away and hitched at his buckskins. Nate heard the splatter and smelled urine. He didn’t so much as blink.
The warrior let out an “Ahhhhh.” He said something to the others and they laughed again. Then he was done and turning and his face rose until he was staring right at Nate.
Nate held his breath. It would take exceptional eyesight to spot him.
The Pawnee paused. He bent forward and his hand rose to a knife on his hip. For fully half a minute he peered into the dark. At last he straightened and took his hand off the knife hilt and headed back to the fire.
Nate exhaled. That had been close. Quickly he took aim again only to find that the warrior was between him and Kuruk; he didn’t have a clear shot. He raised his cheek from the stock, waiting for the warrior to sit back down. But the warrior didn’t. Instead, he stopped and quietly said a few words, and the next moment they were all grabbing weapons and scrambling to their feet.
Nate whirled and ran.
Howling like wolves, the Pawnees were after him. Several had yanked burning brands from the fire and held them over their heads. The combined light was enough that one of them pointed and yelled to his companions.
Pumping his legs, Nate churned up the slope. The brush tore at him. Tree branches threatened to gouge his eyes. He had gone ten yards when he realized the mistake he was making and veered away from the horses and the Texan.
The Pawnees were in full throat, screeching and yipping and brandishing their bows and lances.
An arrow buzzed past Nate’s ear. He dodged around a pine. Weaving, he ran harder. Another shaft thudded into a tree. He came to a flat stretch and poured on the speed only to be confronted by a dense thicket. Without hesitation he plunged in, lowering his head and throwing an arm in front of his face to protect his face and throat. He went eight or nine steps and stopped.
On both sides the thicket crackled and rustled to the passage of Pawnees. They had lost sight of him, but they knew he was in there somewhere. Kuruk barked commands.
Nate hunkered low. It was dark enough that a warrior could pass within a few feet and not spot him. So long as none of them ran smack into him, he might escape detection.
Then Kuruk switched to English. “I know you are in here, Grizzly Killer. I am not a fool. We will find you and we will kill you.”
Nate peered through the thicket, hoping for a shot.
“How did you find us? We have been most careful in covering our tracks, as you whites would say.”
Nate didn’t take the bait. He stayed silent. Feet moved stealthily to his right. Legs appeared to his left. The warriors were so close he could practically reach out and touch them. They went on by.
Another warrior said something in Pawnee. Kuruk, forgetting himself, started to answer in English with, “He has to be. We would have heard him if—” Kuruk switched to Pawnee.
Nate raised his head. No one was near him. He was about to get out of there when the thicket parted and in front of him reared a warrior he hadn’t noticed.
The Pawnee uttered a sharp cry and raised a lance.
Nate shot him. He hiked the Hawken and fired. The muzzle flash lit the warrior’s painted face and betrayed his surprise at being shot through the heart. Heaving erect, Nate bolted. He burst out of the thicket and flew. A lance missed his shoulder. An arrow nicked the eagle feather in his hair.
After him came the Pawnees, yelling their war cries.
Kuruk bellowed something.
Nate considered himself to be fairly fleet of foot, but two of the Pawnees were as fast if not faster. A glance showed them hard after him and gaining. Neither let a shaft fly; evidently they intended to take him alive. Kuruk’s doing, Nate suspected. Kuruk wanted to stake him out and torture him.
Nate tried to shake them. He cut back and forth at right angles. He weaved among benighted boles. The Pawnees not only kept up; they continued to gain. One of them called out to those behind.
Nate had lost his sense of direction. He wasn’t sure which way he was running. He turned right.
From out of nowhere a warrior appeared. The man had a tomahawk and the instant he saw Nate, he raised it to cleave Nate’s skull. In the span of a heartbeat Nate had a flintlock out. He fired and sidestepped as the tomahawk descended. Another second and he was in the clear while the warrior flopped and gurgled. He jammed the spent pistol under his belt and sprinted full out.
Kuruk was shouting again, sounding beside himself.
Nate ran. He was growing winded, but he could last a good while yet. He nearly tripped over a log. A boulder almost broke both legs. He took two more bounds and suddenly he was falling. He had gone over a bank. It was a short drop, but he hit hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Tumbling, he wound up in high grass. He lay there catching his breath while around him the night was broken by yells and the beat of moccasin-clad feet.
They had lost him again. They were searching, roving from side to side. A figure appeared on top of the bank. It was Kuruk, overseeing the hunt.
Nate felt at his waist for the other flintlock. He wrapped his fingers around the wood and went to tug it free.
Almost at his elbow another figure materialized. The Pawnee was staring ahead, not at the ground, and went by in a rush.
Nate looked at the bank. Kuruk was gone. Nate stayed where he was while the sounds of pursuit faded. The Pawnees had gone on down the mountain. For the moment he was safe. Or was he? Nate wouldn’t put it past the wily Kuruk to be lurking close by in the hope Nate would give himself away. Silently, Nate made it to his knees. Silently and slowly, he stood.
No outcries split the night.
Nate sought the North Star. It would tell him where he was. By his reckoning, the Texan and the horses were to the northeast. After all the running he had done, the climb taxed him. He skirted the Pawnee camp and would have kept on climbing had one of the Pawnee horses not nickered. A brainstorm struck, and he quickly wheeled. Every animal had been hobbled so it couldn’t stray off. Drawing his bowie knife, Nate cut the first hobble and then the second. Once they were all free he would spook them and leave the Pawnees stranded afoot.
Nate moved to the third horse. He bent, and saved his life. A lance speared the space where his chest had been. He spun as a warrior sprang. A knife sought his neck. He grabbed the Pawnee’s wrist and the Pawnee gripped his. Locked together, they struggled furiously, each seeking to wrest loose and stab the other. The Pawnee was shorter, but he was broad at the shoulders and immensely strong. For long seconds the outcome hung in the balance. Then the unforeseen occurred; Nate blundered into the fire. He felt intense heat. Searing pain shot up his
