''Yes, that way we can pretend you don't think I'm an idiot.'
Kier took a line, tied it around himself, then braced against a boulder. With considerable effort, she was able to keep her feet against the rock as she walked backward, going hand over hand down the rope.
Kier, in a hurry and having no good place to tie the line, opted for sliding down the rock variously on his feet and butt.
'You could have broken your leg,' she said when he rose stiffly.
He shrugged and started down the watercourse. Still flowing in the middle of its bed, the water cleared the snow and made it possible to walk and leave no track. By following the stream, they could travel downhill to the cabin without leaving any sign. Their hunters might circle the entire mountain and never discover their path.
Tillman squatted alone in the gray light of early morning, studying Kier's footprints. The track led across the bottom of the chasm and disappeared into the head of the avalanche.
Having spotted the prints from the knife-edged ridge above, his men had concluded that they ought to bring in hounds to search the three-quarter-mile-long path of mountain rubble and snow in an attempt to find the bodies.
But before his men arrived, the mountain had told Tillman something was amiss. Scrutinizing the far wall of the chasm, he saw, in the blotchy pattern of white on greenish-gray rock, tiny points and ledges, some no wider than a postage stamp, that lacked the expected dusting of snow.
If Kier climbed the wall, what did he do with the woman? It was a certainty in Tillman's mind that Jessie Mayfield had not scaled the wall either before or after Kier. Not enough snow had been disturbed, even if he assumed that Kier climbed to the top and hoisted her up on a rope. Then he focused on the pine in front of the cave perhaps eighty feet over his head. It would be gutsy, but maybe Kier had strung a line and pulled her across. And if he did, they both went in the cave. Limestone mountains were notorious for caverns and the rock formation he now contemplated was geologically suitable. His research had indicated a network of caverns in this area.
If the cave above were an entrance to those caverns, the tracking would be greatly slowed. Tillman ground his teeth.
Putting men inside the cavern would only give Kier an incredible advantage. Tracking on the stone passageways would be useless. Kier probably had a map of sorts in his head, whereas neither Tillman nor his men would have a clue as to their whereabouts. The Indian would slaughter them.
Iron Mountain was a long ridge with a high spot rising as a summit. Other ridges intersected. Finding where Kier and Jessie might emerge would be time consuming. He would break the men into pairs and have them move fast, looking for any track. If Tillman were Kier, he would emerge from the caverns near a stream that could be followed downhill to avoid leaving sign in the snow. He would instruct his men accordingly.
He considered bringing Doyle up from the Donahue house, but he needed Doyle to lead the next group in. He would summon Doyle when he was closer to trapping Kier. Without further deliberation, Tillman knew to follow his instincts and halt any search of the avalanche. He radioed an alert to watch for tracks on the slopes of Iron Mountain. And he assigned no fewer than two men to search each creek.
Jessie celebrated seeing the cabin with her first smile in hours. They approached the place tentatively, as if it were too good to be true. It was small, she supposed twelve feet wide and perhaps twenty feet long. The peeled logs of its walls were caulked with a black substance in neat horizontal lines that emphasized the uniformity of the cabin's construction. The roof consisted of wooden shingles that still had the color of new straw. Through the roof at one end protruded a rock chimney shaped in a perfect rectangle.
Nestled as it was under the trees and close to a sheer drop, the cabin remained invisible from any direction unless one were within a hundred feet-except perhaps to someone with powerful binoculars on a faraway mountain. Directly in front of the cabin's covered porch, within a stone's throw, a waterfall cascaded into a small pool. Down fifty paces, the stream disappeared over another bluff. The setting was idyllic, and on a sunny, clear day, the view from the front porch would be inspiring to the point of rapture.
Suddenly it struck her that this was not an Indian design. There was nothing Indian about it.
'It's beautiful, but isn't this a white man's design?'
Kier's look told her that he was pleased with the observation. 'Yes, that's right. But it's built only of natural materials found on this mountain. Except the windows… they were a real compromise. We do use other people's ideas.'
Kier did not even try to open the door. Instead, he crawled under the cabin, which sat on a stone foundation. After he disappeared for a moment, she heard a clunking sound, as if he were pounding with a rock on wood. Shortly there was a clattering, as if something had been knocked loose.
'Door is fastened at the bottom, so it can't be opened unless you first release a catch.'
The door was made of several layers of criss-crossed, rough-hewn boards and once released, it would not open without a hefty push. In lieu of hinges, the door was fastened to the wall by leather, which she took to be rawhide of some sort.
'My friend's bride is half Cherokee, but grew up in suburbia,'' he said as he walked in. ''She wanted a miniature English cottage. This was a toughly negotiated compromise. My friend and I wanted a miniature Chumash longhouse. But she's an architect, and she designed the cabin.'
Something about this revelation made Jessie smile broadly. Kier suddenly seemed more accommodating, a man among men, not an Indian among white people. And for some reason, at this particular moment, he looked unusually desirable. It hit her hard, like a wave that gathers force as it breaks on a steep beach. Overcome with her sudden attraction to him, she consciously stifled the feeling.
'So they're going to live here for the summer?'
'Well, a month, anyway. Then they're flying to Hawaii for a couple of weeks.'
Sitting on the wooden bed platform, Jessie began to muse. She didn't know why, exactly, but after a moment she laughed. When she glanced at Kier, he seemed utterly puzzled.
'It's just so… so very American. I mean, two weeks in Hawaii, an architect, a cute little dollhouse, a cabin that you two slaved to build. It's so… sweet.'
She then realized he was studying her. 'Well?' She wondered what was going on behind those dark eyes.
'You seem to like the idea,' he replied.
To give herself time to think, she turned around and studied the room. Nearest her was a built-in double bed without a mattress, and next to it a simple table with two chairs that reminded her of Amish tastes and methods. Some containers for water that looked to be made of skins hung from the overhead beams. A lovely, rustic-looking cabinet stood against the wall. Its open face had been made from a slice off a log, complete with the bark. A couple of lanterns hung from the rafters, and two fat, wax-bearded yellow candles sat in the middle of the table. A small chest of drawers had been hauled in, and various pegs protruded from the wall for hanging clothes.
When the reality of their situation came rushing back, she felt foolish for allowing herself to be occupied with such trivial distractions. 'I can't believe we're discussing this when we could easily be dead in thirty minutes. Where's the food?'
'Just a short way down the creek is the beaver pond.'
'Let's go get it.'
''Would you like to stay here?''
'No,' she shot back, determined to do her share.
'You can help carry the food back.'
''Whatever you do, I do.' She said it before she could ponder what she was getting herself into.
On his way out, Kier snatched some leather squares from a peg. There was something vaguely familiar about them, but she couldn't place it.
The short walk turned out to be a brisk, fifteen-minute hike down a steep path made slick by the misty rain. The clouds had come down all around them cloaking the land, making a hazy gray of every vista. Kier announced that when they returned, they would be able to build a fire because the smoke would be invisible. For that she was grateful. If not for the gut-wrenching hunger, she would have chosen fire and sleep immediately.
At the beaver pond, Kier moved to a tree and, to her surprise, began stripping off his clothes. From his large pack she saw him pull the leather squares she had seen earlier. It was a loincloth. He hadn't worn one before and
