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“Keep low and stay behind me,” Alex cautioned the inexperienced Yancey, and led the way back to his hiding place behind several downed lodgepoles. He dropped to the ground and leaned his back against a log, motioning to the greenhorn to do the same.
“When do we attack?” Yancey whispered almost eagerly.
“We don’t.” Alex emphasized the word we in his quiet reply. “You’re gonna keep your sorry hide right here.”
“I’ve heard that the Indians call you Shadow Walker because you’re known to attack when they least expect it, but you can’t go against all those savages on your own,” Yancey protested.
Alex inhaled a deep breath and clenched his jaw. If he had any sense at all, he’d have followed through with his threat and slit the greenhorn’s throat a few minutes ago and been done with him. Memories of his first year in the mountains pushed to the forefront of his mind. Over the years, he had gained a reputation as a fierce fighter when his life or the life of one of his companions was threatened. Thanks to the man he considered to be his mentor, he was also an excellent tracker and marksman. But hadn’t he been the same stupid youth six years ago? Eager to prove that he had what it took to be a mountain man, he hadn’t listened to the more experienced trappers any more than Yancey was listening to him now.
A twig snapped in the darkness just beyond Alex’s hiding place, and he tensed instantly.
“Wha—”
Alex clamped a hand over Yancey’s mouth before the fool could finish his word, and cursed silently. Slowly, he reached for his rifle. Another twig snapped softly, this time only a few feet from his hiding place. Alex inhaled a deep breath, waited another five seconds that felt like an eternity, then sprang to his feet and swung the butt end of his rifle like a club through the air. With a dull crack, it connected with the solid form of a man’s head. Dropping like a felled log, Alex’s adversary hit the ground.
“Sweet Jesus,” Yancey gasped. “What was that?”
“Unless you plan to go under tonight, you’ll do what you’re told and stay put,” Alex growled, then leapt lightly over the log he’d been crouched behind for the last several hours. It was time to steal his horses back before the sentry was missed.
****
Evelyn swayed precariously on the back of the horse she’d sat on since before dawn. Her head pounded fiercely, and she thought for sure her skull would split in half at any moment. Her limbs felt about as heavy as lead anchors, and trying to focus her vision on anything became impossible. This morning was no different than all the others she had endured since that fateful night on the boat. The six mountain men had killed not only her brother, but all the rivermen on board, then brought the vessel to a halt at the riverbank.
Two more men had shown up at dawn with horses and mules. This raid had obviously been well planned out. After unloading much of the cargo from the boat onto the animals’ backs, they had set off away from the river, heading west. The forest around them was dense and often so heavily overgrown with underbrush, that traveling became nearly impossible in places. After only an hour, Evelyn had become hopelessly disoriented.
The idea of escaping her captors occurred to her every day, but she was never allowed a moment’s privacy. Laurent watched over her like a hawk, telling the other men in no uncertain terms that she was his prize, and that he would kill anyone who tried to come near her. At night, he tied her wrists to his own, and she was forced to sleep pressed up against him. On the first night, she had lain awake with fear, wondering when he would take liberties with her, but not once had he touched her in ways that were inappropriate.
While a small part of her had been glad that Laurent kept those other wretched men away from her, he had made it quite clear what would happen to her when they arrived at a place they called the rendezvous, whatever that was. It sounded like a gathering of some sort. The packhorses and mules were laden with the goods they’d stolen from the boat and would use in trade, and she was apparently the most profitable commodity.
One day had blurred into another as they trekked through the mountains. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d washed her face, much less the rest of her body, and her hair hung in limp strands down her back and past her shoulders. Laurent and the others no longer smelled bad, probably because she herself stank as much as they did.
The horse underneath her suddenly stopped, and Evelyn slowly lifted her head. She forced her heavy eyelids open, and tried to focus on her surroundings. Snow-capped mountain peaks rose in the far-off distance. The shouts and laughter of men, the barking of dogs, and horses’ whinnies all mingled into one distant echo. Spread out before her as far as she could see were countless tents of all shapes and sizes, along with makeshift structures made from logs and tree branches and covered with hides. Campfires crackled everywhere, enveloping the small valley in a cloudy haze. Several deer carcasses in various stages of butchering hung upside down from wooden racks, and the distinct smell of whiskey blended with the countless other unpleasant odors wafting through the air. White men dressed in buckskins and furs mingled with Indians who wore not much more than loincloths. Evelyn lowered her head again. No doubt they had arrived at their destination, and her horrible fate awaited her shortly.
