“I swear,” Harley offered, “she got farther than I thought she would.” He was breathing heavily from his efforts to catch up to the deer and his younger friend. “Fine shot, though,” he continued as he walked up beside Cole and peered down at the doe. “Right behind her front leg—you’re gettin’ pretty good with that bow. I reckon that’s what you were aimin’ at, tryin’ for a lung shot.”

Cole snorted, amused. “Hell, I was just aimin’ at the deer. It just happened to hit her there.”

Harley snorted in reply, knowing Cole had hit the deer exactly where he had aimed. His young friend seemed to be handy with just about any kind of weapon, so Harley had not been surprised by the short time required for him to become quite efficient with a bow. Cole had deemed it important to learn to use the weapon since money for .44 cartridges was not in great supply.

“I reckon we’ll butcher it and smoke it and pack it if we’ve got any more room on the horses to tote it,” Harley said. “If we run up on any more deer, we’re liable to have to train some of ’em to use as packhorses to tote the rest of the meat.” He paused to chuckle at the thought of it. “I reckon old Medicine Bear will be surprised to see us show up with all the meat we’ve cured—happy, too. He ain’t lookin’ for us to come back before spring.”

“Reckon so.” Cole had not planned to return to the Crow village on the Laramie River before spring, and maybe not until summer, depending on how he felt. The time he and Harley had spent in the mountains had served to entice him to push on to explore the ranges beyond the Bighorns. It was a period in his life when he needed to find a peace in his soul, and the high snowy peaks seemed to speak to him. There were things he would like to forget, and people he would always remember. The solitude of the Rocky Mountain ridges and valleys came to him as a place to heal. But as winter deepened, he realized that Harley was past the point when the mountains spoke to him. Cole owed a great deal to the short, bowlegged little man the Crow people affectionately called Thunder Mouse. Harley had come along at a time when Cole needed someone who knew the country and would stand with him when the going got rough.

Although Harley never complained about the rough dwelling they had fashioned at the bottom of a long narrow ravine, Cole decided to pull out of the snowy Bighorns and take Harley back to a warm tipi. “This oughta just about do it,” he said, nodding toward the carcass. “We’ll start back in the mornin’.”