After breakfast, he continued on along the path, following the river. It became more and more narrow as he moved up into the foothills, which were thick with fir and pines. Pretty soon, this river ain’t gonna be much more than a stream, he thought. Another quarter of a mile found him on a much steeper climb and there were no longer any tracks to be seen. The path he followed ended abruptly at a fork where two streams joined to form the river that had led him to this point. Looking up the steep mountainside before him, he could see no sign that anyone had tried to ride up it. And five riders, leading packhorses—and one mule—could hardly have gone up the mountain without leaving an obvious trail. They had managed to lose him, that much was certain, so he turned around and began backtracking, hoping to find some sign. Most of the rest of the day was spent riding up one ravine after another, searching for some sign of the five killers. It was as if they had just disappeared. Certain that wasn’t possible, he decided he’d search every canyon, stream, and ravine until he cut sign again.

The place he chose to set up his camp was in a narrow canyon between two mountains, divided by a rapidly flowing stream about twenty yards wide. Earlier in the day, when riding up the canyon, he had discovered numerous deer tracks along the stream, telling him the trail he found was a popular crossing, so he decided to make his camp about seventy-five yards upstream from the spot. Seeing what appeared to be a small clearing in the heavily forested hillside a little way up the slope, he led Rascal up through the trees and found a perfect spot for his camp. The clearing afforded a little grass for his horse, and the trees around the clearing would make it difficult to see smoke from his campfire. If it really turned out to be the perfect spot, maybe he might get a deer at that crossing in the morning. He didn’t like to take time out to hunt, but he was getting low on meat.

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 7