Flower flashed Hattie a rare smile. "That is not wisdom. How could a woman be anything but beautiful when she is doing what she is meant to do?"

Hattie snorted. "I've seen many women do what they were meant to do so many times that they were anything but beautiful," she said thinking of poor Elizabeth Wright on the wagon train. She wondered if the woman had reached her destination safely, or if hers was another of the many graves beside the trail somewhere.

With a shrug, Flower admitted the exceptions. "I still say you are beautiful,"

she said, as if there was to be no more argument. She tied off a lace and cut the dangling end. Holding up the joined skins, she said, "Stand up. I want to see if this will fit you."

A few measurements and she was back to joining another piece to the first two.

"This will be much better for you than that shirt," she said. "Buckskin is cool in summer, warm in winter, and it never gets dirty."

"That's what Emmet and Buffalo said, but I don't believe it. Why, look at Emmet's pa... uh, trousers. They're black as coal."

"Yes, but they are not 'dirty,' merely seasoned." Flower leaned closer and took hold of the fabric of Hattie's shirt. "Smell this," she said, pulling it up to where Hattie could.

It smelled of woodsmoke, of damp wool, of sweat, of sour milk, and even, faintly, of lilac. And underneath was a lingering moldy odor, the same smell that clung to the interior of the cabin. Hattie shrugged. "It smells like I've been wearing it for a few days." Which she had.

"Now smell this." Flower offered a shoulder, covered with rich tan buckskin.

Hattie could detect the same woodsmoke odor her shirt held, but nothing more than the sweet, clean scent of Flower's skin. She touched the leather. It was smooth, soft, and warm, like the human skin underneath it.

"I have worn this dress since before Silas and I left Lapwai," Flower said.

"I would never have guessed," Hattie admitted. She laughed. "I'm convinced. How soon will my new clothes be ready?"

"Tomorrow, if you do not mind your shirt being plain, with no pretty decoration."

"As long as it will cover me decently and doesn't smell, I'll take it any way I can get it," Hattie said, excited at the prospect. She hadn't had a new dress in ever so long.

"Walk with me," Emmet said to Hattie one evening when Ellen was about a month old. She had just finished tucking the baby into the padded box William had built for her at the foot of the lower bunk. Since Buffalo had built the bunk to fit his tall frame, there was still ample room for Hattie to stretch out.

Hattie pulled her coat over her shoulders but didn't slip her arms into it. The nights were still cold, even though the days were growing steadily warmer. She followed him out the door and along the path toward the river.

When they were among the cottonwoods, he finally spoke. "I'll be takin' off for a while," he said. "Silas and William can take care of things now that the cattle are nearby." With the coming of spring, there was no longer need for the cattle to be in the upstream valley. Plenty of forage was right at hand.

Not wanting to know but knowing she must, Hattie said, "Where... where are you going?" He'd sent Silas to the fort for supplies a couple of weeks back.

"I thought I'd see what's left of your goods," he said. "When I went back to look for the gold, I cleaned things up and left 'em all pretty well hid."

Hattie remembered his telling her of repacking Karl's scattered tools, of concealing everything he found under a pile of sagebrush branches. "Do you think there will be anything worth salvaging?"

"William's ears perked right up when I told him about those tools. He's done some woodworking and he thinks he can clean 'em up, no matter how badly rusted they are."

"Why isn't he going with you?" By now they were in her favorite part of the woods, a glade surrounded by enormous trees, carpeted with short, bright green grass. Hattie thought that if there were fairies in this harsh new land, this was where they would be.

Emmet seated himself on an enormous fallen limb. "I don't like leaving you women alone."

Hattie sat beside him. "What nonsense! Flower and I can take care of ourselves.

And we'd have Silas to help."

"I'm not takin' him and that's that." Emmet's tone said he'd not argue the topic. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

She waited. It was nice simply to be here, away from the cabin, where the only sounds were a whisper of wind and the rustle of new leaves in the trees above.

"You and Flower will be movin' to the fort after I get back. I've got something to do for Buff--I promised him just before he died--and I'll need William and Silas to help me."

Stunned, she stared at him.

"So while I'm gone after your goods, I want you to see that everything gets packed up. We'll not be comin' back here. And I'll need the mules to... to do what I have to do."

"But what... where are you going?"

"I'd just as soon not tell you. I don't want word to get to the folks at the fort, and if you don't know--you and Flower--you can't let it slip." He rubbed a hand across his chin. "What I'm going to do is go after a cache Buff left up yonder." He jerked his chin in the direction of the mountains to the north. "He told me to fetch it before he died. It's sort of an inheritance for you and Flower."

"Why do we have to go to the fort? Why can't we go with you?" Hattie found she was definitely uneasy about his leaving her at the fort. It would be too easy for him to never return, to trust that she would find a place on a train when they came through in late summer.

"Too dangerous," he said. "We'd have to leave the wagon here. And most of the goods."

"So what's wrong with that? Buffalo left most of his possessions here and they were never bothered. Goat Runner's people watched over the cabin; surely they would again."

"It won't do. You're goin' to the fort and I'm not listening to any argument about it."

"And I'm telling you I'm not," she snapped. "I don't care a whit about things.

But I do care about Silas and William. About you too, although I'll be blessed if I know why. And I'm not letting you three go off somewhere dangerous--you said it yourself--without us." She clenched her hands, wanting to clutch him, to hold him. "I've kind of gotten used to having you around." She was too proud to beg, but a part of her wanted to plead that he stay with her.

He took her hands in his own. "You knew I'd be leavin', someday."

Nodding, she said, "I've never forgotten that for a single minute. But until you do leave me, I want you to stay with me. I'm not afraid...." And she wasn't, not of being left alone. "I'm really not afraid, but what if something happened to you? I don't think I could bear it if you just never came back. I'd never know... I'd just never...." She couldn't go on.

Why had she come to care for him like this? Had she not learned, from all the others? "Emmet, once you go, go for good. But until that day, I'm not letting you go off alone again."

If she had begged him to stay, he would have gone. But her concern--he could see that she really meant it when she said she'd worry--very nearly unmanned him.

No one had ever worried over Emmet Lachlan before.

"It'll be rough," he warned. "We'll have to leave the wagon here, and most of your things."

"I've walked before," she reminded him. "I can do it again."

"What about Ellen?" He felt himself wavering, knowing he just wanted to be convinced.

"Women have carried their babies wherever they went for a long time. I'll manage."

"I believe you will." He stood and turned his back on her.Hell and damnation! If he and William went up there to get that gold, they'd be back in a week or less.

If he dragged Hattie and Flower along, they'd take forever.

He wanted to be on the trail by early June. The passes would be open, there'd be plenty of feed for the oxen, and the waterholes would be full. Emmet felt a pang when he thought of saying farewell to Hattie and the rest at Fort Vancouver. He had chafed at feeling responsibility for these people, but he had also come to care for them.

As much as he could care for anyone.

"We'll leave in a week. Sort out your things. What we can't take on the oxen, we'll store in the cave behind the cabin. We'll give the mules to Goat Runner."

"But won't we need them?"

"We'll need the oxen more. We can buy more mules at Fort Vancouver if you need 'em."

"But...."

"If you're goin' to argue with everything I tell you, it'll take us a month just to get goin'. And I'm not waiting that long."

She closed her mouth, but he could see she still had plenty to say. The thing was, she'd learned he wasn't to be fooled with, so she'd hold onto her arguments until she figured she could win.

He liked that better in a woman than whining and nagging.

They began their preparations the next morning. Emmet showed William how to set up a fire for smoking the salmon that had just begun appearing in the river. Red meat would be easily come by up in the gold basin, but he had his mouth set for salmon.

Once he saw that everything was going well, he took off for the Crossing. He made good time, traveling alone and unburdened. Hattie's goods were undisturbed, not surprising since there was little traffic along the trail during the winter.

He loaded all of her husband's tools--rusty but surely salvageable--and the few books he found onto the backs on the mules. There was a large tin of gunpowder and a bag of shot that he'd somehow overlooked. He took that as well, hoping he wouldn't find a use for it.

They were almost ready to go when he returned. The natural cave concealed behind the cabin was filled with the winter's take of skins and Hattie's precious store of seeds and cuttings. Emmet doubted the cuttings would be worth anything when they finally reached their destination, but Hattie insisted they would sprout as soon as they got sunlight and water. He added the tools and books to the cache, wondering how long it would be before someone returned for them.

Finally everything was ready. Each ox wore a pair of loaded rawhide panniers across his back. Emmet still refused to tell the others why they were taking the oxen rather than the mules. What they didn't know, they couldn't tell, if there was anyone to tell. His horse carried a large canvas sack of supplies tied across its saddle. Even Dawg wore a pack, a small bundle of William's meager possessions. Emmet had decreed that none of them would carry anything but their guns or, in William's case, the long, iron-tipped spear he'd fashioned.

Goat Runner had readily agreed that two mules were ample payment for keeping watch on the cabin. He warned Emmet that the renegade band had struck a Paiute village down by Swan Falls just a few days earlier. They had taken food and women, killing the children and the men. For the first time Emmet was glad he'd given in to Hattie's plea. She might be far safer with him than at Fort Boise.

They left the cabin on an overcast morning that Emmet figured was the fourteenth day of May. Their preparations had taken far less time than he'd anticipated.

Both Hattie and Flower knew how to sort and pack. He figured it would take them the better part of a week to work their way upstream to Buff's basin. Figure no more than a week to fill the saddlebags, and he could still be at Fort Vancouver by the middle of August.

Free once again.

"Shhh." Hattie soothed Ellen who had been cranky all day. The baby suckled a few seconds, then again turned her face away and whimpered. "Hush, child. Hush." She hummed a wordless melody, softly so as not to bother her sleeping companions.

Until today, Ellen had been an ideal child, rarely fussing unless she was hungry or soiled. But this was the first time she'd spent the whole day in the cradleboard, for Hattie had much preferred to hold her in her arms whenever possible. Again she took the breast and again gave it up after a few tugs.

Hattie wanted to cry. She was so tired--walking all day last summer had been something she'd grown used to gradually. Now her feet were sore and her back ached. A winter's relative inactivity was taking its toll.

Ellen struggled in her arms. Her whimpers turned into wails and nothing Hattie could do would silence her.

"Give her to me," Emmet said, appearing suddenly at her shoulder. Hattie had thought he was sleeping on the other side of the fire.

Hattie had, from the first, been careful to avoid any appearance of expecting Emmet's help with the baby. She had been grateful when, on the rare occasion, he had taken her while Hattie prepared supper or spent a carefree half-hour in Buffalo's bathtub. But whenever she needed help, she'd gone to Flower or Silas, or even William. Emmet must never think she depended on him as she would on her child's father.

He was doing far more for her than he had ever bargained for as it was.

As soon as he had hold of Ellen, Emmet unwrapped her. Hattie voiced a wordless protest until she saw how the baby quieted once her legs were free to kick, her arms to pump. Although the sliver of moon did little to light the narrow canyon in which they were camped, Hattie's eyes were well adjusted to the dark. She watched in amazement as Emmet lowered himself to sit on a big rock beside the embers of their cookfire. He laid Ellen across his lap where she wriggled and waved her hands and feet.

"How'd you feel to be tied up in a blanket all day?" Emmet said, his grin bright in his shadowed face.

"Awful," Hattie admitted, "But I never thought...." She yawned.

"Why don't you get some sleep? It's my watch. I'll take care of her." He kept his eyes on Ellen, happily squirming across his knees.

Hattie was suddenly aware that she hadn't covered herself after Ellen's last rejection of her breast. Quickly she pulled the buckskin shirt closed. "But...."

"But nothin'. I'm due for another hour's watch. She'll keep me company." He stood, holding Ellen across his forearm, her little bottom wedged firmly against his hip.

If Hattie didn't know better, she'd think he'd carried babies that way before.

Again she yawned. "If you're sure."

"I'm dead certain. Go to sleep."

Gratefully she did just that.

Ellen was tucked into her bed the next morning, but Hattie didn't remember her getting there.

Damn but she was gettin' to him! Emmet tightened the cinch and let the stirrup fall. Last night he'd come as close to losing the steel control he kept over his need as he'd been since the night he'd first seen her.

He could have her now. She no longer carried another man's child, and she was nursing, so she wasn't likely to catch. But he would not take the chance. Emmet might be able to walk away from every other kind of responsibility, but there was one thing he'd never do, no matter what it cost him. He'd never walk away from a child of his own.

Hattie walked across his field of view, loading panniers with her things and the baby's. She moved with easy grace, her stride long and free, her body swaying naturally. Her beauty was much more evident in the soft, pale buckskins than in the dark calicos she'd worn on the wagon train or the equally drab men's clothing she'd worn all winter. Emmet was finding it next to impossible to keep his hands off her.

He checked the panniers on Hercules. "You all about ready?" he called.

"Yo!" Silas said, parsimonious with words as always.

"Jest about, Mist' Em," William agreed from where he was strapping similar bags across the backs of Baldur and Hero.

Within minutes they were on the trail again. Emmet led, winding his way along the creek's edge. They had left the valley of the Boise two days ago, entering the foothills by way of the canyon behind the Indian village. The climb to the first ridge had been hard on Hattie, but she had not complained.

She would not, Emmet realized, no matter how rough the going got. He knew she must be feeling the strain of travel far more than the others. She refused to allow anyone else to carry Ellen's cradleboard, had even kept walking when the baby demanded to be fed late this morning. He'd strode close beside her, keeping a hand on her elbow so she wouldn't stumble.

They came to the mouth of the canyon they had followed down from the ridge late the afternoon of their third day on the trail. It opened into another, wider canyon where the creek they'd been walking along joined the swiftly flowing water of a larger one. Emmet scouted upstream a ways, until he was satisfied that this was the drainage indicated on Buff's map. "We'll camp here," he told the others when he returned.

When Hattie moved to help Flower prepare supper, Emmet stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "You sit," he said. "Tend to Ellen. We'll take care of everything."

She nodded, gratefully, he thought. When William brought the bearskin robe and spread it on the sandy ground, she removed the baby from her cradleboard and laid her, uncovered, on the dark fur. Ellen immediately began kicking and threshing, as if she were shaking the kinks out.