"Wouldn't have done us much good to stick around. We was clumsy as all get out and likely to wake 'em all up with our blunderin'." Silas sat on the ground and rubbed at his ankles. "Damn," he said, "this is wore than bein' frostbit."

"He'll be along, Miz Hattie. Don't you worry none. Mist' Em, he's a smart old coon."

Despite her fear for Emmet and Flower, she had to smile. Every so often William sounded so much like Buffalo, whom he'd admired greatly.

She had no water to give them, but there was still some of the dried beef and a couple of biscuits.

"They done kilt your ox, Miz Hattie," William said, licking his fingers. "An' et him."

"Didn't give us none, either," Silas said. "Didn't turn us loose for anything."

That explained the smell. Hattie tried to imagine how she would cope with her body's natural functions when she could not tend to herself and failed, shuddering. It must have been horrible.

"One of us should keep watch," she said, after they'd finished the meager meal.

"Just in case."

Silas picked up the rifle. "I'll go," he said. "You can relieve me in an hour,"

he told William when the big fellow started to argue. "I sure wish they hadn't killed Dawg."

"He done his best, Miz Hattie," William whispered as the boy disappeared. "He tryin' to protect us and that big white bassard, he jest shot him down 'n leave him to bleed."

Hattie squeezed William's arm, knowing he grieved deeply for the only companion of his two-year journey. She waited, watched, listened, unable to sleep. It was almost as if knowing the danger Emmet was in was worse than not knowing. She tried to imagine him inching along on his belly, surrounded by brigands.... "How many were there?" she whispered, then regretted doing so when William started.

He'd been dozing.

She repeated her question. "There was six of 'em, two Injuns and the rest white trash. They caught us unawares, Miz Hattie, and we was trussed up 'fore we knowed it. Flower, she was off gatherin' yarbs, an' one of the Injuns followed her trail. He, uh, he beat her somthin' awful afore he brung her back."

"But she's all right?"

"I dunno, Miz Hattie. She was hurt pretty bad."

If she was seriously injured, that might account for the delay in Emmet's return. Hattie told herself to stop worrying. She said nothing more, letting William slip into deeper sleep.

She must have slept as well, for the next thing she knew, Silas was calling softly, "Wake up. Wake up, Hat. William."

"What? Emmet?" Then she heard a shot and knew Emmet had not returned.

Silas knelt before her, his face a pale shape in the dark. "Hat, Em said there was a back way out of here. I want you to take the cattle and go as fast as you can. Take the shotgun." He slipped her butcher knife behind his belt. "William, you and me will watch her back trail. Let's go." He left, followed by a larger, darker shadow. "We'll catch up," drifted back to her as they disappeared almost soundlessly.

"But... but what about...?"

"Miz Hattie, I reckon Mist' Em got his hands full," William said. "Me an' Silas, we figure you and the babe u'd be better off far off as you can get. We'uns can catch up with you later."

Another shot broke the night's silence. Hattie bit her lip, but nodded. She couldn't risk Ellen. Not even for Emmet.

Making sure Ellen's head was covered, she slung the cradleboard onto her shoulders, then caught up Bessie's lead rope. She hoped the rest of the oxen would follow. Odin would, she knew, and Jupe, but Baldur, Hercules and Hero weren't such pets. Pushing through the screen of branches, she set her feet on the unfamiliar path.Dear God, don't let there be a cliff at the end of it.

With every step she fought the need to return, to go back and help the men. And knew she could not. She had a slim chance to save herself and her child and she must take it. Ellen must live.

He should never have given Flower the knife. Vengeance had no place in survival.

She'd taken care of Short Leg while he'd been dealing with the others. But he had hurried, and his third blow was poorly aimed. The bald renegade moved, cried out, when Emmet's knife sliced into the meat of his chest and glanced off a rib.

The other, the restless one, wakened. So did Pyzen Joe.

And all hell broke loose.

Restless rolled over and grabbed his gun just as Emmet took care of Baldy. The bullet struck Emmet in the meaty part of his shoulder, throwing him forward, his face buried in the bloody shirt of the man he'd just stabbed.

Fighting the pain, Emmet rolled away, hoping the restless one was slow to reload. He reached the edge of the clearing and took a quick look back. Pyzen Joe seemed to be tangled in his blankets; his cursing was the only sound to be heard.

A hand touched Emmet's wounded shoulder and he winced. But he forced himself to wriggle through the willows, following Flower. Behind them Pyzen Joe was still cursing as he crashed into the tangled willow branches.

Emmet and Flower emerged near the creek. Without looking back, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along into the shadows of a copse of giant pines. She stumbled once and he dragged her until she got her feet under her again.

"Let go," she gasped. "I can keep up."

"You'll have to," Emmet said, feeling the hot blood trickling down his back.

"This way."

He turned to the left, not wanting to lead the renegades to Hattie. Had William and Silas found her? And would they have sense enough to get her and the cattle away and not worry about coming to his aid? He hoped so.

He ducked behind a thick tree trunk and peered back. Pyzen Joe was still coming, dodging from shrub to tree, too close for comfort. He touched Flower's shoulder and pointed. She nodded and dashed silently to another tree, even farther from the trail. Five feet from him, she disappeared into the night. With any luck he could do the same and his pursuers would be unable to track him until daylight.

Slowly, ever more wearily, he followed Flower. Another shot sounded, but he doubted the shooter had seen him. Again he looked back.

Pyzen Joe and the one he'd dubbed Restless were dark shapes against the lighter grass of the meadow. They were standing a few yards from the trees, conferring.

He wished he could hear what they were saying.

While he watched, Emmet noticed that the stars were dim in the sky. Dawn was not far off. They must go now or not at all. He motioned for Flower to follow him and he crept deeper into the trees. He had a choice: watch his back trail or make the best time he could while he was still able.

He chose to make time.

They set out across country, roughly paralleling the route he'd told Hattie to take. By the time they topped the first ridge, Emmet was finding each step a struggle. His shirt was soaked with his blood and his vision was poor despite the lightening sky.

"You'll have to go ahead," he told Flower, sinking onto a convenient log. "I'll only slow you down."

She said nothing, just used the knife she still held to cut his shirt away.

Quickly she cut it into strips and wrapped his wound tightly. "There. I will tend it when we can stop. Now we go." She took his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Don't be foolish," Emmet told her. "Save yourself." All he wanted to do was sink to the ground and rest.

"Hattie would kill me," she said, almost smiling. "Come. This way." She slipped between two trees, and Emmet, too tired to resist, followed her.

He followed her all day, stumbling along behind her as they made their way through the woods, avoiding game trails. He rested when he fell, until she forced him to his feet again.

Once they reached the stream where he and Hattie had found first gold, Flower called a halt long enough to catch a trout. Emmet had fished that way when absolutely necessary, using nothing but his wits and his bare hands, but he had never succeeded as quickly as she did.

It seemed to him like only seconds before she pulled a fair-sized fish from the water. She gutted it quickly, then sliced thick filets from each side. Tossing the rest back, she handed him one filet. "Eat," she said, and he did, not needing fire or flavoring.

The rest did him good. When they started walking again, he discovered a store of energy he didn't know he still had. Emmet knew that sooner or later the demands he was making on his body would take their toll, but as long as he could keep going, he would. Somewhere up ahead were Hattie and Ellen. They needed him.

They found the trail in late afternoon. Three people, six cattle, a horse. Plain as day.

"Hell and damnation! Once Pyzen Joe gets sight of this, he'll be right behind us," Emmet said.

"Then let us hurry," Flower said. "The more of us there are when he catches us, the better off we will be." She strode away and Emmet followed, willing to let her take charge. His wound no longer bled, nor was it particularly painful, but he'd give all the gold he and Hattie had found for a night's sleep.

Silas led Hattie and William upstream once they reached the next valley.

Buffalo's map showed no detail to the west, but it showed a large stream north of them, one that emptied into another that flowed west, then south. "With any luck," Silas said, "it'll run into the Boise."

"Are you sure?"

"Hat, I ain't sure of anything except that I wish Em was here," the boy said.

"But we can't go back the way we came."

"But Emmet said to head south, over the mountains. He said...."

"Those bastards came from the south, Hat," Silas told her, sounding patient, and not at all like the boy he was. "So we'll go north."

"It make sense, Miz Hattie," William agreed.

They went north.

They took no chances, even though they saw no sign of pursuit. Resting when they had to, they traveled all day, going upstream, crossing meadows and pushing through willow groves, traversing bands of forest that fingered down into the ever-narrowing valley.

Near sundown they came to a major forking of the creek. Hattie knew the others were as ignorant as she of the lay of the land, and were exhausted besides.

"We'll follow the left fork," she decided. "But first we'll rest. William, you scout up that way and see if you can find us a place where we won't be easily seen. Silas, you've always been able to catch fish. Can you get us some supper?"

She drove the oxen across the creek, then returned to lead Bessie and Emmet's horse. Wearily she plodded in the direction she'd sent William, trusting that he would find a place for them to rest, knowing that there was no way they could hide their trail.

Luck was with them. William found a hollow, much like the one in which she and Emmet had stayed, where a giant pine had fallen away from the foot of a steep slope. Great, tumbled rocks, gray and sparkling with flecks of a shiny mineral, helped to conceal the hollow from anyone walking along the creek. Even better, there was nearby grass for the livestock.

Hattie milked Bessie, grateful now for the milk. It might be all the food they had. Soon Silas appeared, carrying three medium-sized trout strung on a willow whip. And so they dined on raw fish and warm milk, and decided that few kings had ever fared better, particularly when Silas presented her with half a dozen tiny strawberries. They were not quite ripe, but delicious nonetheless.

"You reckon we're gonna get away, Hat?" Silas was tense, his head turning at every sound, his eyes never still.

Hattie looked at him--really looked at this boy who'd been like a brother to her ever since Karl had taken his bond when he was a skinny ten-year-old. And she saw a man. Oh, he was still reed-slim and unformed, beardless and scrawny. But he had a man's strength of purpose and a man's pride, and he would protect her with his last breath. "We'll make it," she said softly, wishing she really believed her own words.

William appeared at the edge of the hollow. "Somebody's comin'," he said, his voice barely carrying to where Hattie sat. "I'se goin' to keep the stock quiet."

Silas was away before William disappeared. Quickly Hattie wrapped Ellen and put her back into the cradleboard, slipping her arms into the straps. Then she waited, holding the shotgun at ready.

She heard nothing. There was no wind, no birdcalls. It was as if the whole forest were waiting for something. Something good? Or something evil?

The next thing she knew, Silas was helping Emmet into the hollow. Flower was right behind them.

"He's hurt," Silas said.

"I'm fine," Emmet contradicted, but his voice was strained.

"He was shot," Flower said, "and still carries the ball."

That was when Hattie saw that she was half naked, her buckskin shirt entirely gone, her skirt ripped up one side. "You're hurt too," she said, seeing the bruises on Flower's golden skin, even in the dim light of late evening.

"Never mind that," Flower said. "Help me!" She was behind Emmet, cutting away the leather strips which had sunk deep into the swollen flesh of his shoulder and back.

"I'll keep watch." Silas disappeared again.

Hattie caught Emmet's wrist and was amazed at the heat of it. She laid a hand across his forehead and found it even hotter. "He's feverish," she told Flower at the same time she managed to capture his other wrist. "Hold still, Emmet!

We're trying to help you."

"No time," he said. "Gotta move. They're close behind."

Hattie looked up at Flower who was prodding at Emmet's back with cautious fingers. "Are they?"

Flower nodded. "They are following you, not us, I think. But they are not more than an hour or two behind."

"But won't they stop for the night?"

Flower had stopped her examination of Emmet's wound and was gathering pine needles into a small pile. "I need fire," she said, "to cauterize. And yes, Hattie, they will probably stop for the night, but so must we. The moon won't rise until late."

William returned. "They's quiet. Didn't even.... Lawsy, gal, you need doctorin'

your own self." He pulled his shirt over his head. "Take this, and soon's you're done with Mist' Em, you let Miz Hattie fix you up too." He handed Flower the shirt and took the flint and steel from her. "I kin do this. You jest get yourself dressed."

Flower slipped into William's shirt, rolling the sleeves up several times before her hands appeared from within them. She held the knife just above the small fire as soon as it showed flame, wiping it again and again. "It must be cleansed," she said, almost to herself. "His blood would poison even a skunk."

Hattie thought the knife looked clean enough, but the savage expression on Flower's face kept her silent. When the Indian woman said, "Hold him, now," she did, straddling the now prone Emmet and leaning on his wrists with all her weight.

"He'll need this," William said, showing Hattie a chunk of wood. He knelt beside Emmet. "Open your mouth, now, Mist' Em. We don't want you a'yellin' when she finds that there ball."

Emmet obediently clamped his teeth on the wood and nodded slightly when Flower said, "You ready?"

Hattie could not watch. It wasn't that she minded the sight of blood, but that the flesh being cut, the flowing blood, was Emmet's. She concentrated on keeping him still, but he was too strong. She was grateful when William knelt beside her and said, "You ain't gonna be able to hold him when Flower finds that there ball, so you jest go set on his feet and I'll do this." They traded places.