She knew when Flower found the ball, for Emmet's feet lifted under her and William nearly lost his hold.

"Deep," Flower said. "Real deep." She flicked the ball aside and picked up the narrow-bladed throwing knife, almost red hot now. "I must cauterize, Emmet," she warned, just as she laid the blade into his wound.

Again he bucked under her, but not a sound escaped him. And then Hattie felt him relax. He had passed out, thank the Lord. She crawled to his head and stroked his face. It was, if anything, hotter than before. "Flower? His fever...."

"I know," she answered. "As soon as I can get some willow bark into him, I will.

And I will need some mud, to draw the poison." She wiped the knives and laid them aside. "I will tend him. You all need to sleep."

"But...."

"Hattie, you have Ellen to think of first. I will tend him."

Hattie gave in. Reluctantly.

They tied Emmet to Odin's back in the morning, Hattie trusting the gentle white ox far more than the half-wild horse. Emmet was intermittently conscious, telling them what to do, warning them to move quickly, ordering them to leave him behind for he would only slow their escape.

They ignored him. After a quick breakfast of raw flour stirred into milk, they set out, still to the north, still climbing.

By the time the sun rose, they had reached a place where the creek veered east.

Hattie called a rest, sending Silas to look at their back trail.

In the light, Hattie could see Flower clearly. "They raped you, didn't they?"

she said, quietly so William wouldn't hear. The big Negro had been walking protectively close to Flower, but now he was filling the bucket, for Flower had said they must get Emmet to drink. The fever was driving all moisture from his body.

Flower nodded. "But they will not, again." The savagery in her face made Hattie's breath catch in her throat. "They'll never rape anyone again."

"But they're following...."

"Only two or three. The others are dead."

Hattie said no more. Flower's tone had said enough. But she wondered how many had died by Flower's hand. And found she could not fault the other woman, no matter how many wicked lives she had taken.

"They're there," Silas said when he returned. "But a ways back." He snorted.

"Damfools. They're still camped. I could see the smoke."

"They probably think they'll have no problem catching up with us," Hattie said, wondering if they were right.

"Or maybe they know something about the country ahead we don't," Silas said.

"I hope not." Hattie only knew there was a river; Buffalo's map showed nothing more. Pray God it would take them to the valley of the Boise.

After a long, difficult climb, they came to the edge of the world, a treeless promontory below which the land fell in steep folds to a thin blue line of water, winding crookedly between steep walls. Hattie gasped.

"Holy shit," Silas said.

William stared. "Lawd a' mighty!"

"We can do it," Flower told them. "Look, there is a path." She pointed to the east, where a ridge stretched its sharp spine almost to the river.

A narrow game trail led into the trees, slanting downwards. Hattie felt as though she would have to have one leg shorter than the other to follow it. That or cling to the grass on the hillside, else she would go rolling head over heels. But she followed where Flower led, walking beside Odin where she could, just ahead of him where she must. The other cattle followed easily, but Emmet's horse fought William's grip on his halter, nearly sending them both careening downslope.

"Turn him loose," Hattie ordered. "We can do without him."

William didn't even argue. He held the horse while Silas transferred the saddle to Jupiter's back, securing it as best he could. "You gonna follow us, horse, or you gonna go back an' let yourself git caught by them bassards?"

The horse shook its head, but stood quietly, now that it was no longer held.

When William removed its bridle as well, it lowered its head to snatch at the grass beside the narrow trail.

"We should kill it, if we are not going to keep it," Flower said, "else they might catch it."

Hattie shuddered at the thought of giving the renegades any sort of advantage, but she could not allow the horse to be killed. "No," she said. "It will follow us." She hoped.

They went cautiously, making several stops so Hattie could feed Ellen, who was cranky and not easily satisfied. But they didn't dare let her cry, for her high wail would carry far. The horse followed, but kept a ways behind.

Emmet roused now and again. More than once he insisted that they leave him behind and escape, but no one paid mind to his incoherent demands.

The slope grew steeper. They were low enough now that they could see how the river boiled along its narrow, boulder-strewn channel. At dark they halted, but made no camp, for they were still following the narrow trail.

Hattie tied Emmet to a tree and sat close to him. William had found a seep late in the afternoon and had filled the bucket, so she patiently held the cup to his mouth, encouraging him to sip again and again. Although he took far too little to please her, at least he was responding, so she held hope that he was getting no worse. But he was hot. So hot!

William tethered the livestock to convenient trees. The humans wedged themselves uphill behind others, and did their best to sleep.

Late the next morning they came to an open stretch where the hillside moved and slid and supported no trees. With great care they picked their way across the slide, nearly a half-mile wide. They were almost at the edge, almost among the trees again, when a shot sounded.

They ran. Ignoring the slipping, sliding rock under their feet, they dashed for solid ground. And made it. Immediately Silas was on his belly, aiming the rifle, which had scarcely been out of his hands since Hattie handed it to him.

"Ahh, damn it! They're too far away." He jumped to his feet, tossed the rifle to William. "Go! All of you! Get as far as you can."

Hattie hesitated, even as William and Flower dragged the oxen away.

"Go, damn it, Hat!" Silas headed upslope and was quickly out of sight.

She went, driving the milch cow ahead into sheltering trees. Once she looked back, but she could not see Silas, only the horse, trotting in their wake. Then they were in the open again, facing another long open stretch, steep and sliding as the first.

"We'll stand," Flower said, coming up beside her. "We must."

Hattie nodded. She slashed the thongs holding Emmet to Jupe's back, giving the ox a chance if none of them survived. With Flower's help, she lowered her wounded husband to lie beneath a pine. "You can't die," she whispered, laying her palm briefly on his cheek. "Not you, too."

Leaving him there, all three of them turned back, made their way through the woods until they could see the first slide. Two dark figures cautiously worked their way across, drawing nearer with each step.

"Wait," Hattie told Flower, who now had the rifle. "Wait until they're so close you can't miss." Wondering if she would be able to shoot, she held the shotgun with damp hands.

She watched, dry-mouthed, as the men drew nearer. Yes, she could, she decided, seeing their faces clearly for the first time. Filthy, unshaven, bestial, they held nothing of mercy, of human decency. She would shoot and shoot to kill.

Without hesitation. Without regret.

A rumble came from above. Then a roar. The ground beneath her feet vibrated.

Hattie froze, looked upward.

It was as if the entire hillside was in motion. Rocks plummeted and bounced, flew and rolled. Huge boulders and tiny pebbles, gravel and cobble and shards and fragments, they cascaded downward.

Although she was still well within the fringe of woods, Hattie knew she was in almost as much danger as if she were on the unprotected slope. But she could not move, except to shrink against a nearby tree, hoping it would not be carried away by the rocky torrent.

The cascade became a flood. Dust filled the air until Hattie could see scarce two yards in front of her. She clung to the tree, feeling it sway and tremble with each rock striking it.

Eventually the sound faded to a mere rumble. The dust slowly settled. Hattie wiped grit and dust from her face and opened her eyes.

The hillside before her seemed unchanged, as if the awful cataclysm had never occurred. It was still steep and still crumbling.

It was empty of life.

Chapter Sixteen.

Silas caught up with them, dusty, with scratches and dried blood on his face and hands. "Almost got caught," he admitted, "when I rolled a big boulder." His grin was boyish, delighted.

"Wasn't that just a show," he crowed. "I never figured so much would slide. And it looks like it took care of 'em, too. No sign of anything but that fool horse of Emmet's, tryin' to decide whether to follow or not."

They made their way among the ridges and ravines all the rest of that day and most of the next, none of them quite believing their pursuers had been vanquished. The ravines were brush-choked, often with piled boulders through which the party had to pick their careful way.

Emmet was still feverish. Hattie tried to force water into him each time they halted to rest or for her to feed Ellen, but she had little luck. He was often unconscious now, and when he awoke he seemed to have no awareness of his surroundings. William was sometimes able to pry his mouth open and pour liquid into him, often sending him into paroxysms of coughing. Finally Hattie told him to stop trying; she feared he would drown Emmet.

The second day they descended into a wider ravine that gradually widened out onto a forested bench. The roar of the tumbling river was less, leading Hattie to hope that perhaps they were past the terrifying stretch of rapids they had seen from above. With leaden arms, she pushed her way through the willows marking still another creek, wondering how much longer she could do this. All she really wanted to do was collapse, sleep until she could sleep no more.

The creek was wider than those they had crossed earlier, its gradient easier.

Boulder strewn, as every stream she'd seen in the mountains had been, it still offered an easier path. She followed William and Flower, falling farther and farther behind, noticing that neither of them were walking quite steadily either.

How could they? Abused, exhausted, half-starved, they seemed to pull endurance from deep inner sources, sources she lacked, for she truly felt she could go no farther. When Ellen began fussing, she was grateful for the excuse to stop walking. She called ahead, telling the others.

To her surprise, William came back to her. "Don't stop now, Miz Hattie. There ain't much farther to go." He pulled her arm around his waist and half supported her. "Jest a little bit now and you kin sit and rest."

She allowed him to pull her forward, although each step was an effort. The stream curved and so did they, slipping on wet cobbles in its bed, avoiding larger boulders around which the water frothed and gurgled.

"Look there, Miz Hattie," William told her after what seemed an impossible journey. "We done made it."

Ahead of them the bench sloped to the river, gentle and broad. Hattie did what she had been promising herself she would not do. She collapsed.

William helped her slip out of the cradleboard straps, laid the board on her lap. She released Ellen who was squalling loudly now, hoping she still had milk.

Twice today she knew her baby had found all too little nourishment in her breasts.

As Ellen was feeding, Flower brought her water and stood over her until she drank it all. It was cool and sweet, reminding her that she had seldom taken time to drink while she was trying to force Emmet to do so. Emmet!

"Where's Silas?" She sat straighter and looked back along the trail. "And Emmet?"

"They're coming," Flower said. "Listen!"

Hattie did but she heard nothing. Soon, however, Silas came around the bend of the stream, followed closely by Odin, on whose back Emmet sprawled. Bessie and the other oxen followed, as did the horse.

Silas touched Odin's shoulder once they were on the grass and the ox halted, its head drooping. All of the cattle were gaunt, their eyes dull. Flower helped the boy untie Emmet who slid bonelessly onto the grass. His face was pale, except where dark bruises circled one eye and covered his cheek.

But he was alive, for once he was lying on the ground, he opened his eyes. "Give me my knife," he said, his voice a faint croak. "I won't let 'em take Hattie."

He half sat, clearly an effort. "Give it to me," he demanded. "I can fight." His hands scribbled at his belt, found the empty scabbard. "Where's my knife?"

Flower caught his hand. "They're dead," she said, forcing him to look at her.

"They're dead, Emmet. They won't hurt Hattie."

"No!" Another croak. "I didn't... he was still breathing... Baldy...." He fought Flower's hold, but was clearly too weak to prevail against her strength.

"I'll tend him, gal. You take care of your ownself." William knelt beside Emmet, raising his shoulders and holding a tin cup to his mouth. "Mist' Em, you drink this here, now." Patiently he held the cup, shaking Emmet gently every time he sank into unconsciousness. Feeling helpless, Hattie watched. Was it her imagination or did he seem to revive as he drank?

Despite their exhaustion, they managed to put together a meal--the first they'd had for how many days? Hattie stirred flour and milk together over the fire and dropped in the sliced cat-tail root Flower gave her. Silas caught three fish, which he wrapped in grass and buried in the coals. William brought in a double handful of bright red strawberries, none larger than the tip of her little finger, but exploding with flavor.

Hattie could not remember a better meal in her entire life.

After they ate, they slept, all of them, huddled together for warmth.

Emmet woke to a clear head and a body shrieking with pain. His shoulders felt as if they'd been pulled apart, as if someone was twisting an auger into his back.

His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw. He lay still, attempting to clear his memory, which was full of disconnected images.

He could tell it was nearly morning by the scent of dew-wet vegetation. A few tentative birdcalls added to the impression, for all it was still pitch dark.

No, not quite. He could see the tips of conifers silhouetted against a deep lavender sky, could see that the stars were fading before the oncoming dawn.

He moved, ignoring the protest of shoulder and hip joints, moved and felt a warm body wedged against his side. Immediately he froze.

Had he been taken captive by the renegades? He'd been wounded--now he remembered. That was the auger. Flower had bound the wound, but had had no time to do more. And then they'd run.

They'd caught up with Hattie; he remembered that as well. And so had the renegades. He saw Pyzen Joe clearly in his mind's eye, coming toward him as he waited, helpless, weaponless, knowing he had no way to save Hattie beyond bare hands and a body bled almost dry.