Samuel had never used an ax in his life. On the plantation most of his work had been in the cotton fields, and you didn't chop cotton with an ax. He watched them, then imitated what they were doing. He soon found it wasn't as easy as they made it seem. He swung hard enough, but his ax didn't go in as far and he wasn't making much headway.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder.

"Watch me," Nate said. He showed how to grip the ax and how to swing at an angle so the blade penetrated. "You turn your hips as you swing and put your shoulders into it."

Samuel tried it a few times and smiled at his improvement. "I'm obliged," he said.

Nate wasn't done. "Another thing is that when you pull the ax back, don't jerk it. Swing and pull back smoothly the moment the ax has gone in as far as it will go. That way you don't jar your body and wear yourself out. It's a steady motion." He demonstrated. "See?"

"Let me try." Samuel stepped to the trunk and planted himself and swung. The ax became wedged and he had to tug to work it free. "What did I do wrong?"

"You swung too hard. Take easier strokes and let the ax do most of the work."

It wasn't long before Samuel got the hang of it, but once he did he went at it with fierce desire. These were the logs for his new home and he couldn't wait to have it done.

Tree after tree crashed down. The women and Evelyn and the Nansusequas used hatchets to trim the branches and threw them into a pile.

Shortly before noon Winona and Blue Water Woman and Lou stopped tr.i.m.m.i.n.g to set out the midday meal. Blankets were spread, as if it were a picnic, and food they had prepared the night before was placed on the blankets. There was venison and potatoes and green beans and carrots, plus a pie Lou had baked.

The Nansusequas had brought rabbit stew. Waku and Dega came to Nate and offered to hunt meat for the supper pot and Nate said that would be a great help. He was resting on a stump. Winona walked over with a gla.s.s of water and smiled and handed it to him.

"You look thirsty."

Nate was sweating from head to toe. "I could drink the lake dry," he boasted.

Evelyn joined them and asked, "Do you need me for anything?"

"You can help trim more branches when the men go back to work," Winona said. "Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to go hunt with Dega."

Nate lowered the gla.s.s. "You?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"You want to hunt?"

A pink tinge crept into Evelyn's cheeks. "Yes. Me. We have to eat, don't we?"

"You've never liked to kill," Nate reminded her. Yet recently she had gone off to the prairie after buffalo with the Nansusequas. Now this.

"I get hungry the same as everyone else."

"Are you sure that's the only reason you want to go?"

The pink in Evelyn's cheek darkened to red. "What else would there be, Pa?"

Winona interceded with, "You go right ahead, Daughter. Waku and Dega are waiting."

Evelyn grinned and kissed her mother on the cheek and spun and hurried off giggling.

Nate upended the gla.s.s and smacked his lips. "Right considerate of you to fuel their fire."

"I do not see flames anywhere."

"Cute," Nate said. "It surprises me, is all, you letting her go off with him. At this rate they'll want a cabin of their own inside of a month."

"She is young and in love. Were I to deny her, she would sneak around and see him behind our backs. Is that what you want?"

"I hope we've raised her better than that."

"The heart wants what the hearts wants," Winona said. "The best we can do is guide her."

Nate wasn't entirely sure he approved. He liked Dega. The boy had many fine qualities. But he didn't see Evelyn as ready for such a big step. He watched her walk off, both she and Dega smiling broadly. His daughter-in love. He could hardly believe it.

The work resumed. Horses were brought, ropes were rigged, and the logs were dragged to the site. They had to skirt the gully each time; it was directly in the way. Once, as Nate was guiding a claybank pulling a log, he thought he glimpsed a snake. He almost stopped to look for it but remembered his folly of the snake hunt and went on by.

For two days they felled and trimmed and hauled large pine after large pine. The logs were laid out in rows. Nate and Shakespeare then went from one to the next, notching them. The notches had to be cut just right. Too shallow, and the logs wouldn't fit snug. Too deep, and the ends tended to weaken over time.

Samuel drank it all in. He asked if he could notch a few and Nate showed him how. He got the first notch done and stood back.

"How did I do?"

Nate inspected it. "Right fine."

"I hope you don't mind that I want to help. You know why it's important to me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"If there is ever somethin' I can do for you..." Samuel didn't finish.

"No need," Nate said.

"As much as I respect you, there is. You've treated me more decent than anyone on this earth. I would die for you if I had to."

Nate chuckled and clapped Samuel on the back. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"I'm serious, Mr. King. I keep bringin' this up because you don't realize what it means to me and my family. We have a place to live, thanks to you. We'll have a new home, thanks to you. Most of all, we're free, thanks to you and Winona. Free, after all those years as slaves." Samuel bowed his head and coughed. "I have wanted my freedom more than I have ever wanted anything. I dreamed of it when I worked in the fields. I dreamed of it at night. To finally have my dream come true..." He coughed again.

It gave Nate a lot to think about. That night, as he lay weary but content in his bed with Winona's cheek on his shoulder and her hair tickling his ear, he remarked, "I like that Samuel Worth. He's a good man at heart."

"He is like someone else I know," Winona said.

"Touch the Clouds?"

Winona laughed and poked him in the ribs. "My cousin is a good man, too, but he is not as good as you."

"I bet Blue Water Woman would say the same about Shakespeare and Lou about Zach and Tihi about Waku."

"They would, yes. But you are special."

"How so?"

Winona kissed him. "You are mine."

It was a while before they got to sleep. Nate slept well and woke before dawn. He carefully eased out from under Winona's arm and slipped out of bed. Rising, he stretched, then went through his morning ritual of donning his buckskins and powder horn and ammo pouch and possibles bag and going outdoors to heed nature's need.

The sky was still dark. Stars sparkled in the firmament. A strong breeze stirred his hair. He breathed deep of the smell of the lake and the dank scent of the nearby forest and listened to the hoot of an owl. Instead of using the outhouse he walked around to the corral and heeded nature there while checking that the horses were all right. Of late they had been acting up. He suspected a mountain lion or maybe a bear, although he had not seen sign of either.

Nate yawned and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He went to the lake. The water was tranquil. He dipped his hand in and splashed some on his face. Somewhere a goose honked, as if startled. He remembered when Zach and Evelyn were little and he taught them to fish. Evelyn hated it. As he recollected, she called fish "icky" and never did develop a taste for fish meat. Neither did he. He much preferred succulent venison or juicy buffalo meat or the tastiest meat of all, cougar.

Rising, Nate turned to go back to the cabin. He took two steps. Directly in front of him something hissed. He froze, suspecting a snake. The rattling of the serpent's tail proved him right.

Not many people knew that rattlesnakes did most of their hunting at night. This one was after prey-and Nate had almost stepped on it. Try as he might, Nate could barely see the thing. It wasn't big, but it wasn't a rattlesnake's size that mattered-it was their venom. He held himself still except for his hand, which he inched toward his belt. His fingers brushed leather and he nearly gave a start. He had done something he hadn't done in years; he had come outside without his pistols. Anger flared. If he had told the kids once he had told them a thousand times to never, ever make that blunder, and here he had done it himself. He didn't have his rifle or his tomahawk either. All he had was his Bowie, and only because the sheath was attached to his belt.

Nate eased his hand to the hilt of the big knife. He began to slowly draw it out.

The snake's head rose like a black stick and the rattling grew louder. It was preparing to strike.

Nate debated trying to spring aside. He was quick, but rattlesnakes were quick, too. He almost had the knife out.

Suddenly the snake stopped rattling. Its head dropped and it slithered swiftly away toward some rocks.

Whipping the Bowie high, Nate went to throw it but changed his mind. He had practiced until he could hit the center of a target consistently at about ten feet. But the snake would be a lot harder to hit and he might damage the blade. Instead, he skirted the rocks and went inside. He would deal with the rattler when the sun came up.

Nate rekindled the fire in the fireplace. He had been toying with the notion of buying Winona a stove. The catalog at Bent's Fort listed a new kind made all of metal. They weighed a lot and it would cost dear to have it shipped west from St. Louis, but he thought it might make a nice surprise. From what he had heard, ladies back in the States loved them.

He went to the cupboard and took down the coffee tin. He filled the pot with water from a bucket on the counter, and took the pot to the fireplace. From another cupboard he helped himself to a corn dodger and sat in the rocking chair and nibbled while the coffee heated.

Another rattlesnake. Nate told himself it was nothing to be bothered about. Rattlesnakes were as common as rabbits. Most years, he would spot a few. Unless they were close to his cabin he usually left them alone. That there were so many of late was troublesome, but after the fiasco of his hunt, he figured he wouldn't make an issue of it.

The dodger was delicious. Winona had learned to make them just for him, and she added honey to the cornmeal. No sooner did he think of her than the bedroom door opened and out she came tying the purple robe he had bought for her.

"Tsaangu beaichehku."

It was Shoshone for "good morning." "Tsaangu beaichehku," Nate replied, drinking in her beauty. He never tired of looking at her, of being with her. That she cared for him as deeply as he cared for her was a gift beyond measure. "Sleep well?"

"Haa."

Shoshone for "yes." "We are speaking your tongue today, I take it?" Nate said.

Winona smiled and ran a hand through her hair. She padded in her bare feet over to the rocker and bent and kissed him lightly on the lips. "We can speak whichever tongue you want, husband."

"We'll speak yours, then. It embarra.s.ses me that you speak mine better than me."

Winona rubbed her fingers over his beard. She loved to do that. As she loved to feel his muscles and to listen to him breathe in the quiet of the night. "I will fix breakfast." She moved to the counter. "How soon do you go off to chop more trees?"

"I'm supposed to meet Shakespeare about an hour after sunup. Should give me enough time."

"For what?"

Nate told her about the rattlesnake.

In the act of smearing grease in a pan, Winona looked up. "Why not let it be?"

"Can't."

"I have never known you to make such a fuss over snakes. It reminds me of Lame Bear."

"Isn't he that old man who can hardly walk? Kin of yours on your mother's side?"

"He is the one, yes. With him it is flies. He goes around the village killing all the flies he can."

"Are you saying I'm feebleminded?"

Winona smiled sweetly. "Not yet. But you are working on it."

Chapter Nine.

Nate didn't find the snake. He poked among the rocks and turned over some of the larger ones, but it was gone. In annoyance he kicked the ground and then headed for the cabin site.

Shakespeare and Zach were already there and Shakespeare was regaling the Worths with a tale of his early years. McNair winked and grinned at Nate and went on with his story.

"So there I was, all alone in Blackfoot country in the cold of winter with the snow so deep only a few treetops showed and-"

"Wait a minute," Randa said. "Are you tryin' to tell us the snow was so deep it buried the trees?"

"Oh, come now, Mr. McNair," Emala said.

Samuel and Chickory both grinned.

"Believe it or not, ladies," Shakespeare responded. "I'll have you know that I am a veritable fount of veracity."

"A what?" Randa asked.

"It means he always tells the truth," Nate explained, "except when he opens his mouth."

The Worths all laughed.

Shakespeare feigned indignation. "Your fine wit, Horatio, is something stale and h.o.a.r ere it be spent."