Chapter 23

Grant opened his eyes in the darkness, straining to make sense of where he was and what had awakened him. They were in the camp beside the river—all the men in their group. The fire had burned low, casting dim light on the faces of those sleeping around it.

He shifted to look at the two captives tied to the trees at the edge of the camp, able to lie down but not move far. From what he'd heard, that was far more comfort than Flies Ahead had allowed Faith and Steps Right.

He could see Running Bear's form closest to him. But...

He sat upright to see Flies Ahead. The place where the brave had lain was empty. No shadowed lump. Not even the blanket.

His heart surged, and he spun to look around them, half expecting to see the brave skulking in the dark to attack.

But there was no sign of him.

"White Horse." Grant reached for his rifle and positioned his gun so he could aim and shoot quickly.

White Horse sat up, his blanket falling aside.

Grant pointed the gun toward the empty ground. "Flies Ahead is gone."

White Horse sprang to his feet, and before Grant could do the same, Ol' Henry's voice whispered from the other side of the fire. "What's wrong?"

He stood and scanned the darkness, moving in the opposite direction from where White Horse had begun to search. He stepped sideways to avoid Running Bear's bound form. "Flies Ahead is—"

The shadows in front of him came alive, and Grant stumbled backward, raising his gun to aim against the unseen threat. Running Bear. How had he come untied?

A feral snarl rumbled through the air, cut off by the blast of a rifle as the shot lit the night. Grant's vision flashed as his mind scrambled to catch up with what had happened.

The gunshot had come from White Horse's direction, and even now, White Horse leapt to the fallen brave's side. The injured man lay curled into a ball as he moaned. White Horse scooped up a knife from beside him. That must be how the braves got loose, but how did they obtain the blade?

Grant spun to scan the area. Flies Ahead. Where was he? He must have cut his own ropes, then freed his compatriot. Had he already escaped?

Another thought surged in, this one making him whirl toward the cave. "The women!"

He sprinted toward the falls, footsteps thundering behind him. Were all the men coming with him? Maybe someone should have stayed with Running Bear, but he couldn't worry about that right now.

Flies Ahead was a far bigger threat.

An image slipped in his mind of the way the brave's eyes had flashed with hatred as they tied him on his horse. There had been murder in his gaze. He wouldn't be swayed from killing Steps Right. And maybe the other women if he could. Rosemary. Faith.

He reached the boulders that lined the river leading to the falls. In the darkness and with the mist, he could make out no sign of Flies Ahead. Was the man lurking in the trees somewhere? Watching them? Waiting to pick them off with a stolen gun?

He couldn't slow down to search the woods yet. He had to make sure the women were safe first.

"Quick!" White Horse's sharp call drove Grant forward, and he jumped onto the first boulder.

He'd picked his way through here so many times, he knew where the slippery places were. White Horse would know the same, but not Dragoon or Ol' Henry.

He slowed long enough to call back to them, "Be careful." It looked like the trappers were already slowing to maneuver the rocks. Good.

He refocused on getting to the falls, leaping through the thin curtain of water at the edge. He landed on the ledge behind the falls but had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

A shadow moved in the distance, near the cave opening.

Grant charged forward. "Stop!" Not that he expected the brave to halt at his command, but it would warn the women.

Behind him, White Horse yelled too, but in the high-low cadence of the Blackfoot language.

From inside the cave, a scream echoed.

"Faith!" He couldn't tell for sure if it was her, but he had to get to her.

As he rounded the corner into the cave opening, he slipped on a wet spot. He scrambled to catch his footing and pushed into the thick darkness.

Flies Ahead could be lying in wait for them anywhere. In the depths of the cave, all had fallen quiet.

Lord, don't let them be hurt. He pushed aside the image that tried to crowd in of all three women massacred. Protect them, Lord.

He kept pushing forward, feeling ahead as he maneuvered the pitch-black corridor. "Faith? Is Flies Ahead in there?"

Before he could hear her answer, a shadow jumped out at him. He lifted his rifle to block the blow, but a powerful force slammed into him, knocking him onto his back.

It had to be Flies Ahead. Grant struggled to push the body off him.

Fire burned along his upper arm. From a knife?

Scuffling sounded, and Flies Ahead moved away from him. That had to be White Horse's doing, but Grant could see nothing in the thick darkness.

He yelled a warning. "A knife! He has a knife."

A string of sounds grunted. Peigan words, maybe, in Flies Ahead's voice. The noise gave Grant a location for their enemy. He needed to help White Horse. The two men must be wrestling.

The scuffling noises moved toward the waterfall, even as Grant tried to find Flies Ahead.

He stepped farther forward, toward the water, trying to catch up to the pair. Trying to help. White Horse must be moving the brave out of the cave, where they would have a better chance. Did he have the upper hand, then?

At last, Grant could see the struggling figures outlined by the dim light outside. The two were crouched, their arms intertwined. Flies Ahead fought on the right, and Grant charged toward him with the same force the man had used when he first struck Grant.

His blow pushed Flies Ahead farther out onto the ledge, but not as much as he'd hoped. The man had a grip on White Horse, dragging the brave with him.

God, help us!

Flies Ahead hadn't released White Horse, and both men still grunted. He couldn't be certain, but it looked like they gripped each other's necks. He had to help White Horse.

His rifle had been dropped in the chaos in the corridor, but he didn't dare leave White Horse long enough to search for it. He spotted Dragoon and Ol' Henry maneuvering toward them on the ledge, and Dragoon held a rifle.

Grant scooted toward them. "Quick, hand me your gun."

It was too dark and the men too entangled for him to shoot, but if he could knock Flies Ahead unconscious . . .

White Horse released a hard grunt, sending Grant's pulse into a panic.

The moment Dragoon placed the stock in his hand, he gripped the weapon in a tight hold and slammed the butt into Flies Ahead.

A shout rose above the roar of the water, then Flies Ahead stilled.

White Horse pulled away, sagging to the stone floor as his shoulders heaved. He was conscious and moving. Thank you, God.

Flies Ahead's body tipped toward the water. His head had slumped, hanging limp. Grant reached for him, but he didn't move fast enough.

Flies Ahead tumbled over the edge.

Grant dropped to his knees and peered down at the river. The churning water where the falls met the river dragged Flies Ahead under, pulling him into its turmoil.

Grant sucked in a breath, his own body losing strength with the realization that the danger might be over. Beside him, White Horse rose up to his knees to peer down too. Grant raised his voice over the water. "He was unconscious when he fell. Do you think he could survive that?"

"We'll go out and make certain." Dragoon reached for his rifle, and Grant handed it over. "We'll check the other fella too."

As the men retreated along the ledge, Grant sank back onto his heels. His heart still raced, and he sucked in breath after breath, his body craving even more.

Then Faith was at his side, slipping her hand around his waist. He wrapped both of his arms around her and pulled her tight.

"Are you hurt?" Her mouth was so close to his ear, she didn't have to yell to be heard.

He soaked in the warm solidness of her, letting it finally slow his frantic pulse. "No." The sting on his arm from the knife wasn't worth mentioning. "Are you? The others?"

"No. We heard you yell before anything happened."

Thank you, God.And he meant those words with every part of his being.