Chapter 5

Grant eyed the rest of the group as he fastened the tether strap securing the pack mule to his horse. Parson seemed like a decent fellow to ride with. From his words, at least, he appeared to know the land well but not be too overbearing. Since Grant had never trapped before, he would be one of the camp keepers, but would also be able to set a few traps and learn the trade from the others. All six of the men here had spent at least one winter trapping, including Riggs, the kid who'd told him about Parson's group to begin with.

Grant had brought his own mount and gear, as well as all the meat from a bull elk he'd found yesterday. The animal had just been killed, as the warmth in its body and the blood still running from the gunshot attested to, but the hunter had abandoned it for some reason. He'd waited nearly an hour to see if the person who shot it would come looking for their kill, but no one came. The animal hadn't been mangled by other prey, so Grant cut out all the good meat he could to use as his contribution to this trapping party's food supply. Far better the meat be used than the animal's life and so much food be wasted.

Parson seemed to be looking around a lot as he loaded his own pack mule. The men were all here and accounted for, as far as Grant could tell. Even now, though, their leader was staring out at the hill that lined one side of the rendezvous camp.

Grant looked that direction too, and for a moment he saw nothing. Then a shift near the top of the hill caught his eye. A person cresting the ridge and riding down the slope. He didn't recognize the horse, but whoever it was rode by himself.

He glanced back at Parson. The man was still fastening straps but seemed to be studying the rider from the corner of his gaze.

By the time the newcomer reached them, several of the other men, including Riggs, had mounted and sat waiting. Grant checked his cinch once more, then placed his boot in the stirrup. His horse tried to lurch forward as he swung aboard, but he tightened the reins and settled in the saddle, then reached down to stroke the animal's shoulder as he watched Parson talk to the new fellow.

They seemed to know each other, and Parson motioned toward the group once. The boy—for he wasn't much older than a youth, likely not even as old as Riggs—nodded. Then moved his horse past Parson and reined to a stop.

Their leader turned to the rest of them. "This here is Frank. He'll be ridin' with us as camp keeper." The man glanced toward Grant. "Consider him your helper."

Grant nodded. He'd just been promoted. No longer the newcomer to this land. Frank looked his way, and the lad's eyes widened a little.

Grant studied the man—er, boy. Scrawny and dirty, but something about him seemed familiar. Had he come to trade while Grant was working at the supply wagons?

He couldn't pull up a memory near the wagons that included this fellow. In fact, he seemed younger than any man Grant had seen out here. He couldn't have come to this land by himself. Was he the son or little brother of one of the trappers?

He took in the face once more, studying the nuances. Small features. Those blue eyes were familiar.

Then realization settled over him. Those eyes looked like the woman he'd met at the waterfall, the one who'd nearly cracked her neck on the rocks. This must be the brother she spoke of.

Parson started his mount forward, calling for them to fall into line behind him. Grant guided his horse in with the others, moving closer to Frank. Maybe he would have a chance to ask more about him and his sister.

Not that he meant to poke his nose into their business. He had no desire to tangle himself in anyone else's affairs. He simply wanted to find Will, as he'd promised to do when they were separated all those years ago.

But in the meantime, he could ask a few questions. Find out the story with these two. Frank must be here because of Grant mentioning Parson's group to the boy's sister. What was she doing while her brother joined on with these trappers?

For the first hour or so, Grant watched the boy. He rode with a tense posture, as if he was uncomfortable being around the other men. What would Grant have done if he and Will were in the shoes of these siblings? He wouldn't have sent his younger brother out into the wilds with a group of unkempt mountain men. He would have gone himself. But of course this boy's older sister couldn't do that.

So ... if Will had set out on a journey like this, mostly at the mercy of the men he traveled with, Grant would hope at least one of his companions would take him under his wing. Look after him and see that he stayed safe. Help him learn the ropes, so to speak.

He nudged his horse a little closer to Frank's. "How old are you, boy?"

Frank jerked his gaze to Grant, his eyes widening a little. He sure was a nervous sort. "Nineteen."

Grant couldn't help raising his brows. He would have staked money this lad wasn't a day over fifteen. He'd let it pass, though.

He moved his gaze forward so the lad didn't feel like he was being interrogated. "I think it might have been your sister I met a few days ago. Near a waterfall southeast of the rendezvous camp. She was looking for a friend, I think." He could feel Frank's gaze on him, but he kept his focus on the rocky path down the slope they were descending.

After a few heartbeats, Frank answered. "She said she met someone there. A fellow who showed her a map of more waterfalls."

He nodded. "I assume that's why you're riding with Parson. To find those waterfalls and look for your friend?" He slipped his gaze to Frank to catch his reaction.

The boy looked forward as he nodded. "I'd like to see that map again sometime, if you don't mind."

Grant frowned. Again? He must have meant too. Maybe he'd not been able to attend school. Grant himself had been lucky in that area. The Flagstones may not have wanted him for anything more than their daughter's companion, but at least they started him off with a decent education.

Grant shook his head, his thoughts returning to the matter at hand. "Sure. I'll show you the map when we get back to camp."

Frank nodded, his shoulders relaxing a bit.

As they rode, Grant studied the landscape around them. They'd been traveling up and down tree-littered slopes, occasionally crossing a narrow valley. It would be easy to get lost out here if you didn't pay attention.

Frank finally seemed to settle in for the ride, and at least he knew how to handle a horse. They paused a few times throughout the day to rest and water the animals, but Parson kept them moving steadily.

The men didn't talk much. It seemed most of them knew one another and had traveled together before. Riggs, Frank, and Grant appeared to be the only newcomers to the group.

As the sun began to dip low, Parson halted in a small valley with a stream running through it, a few trees lining each side of the water. As the man dismounted, he started barking orders. "Each man unloads his own animals tonight. Water 'em good, then hobble 'em in tall grass, close to the camp so wolves don't bother 'em. Grant and Frank, you're in charge of starting the fire and cookin' up grub. I like a hot meal at night, but be quick about it. We'll bed down early. Need to cover a lot o' ground tomorrow."

Grant slid to the ground. "Aye, sir."

He moved to Frank's horse, where the boy was digging in his saddle pack. "You know how to cook over an open flame? Or would you rather settle our animals?"

Grant could do either. He'd not had much experience cooking at all until he joined on with the supply wagons coming to the rendezvous, but he'd learned enough to make a stew over a campfire.

Frank shrugged. "Doesn't matter." Then he slid a glance at Grant, a look that seemed almost to judge his capabilities. "I'll cook. Make sure Two Bit stands in the water till he drinks. He's thirsty, but he might wait a minute or two." He held out the reins to Grant.

A bit of defensiveness rose up in his chest. He could cook as well as any kid. And he didn't need to be instructed on how to water a horse. But he simply took the reins and turned their mounts and his pack mule toward the water.

It would be a long journey with these men. He'd best work on keeping his mouth shut and doing his own work well. Once he found Will, he wouldn't be dependent on this group any longer.

Faith stirred the stew in the pot as the men worked around her to set up camp. They were currently debating if it would rain in the night, and whether they should set up cover above the campfire.

Two of the men—Skeet and Hooper—were convinced the sky would open up in a downpour while they slept, and they almost had Riggs swayed to their opinion. Parson and Willard waved the notion off, and the old-time trapper in the group hadn't chosen a side yet. The man hadn't said much actually, just sat back a little from the fire and sorted through one of his packs.

Grant had gone to gather more firewood, enough to keep them through the night and heat the remaining stew in the morning. So far he hadn't realized she was actually the woman he met by the waterfall. She'd thought he recognized her at first. The panic nearly made her spin her horse and canter away.

But she'd held her ground, and finally realized he assumed she was the brother she'd mentioned at the waterfall. The lie sat like a bad piece of meat in her middle, churning her insides. But it was probably the best scenario she could be in right now.

Grant seemed to be trying to help her. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her, but if they could work together and keep the rest of the group satisfied with her efforts, she could keep from drawing undo notice.

Grant returned, his arms full of wood, just as she was ready to dish out the stew. She filled the bowls and handed them out, and finally the men stopped arguing as they ate.

She handed Grant his portion, and he nodded. "Thanks."

When she settled back with her own food, Parson spoke up. "Good stew."

A thin layer of pressure lifted off her chest with the words. She only nodded to him, though. As she'd studied the men today, it seemed they all did a lot of nodding instead of speaking.

The quiet didn't last long. When Parson finished downing his portion, he tossed the tin dish beside the fire. "Finish up, boys, then bed down. Pitch a tent if you're gonna, but I want quiet in half an hour."

She gulped her stew faster. She could take the used bowls to the creek and wash herself along with them. The mud she'd plastered on her skin itched, and she needed to clean off some of this sweat. She could dirty her face and hands again in the morning. She also needed to find a protected place to relieve herself. Maybe if she went to check the horses and mules.

Tomorrow would be easier. Now that she knew what was expected of her, and now that she'd made it through a full day without ruining her disguise, she could manage the rest of the trip.

And maybe in the next few days, they would reach the first waterfall and she could begin her search in earnest.