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    “Next storm,” Will repeated. “You be ready to ride tomorrow. We’re gonna move in closer and take thet ole trapper’s cabin down by the river. We’ll work out from there.”
    “Thet’s Injun country,” interjected Sam.
    Will placed his whiskey bottle on the table while he spit and swore at the mention of the tribe that made their home in the valley. Then he took another long draught of the fiery liquid.
    “Be ready to ride tomorrow,” he barked. “I got it all worked out. Yer sure about the girl?”
    Sam nodded. “She’ll be there,” he answered slowly.
    Will lifted the whiskey bottle to his lips again. But when he discovered it was already empty, he flung the bottle angrily into the corner, scattering shards of broken glass about the cabin.

Chapter Four
    The Snowstorm
    Will turned to his son. “Not certain jest when we’ll be back,” the big man said to the tall young man before him.
    Laramie made sure his face betrayed no emotion, but he was not pleased with the fact that his father and Sam were riding off with a winter storm imminent.
    “Any orders?” he asked quietly. He would not openly question his father’s decision, even though he felt it was downright foolhardy. He had a strong feeling Sam agreed with that assessment, though the man had not expressed such to him. Still, Sam stomped and cursed and looked particularly menacing as he saddled his own mount. The packs had been tied securely on the backs of the two other animals.
    “No orders,” said Will curtly. “You know the ropes.”
    The young man nodded. This was his father’s way of saying that he was in charge.
    His eyes turned back to the waiting horses. His father’s horse pawed at the ground and blew, his nostrils flaring. He too seemed reluctant to leave the shelter of the buildings but was impatient to be off if a trip had to be made. Sam’s horse stood head down, eyes nearly closed against the cold wind. He was getting old, but Sam refused to give him up in place of a younger mount.
    The two pack animals crowded in against each other as though seeking warmth. The young man’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the two animals. Why two? The packs weren’t that cumbersome. One horse could have easily carried the load. And there was something very odd about the one. A blanket covered the entire pack—as if something was being concealed. But hidden from whom? He was puzzled, but he knew better than to ask.
    “Ya sure this rope is—” he began nonchalantly and stepped forward to check the rope that reached across the pack. He let his hand run over the contents beneath the blanket. Again his face gave nothing away, but he had discovered the mystery of the blanket. There was a saddle underneath it, camouflaged by small packs that rested on it. And it sure wasn’t a pack saddle. It was a riding saddle. Why did his father need a third horse for a rider?
    He stepped back and nodded to Sam, his way of casually acknowledging that the rope was secure. Sam cursed softly.
    “Ya think I’m fergittin’ how to pack a horse?” he grumbled.
    The young man did not answer. He knew that none was expected. The rule of the gang was to keep quiet unless talk was required. He had already broken one of the rules. He had questioned a superior. Anyone but Sam would have been more than upset by the interference.
    There were no goodbyes. No calls of “Safe trip,” or “Be seein’ you.” The two men mounted their horses in silence; each picked up a lead for a pack horse and moved out onto the trail that wound away from the crude buildings. The few men left behind did not stand and watch them go or even wave a hand to send them on their way. They turned back to whatever their own activities had been, which in most cases was simply to be in where the fire would warm the frigid air.
    “Skidder—best git up there and spell off Rawley,” said the young man as they entered the cabin.
    “He ain’t been up there any four hours,”