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the route. Hopefully, the instincts of his Indian half will put us on the right trail.”
    I looked at Red. “Were you raised a Shoshone?”
    “I lived with my father’s family until we were forced onto a reservation, then he sent me to my mother in Denver. When I was old enough, I returned to my father for a few years, but it wasn’t what I expected.”
    “You didn’t fit anymore?”
    Red met my eyes for the first time. “I fit with the Pinkertons.” When Red finally spoke, he seemed to have a few burrs.
    Sharp used a light tone to change the subject. “Gonna think with yer Indian half tomorrow?”
    “Like a Ute, not Shoshone. They’re mountain people.”
    McAllen returned to his bedroll, scooted down, and threw a blanket over himself. The three of us followed suit. After a few quiet moments, Sharp said, “Killin’ troopers, wiping out an Indian Agency: at least those acts kinda make sense. Hurt the ones that hurt you. But stealing this girl? It just gets men chasing ya for no purpose.”
    “They have a purpose,” Red said out of the dark.
    “What purpose?” I asked, leaning up on an elbow.
    Red stared at the stars. “Don’t know.”

Chapter 8
     
    The next day we ran across no tracks, no people, and no decent game. We stopped in the late afternoon, and McAllen told us to set up camp below an imposing mesa. The quiet meadow took my breath away. The valley narrowed at this point, with steeply sloped gorges heading off in any number of directions. A thin waterfall splashed against some rocks at the base of our cliff and then disappeared into the ground.
    We were surrounded by towering rock faces but still had vistas between the valley walls that extended out to the flatlands for tens of miles. The brown and gold hues and unlimited horizon made the whole scene seem unreal to someone raised in the East, where impenetrable walls of green trees blocked an extended view. It suddenly occurred to me that the big sky, vast landscape, and soaring monuments gave westerners a sense of freedom and boundless opportunity not shared by their eastern neighbors, who could seldom see a thriving community less than a mile away.
    It was beautiful, and I wanted to make entries in my journal, but it had also gone from brisk to downright cold. I wondered if I could hold a pencil steady enough to read my own writing when I got warmer.
    As I was wondering if I would even have time for my journal, McAllen ordered, “Set up for a few days.”
    “The horses?” I asked.
    “Probably won’t run back now, but picket the packhorses a good distance apart in good feed. Let our saddle horses graze free.”
    McAllen and Red walked off to speak in private, so Sharp and I unloaded the packhorses and started arranging our supplies behind some huge boulders that had fallen down from the cliff. I glanced up but didn’t see any fissures that seemed ready to drop a new load onto our heads. It took about an hour for us to get the three packhorses hobbled by the front foot on picket lines and to get the equipment and supplies stowed in some type of order.
    When we started to unsaddle our mounts, McAllen yelled from a distance, “Leave Red’s horse alone!”
    “What’s going on?” I asked Sharp.
    “Red’s going to scout those gorges an’ try to pick up their trail. We’ll wait here for him until he can tell us which way to go.”
    “Days?”
    “Unless he gets real lucky.”
    I looked around at the terrain. “They think the Utes came this way because there’re so many routes they could take out of this valley. Rocky surfaces too.”
    “You’re learning, Steve. ’Fore long, ya’ll be a regular frontiersman.”
    I hooked a thumb at the rest of our party. “What’re they talking about?”
    “Probably how far Red should track ’em if he finds signs.”
    “Wouldn’t it be dangerous for him to approach alone?”
    “Not if Red’s father taught him well. Damn sight safer than the four of us and seven horses pounding after