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and the Indians considered which route to take. Gray Wolf favored the short cut over the mountains, but Corbeau preferred sticking to the longer, less strenuous path. After asking for a few minutes of privacy to take care of personal needs, she left them to their debate.
    She walked to the nearby stream, the same one they had been crossing and re-crossing since yesterday. After quenching her thirst, she sat back to rest, listening to the sound of birdcalls and the gurgling of the rushing water. She heard the men still arguing in the distance and suddenly realized that this might be her chance. Her choices were few and escape the only acceptable one. The sooner she got away from her self-appointed "protector," the better off she would be.
    She just had to follow the stream downhill until she regained the path. They’d passed an abandoned hut earlier where she could spend the night safe from predators. At least the four-legged variety.
    She removed her shoes and stockings and stuffed them into her pouch. Standing, she pulled her skirt up and tucked the ends into the waistband.
    Cautiously she listened for any sign that the Frenchman had decided to come looking for her, but she heard his voice still raised in discussion. Heart pounding with fear and anticipation, Mara slipped quietly into the water and made her escape.
    By mid-afternoon she was lost. Her plan had seemed so simple, but she’d wandered into a branch of the main stream and wasted the better part of an hour before realizing what she had done. Back at the fork, she slumped on the ground to rest, her breathing labored. Her bare feet were freezing and she tucked them under her linsey-woolsey skirt.
    She rubbed her temples. The pounding in her head and the rumbling of her stomach reminded her how long it had been since she’d last eaten. And now she was alone in the wilderness, lost, hungry and exhausted.
    By the waters of Babylon, we lay down and wept. The verse floated into her mind, but she shoved it aside.
    She looked around to see if there were any edible plants. Tall fir trees lined the gently meandering stream on the other side, but here large wood ferns bordered a grassy bank. Water murmured softly around fallen tree trunks and partially submerged rocks. Emile would have appreciated the lush beauty of this spot.
    Emile.
    Was it just yesterday he was killed? Events blurred in her mind. How content he had been, digging in his vegetable garden. Alive one moment, then dead a few heartbeats later.
    If only he hadn’t fired first, he might still be alive. If only Gideon had heard the shots. Her brother was all she had left, her one hope. She had to reach him, but how? She might never find her way back to the cabin.
    Whatever had possessed her to think she could make her way home? If she didn’t find that abandoned cabin before dark, she would need a fire for warmth and to keep the animals at bay. Heavens, had she remembered to bring a flint? Frantically she began searching through her pouch.
    "Did you really expect to escape from me?"
    Mara jerked at the sound. The Frenchman stood on the other side of the stream. Though his voice had been soft and silky, the cold look in his eyes and the tenseness of his jaw signaled his fury.
    Her hand closed over Emile’s hunting knife. Never taking her eyes off Corbeau, she pulled it from her pack and hid it within the folds of her skirt. She rose to face him, her heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer against the anvil of her ribs.
    "Where are your friends?" Her gaze darted from tree to tree, searching the shadows.
    "I sent them on ahead. They would have killed you otherwise. You made a grave mistake, madame."
    When he took a step toward her, she brandished her weapon. It was just the two of them this time, and she had little to lose. "Don’t come any closer."
    He stopped and stared at her, his implacable expression unnerving. "Do not think of threatening me. You are out-matched, and I doubt you are capable of harming