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She nodded, and I could have sworn her eyes got a little misty. I think it was the most I’d ever said about my mother to her.
“Oh, and say goodbye to Rose,” I said. “Tell her she’s free to take over my chores if she wishes.”
At that she smiled, both of us knowing that Rose would never have to work a day in her life.
I gave Uncle Pat a little wave which he barely acknowledged, and then coaxed Sadie out toward the group, hoping that the other horses were friendlier than their riders were. I started heading toward Do
“Actually, I would rather if you rode up here with me and Jake,” Tim said.
Was he being serious? I halted and looked over my shoulder at him. Mr. Snarl’s name was Jake and Tim wanted me at the front with him?
Tim raised the brim of his hat to see me more clearly. “You’re the tracker after all. You need to be at the front with us at all times. Otherwise, how in the heck are we supposed to find anything?”
He had a point, and one I didn’t even think of before. I looked over at Do
I sighed and steered Sadie around, taking her past the three other men—Isaac, Mr. Scar Face, and the plump one—until I was right beside Tim, Jake on the other side of him.
“For safety’s sake, Jake will go first. You second. And I’ll be right behind.”
Safety’s sake? I’m sure the question was all over my face because Tim said, “Jake was in the Texas Rangers with me. We fought Monterey together. He’s the best shot I’ve ever met, the best horseman, and—if you believe the rumors—has killed a bear or two with only a pocketknife.”
As I took my place behind him, I actually could believe the rumors. With his broad, burly frame, scarred hands and rows of shotgun shells across his weathered vest, he was both manly and terrifying. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was such a man, a mounted time bomb of testosterone, that made him terrifying or if it was the other way around.
Maybe it was that up this close, his skin smelled warm and good, like toasted pine.
I made a sound like a squeak, immediately hating myself for being so noticeably intimidated. It didn’t matter. Jake had already turned around in the saddle, taking those fathomless eyes with him. With a barely perceptible motion, he signaled to his horse and we were off at a brisk trot.
For most of the ride that morning, as we left the small settlement of River Bend behind, the only home I’d ever known, Tim was chatting away in my ear, making introductions to everyone else in the party. There was, of course, Isaac, who was sitting right behind him. Then there was Mervin Meeks, the pot-bellied fellow, whom Tim said was a well-respected man who put up most of the money to fund the expedition. He’d been Isaac’s childhood friend and was always there to help. The rest I could figure out for myself. He was loud and boisterous, joking with Isaac most of the time. With Mervin in the group, silence was rare.
Then there was Mr. Scar, whose real name was Hank O’ Doyle, a man that scared me more than Jake did. Maybe because Jake never looked behind at me, yet every time I turned my head to make eye contact with Avery, Hank’s leering gaze was right there with his dead, grey eyes. It made me feel like I had centipedes crawling on my skin. The fact that Hank had a face like a badger and was ugly as sin didn’t help.
Tim kept Hank’s introduction short, saying that he rode with them in the Rangers and was crucial to many skirmishes. My guess was that if they ever needed someone ruthlessly killed behind closed doors, Hank was the one to do it. That didn’t make me feel any better.
I wished more than anything that I was riding in the back with Avery. Then I could at least be myself and not worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. While Jake never spoke, Tim asked me a million questions.
“What river is this here?” he asked as we rode along a path worn smooth by elk, aspen trees showing their early autumn gold on one side, the rushing dark water on the other.
“The Paiute Indians had another word for it, but I believe it’s now known as the Truckee River. At least, that’s what we had been told a few years ago. Named after Chief Truckee.”
“Paiute, huh?” Tim said. “Is that what you are?”
“It’s the tribe my father belonged to, yes.”
At that, Jake turned his head to the side and eyed me, as if he had to make sure I was in fact half Indian.
“Fell in love with a white girl, did he now?” Tim commented, almost to himself. “Well, it’s happened before. Just ain’t so common down where we’re from. See, in Texas, the Comanche and Cheye
Jake’s jaw stiffened before he turned back around, guiding us around a boulder.
I didn’t want to talk about my parents. Their relationship was beautiful and tragic and very private.
“Your pappy is dead, ain’t he?” I didn’t have to say anything. He continued, “I’m sorry about that. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “One day he set out on a trek, trying to track a few cows that had escaped our neighbor’s farm. He never came back.”
He fell silent. In fact, everyone fell silent; even the river seemed to reduce down to a gurgle. I suppose our conversation could be heard down the line.
Soon enough though, Meeks started yapping away again, this time directed at Do
The sun was shining and high like a gold pe
The curious thing about the Do
What’s out there.
What’s out there?
I suppressed the shiver that threatened my backbone and tried to ignore my mother’s words. Still, the only reason we knew about the Do
We rode until di
Though it felt good to be off the horses, we didn’t stay for long. We fried up the fish over a small fire, filled our canteens with the clear, cold river water, and then continued on our way. Tim wanted us to ride as far as we could while we still had the afternoon. Supper would most likely be had in the dark of the looming woods with some of the jackrabbits that Jake casually picked off with his revolver from time to time. He really was a good shot, shooting the animals that even I could barely spot, their ta