Runs-from-Bears shrugged. His expression was blank, but his tone was hard—edged. "You watch out for that treasury agent," he said. "He's too curious about the north face."

Nathaniel nodded, his thoughts moving away already and up the mountain. He grasped Bears by the lower arm and then took off into the forest.

* * *

He knew the mountain as well as he knew the cabin in which he had been born and raised, as well as he knew the textures and planes of his daughter's face. It was Hannah's face Nathaniel carried with him through the dark, the look in her eyes when he pulled her through the schoolhouse window. He had rocked her while she wept and sobbed and coughed, rocked her as he hoped her mother might have rocked her, murmuring to her wordlessly. Unable to console her, Nathaniel had wished for Elizabeth to help him with this, and looked up to see her flying toward them, with Many-Doves and Falling—Day just behind. Just then Julian had come bolting out of the schoolhouse with his hair on fire, to be knocked to the ground by Bears.

The sight of him had seemed to give Hannah a voice.

"I tried to get out," she hiccuped. "The smell of it woke me up, and so I tried. But it was locked. The door was locked."

Nathaniel had known real rage only a few times in his life. On the battlefield he had made his acquaintance with the pure, focused fury that lifted a man above fear. It had come to him again, seeing what Lingo had done to Elizabeth and knowing that the man was beyond a reckoning. As he walked toward the Southerns' cabin with Hannah in his arms, the same kind of jagged, razor—edged rage overcame him. Billy Kirby had set the schoolhouse to burning and locked the door.

He had to ask. "Did he see you? Hannah, did Billy see you?"

She trembled against him. "I don't know," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes now. She had cried herself dry. He could almost feel the tension in her flowing out and away; she seemed heavier now, looser in his arms. Falling—Day came up and he passed the child over to her, following them into the cabin to have his wounds tended. Thinking not of his own injuries, or the daughter who still needed comforting, or his wife, who went pale and straight—backed to her brother's deathbed, but of Billy Kirby, and how right it would feel to put a rifle up against the man's head and pull the trigger.

Running this mountain in the near total dark was not nearly as hard as it was going to be to keep his promise to Elizabeth.

Nathaniel pushed hard uphill, pausing only to listen. Twice he heard search parties and saw lanterns, not too far off. He kept his own counsel, not because he didn't need their help, but because he couldn't afford their company. Not where he needed to go.

* * *

On the edge of a ravine on a slope so steep that he could stand straight and chew grass if he chose, Nathaniel caught a flash of movement above him. The wolves who made this side of the mountain their own were watching him, eyes reflecting red in the moonlight. It was a good sign.

He skittered over a shoulder of scree accumulated over many years, feeling it shift beneath him. Paying attention to the mountain now, because the mountain was paying attention to him. The Wolf would toss him into the void like a bucking horse if he let his mind wander. When the moon was lost behind cloud cover he came to a halt and waited, because he had no choice. An owl called in the darkness and nearby, a nightjar seemed to answer.

Stopping often to listen, Nathaniel made his way along a narrow cliff and past the silver mine. From what he could see through the tangle of juniper that grew out of the cracks in the rock face, nothing had been disturbed; there were no obvious tracks, although daylight might tell a different story. You could walk past the spot a thousand times and never guess what was there: not just the silver mine, tended so carefully these many years, but the strongbox that Chingachgook had brought out of the bush back in '57, and the rest of the Tory Gold.

Nathaniel continued on up through the pines, switching back and forth where the incline was too much for him. There was the deadfall, a hundred years and more of wood downed by storm and wind, as dangerous as any bear trap. The cave was just above him, but before that there was a cliff face he didn't dare scale in the night. The long way around took him a good hour at a steady climb, until finally he could look down on the cave. Under an outcropping of rock he hunkered down, to wait and to think.

He had played in the cave as a boy, hid there when he wanted to be on his own. Right now Billy might be looking at the elk and deer he had drawn on the walls with a burnt stick. His father had shown the cave to him when he was ten; he would do the same for Hannah, when she was surefooted enough for the narrow ridge that led to it. If they were still here. If they could still call Hidden Wolf home. It seemed more and more likely to him these days that they might actually lose the mountain, or simply walk away from it. Once he would have sacrificed his own life to secure his daughter's birthright, but just yesterday he had learned that the cost of staying might be too high.

In the dark Nathaniel could not see the smoke rising from the mouth of the cave, but he could smell it, along with roasting possum. Kirby was in there; he was keeping himself warm and dry. With his rifle across his knees, primed and ready, Nathaniel waited for Billy to show his face, or for the dawn when he could go in after him. Whichever came first.

* * *

Just before sunrise he made his move. From one side, he tossed in a torch, swung his rifle up and went in with his finger testy on the trigger. It wasn't any struggle at all: Billy simply got up wearily, dropped his gun, and stood staring at the floor.