Later that afternoon the chief approached.
The frontiersman braced himself.
The chief looked at the packed horse.
“You leave.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“South, maybe.”
“Why?”
“Work.”
“There is work here.”
The frontiersman hesitated.
The chief continued.
“Horses need shoeing. Roofs need repair. Hunters need ammunition traded. You know English law better than we do.”
The stranger raised an eyebrow.
“That is not saying much.”
“No.”
The chief looked toward his daughter, who stood talking with several women.
Then back at the frontiersman.
“I owe you an apology.”
That surprised him more than the marriage declaration had.
“For what?”
“I placed my daughter inside a debt that was mine.”
The frontiersman said nothing.
The chief continued.
“She reminded me of this.”
“With a cooking stone?”
The chief touched a fading bruise near his shoulder.
The frontiersman tried not to smile.
“She has good aim.”
“So I've seen.”
The chief held out his hand.
“No debt.”
The stranger took it.
“No debt.”
The chief released him.
“What happens now is not mine to decide.”
Then he walked away.
The frontiersman finished packing.
At sunset, he led his horse toward the trail.
Nobody stopped him.
The daughter's absence hurt more than he expected.
He told himself it was better.
Cleaner.
He had already brought enough trouble into her life.
He reached the trees.
“White man.”
He stopped.
The daughter stood twenty yards behind him.
She wore a heavy winter cloak and carried a small pack.
The frontiersman looked at it.
“No.”
She frowned.
“I have not said anything.”
“You're not coming south.”
“Who said I intended to?”
He looked at the pack again.
She walked closer.
“I am going to the trading settlement.”
“Why?”
“My aunt wants blankets, medicine, coffee, and needles.”
“Your father is sending you?”
“No.”
“Your brother?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“I decided.”
That silenced him.
She stepped beside the horse.
“You are traveling the same direction.”
“For part of it.”
“So we travel together.”
The frontiersman knew a trap when he saw one.
He had become particularly knowledgeable about traps recently.
“All right.”
They walked side by side.
An hour passed.
Then another.
As darkness approached, they made camp beneath a rocky ledge.
The frontiersman built a fire.
The daughter sat opposite him.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Finally she said, “You are nervous.”
“No.”
“You have checked your coffee four times.”
“Coffee requires supervision.”
“You are nervous.”
He looked at her.
“Why did you really come?”
She lifted one eyebrow.
“For needles.”
“Your father has needles.”
“Better needles.”
He stared.
She laughed.
Then her expression softened.
“I wanted to know whether you would leave without saying goodbye.”
The frontiersman looked into the fire.