“My sister still wants kill you.”
“I noticed.”
The daughter stood behind him.
“I understand English.”
The frontiersman looked over his shoulder.
“That's becoming inconvenient.”
The injured warrior chuckled, then winced.
The stranger removed a small tin from his saddlebag.
The daughter immediately grabbed his wrist.
“What is that?”
“Willow powder.”
She studied him.
“You carry medicine?”
“I carry whatever keeps me from dying.”
“That must be a heavy bag.”
The comment caught him off guard.
For the first time, he saw something beneath her anger.
Dry humor.
He showed her the powder.
“Helps with fever and pain.”
The older woman examined it.
Then nodded reluctantly.
They mixed some into hot water.
The chief's son drank.
The daughter remained beside her brother while the stranger rewrapped the injury.
Eventually she said, “He said you held the trap open after your hands began bleeding.”
The frontiersman glanced at his palms.
Several cuts crossed them.
“Didn't notice.”
“He said you could have let go.”
“I could have.”
“But you did not.”
“No.”
She watched him for a moment.
“What do you want?”
“Sleep.”
“I mean from us.”
“Nothing.”
“Nobody wants nothing.”
He tied the bandage.
“That may be the first thing we agree on.”
She did not smile.
The frontiersman stood.
At the entrance she spoke again.
“My father embarrassed me tonight.”
The stranger stopped.
“He embarrassed both of us.”
Her expression hardened.
“Not equally.”
The frontiersman turned back.
“No.”
There was no argument in his voice.
That seemed to matter.
He added, “For what it's worth, I won't marry anybody who doesn't walk willingly to meet me.”
She studied him carefully.
“You speak as if there is still a possibility.”
He blinked.
She almost smiled.
Then the expression vanished.
“You leave when the traps are found.”
“That was already the plan.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Neither moved.
Finally the daughter stepped aside.
The frontiersman walked back toward his fire.
Behind him she said, “White man.”
He stopped.
“I have another title.”
“I do not care.”
He sighed.
“What?”
“If I discover you placed those traps, my father will not need to kill you.”
The frontiersman nodded.
“I believe you.”
That night, for reasons he did not understand, he slept better than he had in months.
Chapter Four — Tracks in the Snow
They left before sunrise.
The chief's daughter rode a gray mare.
The frontiersman rode his bay gelding.
Two warriors followed at a distance, not because the daughter needed protection but because nobody yet trusted the stranger.
The daughter carried a rifle across her saddle.
The frontiersman's revolver had been returned with six cartridges.
Six.
Not seven.
Not a full box.
Six.