The Kansas wind crackled through the icy woodland, turning the trees into angry brutes. Keech pondered the sky with concern. A fierce norther looked to be brewing, driving fresh bundles of snow and ice clouds over the tepid afternoon sunlight.
As the trio rode back to camp, they came upon a deep ravine. The ground fell away at a steep angle, the deep bottom full of dead limbs and mammoth red stones. Felix skirted the chasm with confidence, but Chantico and Lightnin’ balked at the sight of it.
“A river must have cut this ravine,” Keech said, leaning over his saddle to inspect the chasm’s floor. The dried-up gorge appeared to run south for a spell, then veer east. “I bet if we followed it a day or two, we’d reach the Kansas River.”
“Ravines are nice, but I’d like to get out of these woods,” John Wesley said. Since saving all their lives at Bone Ridge, John seemed to be in loftier spirits. He still refused to speak about his mother’s killer, but at least he was riding a little taller in his saddle and joking with the gang. Sometimes, though, Keech sensed that John was feeling more and more apprehensive the deeper they rode into Kansas.
Truth be told, Kansas was getting under the whole group’s skin. Since leaving Missouri, Cutter didn’t spit the fire and vinegar he usually did, and Nat, the usually unflappable rancher, had taken to constant glances over his shoulder. But it was Nat’s young sister, Duck, who concerned Keech the most. She was the kindest, fiercest person he’d ever met, other than Sam, but sometimes in the night, she would wake by the campfire, hugging herself into a tight ball, the corners of her blanket tucked into her mouth to hold a scream at bay. It’s just bad dreams. Everybody gets those, she said once. Don’t you worry about me. We got bigger fish to fret over.
Keech understood the foreboding. This whole territory had a foul temper about it, like a rotten child with a toothache. His travels with Pa Abner had never taken him into Kansas, but Pa had sometimes spoken of it as a dangerous place, a harsh region of wildfires and tornadoes and open spaces that could rob a lonely horseman of his sanity.
The trio approached a dense wall of twisted brush and thistle. A narrow fox run meandered through the tangle, and Keech suggested they use it as a shortcut back to camp.
As they plodded in single file down the critter path, Keech’s mind couldn’t help spiraling to thoughts of Bonfire Crossing, the Osage encampment where Pa Abner and his Enforcer chums had taken the Oath of Memory, the mysterious ritual that had caused them to forget the Char Stone’s hiding place. Pa’s clues on how to find this Crossing had been rather vague—Ride west, he had said, follow the rivers, the bending trees—but there were dozens of rivers in Kansas Territory, and Keech had never seen a “bending tree” in his life.
“Blackwood, we got company!”
Every rambling thought fell away at Cutter’s voice, and Keech snapped to attention.
A Morgan horse with a black mane stood in the distance. A brown hairy monster sat on its saddle. The beast and the horse lingered on a short hill thinly covered in snow.
“What in blue tarnation?” John Wesley muttered.
Cutter clenched his reins. “Am I seeing things, or is a bear riding that horse?”
Keech squinted at the terrible rider. It was no monster; the figure on the hill wore a heavy coat made from the pelts of a brown bear. The bear’s open maw wrapped around the rider’s head, its fangs encircling the stranger’s face.
“Stay ready,” Keech said, sizing up the clearing, the forest, their potential escape. “If he pulls a gun, split east and west.”
The stranger rode forward a few steps, revealing himself to be a middle-aged man. He raised a large gloved hand in greeting. Keech returned the gesture, keeping a sharp eye on the fellow’s other hand.
“We shouldn’t stop,” John Wesley mumbled.
“We best learn his purpose. We don’t want a stranger to our backs if he has ill intentions.”
“You’re the leader, Lost Cause,” Cutter said. “You talk to him.”
“Who said I’m the leader?” Keech asked. Nat Embry was the top dog in their crew, and Keech wanted to keep it that way. He had already gotten his brother Sam killed; he didn’t want to carry the responsibility of any more lives.
From across the distance, the stranger announced, “Pleasant day, boys!”
Frowning, Keech called back, “Good day, sir.”
“A rabble of young fellers in the deep woods,” the horseman mused. “Musta run away from yer chores, eh?”
“We’re just out hunting.”
“Ride closer!” the stranger called. “A life of shootin’ prairie hens done spoilt my ears.”
“He’s baiting us,” Cutter said.
“Yeah, he wants a look at our getup,” John Wesley added.
“I know.” But Keech prodded Felix forward a few steps anyway and said to the man, “Okay, we’re closer. Now kindly state your purpose, mister.”
The grizzled horseman grinned, revealing chipped teeth. He wore a heavy brown beard that matched his bear pelt, and his eyelids drooped lazily in the sunlight. One of his hands gripped a yellow paper, rolled into a loose tube. He didn’t appear to be armed—though he could have been hiding any manner of weapon inside his barbaric pelt.
“I’m a hunter, young feller. Go by the name of Sunrise Albert, on account that I rise like the sun and spread my joy ’cross the world.” The man chortled. “You’ve heard of me, I’m sure.”
“Sorry, Sunrise, we never have,” Keech said.
The horseman grunted his disappointment. “That baffles me. I’m well known in these parts.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Keech said. “What brings you out today?”
“Just collectin’ for a feller named Friendly. Surely you’ve heard of Friendly Williams.”
“No, sir.”
“You ain’t never heard of him, neither? He oversees the trade affairs from Atchison all the way down to Wisdom.”
Keech nearly reeled when he heard the name of the town. Wisdom was the place that Sheriff Bose Turner told them might hold clues to Bonfire Crossing’s whereabouts. Turner had said the lawman there, a fellow by the name of Strahan, knew the Osage folks in the region and might be able to help guide them in the right direction. “This town, Wisdom. How far is it?”
“About a day’s ride southwest, as the crow flies. ’Course, the crows in these parts been actin’ mighty peculiar the past few days.”
The stranger was surely referring to the Reverend Rose’s unnatural messenger crows, those dark agents of the sky that had followed the young riders all over Missouri. Since entering Kansas Territory a week ago, the gang hadn’t seen any trace of the crows. Yet Keech felt sure they were somewhere up there, watching from a safe distance. Spying for the Reverend.
Keech’s fingers crept to his chest, seeking the familiar crescent of metal through the fabric of his coat. Tucked inside his shirt rested Pa’s silver pendant, the quarter-moon object that Pa had called “sacred.” The magical amulets killed thralls and kept the monster crows at bay.
Keech called to the stranger. “What exactly are you out collecting?”
Merrily, the tracker unrolled the yellow paper. The boys leaned forward in their saddles to read the contents. When Keech realized what he was seeing, a mixture of anger and sorrow squeezed his heart.
The paper was a government poster. A drawing at the top depicted what appeared to be a boy, silhouetted as if he were a mere shadow, running with a bindle over his shoulder. The proclamation printed below the image read:
$300 REWARD!
FOR 1 RUNAWAY
ANSWERS TO OSCAR
HEIGHT: 5 FEET 2 INCHES
WEIGHT: 95 POUNDS
13 YEARS OF AGE, SLENDER BUILD
LAST SEEN WEARING A BROWN SHIRT,
GRAY PANTS, BLACK HAT, AND BLUE SACK COAT
STOLE:
1 FOOD BASKET, 1 PAIR OF BOOTS
DELIVER TO
FRIENDLY WILLIAMS
WISDOM, KS
Sunrise Albert was hunting a person.
Keech wanted to rip the paper to pieces. He glanced at his trailmates. Cutter’s face twisted in disgust, while John Wesley hung his head.
Pa Abner had not spoken often about slavery, but when he did, he would shake with rage. He had settled the Home for Lost Causes near Big Timber because the folks in that area held to a higher belief, namely that all people were equal in the eyes of their maker, regardless of skin color. Big Timber even boasted a sign at the outskirts of the settlement that declared A FREE TOWN FOR ONE AND ALL. SLAVERS NOT WELCOME! The people there weren’t perfect, but at least they refused to allow hateful men to live among them.
A malicious grin spread across Sunrise Albert’s face, giving Keech the impression that a bear was smiling at him. “Y’all should notice that the reward is three hun’ert dollars. That’s Friendly’s generosity. I’d split it fifty-fifty if’n you kids helped me.”
“No one’s crossed our path,” said John Wesley.
With a tug of the reins, Keech edged Felix toward the western trees, a route that would skirt around the clearing past Sunrise.
The tracker tapped the poster. “Y’all certain ya can’t help?”
“We’re certain,” Keech said. He considered adding that they would never turn over another human being to a hunter, no matter the price. He wanted to cuss the man out, but they weren’t equipped for a gunfight, which such words would surely earn them.
“That’s a shame,” Sunrise said, stuffing the yellow poster back under his bear pelt. The approaching north wind picked up and rustled the coat’s dingy fur.
“Amigos, we better go,” Cutter said.
The boys started toward the western trees.
They didn’t get far before Sunrise called out, “Stop right there!”
Keech’s breath hitched when he saw a pistol in the tracker’s hand. Sunrise must have pulled the sidearm when he tucked away the poster. A foolish oversight, to miss such an obvious draw. Pa Abner had always taught Keech that clever movement of the hands could dupe careless eyes.
“I believe we got unfinished business.”
Keech swiveled Felix back around. Cutter drew his long blade as he turned his own mount. Fifty paces lay between them and Sunrise, far enough that a pistol shot was no sure success. But the man could still hit a pony without the need for much accuracy.
“Mister, we’re only hunting squirrels,” Keech insisted.
“A storyteller, I see.”
“We’re just riding through,” John Wesley said. “Let us pass.”
John’s words fell away when Sunrise thumbed back the side hammer of his pistol. “Or what? Tell me somethin’ useful, boys, or I’ll fling a lead ball.”
“Mister, don’t get your back up,” Keech said. “We’re telling the truth.”
“Nah, I been watchin’ you boys. Yer huntin’ somethin’. My gut tells me it’s my bounty. Or maybe you want to hide the boy and whisk him off to—”
Before Sunrise could finish, a deep crack thundered across the forest.
The tracker’s gun hand whipped sideways, and the pistol sprang from his grip. His Morgan reared in surprise, and Sunrise yelped, blood pouring from his gloved hand.
Spinning on their saddles, the boys tracked the source of the gunshot.
Forty yards to the east, a dirty gray hat bobbed over a gooseberry bush. The long black barrel of a plains rifle poked out from the center of the shrub. At first, it appeared the gooseberry bush was wearing the hat and holding the rifle, but then a tall figure pulled the barrel from the shrub and stepped out from his cover.
Nat Embry tipped his hat to the boys, then dropped to one knee to reload his Hawken.