“You no-good bushwhackers!” Sunrise bellowed, cradling his wounded hand. “I’m a law-abidin’ tracker! I got a certified right to my bounty!”
“Shut up, you low-down snake,” Keech said.
Sunrise used his uninjured hand to seize his horse’s reins. Fighting the spooked animal, he whipped around to the south. He made reckless tracks through the woods, his bearskin coat flapping in the hectic wind. “You’ll pay for this!” He disappeared into the thicket.
Next to Nat, Duck emerged from the trees on Irving, her buckskin Fox Trotter. She was leading her brother’s matching horse, Sally. The girl’s thick woolen coat made her look almost as wide as she was tall.
“We’re sure glad to see you!” John Wesley shouted as Nat and Duck joined them in the clearing. “That was a mighty fine shot. Took the hide right off his knuckles.”
“Thanks,” Nat said, looking proud.
“What brought you out from camp?” Keech asked.
“A spot of trouble,” said Duck. “Three cowpokes in yellow face paint. They was asking after a fugitive boy.”
Nat rested the Hawken over his shoulder. “They thought we was hiding him in one of our tents. They drew on us. Held us at gunpoint while they kicked down the camp.”
“They woulda stole Nat’s rifle,” Duck added, “but he’d tucked it under some shrubs before they got to us.”
Nat turned to John Wesley. “Sorry, John, but they threw your tent and blankets into the fire. I gave them as much mean talk as I could, but the more I spat, the more stuff they burned.”
John Wesley loosed a loud huff of anger. “Why my tent? What’d I ever do?”
Cutter frowned at his friend. “Don’t worry, hermano. Tonight you can squat with me.”
“How’d you get rid of them?” Keech asked.
“They lit out after they was satisfied we weren’t hiding nobody,” Duck said. “Rode off west, and we worried they’d find you three.”
“I reckon one of them did.” Keech hooked a thumb back to where Sunrise had fled.
Freezing wind hissed across his face. Keech shivered and glanced up at the sky. The norther was advancing fast, choking out the day. In less than an hour they would find themselves in a heavy storm. He searched the brewing clouds for signs of the Reverend’s crows, but the varmints were nowhere in sight.
Nat said, “We best get a move on. Wisdom ain’t getting any closer.”
“I vote we find shelter,” Duck said. “The sky’s awful dark, and that wind’s kicking up.”
“The longer we take finding Sheriff Strahan, the more chances we got of running into trouble,” Nat told his sister. “I don’t like the idea of waiting around for those ruffians to come back for revenge.”
“We won’t find Strahan at all if we freeze like a bunch of icicles,” Duck said.
“Maybe if we head for the Kansas River, we’ll spot a place to hole up,” Keech said.
“What about that?” John Wesley pointed through a thin spread of icy woodland to the west. “Looks like maybe there’s a barn down yonder.”
Although dusk was falling quickly and the wind stung his eyes, Keech could make out a dark blockhouse with a triangular roof standing alone in the wilderness. The building jutted like the prow of a sunken ghost ship against the unpromising sky.
“I don’t think we oughta hole up so near those paw prints,” Cutter said. “I say we ride at least a few miles.”
“What paw prints?” asked Nat.
“A weird critter looks to be prowlin’ the area,” said John Wesley. “Cutter thinks it’s a Shifter from another world.”
Nat looked confused.
“You know, a Shifter.” John grinned. “A man who turns into a bulldog at night and stalks chicken houses.”
“That ain’t what I said!” Cutter barked.
“Fellas, pay attention,” Duck said, snapping her fingers. “That storm’s coming fast. Let’s just go fetch a peek.” She pointed across the distance at the lone building. “If we don’t like the look of it, we’ll move on.”
Nat scratched his cheek. “I reckon it wouldn’t hurt. If that barn looks safe, we’ll let the storm pass, then head to Wisdom.”
“What a bully idea.” Duck smirked, rather sarcastically. “Glad you thought of it.”
By the time they reached the dirt path that led to the structure, just a few minutes of scant light remained of dusk. Holding on to Felix’s cantle, Keech felt a speck of ice tap the tip of his nose. He glanced up at the peevish sky, which had turned the darkest indigo and churned with the oncoming storm. They would awaken the next morning to an ice-covered territory.
“I’ve never seen weather turn this quick in early November,” Keech said.
“The old-timers in Sainte Genevieve always say that when the crows fly low, you best brace for a hard winter,” Nat said.
“Makes sense,” said John Wesley. “We saw plenty of crows.”
Duck held out her hand, palm up to the sky, and a flake of ice drifted down and landed on her finger. “We’re outfitted for cold weather, but we ain’t dressed for a blizzard. Let’s hope we can get into that building.”
As the group traveled, Keech kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting Sunrise Albert and his men to sneak up on the Lost Causes and ambush them. They weren’t out of the clear just yet.
But all thought of Sunrise left his mind when his eyes fell upon a meadow to their left. A strange growth stood in the center, a short distance off the path. At first glance, it looked like two solid trees standing alone in the field, but when he looked closer, he saw it was actually a single white oak tree with a trunk that split at the base. One thick arm stretched straight into the darkening sky. The other ran away from the base for a few feet, then curved sharply upward, forming a distinct shape, like an upside-down letter h.
John Wesley chuckled. “Look at that twisted, old tree. I wonder what happened to make it grow bent like that.”
Hearing that word—bent—made a lightning bolt of excitement snap through Keech. “Everyone stop!”
Duck yanked on Irving’s reins. “What are you going on about?”
“It’s a bending tree! I’d wager a thousand dollars.”
Nat hauled Sally around in a semicircle. “You mean like your pa said we should find?”
“It has to be,” Keech said, his breath catching into a lump.
“Let’s check it out, but hurry. I don’t feel cozy dawdling in the open,” Nat said.
The horses wheezed bitterly as the young riders directed them off the road and into the meadow. The tall grasses and the sedge were bent sideways here, pushed nearly horizontal by heavy winds and frozen in place by the weather. As the band approached the curious tree, Keech noticed that four white stones surrounded the roots, as if someone had purposely marked off the tree, setting the oak apart from the wilderness. The stones looked smooth and perfectly round, and ice had glazed them.
This is it, Pa, Keech thought. We found it. We found your bending tree. Sliding off Felix, he hurried over to examine the twisted oak. “It looks like the bent arm is pointing to the south.”
Cutter shrugged. “Does that mean we head that way?”
“Maybe so.” Keech reached one of the white stones set a couple of feet from the tree’s base. Each stone was no larger than a kitchen saucer, and two of them had cracked in the middle like eggshells. Nature could not have produced such flawlessly rounded, consistently spaced markers. They had surely been designed to sit around the tree like the points of a compass.
The tree itself lingered over him like an old, leaning man with a warped cane. Now that he was standing here, Keech felt shivers tingle his nerves.
He had no idea how this crooked, old growth was meant to guide them, but he felt that if he crossed into the circular space marked off by the stones, his mind would open up and he would understand how to find Bonfire Crossing.
He took a step over the first glossy marker.
No ideas, no understanding. Keech frowned. There had to be a message here, something more than a simple bough aimed to the south. He reached out and touched a finger to the tree’s wet bark.
Duck said, “Well?”
“Nothing. I don’t get it.”
“Well, there ain’t no time to figure it out,” Nat said. “We’re losing light, and like Duck said, we’ll freeze to death if we don’t go to ground.”
As if to prove his point, a few more flakes of icy rain pelted Keech’s cheeks. A brilliant shaft of lightning blazed across the sky, illuminating the heavy clouds. A violent crash of thunder rolled across the hillside.
“Keech, we have to go,” John Wesley said.
Disappointed, Keech turned away from the bending tree and stepped toward Felix. They were back to where they had started. Except, when he threw a final glance over his shoulder, he thought for one second he saw movement inside the crook of the oak’s south-facing bough. A scurrying patch of darkness, unnatural yet somehow familiar.
Somehow, the tree’s shadow had twisted. Like a snake springing to life.
Keech’s eyes must have been fooled by another lightning flash. He mounted Felix and popped the reins. Duck glanced back at him as they all headed back to the path. “Sorry, Keech. It was worth a shot.”
He forced the girl a quick smile. “We’ll figure this out. Pa wouldn’t have sent us on a wild-goose chase.”
The young riders veered back onto the road and continued toward the structure, where Keech hoped they could find a little rest and perhaps some peace of mind.