Jennie couldn’t look. She closed her eyes, but still caught a glimpse of the white tail and rounded belly that lay on the ground near the far side of the cabin.
“How—how could …” Jennie stammered. “I—I didn’t hear a shot.”
“They must have used a silencer. Stay here with Tiponi while I check around.” Joseph positioned Jennie and Amber beside a dark green Ford Ranger and ran into the house.
Glancing inside the vehicle, Jennie noticed a cell phone. She could call for help if— Her thoughts dissipated as Joseph emerged from the house.
“Go inside and wait for me,” he ordered. “Lock the door.”
She and Amber sat at the kitchen table and waited. Only then did Jennie relax enough to notice her surroundings. A southwestern-style rug stretched from the sofa to a couple of matching leather chairs. Next to the fire stood an old wooden rocker with a worn cloth cushion. Tired of sitting, Jennie decided to explore.
The log cabin looked bigger from the inside. The main room served as a sitting room, kitchen, and eating area. A circular fire pit occupied the center of the room. Smoke from the fire escaped through a metal vent that looked like an upside-down funnel—narrow at the top where it met the ceiling. At one end of the room were three open doors leading to two bedrooms and a bath.
The furnishings were old, and Jennie took her time examining them. In one bedroom, a framed picture of Christ knocking at a door hung beside an embroidery of the Twenty-third Psalm. An antique Bible sat on a stand below the picture.
Thirty minutes passed before they saw Joseph again. His hands were covered with dirt and blood. “It was not Tasha,” he said going to the kitchen sink. “This one was older. One of the poachers must have wounded it, then lost the trail.”
Amber sighed. “I’m glad it wasn’t her. Are you going to call the sheriff?”
“You must not concern yourself with these matters.”
Jennie might have believed Joseph’s explanation about the poacher except for two things. He hadn’t looked into her eyes, and he had a piece of pale green paper in his shirt pocket that hadn’t been there earlier. The paper had a frayed edge just like the one left on Heather’s Jeep. When he turned around after washing his hands, the paper was gone.
Joseph excused himself to shower and change clothes, then went into his bedroom.
Jennie wondered what he’d done with the note. Maybe he’d show it to her later. Or maybe he’d already thrown it away.
Jennie looked over at the sink where Joseph had been standing, then pushed her chair back and casually sauntered into the kitchen. She opened the cupboard and checked the trash. Bingo. Her hunch had been right. She pulled out the crinkled bloodstained note and read it.
This could be you. Jennie folded the note and jammed it into the pocket of her jeans. Later she’d compare the handwriting. She wondered how many threatening notes the White Clouds had gotten and how many they’d handed over to the sheriff.
She headed to the leather sofa and sank into it. Amber, who’d been curled up in the armchair, got up, took a piece of firewood from a box beside the pit, and placed it in the ashes. “I hate it when deer get killed. I wish people couldn’t hunt anymore. And I wish I was the sheriff. I’d round up all the hunters and put them in jail.”
Jennie glanced at the mounted moose head with antlers nearly as wide as the room. “Your grandfather hunts. Would you put him in jail too?”
“That’s different. Papa says the Creator gives us plants and animals for food and clothing. Some of the hunters are like Papa, but most of the poachers do it for fun. They use high-powered rifles and automatic weapons …”
Joseph came out of his bedroom. “Tiponi,” he scolded, “how do you know these things? Did your father tell you this?”
Amber shrugged. “I hear things, Papa. And I know.”
Joseph pinched his lips together. His obsidian eyes clouded with concern, but he said no more about it. Instead he turned and walked into the kitchen area and pulled a piece of white cloth from a large lump of dough.
Joseph dropped pieces of the dough out on a floured cutting board and patted them until they were flat and round. One by one he formed them, slid them into a black iron skillet with hot oil to fry, then set them aside to drain.
Within a few minutes they were feasting on warm fry bread, spread with butter and dripping with brilliant red strawberry jam.
Jennie, too warm to stay near the fire, chose a seat next to the large window in the living room. She gazed at the trees and a meadow dotted with colorful wild flowers. Like Jeff and Maggie’s home, Joseph’s had a great view. Here, though, you didn’t just look at the mountains, you were in them.
“This is a wonderful place. It looks old.”
“My grandfather built it in 1901 when he married my grandmother. Except for the wood floor and the fire pit I put in for Chenoa in 1948, it is the same.”
“Chenoa? Your wife?” Jennie asked. She loved the sound of the Indian names.
Joseph nodded. His black eyes drifted closed in an almost reverent gesture.
“Papa and Daddy were both born in that bedroom back there.” Amber pointed to an open door on the right. A worn, multicolor handmade quilt covered the bed.
“The quilt—did Chenoa make it?”
Joseph opened his eyes and looked toward the room. “A wedding gift from Nadi—my mother.”
Jennie wanted to explore every inch of the cabin—to pick up each item and learn its history. It was like being in a museum.
“Come,” Joseph said. “You have many questions. Too many for an old man to answer. But I will begin with the story of my people.”
Joseph led them away from the cabin to a cleared grassy knoll overlooking the valley. A cemetery, Jennie realized as they drew closer. They stopped near five marble tombstones. Joseph sat on a rough-hewn log bench, looked briefly at each marker, then let his gaze move over the valley and down to the river.
Jennie read the writing on each stone. Gray Wolf 1846–77; Dancing Waters 1849–1877; White Cloud 1872–1972; Nadi 1901–1971; Chenoa 1927–1988. She pointed to Dancing Waters’ tomb. “Who was this?”
“The ranch was named for her.” Amber tucked several stray tendrils behind her ear, crossed her legs at the ankle, and dropped down next to her grandfather. “She was Gray Wolf’s sister.”
“You know of the Nez Perce, Jennie?” Joseph asked.
“Yes—some. I studied about Chief Joseph in school.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I am named for Chief Joseph and for his father, Old Joseph.”
“Are you related to them?”
“Not by blood, but they are my brothers. My great-grandfather was Chief Gray Wolf. He and Chief Joseph were friends and sought to maintain peaceful relations with the settlers. Unfortunately that was not to be. The settlers and miners wanted more and more of our land, especially after gold was discovered on the reservation in 1860.”
Jennie sighed. “I remember reading about that. The government drew up a new treaty reducing the reservation to a tenth its original size.” Jennie shook her head. “It all seems so unfair.”
“At the time, we were considered savages. As Chief Joseph said, ‘we were few, they were many. We were like deer. They were like grizzly bears … We were content to let things remain as the Great Spirit Chief made them. They were not; and would change the rivers and mountains if they did not suit them.’”
“Tell her about the war, Papa.” Amber leaned toward him.
“Patience, Tiponi.” He chuckled and pulled her closer. “Perhaps Jennie already knows about the war.”
“She doesn’t know about our part,” Amber protested.
“I do know about the Nez Perce War—the Battle at Big Hole in … um … 18—something.”
“Yes. 1877. The battle was fought not far from here.” Joseph pointed to a distant mountain range to the east.
“Papa’s great-grandfather, Gray Wolf, was killed and so was Dancing Waters. Tell her, Papa.”
“Since you are so eager, Tiponi, perhaps you should tell your cousin the story of our ancestors.”
“Okay. But you tell me if I make a mistake.”
“You won’t,” Jennie assured her as she shifted to find a more comfortable position. To Joseph she said, “You should have heard her tell me about the Bitterroot legend. You’d have been proud.”
“Of Tiponi, I am always proud.”
“Well,” Amber straightened with the importance her name implied and began, “Gray Wolf was camped here in the valley with his sister, Dancing Waters, and his five-year-old son, White Cloud. White Cloud’s mama died right after he was born. Gray Wolf and Dancing Waters became friends with Frank Elliot, the man who used to own this land.
“Mr. Elliot thought Dancing Waters was the most beautiful girl in the world and wanted to marry her.” Amber sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Dancing Waters loved him too, but she was already promised to … um … What was his name, Papa?”
“Red Fox.”
“Oh, yeah. Anyway, several of the young warriors got mad because the settlers and miners kept taking their land. They killed some settlers and got all the Indians in trouble. The Nez Perce tried to avoid battle, but the soldiers kept coming after them.
“Lots of people died in the war at Big Hole.” Amber glanced at Joseph. “How many, Papa?”
“Twenty-nine soldiers dead, forty wounded.” Joseph paused. His sad gaze settled on the first two graves. “The Nez Perce won the battle, but lost as well. Eighty-two of our people died. Most of them were women, children, and old people.”
“Dancing Waters died in the battle,” Amber went on, “and Gray Wolf was wounded. Frank Elliot heard about the fighting and came the next day. He took Gray Wolf and little White Cloud, but Gray Wolf died the next day. Frank promised Gray Wolf that he would take care of White Cloud forever.”
Jennie frowned, remembering what Amber had told her earlier. “If Frank owned all of this land, how did you come to own it?”
“Does it surprise you?” Joseph asked.
“No—Well, I guess it does,” Jennie admitted.
“Frank Elliot was a good man. He reared my father against the advice of many in the valley who thought Indians belonged on the reservation. Two years after the war, Frank married a young woman whose father had made a fortune in the mining industry.
“At first she accepted White Cloud and cared for him, but eventually she bore children of her own, and became jealous of the attention her husband paid to White Cloud. In an attempt to pacify his wife, and still keep his promise, Frank gave White Cloud five hundred acres.
“Frank’s children, William and Tess, grew up spoiled and bitter.” Joseph went on. “When Frank died, William took to alcohol and gambling. Heavy losses caused him to sell parcels of the land to my father and later to me. He asked us to keep the land deals a secret so that he could buy it back, but that day never came.”
“And the family never knew?”
“Perhaps they never cared. Sale of the land brought in money. The money is gone now. William’s grandson, Chad, has come back to claim the land he believes is his.”
The old man sighed, looking weary and somehow older and more frail than when they’d first met. He stood and straightened slowly. “We have no more time for questions. I promised Maggie I’d send you home by four-thirty.”
Reluctantly, Jennie and Amber headed for home. Late afternoon shadows stretched across the trail and dropped the temperature a good twenty degrees. They’d ridden about a mile and had just entered the llama pastures when a strange uneasiness settled in the pit of Jennie’s stomach. The hair on the back of her neck bristled in warning.
“Amber, hold on a minute.” She pulled back on the reins and reached out to touch her cousin’s arm, then scanned the area.
“What is it, Jennie?”
“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right. I know it sounds dumb, but I feel like we’re being watched.”
Amber grinned. “It’s probably Papa. He sometimes follows me to make sure I get home okay.”
Jennie relaxed some. “Maybe. Still, we should be careful.” She sat high on Gabby’s back and looked over the pasture again.
Just as Amber started forward Jennie saw him—a dark figure kneeling beside a large outcropping of rocks. His camouflage fatigues nearly hid him from view. He raised his rifle and looked through the scope.
“He’s going to kill one of the llamas!” Amber cried. Before Jennie could stop her, Amber spurred Cinnamon forward. “Hey!” she yelled. “This is private property. What do you think you’re doing?”
The man looked toward them. A black ski mask covered his face. He stood and swung the rifle around, then set his sights on Amber.