“The valley,” Red Moon said, and pointed straight ahead.
Nate placed a hand on the pommel and leaned forward to survey the land before them. They had reined up in a small clearing on a pine-covered ridge, and it became immediately apparent why few knew the location of the valley.
The old Crow had led them into stark, rugged country rarely visited by human beings. Regal mountains were everywhere, most craggy peaks over ten thousand feet high. Between and among the mountains were deep gorges, steep ravines, and occasional verdant valleys. Many were dead ends. The whole area was like a gigantic maze carved by the erratic hand of the whimsical elements.
The ridge on which they had stopped bordered an isolated series of jagged spires and rocky heights that formed a seemingly impassable barrier. Situated as it was so close to those heights, the ridge cut off from view whatever lay at their base. And there, nestled between two mountains looming over twelve thousand feet above the ground, was the opening to a lush valley.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Milo commented. “We’re finally here.”
“Where the hell are we?” Tom wanted to know, and shot a questioning look at Nate.
“It’s a branch of the Rockies, but I don’t know which one,” Nate said. “I’ve never been this far northwest before.” He paused. “Very few have.”
“What are we waiting for?” Milo asked eagerly, and nodded at the valley entrance. “Let’s get down there and set up camp for the night.”
Nate took the lead, squinting up at the late afternoon sun. There were about four hours of daylight remaining, enough for them to find a suitable spot to bed down. Bright and early tomorrow morning they could scout the valley and see if the beaver were as abundant as Red Moon had claimed.
He glanced over his shoulder at the warrior, who was riding at the rear of the line, and noticed Red Moon cast an anxious gaze toward the two mountains flanking the valley. Was the Crow thinking about the thing that lurked in the dark? Or about the Crow braves who had gone into the valley and never emerged? Facing front, Nate placed the Hawken across his thighs so he could lift it quickly in an emergency.
All around was wildlife. There were hawks high above them, ravens and jays in the trees. Chipmunks darted from under rocks and squirrels chattered from the tree tops. Elk and deer prints were plentiful.
Nate saw no reason to be alarmed. With so much game there must be few predators in the area. Once, at the bottom of the ridge, he spied a bear track, but it was that of a black bear and not a grizzly.
They rode to the opening, a relatively narrow gap between the mountains, no more than fifty feet wide. Pines grew in profusion on both sides of a broad stream that flowed out of the gap and angled abruptly to the left, to the west. The stream flowed along the base of the peaks for hundreds of yards, then disappeared in deep forest. From the ridge the stream had not been visible because of the high grass and weeds that grew along each bank and the overhanging branches of the many trees bordering the slowly flowing water.
“This is right pretty,” Milo said.
Nate nodded in agreement. The countryside was picturesque. If the valley wasn’t so close to Blackfoot territory, it would be an ideal spot to build a cabin and raise a family. He goaded his stallion through the gap, sticking to the east bank of the stream, listening to the gurgling water and the soft wind whispering in the branches.
“Say, look there!” Tom exclaimed, pointing.
At that moment Nate saw it too: a large beaver dam constructed from reeds, saplings, sticks, and branches all woven into a compact mass and caulked with mud. Past the dam, in an oval pond, was the beaver lodge, a dome of similar construction well over seven feet high and thirty feet wide, average size. There were no beaver in evidence, but it was still early. Mainly active at night, beaver usually made their appearance in the early evening.
“That’s a good sign,” Milo said. “Where there’s one lodge there might be a lot more.”
Similar thoughts inspired Nate. They had barely entered the valley and already found a lodge. It had been his experience that the farther up a valley a trapper went, the more lodges and beaver he would find.
And so they did. They passed dam after dam, lodge after lodge, and twice saw beaver swimming. The animals paid no attention to them, which in itself was promising because it meant the beaver had had few dealings if any with hunters or trappers and would be easier to catch.
The valley stretched on for mile after mile, widening out as they advanced, winding between magnificent peaks to the east and the west. At its widest the valley covered five to six miles. Occasionally it narrowed to only two miles or less. Small herds of elk and black tailed deer were frequently spotted. At various points they came on tributaries of the main stream, creeks branching off to the right or the left, and they saw beaver dams and lodges up those too.
Milo laughed lightly. “I think I’ve died and gone to trappers’ heaven.”
“I’ve never seen so many beaver in one valley before,” Tom said. “How about you, Nate?”
“Me neither,” Nate admitted.
Tom looked at Red Moon. “I’ve got to hand it to you, old man. You were right. You knew what you were talking about.”
“We will catch many beaver,” the Crow predicted.
They hadn’t gone more than a third of the way into the valley when Nate decided to call a halt. The sun perched low on the western mountains and would soon drop from view, plunging the valley into deep shadows and eventual darkness. He studied those jagged peaks, realizing they cut off the sunlight much earlier than would normally be the case. He estimated night fell in the valley a good half hour before it did, say, at his cabin.
Nate picked a spot where a meadow bordered the main stream as their campsite. While Tom got a fire going and Red Moon gathered dead wood, Nate and Milo stripped the horses and took them to the stream to drink. Samson stayed near Nate.
“This valley is better than I’d dare dream,” Milo mentioned, beaming as he surveyed the expanse still before them. “If all goes well, I’ll return to Pennsylvania with enough money to put down on a sizable farm. Maggie will be so happy. I gave her a ring before I left for these mountains. Hope she hasn’t grown tired of waiting for me.”
“I wish the two of you the best.”
They tethered the horses in the meadow, then strolled to the fire, where a pot of coffee was already boiling. Red Moon had taken a seat and was chewing on a piece of jerked meat.
“I can hardly wait to start trapping,” Tom said as he poured coffee into Nate’s cup.
“We have a few things to do before we trap,” Nate told him. “We should go to the end of the valley and see if there are a lot of beaver farther up. Then we can pick our first camp and begin to set traps.”
“First camp?” Milo repeated.
“This valley must be twenty-five to thirty miles long,” Nate said. “If we were to set up a permanent camp near the center, whoever went out to check the traps couldn’t possibly make it back by dark and would have to bed down in the brush. It’s too far to cover from end to end at one time. So I propose trapping one section of the stream at a time and working our way down the valley until we’re done. We can move our camp farther down as we go along so each of us won’t have as far to travel when we check the trap lines.”
“Makes sense to me,” Milo said.
“Me too,” Tom added.
Red Moon, who was bearing more wood to the fire, halted and said, “There is more to this valley.”
“What do you mean?” Milo responded.
“The valley forks far up. There is another part as long as this one.”
“Does it have as many beaver?” Milo asked.
“More,” the Crow answered, and deposited his load of wood.
Tom laughed and slapped his thigh in delight. “This is too good to be true. We don’t have enough pack animals for all the pelts we’ll collect.”
“When will we reach the fork?” Nate wanted to know.
“Well after the sun is straight overhead we should be there,” Red Moon informed him.
Because they had not shot any game, they had to make do with jerky and biscuits Milo made from the flour in their provisions. Hot coffee capped off their meal. Then they settled around the fire and discussed their trapping plans.
“Should we take turns standing guard?” Tom inquired at one point.
“There is no need,” Red Moon said.
“What about the Blackfeet?” Tom mentioned. “You keep telling us that we’re close to their country.”
“The Blackfeet do not come into this valley.”
Nate, about to take a sip, stopped and studied the Crow’s impassive features. “Why not?”
“For the same reason my people no longer come here,” Red Moon said.
Milo snickered. “Are you saying the Blackfeet are also afraid of this thing that lurks in the dark?” He shook his head in disbelief. “The Blackfeet don’t know the meaning of fear.”
“They do not come here,” Red Moon reiterated. Swallowing more coffee, Nate gazed into the inky night. Like Milo, he was skeptical. The Blackfeet deserved their reputation for being indomitable warriors. They fought everyone and everything. Even grizzlies didn’t intimidate them. So why would they shun this valley when it was a hunter’s paradise?
“Now don’t start with that nonsense again,” Tom grumbled. “We haven’t seen anything unusual since we got here. And I don’t recollect any of us seeing so much as a strange track.”
“Once the creature knows we are here, it will come,” Red Moon stated. He removed a piece of jerky from his pack and took a bite.
“There is no damned creature,” Tom insisted. “And I don’t want to hear you talk of it again.”
“As you wish.”
A nervous whinny suddenly issued from one of the packhorses, and a moment later several others had chimed in with loud whinnies of their own.
“What the hell?” Tom blurted.
Nate grabbed his Hawken, rose, and hurried toward the stock. Perhaps because of the fireside conversation, his every nerve was on edge. On his left was Samson, not displaying any agitation whatsoever. Red Moon and Milo were on the right. Nate reached the tethered animals and saw them staring intently to the northeast with their ears pricked.
“There is something out there,” Milo whispered.
But what? Nate wondered, his thumb on the hammer of his rifle. They couldn’t afford to lose any of their animals. They only had one riding horse apiece, and the eight packhorses would be sorely needed to transport the furs.
Then, from perhaps half a mile away, a piercing shriek rent the cool air, a shriek resembling that of a terrified woman in agonizing torment. The horses fidgeted anxiously, a few tugging on their ropes.
Milo lowered his rifle and snorted. “It’s just a panther. The stock must have picked up its scent.”
“What if it tries to get one of our horses?” Tom asked from behind them.
“Perhaps we should post guards after all,” Nate suggested. “I’ll take the first watch if no one has any objections.”
No one did. They walked back to the fire. Nate finished his coffee while standing and gazing at the horses. The flickering firelight played over their sleek forms. Some had already gone back to grazing. A few had lain down. None appeared concerned about the big cat, which meant they no longer smelled the panther and it must be prowling in another direction.
“Maybe that’s it,” Tom said. “Maybe there’s a real whopper of a panther in these parts, a man-killer. Maybe it’s responsible for killing that Crow brave and scaring everyone off.”
“The thing is not a panther,” Red Moon stated firmly.
“If you say so,” Tom said sarcastically. “But if anything shows up, and I don’t care if it’s one of them Frankenstein monsters or one of those vampyres, I’m going to give it a little surprise.” As he finished speaking he reached out and patted his rifle, propped on his saddle beside him.
“There are no such things. All of that is make-believe,” Milo said while chewing on a biscuit.
For another thirty minutes they talked. Then the Pennsylvanians and the Crow turned in and Nate started his watch. The Hawken cradled in his left arm, he strolled into the meadow and walked around the horses, Samson sticking with him all the time. The horses were bedded down and quiet.
In the near and far distance arose typical wilderness sounds: the hoots of owls, the howls of wolves, the yips of coyotes, and occasionally the snarls and growls of predators. Stars filled the heavens, a dazzling celestial spectacle that took the breath away.
Nate munched on jerky and took a seat close enough to the fire to be warm, but with his back to it so his night vision wouldn’t be impaired by the bright flames. The hours passed uneventfully. When the time came, he awakened Milo and gratefully crawled under his blankets to get some sleep. His last thoughts before drifting to sleep were of the legendary creature. They had been in the valley for hours and it hadn’t shown up. Red Moon must be wrong. The Crow was letting the old tales get to him. There was nothing to worry about.
Nothing at all.