Free The High Rocks by Loren D. Estleman Page A

horses were also missing, perhaps frightened off by the shots.” He paused. A stick of wood near the heart of the fire separated with a loud report, sending up a geyser of sparks and bathing the chief’s face in brief, fiery brilliance. His eyes were sad. “It’s a bad thing to have happen,” he said. “Tomorrow I will have no choice but to call a council of war.”
    â€œNot if I can lead you to the lair of Mountain That Walks.”
    The flare had died, returning his face to shadowy patchwork. “Rocking Wolf has told me of your boast,” he said. “How will you do this?”
    â€œHow do you hunt any game? By knowing its habits. I spent a third of my life hunting those mountains with Anderson. His movements are
predictable. Depending on the weather and the shifting of the game he lives on, I can place him within a few miles at any given time.”
    â€œRemarkable. And where is he now?”
    I smiled. “You don’t really expect an answer to that.”
    â€œI suppose not.” He returned the smile, faintly. “I’m curious to know why you are offering your service in this matter.”
    â€œI’m always willing to help when the price is right. In this case it’s my life.”
    He thought that over. Outside, the snow settled onto the sides of the lodge with a sound like frying bacon. At last he spoke.
    â€œYou’re probably lying, but I can’t afford to pass up any opportunity to avoid war with the whites at a time when we are so poorly prepared. It has been five of your years since the bulk of my people was moved forcibly to the valley you call the Flathead, two days’ ride east of this camp. Our numbers now are small.” He swept a hand across his face, as if to erase the memory. It was a neat piece of acting. “You and Rocking Wolf will leave at dawn tomorrow. You have until the next moon to return either with news of where to find Mountain That Walks or with his body slung across a saddle.”
    â€œJust Rocking Wolf? You must trust me.”
    â€œA party would attract too much attention. As for Rocking Wolf, he is the best of my warriors. I would advise you not to attempt an escape.”

    â€œYou didn’t worry about attracting attention last year, when you headed up the bunch that killed Doc Bernstein outside Staghorn,” I reminded him.
    â€œThe old white man,” he said, after a pause. “I remember the incident. He gave us no choice. We had reason to believe that he was harboring Mountain That Walks after one of our party had wounded him. We asked for permission to search his dwelling. He was going to shoot.”
    â€œWhat about his wife and child? Where they going to shoot?”
    He studied me for a moment without speaking. The chief used silence like a weapon. “You’re an emotional man, Page Murdock. I didn’t realize that before.”
    â€œAnd was Mountain That Walks there?”
    â€œNo. Apparently we were mistaken.”
    I didn’t carry it any further. The confrontation had given me a clear idea of the boundaries of his patience, and they weren’t as broad as they’d seemed. Nothing about him was as it seemed. I changed the subject.
    â€œI need food and a place to sleep. Can you fix me up?”
    â€œMy nephew will see to your needs,” he said. “One more question.”
    I had turned to duck through the flap. I stopped and looked back at him.
    â€œSince you know so much, perhaps you can tell me why a party of four white men was seen two
days southwest of here by my scouts the day before yesterday. Is this a new trick on the part of your army to rob my people of their birthright?”
    He spoke casually, but I could tell that he had been waiting to ask the question ever since I’d appeared in the lodge. I pretended to give it some thought, though of course I already knew the answer. “Was one of them a small man wearing a big hat and a long