Grant nodded. Was it too much to hope the fellow would catch on and learn to appreciate silence?
“I heard somethin’ that might helpyou. A tip in return, you might say.”
He spared the annoying man a look but still held his tongue. Just raised his brows and waited.
“Didn’t you say your brother’s name was Will ... Shelton or somethin’?”
Grant’s pulse quickened. “Sheldon.”
The trapper nodded. “That’s it. I was standin’ at Parson’s campfire, sharin’ a cup of coffee and talkin’ about the best places to trap this winter. I heared a couple fellows ont’other side of the flame say the nameWill. Got nosy, I did. An’ when I asked about this Will fellow, they said it was a friend of their’n who was livin’ in a cabin somewhere up on the Shaheela River. Said they thought they might find themselves there come the first snow an’ see if they could bed down outta the weather.”
Grant worked to keep his breathing even and not grab the man’s shoulders to shake more details out of him. “Where’s the Shaheela River? Who is Parson?” He’d not heard of a trapper by that name. Was that a surname or a profession? The men in these parts seemed to have a penchant for labeling each other with strange handles.
The boy turned and lifted an arm to point toward the lodges scattered around the valley. Before he could speak, a surge from the crowd lining the raceway spun him back toward the horses. “They’re about to start.”
With the blast of the gunshot, the voices around them surged almost as fast as the racing horses. Beside him, the trapper jumped and fisted the air, cheering on the bay with a colorful assortment of encouragements. “Come on, you mangy piece o’ hide. Stretch those toothpicks. Move on past that dog-nosed blighter. Move on, I tell ya.”
Grant didn’t worry about tracking the animals down the raceway. His mind could only focus on what this overly friendly lad had revealed. The Shaheela River. It wasn’t on the map he’d purchased before coming west, a sketch created from the details William Clark had drawn during the expedition he and Meriwether Lewis led to the Pacific Ocean.
As soon as the bay crossed the finish line two lengths in front of the buckskin, the young trapper started to runtoward the crowd gathering around the winner. Grant grabbed his arm just in time and held him back. He couldn’t let this first lead slip out of his hands.
The fellow tried to pull away. “I have to collect my winnings.”
Grant gripped him harder. “Tell me where to find those men. The ones who know my brother.”
The boy pointed again toward the lodges. “That bigger teepee with the square tent pitched beside it. Tell ’em Riggs sent you.”
Finally, Grant could fulfill the promise he’d made all those years ago. He’d find Will. Make sure his brother was all right and help him in any way he could. Then he’d figure out what he intended to do with his own life.
Maybe he’d stay with Will and be a trapper in these Rocky Mountains. Two brothers, finally reunited after being torn apart so many years ago.
Maybe.
The roar of water crashing against massive rocks filled Faith’s ears as she stepped closer to the waterfall. Mist rose from the cascading flow, creating a rainbow of colors in the pale morning light.
She squinted into the icy spray. Was there a cave behind? White Horse said some waterfalls in this area covered hidden tunnels, and he suspected his mother had taken refuge in one of them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Faith located her on this very first search?
She couldn’t tell if there was a cave here or not. She’d have to move closer to investigate, to see if there was a path leadingbehind. Steps Right wouldn’t stay at a place where she had to drench herself—and maybe even be injured by the heavy flow—every time she came into or out of her home.
Faith moved to the edge of the falls where a path would be located. The mist sprayed a fine layer of wet over her face and hair, even her clothing—her favorite green cotton work dress. This was the only skirt that allowed her to move freely without tangling in her legs if she lengthened her stride. She’d taken to wearing trousers most days, but this had been one of Rosemary’s requirements for her to accompany the missionary party. She had to wear a skirt at all times so the people they met would be able to distinguish her from the eldest boy in the family, fifteen-year-old Walking Bird.
Faith couldn’t help if she was less filled out than her sisters. She’d always thought it was her youth that made her look more like a sapling than a woman, but at nineteen, she’d more than reached the age she should have grown more curves. It didn’t matter to her if people confused her with a half-grown boy. But wearing a dress was a small price to pay for finally getting the chance to find Steps Right and fulfill her responsibility to Papa.
Her heart gave a skitter of anticipation. She was so close to finding the woman, she could feel it.
But there was no path leading behind this curtain of water, only slick, wet rocks.
Maybe the thick mist concealed a ledge, and a person had to simply step out in faith. She moved forward and crouched, feeling through the edge of the water’s spray. Liquid pounded on her arm, drenching her sleeve.
Her hand met only a solid rock wall.
Maybe on the other side of the river? She stepped back to study the far bank, but her boot slipped on wet stone.
She stumbled, reaching out to catch herself. Her left foot slid out from under her and over the edge of the rock toward the river below, spreading her legs wide. She landed hard on the boulder, sitting spraddle-legged.
But too much of her weight was tipped toward the water, and the stone beneath her was slippery from so many years under the spray of the falls.
She slid sideways, crying out as she scrambled to grab something solid. Her hand caught a jutting rock just as she was about to tumble into the rushing water. Heart pounding, she clung to the stone with all her strength, both feet dangling over the edge.
