Hoss pushed his food around his plate. Even with Pa sitting here at the table with him, he felt lonelier than he’d ever been in his life. Dark outside, Joe still not back, and now Adam and Sheriff Coffee missing. It was like all the important people in his life were being plucked away one by one, like chicken feathers under Hop Sing’s deft fingers.He glanced at Pa. He wasn’t eating either.

“They’ll be home soon, Pa.” It sounded feeble, even to him. Pa didn’t even look up.

They had started out searching the north pasture, where Hoss and Joe would sometimes ride when they didn’t feel like sticking to a road or even a path. Joe loved to head out over a hill or down through a meadow without any plan. And Hoss could imagine Joe giving Nightshade his head to see where the horse wanted to go.

Of course, it would be harder to find a trail if Joe had done that. So Hoss had been extra thorough, and he knew Pa had, too. Everyone talked about what a great tracker Hoss was, but he’d learned every bit of it from Pa. And from what he’d seen today, his father hadn’t lost his touch. They might not have looked at every rock, branch, and blade of grass in that pasture, but they’d sure come close.

Finally they’d given up and started riding the fence line. Hoss knew what they both were thinking: Joe was just the sort to try jumping. Much as he wanted to find him, Hoss found himself hoping they wouldn’t, not like this. If he’d gotten thrown into a fence, then they probably weren’t going to find him alive.

The very thought felt like a betrayal. He drove it from his mind and kept searching, sweeping his eyes across the landscape.

As darkness set in, there was nothing to do but come home, hoping the others had had better luck. Hoss had half-convinced himself that when they walked in the door, Adam would be leaning against the fireplace, arms folded, and Joe would be sheepishly sitting in a chair, waiting for Pa to give him what for. And Hoss wouldn’t be sorry to see him get it. Well, he might be a little sorry. He couldn’t stand to see Little Joe hurt. Although this time…If Pa don’t do it, Hoss thought, I might.

But only Hop Sing was there, with the news that two sets of hired hands had returned unsuccessful. Later in the evening the third pair came in, shaking their heads. Now only Adam and the sheriff were left, and who knew where they were?

He gave Pa another sidelong glance. Doggone, he sure looked old tonight.

***

“You know they’re going to be worried sick,” Adam said. Firelight flickered on Roy’s features, emphasizing every ridge and crease.

“Can’t be helped.” The words were casual, but Adam heard the deep regret. Adam had suggested that Roy go back to the Ponderosa to tell Pa what they’d found, but Roy had refused to leave him there alone. He stretched out on his blanket; Roy had at least gone back to the horses and retrieved what gear they had. Of course, it wasn’t much; they hadn’t exactly planned to camp.

“Joe loves sleeping outside.” He hadn’t meant to say it. Now that he had, he could imagine his brother sitting beside Roy, orange firelight dancing across his face. He’d be begging Adam for a story. Tell the one about the Cyclops, he’d say. I love that one. The Cyclops eating the sailors and picking his teeth with their bones…and Ulysses throwing that hot spear into its eyeball…He would chortle with delight at the specter of fairy-tale gore.

Adam heard himself demanding, Who’s telling this story, you or me?

You. You tell it best. And then Joe would draw his knees up to his chin, and wrap his arms around his legs, and fasten that eager little-boy look on Adam.

“Likes to sleep out, huh?” Roy chuckled. “My little brother did, too.”

“You have a brother?” This was the first Adam had heard of it.

Silence. Then, “Had. Died when I was twelve.”

“Oh.” Adam coughed. “I’m sorry.” Sorry the brother had died, of course, but also sorry for bringing it up. But had he brought it up? No, Roy had. Adam wanted to ask more, but he wasn’t sure if he should pry.

Roy settled it for him. “His name was Johnny. Him and me used to sneak out and sleep on the roof, or just on the ground.” He chuckled. “Weren’t supposed to, and when we got caught, there was the devil to pay. But he loved doing it, and I had trouble telling him no.” He shook his head as his nostalgic smile faded. “One night he wandered off while I was asleep. We looked for him for two days. When we found him…” He cleared his throat. “Cougar.”

There was nothing to say about that, Adam reflected. An unexpected wave of irritation washed over him, mingling with his compassion. What was Roy thinking, telling him this right now, with Little Joe missing? He allowed his eyes to close; weariness overwhelmed him, and worry had worn him numb.

Roy’s voice penetrated the darkness behind his eyelids. “Johnny was ten,” he said. “So you see why I’m so bent on finding your brother. Finding Joe…” He trailed off.

Adam’s anger dissolved. Eyes still closed, he said, “It’d be like finding Johnny.”

“Reckon so.”

An owl hooted. A rustle in the brush indicated the passing of a small animal. Far away, a cougar snarled howled.

“Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll find him.”

Roy poked at the fire. “Yeah, Adam. We will.”

***

Adam and Roy were up at first light—not because they had anywhere to go or anything to do, but because sleep was impossible. As exhausted as Adam was, his sleep had been fitful. Besides being cold, he had woken at every crackle of bush, and the cougar had snarled at least once an hour. Adam would just start to drift off, and that savage sound would jerk him back to this nightmare of reality.

Roy started up the fire as Adam chewed on a piece of jerky. There would be no coffee this morning. He thought of Hop Sing’s ham and eggs, and then he wondered what Joe was eating for breakfast. If he was eating breakfast. The dry, salty jerky swelled in his mouth.

“Roy?” he said after taking a drink from his canteen.

“Yeah?”

“What if the Indians don’t come?” It was one of the thoughts that had plagued him all night.

Roy sat back on his heels and watched the flames flicker into life. “Well, I say we wait till about noon and then head on back. You can bet they know we’re here. If they don’t come for us by then, they’ve decided not to.”

“And then what?”

“We look for them. But we’ll need a lot better trackers than you and me.”

Adam finished his jerky and rubbed his face with both hands. His skin felt tight, and he was having trouble getting the crust out of one eye. I’d kill for a washbasin and a pitcher of water right now, he thought.

As he withdrew his hands, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. The hairs above his collar began to stand up, and he turned slowly. He had heard nothing, but his instincts had been true; two dark, black-haired men had stepped from the cover of the trees and were watching them impassively. They both wore leather breeches and moccasins, and their bare chests gleamed with grease; by the smell, he guessed it was bear fat. Probably keeps them warm, he thought, deciding he preferred his jacket.

He stood, automatically letting his arms drop to his sides, right hand close to his gun but not touching it. Not threatening, just ready. Four years in Boston hadn’t drummed that instinct out of him, he realized with a flash of gratitude. For the first time in almost two days, his senses tingled with complete awareness.

“Adam,” Roy said softly. Not moving his head, Adam flicked his eyes in that direction and saw that Roy was standing too, but with his hands at chest level, palms out in a gesture of peace. Reluctantly Adam did the same. The Indians came forward; one of them slipped Adam’s gun from its holster, and the other one took Roy’s. As the weight left his hip, Adam almost groaned. He felt as vulnerable as a baby.

One of the Indians turned and started into the woods. The other stepped behind Roy and Adam, motioning for them to go ahead. As they moved off, single file, Roy winked at Adam and said the most welcome words he’d heard since this whole ordeal had begun.

“They came.”