Read Online The High Rocks by Loren D. Estleman - Free Book Online Page A

applaud your preference in firearms,” he told me. “What is your name, and what have you to do with the thing that has happened here this day?”
    I told him my name. “As for the rest,” I added, “I prefer to talk it over with Two Sisters. Where is your chief?”
    Rocking Wolf barked something in Salish. Immediately the brave who had relieved me of my revolver and knife reached down and snatched a handful of my collar, thrusting the point of the latter weapon against my jugular as he did so. His hands smelled of rancid bear grease.
    â€œPerhaps opening your throat will show us the way to your tongue,” said the chief’s nephew.
    The bite of the knife acted as a spur to my already racing thoughts. “Killing me will gain you nothing, Rocking Wolf,” I said hoarsely. “Whereas allowing me to live may lead you to the hiding place of Mountain That Walks.”
    The forbidden name brought a reaction from all who understood the language, even Rocking Wolf. Again there was a long silence. I felt a drop of blood trickle down my throat and into my collar.

    â€œHow is it that you know my name, white skin?”
    I hesitated, allowing my eyes to slide toward the Indian holding the knife. At a nod from his superior the brave withdrew the blade and relinquished his grip on my collar.
    â€œI used to run into you and your brother, Yellow Horn, in the mountains when you were hunting.” I rubbed my throat, smearing the blood. “That was many years ago. Few words passed between us at those times.”
    â€œI do not remember you.”
    â€œIt’s likely you didn’t notice me. I was always with Bear Anderson, him who you call Mountain That Walks.”
    For an instant, Rocking Wolf let slip his mask, revealing the naked hatred that writhed beneath. Nine rifles were poised to fire; there was a beat during which I was one harsh syllable away from death. Then he retreated behind the India rubber facade once again.
    â€œYou are either very brave or very foolish to tell me that,” he said. “I have not yet decided which is the case.”
    â€œDo we have a bargain?”
    â€œWhat makes you think I value your knowledge? The murderer of my people has left a clear trail to follow, and we are expert trackers.”
    â€œNow who’s being foolish? Nightfall is less than two hours away. Even Salish can’t track a man in the dark. By tomorrow the snow will have returned to
cover the trail. I grew up with Anderson, remember; I know how he thinks. I alone can lead you to his lair.”
    He studied me in silence. His thoughts were impossible to read. After an eternity he looked to the brave with the knife and gave him a curt order. Reluctantly, the brave backed his horse away from me.
    â€œMount your horse,” Rocking Wolf directed. “You will get your meeting with the chief.”
    I waited until all weapons were put away, then stepped forward to untie the chestnut.
    It was the work of five minutes for the braves to gather up their dead and sling them over the backs of their horses. When that was done, Leslie Brainard was left alone to decorate the tree where he had met his merciful end. By morning the wolves and coyotes would finish the job that had been started by the Indians.
    â€œWhere is Yellow Horn?” I asked Rocking Wolf, once I was in the saddle. “I don’t see him in your party.”
    â€œMy brother is dead,” he said. “Killed last winter by Mountain That Walks.” He gave his horse a kick and led the way north.
    The pass inclined steadily upward to about six thousand feet, where it leveled out, yielding what would have been a spectacular view of the sunset over the Bitterroot had it not been for the thickening veil of clouds that reduced the violent reds and purples to a vague rust on the horizon. Soon even that was gone, and from then on we felt our way
forward with only the aid of the snow’s own mysterious