Squinting his eyes to shield himself from the retreating sunlight, Josiah tried to dismiss his Grandpap's concerned indignation. He thought a lot of that old Indian, and it hadn't been easy for Josiah to go against him.

An icy wind bit into the trappers face, and he embraced the numbing pain with a grin. Sometimes, Josiah didn't know why God bothered to keep him alive. It would be easy for the cold to rob him of his breath, and for the snow to entomb him in a winter grave where the dead felt no pain. Josiah shook his numbed senses back to reality, suddenly realizing just how cold he was becoming. Thoughts like those were rare, and it startled him back to his shelter before the night plunged the temperatures even lower.

A warm blaze glowed in the fireplace as Emma lifted her head from the buffalo robe to check on Mary. Emma had finished her supper without Mary emerging from under her blankets, and now that Emma had gone to bed, the cabin was completely silent. Only the crackling night fire broke the stillness.

It had been awhile since Emma had heard Mary last stir, and it caused Emma concern as she stared at the blankets, waiting for them to move. Just as Emma was about to go check for a pulse, the sound of a yawn and then the rustle of moving blankets showed Mary was still alive.

Scolding herself for being silly, Emma let her head fall back to the buffalo robe. Emma had never raised a child, and the thought of suddenly being responsible for one, frightened her. For many years, she had hoped and prayed for such a precious responsibility, though she hadn't expected that responsibility to come today.

Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, Emma dearly wished she could talk to her ma, and ask her what to do. Ma would've known how to make Mary at home. That little girl wouldn't have cried herself to sleep, if Ma had been here.

"Help me, God," Emma prayed silently. "I'm trusting You."

Sleep tugged at Emma's eyes, enticing her to get some rest. Giving Mary's blankets one last check, Emma drifted to sleep.

When Josiah awoke early the next morning, he was ready to go home. He was missing Emma something terrible, and wasn't looking forward to another lonely night without a woman at his side.

Gathering his belongings, Josiah started back for the cabin. The air still held the bite of cold from the previous night, for the sun had yet to appear over the towering peaks of the Rocky Mountains.

It was a quiet morning. The snow crunched beneath his snowshoes, punctuating the silence with an uneasy monotony. Josiah paused in his tracks long enough to bring the collar of his buffalo coat up around his neck. Even the birds seemed to be absent this morning. It was almost as if all of nature were holding its breath.

Josiah cautiously pressed onward, his senses sharpened by the electricity that was running down his back. He was being watched. He was almost sure of it. A startled bird suddenly took to the sky. Josiah's eyes darted to the cover where it had been hiding.

There was nothing.

Sighing in relief, Josiah let down the Hawken he had raised without even thinking. He had been sure someone was there. Trying to shake off his uneasiness, he continued his journey.

The feeling that he was being dogged every step of the way, grew stronger until Josiah was unable to dismiss his instincts. He was being hunted, and Josiah had the sinking feeling he had just walked into a trap.

War cries suddenly pierced the air, and before he had time to react, Josiah's world went dark.

With a small groan, Emma stirred on the buffalo robe. She wanted a little more sleep, but something had awakened her. Wondering if the child was in trouble, Emma raised her head to find Mary sitting on her bed.

"Do you need a trip outside?" asked Emma, realizing Mary probably had to relieve herself.

The girl remained silent, her dark eyes flashing fear.

Emma was getting concerned. "What's wrong?"

There was no need for Mary to answer, for the very next moment, Emma heard the indistinct sound of men shouting outside the cabin.

Going for her pa's shotgun, Emma quickly checked to make sure the weapon was loaded. Not daring to open the window shutters, Emma found a space between the split logs and peered outside.

Two Indians were dragging a half-conscious man to a large tree. Emma's blurred eyesight struggled to distinguish the limp body. She couldn't be positive, but it looked an awful lot like Josiah. Other Indians followed, and they all gathered around the tree.

Fearfully, Emma strained to get a better look at the man's face. Indians raised his limp arms, and then lashed his wrists to a high hanging branch. His front was now to the tree trunk, giving Emma a good view of his backside and long, dark brown mane. It was Josiah!

"Dear God!" Emma prayed frantically. "What should I do?"

As Emma watched, someone took a knife and ripped Josiah's hunting shirt, exposing his flesh to the cold air. Regaining consciousness, Josiah struggled against the sinews binding him to the tree.

"Ma! tell them to stop!" Emma heard him command.

Her eyes growing wide, Emma searched the crowd until she saw a woman's form among the Blackfoot men.

"Cora?" Emma breathed in amazement.

"Ma!" shouted Josiah, as one of the men produced a whip made of buffalo hide. "Grandpap? Ain't you going to stop them?"

Emma saw a hunched old man sitting down on the snow, as if unable to stop what was about to happen.

Twisting himself about to face his enemy, Josiah brazenly grinned at them all. "I ain't afeared of you!" he shouted. "Do yer worst! You'll never hear me ask fer mercy!"

The Blackfoot with the whip looked more than happy to oblige Josiah, and two men turned the mountain man around to face the tree trunk. The whip cracked, digging into Josiah's back, and leaving a crimson trail of torn skin in its wake. As much as it must've hurt, Josiah refused to scream... although Emma did.

Surprised by her scream, the Indians paused as Emma burst from the cabin. She leveled her shotgun at the nearest Blackfoot, ready to defend her husband's life.

"No!" Cora called to Emma. "Do not shoot!"

The call distracted Emma from pulling the trigger, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cora running toward her.

"Put down the rifle!" commanded Cora.

Josiah's strained voice called to his wife. "Best do as she says, Emma!"

Dazed and confused, Emma looked back at Josiah as he twisted around to get a look at her. His face betrayed the pain he was enduring, though he managed to give Emma a weak grin.

Reaching out her hand, Cora lowered the barrel of Emma's shotgun. "You must not stop this. If you do not put away the rifle, Josiah may die."

Emma grasped Cora's arm. "They won't kill him?"

Just then, Mary appeared at Cora's side, looking very happy to see her grandmother again.

"Go back," Cora gravely instructed the child.

Quickly shuttling Mary inside the lodge, Emma returned the shotgun to its pegs on the wall. Though Emma didn't understand what was happening, she also knew she didn't want to be the cause of Josiah's death.

After closing the door to be sure Mary couldn't watch, Emma returned to Cora's side.

The threat of the rifle now gone, the Blackfoot raised his whip. Josiah's teeth clenched as it ripped across his back.

"Mr. Brown!" whimpered Emma. She tried to take a step forward, but Cora firmly held her back.

"This must be done," whispered Cora. "Josiah must satisfy my people that he has been punished."

Though Emma knew Josiah deserved this, and probably much worse, it didn't make it easier for her to watch. Again and again, the whip cracked through the air, coming down on Josiah's back.

"I ain't asking fer mercy," panted Josiah. "Never."

Hearing this, the Blackfoot threw down his whip, swiftly unsheathing the knife at his side. Cora shouted to him, but the man ignored her. He grabbed a handful of Josiah's long hair, and jerked the trapper to one side, as if preparing to scalp him!

Emma nearly fainted.

Frantically, Cora ran forward to intercede for her son, while Grandpap gripped something concealed beneath his heavy winter robe. Pleading to Josiah's tormentor in Blackfoot, Cora pointed to the corral. The man hesitated, as if considering what Cora had said.

Realizing Cora was trying to buy Josiah's life, Emma hurried inside the cabin and went straight to the pile of beaver pelts stacked in the corner. Gathering as many as she could in one armload, Emma raced back, dropping them at the feet of the Blackfoot still holding Josiah by his scalp.

"Please," begged Emma, "take the horses and the beaver, but spare his life!"

Even though Emma had spoken in English, the Blackfoot seemed to understand her meaning. He looked down at the willow hoops of stretched beaver skins, his face still undecided.

Emma retrieved every beaver pelt she could lay her hands on, and then offered them to the Blackfoot.

"No," a voice rasped in defiance. Everyone looked at the man yanked to one side by his scalp. "You won't git a single beaver from me!"

Fearful that he was about to seal his own fate, Emma swiftly kicked Josiah.

The Blackfoot Indians laughed. The man with the knife released Josiah's hair, letting the mountain man dangle by his wrists from the tree limb. Sheathing his knife, the Blackfoot man looked Emma over with an appreciative eye.

"Don't you touch her!" Josiah barked hoarsely.

A rifle quickly appeared from Grandpap's winter robe, its barrel aiming straight at the man's belly. Grandpap said some things in Blackfoot, and Emma looked to Cora to interpret.

"'She is not for you,'" translated Cora. "'You have had your revenge, and it is enough.'"

Emma gasped. "Is he the wronged husband?"

Cora nodded that he was.

The Blackfoot cast Josiah a parting glare before retrieving his newly acquired horses from the corral.

While the men collected Josiah's beaver pelts, another Blackfoot inspected Josiah's prized Hawken. Yanking wildly at the tree limb, Josiah struggled in vain to get free. Every time his knees buckled, the sinew cut even deeper into his wrists.

The man looked over the Hawken and admired its craftsmanship, for such rifles were rare in these mountains. When the Blackfoot looked as though he were going to take it, Grandpap muttered something, and the disappointed Indian dropped it back on the ground.

Taking away every single beaver pelt, the three ponies, Josiah's buffalo coat, the two heavy traps he had carried with him on the trip, his Bowie knife-- and even Josiah's snowshoes-- the Blackfoot Indians departed with their revenge.

Confronted with the pity on Emma's face, Josiah turned his bloody back to her and motioned to Grandpap with his chin. "Cut me down."

Silently thanking God for sparing Josiah's life, Emma gazed at the half-dressed man bound to the tree. His torn hunting shirt was dangling from his arms, and blood trickled down his back, staining the white snow beneath him.

When Grandpap cut away the sinew, Josiah's body dropped to the ground.

"Stinking savages!" swore Josiah.

"You should be grateful they did not kill you," Cora scolded her son.