From all points of the compass came the crackle and crash of horses and Pawnees.  Nate King swung to the east.  He stayed on the lookout for warriors, avoiding vague shapes wherever he spotted them.  In the back of his mind, a tiny voice told him to reload the Hawken while he could, but he elected to hold off until they reached his stallion.  He still had the twin flintlocks.
   Zach was in awe of his father's stealth.  It seemed as if his pa was more specter than flesh and blood.  Hardly a leaf rustled when his father went by.  Twigs never broke under his feet.  Zach tried to do the same, but he was not as skilled.  he fretted that the noises he made might give them away. that he would cost them their lives.
   Suddenly two Pawnees filled a break in the growth ahead.  One led a horse.  the other was scouring the vicinity.  They saw Nate at the same moment he saw them.
   The Pawnee on foot held a lance.  Raising it, he charged, his war whoop reminiscent of the screech of a bobcat.

   "Get back inside!"   Nate bellowed, giving Winona a push as he heaved to his knees and swung to confront their unseen attackers.  A rifle flashed in the dark, spewing smoke.  A bullet slammed into the wall at his shoulder.
   Taking a hasty bead, Nate fired into the center of the smoke, then backpedaled into the cabin as an arrow cleaved the crisp air.  It narrowly missed his head.
   Winona had flung herself indoors.  Darting to their table, she procured a pair of pistols and dashed to her man's side.  "Here," she said, taking his Hawken and shoving the smooth stocks into his brawny hands.
   Nate King pressed a shoulder to the jamb and peeked out, seeking signs of their attackers.
   The woods were unnaturally still.  All the wildlife in the valley had gone quiet.