Nate idly glanced to his right and felt the short hairs at the nape of his neck prickle.  A pair of fiery eyes had left the ring of wolves and was moving toward the tethered mounts and pack animals.
   In a flash Nate was on his feet and racing to a point between the advancing wolf and the horses.  He slid the whetstone into his possibles bag, draped a hand on one of the flintlocks wedged under his wide brown leather belt, and faced the oncoming predator.  "Go away!"  he shouted, motioning with his knife hand.
   The wolf slowed briefly, then crept nearer.  In the forest beyond, others, made bold by the first, were slinking closer.
   "I don't like this,"  Nate muttered.
   Shakespeare had risen.  "They must be awful hungry."
   "Maybe they have a taste for horseflesh,"  Nate remarked, drawing his pistol.  The metallic click of the hammer sounded eerily loud in the dreadful stillness.
   "Don't shoot unless you have no other choice,"   Shakespeare advised.  "If you hurt one, the rest will be on us like crazed banshees."

   Nate roused himself when a pair of Crows entered, hoisted him to his feet, and pushed him outside.
   Pierce and a dozen warriors were waiting.  "Enjoyed your little rest?"  Pierce asked.  "I was going to have you run gauntlet, like I wanted to do with your friends.  But then I got to thinking.  I can use you to teach the Crows a little lesson."
   "Killing me won't teach them anything about you they don't already know,"  Nate responded.  He wasn't about to submit meekly.  He dug in his heels and tried to tear free.
   More warriors came to the assistance of those holding him.  His arms were pulled to full extension and his wrists secured.
   "Not so cocky now, are you, King?"
   "Go to hell,"  Nate declared.
   "After you, I'm afraid."  Pierce said, drawing his butcher knife.  The blade gleamed brightly in the sunshine as he sank to one knee.   "I'm fixing to make me a new ammo pouch.  And you get to supply the hide."