Having made up his mind, Nate faced around and began hiking.  From the position of the sun he knew the day was only four hours old, so there was plenty of time for him to find the river before nightfall.   His stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been almost a full day since last he ate, but he was not about to stop to eat until he learned the fate of his family and Shakespeare.
   Suddenly the drum of hoofbeats shattered Nate's reverie and he turned to find nine warriors galloping toward him with shafts notched to bows and lances upraised.  By their hair he knew they belonged to the same tribe as the man he'd seen in the trees.  He was lifting a hand to make the sign for friend when the foremost brave took aim and let an arrow fly.

   Flipping onto his back, Nate clawed at the pistol under his belt and hastily aimed at the bowman, who was notching another arrow.  Before Nate could fire, the Ute disappeared as if swallowed up by the earth itself.
   Free from danger for the moment, Nate headed up the side of the gully to retrieve his other flintlock and the rifle.  Looking to the right, up the gully, Nate caught a hint of swift motion.  One of the Indian mounts, he thought, until he glanced around and saw that it wasn't the horse that had moved, but someone behind the horse.  Suddenly a Ute bowman stepped from concealment and took aim at Nate.
   When the Ute released his arrow, it streaked straight at Nate's face......