he day was looking to be a bust, even though beaver signs were evident along the banks of the stream. Beaver were getting scarce in most places, but Josiah Brown knew this small area of the stream was not well-known to trappers, and still had beaver to be found. Even so, this knowledge would do him little good, if he couldn't catch his elusive quarry.

Josiah sighed as the last of his traps came up empty. "They ain't coming to medicine," he muttered dully. Josiah's bait usually proved successful, but today the furry animals were staying away, and it only added to the trapper's consternation. Nothing seemed to be going right, and by the way things were transpiring, the rest of his day would probably be filled with the same bad luck.

The surface of the water broke nearby and Josiah's eye caught sight of a brown animal quickly diving back to the underwater entrance of its lodge.

"I'll git you yet," he promised the beaver, as he waded out of the water and headed for his pants. Pulling on the last of his buckskins, the unexpected sound of a gunshot cracked through the air, jerking Josiah's head up in attention. Instinctively, he grabbed his Hawken rifle, and scanned the line of timber on both sides of the stream.

Josiah frowned. The wildlife had gone quiet, and he had been too busy with the beaver to even notice it until now. It was dangerous for a man to be caught off guard, and Josiah silently scolded himself for being taken by surprise. The gunshot had been nearby, and the sound of it carried easily against the Rocky Mountains flanking him on either side. Lightly tensing his muscles in readiness, Josiah placed his rifle in the crook of his arm and gathered the last of his gear. Even though he was expecting his companions any day now, until Josiah knew who had fired the shot, he would not rest easy.