to run. His reaction was less fervent, but he felt no less joy. A look of disbelief came and went as a gap-toothed smile broke the somberness of his face. In mutual silence, they gazed into the valley below.
It was deep and wide—cut in two by a swiftly flowing river. To the north, a herd of elk were moving through a clearing. Overhead, a pair of eagles circled the sky, as if keeping watch over their domain. Off to the left of where the trappers were standing, the land began to slope downward in a perfect access into the valley.
Parson looked at Henry.
Henry looked at him.
A wide grin broke across both their faces and they let loose a shout. Within moments they were mounted. They kicked their horses in the flanks and down through the trees they rode, ducking low branches and laughing and whooping as they went. Startled by the unaccustomed sounds, rabbits darted into thickets and birds took sudden flight.
By the time they reined to a halt, the horses were winded and Henry’s hat was hanging beneath his chin like a bib. He straightened the leather string and slapped it back in place, then looked up at the way that they’d come. Even though he was stunned by the foolishness of their stunt, he would have done it all over again. He looked at his partner and grinned.
“Hell of a ride, Parson.”
“It was at that,” Parson said.
They dismounted then, letting the reins trail to the ground as they quickly removed their packs and saddles. The horses began to graze, their heads almost out of sight in the knee-high grass.
Henry shook his head. “This is it, ain’t it, Parson?”
Elmer Sutter shoved his hat to the back of his head and squinted. There was green as far as the eye could see.
And there was the quiet.
He held his breath, for the moment, unwilling to sully the silence with sound. Finally, he exhaled slowly.
“Yep, Henry, I reckon it is.”
Henry’s fingers were already itching to get to his traps. “I reckon we could winter here.”
Parson nodded. “That sounds like a plan.”
Henry sighed with satisfaction and then picked up his rifle. “I’ll go see about fetchin’ us some supper.”
“I’ll set up camp,” Parson offered.
And so it began.
They named the place Plenty Valley, because it was. There was plenty of everything, from fish in the river, to game on the ground. And the old trappers knew that when the seasons changed and the animals put on winter pelts, that trapping would be plentiful, too. One day moved into the next and then the next, until before either knew it, a month had passed.
And then, as one might have expected, perfection slipped—but only a little. Not enough to ruin their vision of Eden—just enough to make them remember that they were still at the mercy of the Almighty and His whims.
Rain poured off the leaves, onto the top of their lean-to, and down the back of Parson’s shirt. He sat beneath their makeshift shelter with his rifle across his lap, his gaze fixed on the gap between the place they had named Three Pines. By his estimation, more than four hours had passed since Henry had left to go hunting. In this downpour, anything worth eating would have long since taken to its own sort of shelter. Parson couldn’t quit thinking that Henry should be back. And then he would remind himself that Henry Wainwright didn’t need a keeper. He had been taking care of himself for the better part of fifty-five years. But when another hour had passed and the rain was still falling and the thunder still rolling, Elmer Sutter could not rid himself of a growing anxiety.
A shaft of lightning came out of the clouds, piercing a nearby peak. The crack of sound seemed to solidify some purpose that Elmer had been contemplating. Suddenly he was on his feet. Ignoring his stiffened joints and aching knees, he tossed his blanket aside and started toward the gap in Three Pines. He would at least go that far. After that, he’d see.
Henry was in trouble. If only he’d paid more attention to the clouds than to that deer he’d been tracking. It wasn’t until he’d felt the wind shift in his face that he’d thought to look up—straight into the underside of a mixture of dark, boiling clouds. Now, thunder was rumbling overhead and while he watched, a shaft of lightning streaked across the sky. He shivered. He hated storms, and on a mountain,