Winter's Touch by Janis Reams Hudson

what seemed like an hour, but which Carson knew was less than ten minutes, they crested the hill and were on top.
    Here there was wind, and more trees. They were in the pines now, and above them rose the mountains, blocking out the stars.
    Once more he hoped to hell Hunter knew where he was leading them.
    Hunter hoped so, too. His heart thundered in his chest with the heavy responsibility of leading his father and the others to safety. Never had he had such an important honor, nor a more harrowing one. Everyplace he knew of that would make a good hiding place for them was also known by his uncle, Two Feathers, for it was he who had shown them to Hunter.
    If he could not find a place for them to hide, someone might die. If Crooked Oak found them…
    Hunter wanted to spit at the thought of Crooked Oak. To attempt to kill the prisoner after giving his word he would not was dishonorable enough. To injure Winter Fawn in the attempt, even by accident, was unforgivable.
    Hunter cursed that he did not have a rifle. Because of the girl hugging his back, he wasn’t even able to carry his bow and arrow; it was strapped onto his father’s pack mule.
    He wasn’t certain that he wanted to turn the white man and his rifle loose on any of Our People, but what he wouldn’t give to have Crooked Oak in his own sights.
    But first he must find shelter for six people, three horses, and a mule, before daylight.
    No small feat this close to camp.
    He urged his mount faster. He was sorry for the pain the faster gait would cause his sister, but it could not be helped if they were to make good their escape.
    When the horse picked up its pace Bess tightened her arms around his waist. She knew she was afraid, but was she supposed to feel excitement, too? Fear was the most prominent emotion just then, but confusion pushed at it. She’d never ridden astride before, nor had she ridden bareback. She’d never had to run for her life, never been afraid for her own safety before today.
    Well, she thought honestly, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d been terrified out of her wits when the Yankees shelled Atlanta. But at least she had not seen their faces. They had not leered at her with paint on their faces and knives in their hands.
    Yes, she was afraid now. Surely it was terror that made her mouth go dry, her palms sweat, her heart race.
    But there was excitement, too, and she couldn’t deny it.
    Wait until Aunt Gussie learned of this!
    They made it over three more hills without incident, and down into a narrow canyon before the black of night gave way to the gray of predawn. They rode upstream for nearly a mile, then up the opposite bank and out of the canyon into more pines.
    Carson cursed again. It would be full light soon, and Winter Fawn needed rest. She needed a new bandage, too. She was bleeding all over his under shirt. He didn’t care about the shirt, but with every drop of blood she lost, her strength ebbed.
    Hunter led them south when he could, west and higher into the mountains when he couldn’t. The sky was light but the sun was not yet up when he led them down another stream, going east this time, following the flow of water. In the patches of sand between the occasional rocky outcropping along the banks, thick stands of willows grew, and now and then, a little grass.
    After about a half mile they came to a shallow cave carved out of the north rock wall eons ago about ten yards from the water. Scattered boulders that had fallen from the rim above partially shielded the west end of the opening. It was the best—the only—shelter they’d seen.
    Carson looked around, noting the way the canyon curved up ahead. If anyone came from that direction they’d hear them long before they saw them. They would be able to see anyone coming from the west a long way off. The boulders would help shield them from anyone on the south rim. From the north they couldn’t be seen at all.
    It would do, Carson thought with a nod. It would do well.
    Hunter