In the great courtyard of Bent's Fort one evening more than a week later, three trappers sat with their backs against the brass cannon that scowled at the heavy doors. They were planning their winter's trip in the mountains, figuring out the supplies and paraphernalia for a party of four, when Hank, glancing up, saw two people slowly walking along the high, wide parapet on the side toward the Arkansas. He raised an arm, pointing, and his companions, following it with their eyes, saw the two figures suddenly become like one against the moonlit sky.
Hank sighed, bit his lip, and looked down.
"Better figger on a party o' three," he said.