When the warrior finished, Caleb pointed toward the trap.
Then at himself.
Then he mimed opening it.
Suspicion darkened the other man’s face.
Caleb shrugged.
“You have a better idea, I’m listening.”
No response.
“Thought so.”
He examined the trap.
It was enormous.
Not something carried casually by a mountain hunter.
Its chain had been deliberately wrapped around the base of the granite boulder.
Caleb frowned.
The placement bothered him.
Too far from any obvious game trail.
Too close to the narrow pass above.
Almost as though whoever had set it expected something other than a bear.
But there was no time to consider that.
Blood continued dripping into the snow.
Caleb searched for a branch strong enough to pry apart the jaws.
Nothing nearby would hold.
He looked at the trap.
Then at the Apache.
“There’s only one way.”
Caleb positioned himself above the iron jaws.
He planted one boot on each spring.
The warrior’s eyes widened.
Caleb pushed.
Nothing.
He pushed harder.
Pain stabbed through an old wound in his left shoulder.
The trap shifted barely half an inch.
The Apache clenched his teeth.
“Get ready.”
Caleb pressed down again.
His legs began shaking.
The springs groaned.
The jaws opened.
The warrior pulled.
A cry tore from him.
Caleb’s boot slipped.
The trap nearly snapped closed again.
“No.”
Caleb threw his full weight downward.
Something tore in his shoulder.
White pain exploded through him.
But the jaws opened farther.
“NOW!”
Whether the other man understood the word did not matter.
He understood the moment.
He ripped his leg free.
The trap slammed shut with enough force to break a man’s arm.
Caleb collapsed backward into the snow.
For several seconds neither man moved.
Then the warrior began laughing.
It was faint.
Painful.
Disbelieving.
Caleb stared at him.
“You think that was funny?”
The man laughed again.
Against his own will, Caleb did too.
Just once.
A breath of laughter between two men who should have been enemies.
Then the injured warrior fainted.
Caleb stopped laughing.
“Hell.”
He crawled toward him.
The wound was ugly.
Caleb cleaned it with water, packed it with cloth, and wrapped the leg as tightly as he dared.
Then he removed his heavy wool coat.
The mountain cold immediately cut through his shirt.
He wrapped the coat around the unconscious man.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
Getting him onto Rust took nearly fifteen minutes.
Caleb thought his shoulder would give out twice.
When the warrior regained consciousness, he pointed weakly east.
Caleb began walking.
Rust carried the injured man.
Caleb carried his rifle but left it unloaded.
Two hours later, smoke rose between the mountains.
Not wildfire.
Cook fires.
Caleb stopped.
The warrior pointed again.
Caleb’s stomach tightened.
“No.”
Another gesture.
East.
“No, absolutely not.”
The warrior stared at him.
Caleb looked toward the smoke.
Then at the wounded man wearing Caleb’s coat.
“Of course.”
He continued walking.
Because apparently saving a stranger from a bear trap was not enough stupidity for one day.
He had to carry him into an Apache camp too.
The first arrow landed three feet in front of Caleb’s boot.
Rust shied violently.
