text: 14
  
  Little Elk had coal black hair braided down to below his shoulders and tied off with leather ties, but otherwise he was dressed much like a white man, denim trousers, a long-sleeve dirty white shirt with a black vest of wool. He was soaked, but he didn't seem to be suffering from the cold. He wore high-top moccasins with white and blue beads, and he was a little bow-legged. As he rode ahead of Grit, he could tell that Little Elk was born to a horse. It was as if he and the bay were one.
  
  Within two miles, Little Elk led Grit into the Cheyenne River, which they crossed and kept going west along Box Elder Creek. It was a lonely and isolated land, but Little Elk seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go. He led Grit down game trails barely discernible through never-cut ponderosa forests so thick no wagon could have made it through.
  
  After a time, Little Elk stopped, and they rested the horses. Within a minute of stopping, Little Elk had assembled a fire. "You have match?" he asked. Grit lit the fire before pulling out the coffee pot. He filled it with water from his canteen and set it on a rock beside the fire and added a handful of Arbuckles.
  
  Afterward, Grit got out his frying pan and began cooking side pork, which they ate right out of the pan. Afterward, they ate hotcakes with syrup and drank all the coffee in the pot.
  
  "Why you out here?" Little Elk asked. "For gold?"
  
  Grit shook his head. "No, I don't care about the gold. Some Army deserters, three of 'em, stole my wife. Word is that they were coming out here looking for gold."
  
  "Not good. What you do?"
  
  Grit chuckled. "What should a man do?"
  
  "Kill 'em is only thing!"
  
  "I agree with you, Little Elk," Grit said. "They're not fit to live."
  
  "No law out here."
  
  "I'll keep that in mind," Grit said. "I have to find them first."
  
  "Hokay, let's go," Little Elk said.
  
  They rode on and into a little valley with a stream, surrounded on all sides by hills filled with ponderosas. The grass was high, and a small herd of maybe 30 bison grazed. On the other side, there was a herd of elk and deer that looked up at the two riders as they crossed the valley but soon returned to cropping at the grass. On the far side, there was a waterfall as the stream fell from the hills to the west.
  
  Suddenly, Little Elk stopped and said, "Into the woods."
  
  He reined his horse back the way they'd come and into the forest. When he was deep in the ponderosas, he leapt from his horse and looked back. Shortly after, a party of six Sioux warriors rode into the valley on the far side. Grit and Little Elk watched as the warriors crossed the little valley.
  
  "Are they a hunting party?" Grit asked in a whisper.
  
  "Yes, but they have all meat can carry," Little Elk said. "See packhorses with loads."
  
  "So why do we hide?" Grit asked quietly.
  
  "Absarokee and white man," was all Little Elk said, meaning it was dangerous for both of them. They watched until the Sioux warriors had crossed the valley and disappeared into the forest on the far side.
  
  "Hokay, can go now," Little Elk said.
  
  Little Elk led Grit along the edge of the valley and up into the hills of ponderosas so thick that only a man walking or on horseback could travel through them. There were no trails, but Little Elk moved ahead steadily making his own trail.
  
  As they rode on, Grit asked, "Where are most of the miners found?"
  
  "Not many, but a few along French Creek ," Little Elk said. "Some go other places, but is dangerous. Sioux know can kill lone white men and nobody know. Many Sioux friends, but some outlaws."
  
  That night, they camped along a stream flowing from a mountain to the west, a peak that appeared to be the highest in the region and looked like solid granite.
  
  "How far away from French Creek are we?"
  
  "Ten hours on horse... maybe."