She reddened at him and grinned. He gave her a slight gesture. She took the mug when he’d depleted the brew—she made an effort not to take a gander at the manner in which his throat bounced as he drank. She was almost certain Thomas grinned, only a tad, when he gave the container to her. That was her award. It was sufficient. That and her acknowledgment that, briefly, the voices in her mind had gone quiet. They discovered the note stuck underneath a little stone on the highest point of a rock, rippling like a white banner of give up. Stanton felt something in his own chest rise and afterward drain accordingly. Donner read it for all to hear: “Way ahead harsher than anticipated. Try not to follow us into Weber Canyon.— Lansford Hastings, Esq.” The breeze pulled at the paper in Donner’s grasp, like an apparition were attempting to grab it away. “What Satan does that mean? I thought this man knew the path.” Keseberg spat. “He named it after hisself, for crissake.” An abnormal mind-set hosted tainted the get-together since Fort Bridger. It was reasonable, given the strange episode with Bridger’s detainee and the tales told by the Paiute kid, Thomas, yet, it left Stanton uncomfortable. They were wavering on a blade’s edge: He expected that without Hastings’ assistance, they would before long turn on one another. Eagerness snapped noticeable all around. Everybody realized they were hustling time now. The climate would turn soon enough, regardless of whether the warmth was so abusive right now that they could scarcely envision it truly easing up. Stanton’s look skirted the ground. “Their tracks are adequately plain. Notwithstanding what he says, it ought to be adequately simple to follow them.” They prompted a pass totally clouded by woodland, dim and invulnerable, the path gobbled up behind a mass of development. Over the running woods was a mass of forcing white-covered mountains. Most of the cart party came from the fields and had never seen mountains like these. “California should lie directly behind,” Patrick Breen had said energetically, incapable to envision that the nation could continue for any longer. Stanton realized that the couple of existent guides, questionable as they were, said Breen wasn’t right. In any case, he would not have been the one to say as much. “Is that savvy?” Franklin Graves inquired. Everybody turned naturally toward him; individuals appeared to pay attention to Graves. It might’ve been a result of his monumental size; Graves was an enormous man, made expansive of back by extended periods of time in the fields, developing his homestead. “Not if Hastings says it’s undependable. He must’ve had a justification cautioning us off.” “We can’t simply stay here on our butts sitting tight for his consent.” That was Snyder, the Graves family’s teamster. Stanton saw that Reed winced at the sound of his voice. Odd. Donner’s eyes moved anxiously from Keseberg to Eddy, to the wheel tracks in the soil. “We have an Indian kid who knows these parts. We could continue onward,” he said, testing the thought before the group. Stanton could have done without the expression all over, similar to a gulped a man stone however would prefer to gag than hack it up and uncover his error. Donner hosted contended energetically to make himself gathering chief, apparently without contemplating the troublesome decisions that accompanied the position. “I been experiencing difficulty with the pivot on one of my carts as is it,” Graves said. “Can’t hazard it.” “We ought to several men ahead to discover Hastings and bring him back,” Reed said. “He got us into this wreck, he can damn well receive us in return.” Reed squared his shoulders. He was perspiring in the sun. Stanton didn’t have the foggiest idea why he generally prepared like he was going to a town hall. “I’d prefer to chip in.” “You? What makes you believe he’s going to pay attention to you?” Keseberg called out. “For hell’s sake, no one pays attention to you.” This got some simple chuckles. Keseberg helped Stanton to remember the schoolroom menaces who’d made rounds of culling wings off dragonflies or pounding insects underneath their feet. “I’ll make him tune in.” Reed made an honest effort to sound certain. “However I’d like another man to ride with me. Security in larger groups.” No one should have been reminded why. A breeze turned over dry leaves in the quietness. Last night there had been poker games, drinking, narrating, and who realized what had gone on inside the tents. Hardly any men would need to pass on such solaces to ride daze through an obscure area. The quitters. They were quite glad to allow Reed to bear all the danger. He was unable to allow Reed to take off all alone with nobody to look out. Stanton ventured forward. “I’ll go.” He intentionally kept away from Keseberg’s eyes; he knew all around ok Keseberg’s opinion about him. “I’ll ride with Reed.”