Page 46 of Sure as Shooting

“All redskin tongues, sign language too

Huntley used ’em far and wide.

He was a frontier man

Pioneer, trapper, guide.”

Huntley burst out in laughter. That plumb sap! He was blaring that absurd song some miners had made up about him.

“Warwhooped Yosemite’s Grizzly braves

In havoc across the land

Came Mariposa’s boys to save

The law and order stand.”

“All right! Enough!” Rising, Huntley placed Belle on her feet and clapped a hand on Whit’s shoulder. “We won’t be able to sing that song much longer, either. It’s about as ancient a chestnut as poor Tenaya’s song.”

“Sure as shooting,” Whit agreed amiably.

They stood on the eminence that jutted out over the valley. Although eager for his fireplace and his turtle soup, Huntley would be sad to leave the Deep Grassy Valley. Once word got out—and with Whit’s voluble writing skills, that would be soon—about the splendors of this place, all manner of naturalists and adventurers would be piling in. With no Grizzlies to scare anyone off, when the snow melted, folks would be racing to view these majestic vistas for themselves.

Belle stood between them, clutching their hands to her furry breast. “Yes, you’re not King of the Tulareños anymore.”

Huntley said, “I feel that I’m king of much more.”

It would never be as silent as it was now, in this moment.