Way of the Heron

The Way Of The Heron

By C. T. Creekmur

Chapter Seven

Treasure Of The Heron

Author's warning: This story depicts men performing sexual acts upon one another that immature people might find shocking. If graphic depictions of sex between men upsets you, or if you are under 21 years of age, then DO NOT READ THIS! - go read something else!

Please understand that this is a work of fantasy and fiction, set in a time when safe sex was unheard of. It is not intended to provoke or promote promiscuity or abandonment of common sense where sex is concerned. Especially in this day and age.

Though historical personages are mentioned, none of the principal characters are based on real individuals and any similarity to such is coincidental. This story is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author.

Historical Note: This chapter happens between February and early April of 1868, and is set in the valley of the heron and the towns of False Pass and Port Bolon.

And now, on with the story!

TREASURE OF THE HERON

Silas Trent's spirit quest takes him in search of the most valuable and potentially dangerous of the secrets hidden in the valley of the heron...

...but with the help of the Elxa shaman, Falling Star, and his heron brother, Tavani, Silas will uncover the true...

TREASURE OF THE HERON

Silas Trent stood silent and pensive, gazing out the single window of his mountain home. Each pane in the wooden gridwork was edged with fantasies of frost, glittering in the new daylight. The delicate patterns of ice looked like samples of the finest Irish lacework or the feathery tips of summer ferns.

The window itself opened onto a magnificent view, the frozen beauty of a late February morning in the Oregon mountains. The sky was an inverted bowl of flawless, deep blue. Nothing but the crystalline air stood between the land and the glory of the rising sun.

But the new light seemed to fall in vain upon an icy world. Some rays slanted in through the window to caress and call forth coppery glints and sparks from the crimson fur that graced Silas' skin. The sunlight scarcely warmed him though and he tugged at the blanket about his shoulders, drawing it closer to his nakedness as a barely audible sigh escaped the man's lips, lost as he was in thought.

Little things - the position of the rising sun, the wider variety of small animal tracks that crisscrossed the snow covered stump field around the cabin - told Silas that the winter was drawing to a close, and spring, with all its vernal promise, stood ready to make it debut. Involuntarily, he recalled how disastrously the season before had begun. As the somber memories of last autumn surfaced again, Silas grimaced and reflexively lifted his hands to touch his eyes.

He was thankful that the organs still worked. The special medicine he had been given for his eyes, and the patient care he received all winter from his lover, Will Dern, had healed them completely. Then the adventures he and his partner had experienced among the legendary Elxa tribe in their nearby homeland, the valley of the heron, the previous September flashed sweetly through his mind again.

He recalled the members of that generous tribe, saw them again as one by one they came before his mind's eye. Their wise guide, Red Hand, and his companion, the townsman Asa Sykes; the gentle musician, Mayati; Silas' patient nurse, Wiscoup'a; the enormous English trapper and poet, Big Otter. And last but not least his red-haired spirit-brother, Tavani... oh yes... Tavani...

The emotions roused by Silas' daydreaming roiled pleasantly in his brain. He found the memories as savory as ever, unaffected by the frequency with which they had intruded on his thoughts since last autumn. Silas lifted a hand to his chest and then let it drop, grazing the hairy flesh lightly, down to his genitals. His cock responded and lengthened to hang heavily, plump with sweet remembrance.

Silas sighed again and returned to contemplating the majestic mountain view before him. As if it had been waiting just for him to witness it, a whole section of a distant white ridge simply folded up and fell at that instant, overwhelming the scattering of snowcapped evergreens in its path. He heard the faintest of rumbles as the vast mass of snow spread out like cake batter, filling the valley below.

Bare rock walls, with only a few spots of clinging snow, were left behind. Above them, the overlying snowbanks stood stark and evenly vertical, sparkling in the sunlight. They looked as if a gigantic knife had come and cut them off cleanly, paring away a multi-acre chunk of whiteness.

The icy spectacle was too far away to be anything other than an impressive demonstration of nature's power. It seemed to Silas that his friend Big Otter had once quoted some apt verses to him, written by a gentleman named Byron about mountains very much like the Cascades. He thought a moment, then murmured softly, frosting the glass with his breath as he addressed the remote battlements.

...Above me are the Alps, The palaces of nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps And throned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche, the thunderbolt of snows...

'Too bad Will's still asleep,' Silas mused to himself. 'He'd be impressed I remembered all that. Hell, I'm impressed at myself!'

His eyes fell from the white ridges, to the snow-tipped firs and pines that grew on the upper reaches of his and Will's valley. A solitary raven glided past, skimming across the treetops. It seemed for that instant to be the only moving object in an otherwise still and frozen world.

Silas absently calculated how many days must pass until the spring thaw came, when he and Will would no longer see each other every day, as they did during the winter. They would part and wander the wilderness, Will searching for new fur-trapping grounds, Silas looking for exposed rock formations to prospect, until the leaves began to turn, their brilliant colors being the signal for the two men to prepare to return to their cabin, to each other, for another cold season. Or so it had been in the year since the men had first partnered up.

But now this new year brought a new kind of newness with it. New ways, new possibilities. There were new forces in their lives. And many things might change... Perhaps...

Silas' gaze rose again, to linger on a tall peak dominating the uplands to the southeast. Gales howling over the mountain's frozen flanks pulled powdered snow from its surface, forming glittering streamers of frozen spindrift that twisted and writhed like flying snakes in the rarefied air about its sharp, icy summit. Zoraxte, the sacred mountain of the heron men, called to him, just as Silas knew it would call to Will. One hand went unconsciously to the black stone hanging from a loop of rawhide around his neck.

As he fingered the Elxa glyphstone's smooth surface thoughtfully, tracing the faint outline of the bird-like symbol etched upon it, Silas heard a faint sound. He turned to look at the bed he shared with his partner, at the opposite corner of the cabin. Will was sleepily stretching one hairy arm out across their bed, searching for his lover's body, making scarcely-audible grumbles of disappointment as his roving hand found only rumpled, empty blankets.

It was a pitiful sight and Silas was moved at once to go slide back into their bed. He took his lover's questing hand and kissed it gently, pressing it to his bearded cheek. Will's eyes fluttered open and focused slowly on Silas.

"You are here... " he whispered, sounding relieved.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I had a dream, that you were gone and I couldn't find you."

"Hush. It was just a bad dream. I'm right here, pardner," Silas soothed as he hugged Will, "and there ain't no place on earth I'd rather be than right here, right now."

"How long you been up?"

"A little while."

"Can't sleep?"

"I been thinkin'."

"What about?"

"Oh, lotsa things, like how the spring's comin' soon, and that I'll have to start gettin' my gear ready for another season of prospectin'... stuff like that."

"Did you think about me?"

"Of course I did. But sad-like, 'cause we'll be apart again."

"I've been thinkin' about that too... "

"Sad-like?"

"Yeah."

"I love you."

"I love you too," Will responded, kissing his partner. "And what I was thinkin' was, goin' north to Spring Hill, sellin' my pelts there, and then returnin' here quickly, to spend the summer in the valley of the heron."

"Sounds sorta like the plans I've made."

"You've had the same idea too, eh?"

"Yep. I hafta go see Falling Star, and I thought I'd try a little prospectin' up around his way."

"With Tavani, or so I hear," Will whispered, gently nuzzling Silas' ear, his lip whiskers rasping its contours sensuously.

"Huh?" Will's words were startling to Silas, and Will felt his lover's body suddenly stiffen in his arms as Silas blurted out, "How... how'd you know that... ?"

"There ain't no secrets in the valley of the heron, pardner," chuckled Will. "You shoulda heard the stories the Elxa were tellin' each other at Roman Rock when we were there last, but not in your or Tavani's presence of course."

"What stories?"

"Just some harmless tall tales they'd tell around their campfires, to while away the time, I reckon. Though I suspect the tellers didn't have to make up a whole lot of the details."

"What stories!?" Silas demanded again.

"Oh, they was mostly about two fire-haired men, burnin' with desire for each other... "

"What?! Why those... those... " Silas sputtered, blushing fiercely. Will grinned at his lover and silenced Silas with a kiss.

"I... I was gonna tell you... " Silas said sheepishly, after a few moments pause.

"I know you woulda. And I don't mind. I'd be a liar iffin' I was to deny that I had plans to see certain other heron men myself, this comin' summer."

"I'm not entirely sure Tavani is gonna accept my invitation."

"He'd be a fool then. I'll go with you, if you'd like."

"If I'd like?" Silas snorted indignantly. "What makes you think I wouldn't like it?".

"Well, would you?" Will asked. "I've never gone prospectin' with you, except for a little bit we did the first summer we met up."

Silas paused before answering, smiling to himself. He remembered that particular summer in 1866 well. Scenes from it flashed through his brain sweetly. The time they had spent together, roaming the countryside and letting their initial attraction deepen into a love bond. The day they found the site where they decided to build their cabin. The first night they slept together under their new roof...

"Of course I'd like it," Silas breathed at last, stroking Will's dark brown beard gently. Then he paused, and asked, hesitantly, "Will, I know it ain't none of my business, but durin' the times we were apart, did you... uh... see anyone else?"

"Very rarely, and never the same person. Wherever I found myself in a town, at Maury City or Spring Hill, I'd stick around for a little while, enjoyin' civilized things like takin' hot baths and eatin' tame meat. I could almost always find another trapper to swap stories with over a bottle of whiskey.

"And, once in a great while, I'd meet another guy who thought like me and we'd end up in bed. It was a nice change of pace, but it never felt as good as it does with you. And dealin' with townfolk would always remind me how nice it was to be here in the wilderness alone with you. What about you? You have any summer adventures?"

"I'd run into Indians and other prospectors sometimes, but, you know, prospectin's a powerful solitary business. No prospector likes to talk about where he goes, or somebody else might find his favorite spots and work 'em out. So, if anything, I discouraged anyone I met."

"I'm glad you made an exception to your rule in my case, when we first met."

"Well, I could tell you wasn't another prospector by the gear you was packin' on your mule," Silas explained with a grin, remembering a certain summer day in the past. "I looked up when I heard somebody comin' and saw the most damnedestly handsome cuss wadin' through the tall grass towards me. We shared dinner and stories, and I think I said something about my life bein' a lonely one... "

" ...and I took a chance and said there was no need for a man as handsome as you to be alone," Will finished softly, as he ran a hand down Silas' back. "I remember it well."

Silas sighed and kissed Will deeply. Their cocks were hard and pressed hotly together, sandwiched between their furry bellies. They enjoyed the sweet, teasing sensations their position afforded them.

Other members were not idle. For a time, the feel of their hands and lips enhanced their pleasure as they knowingly traced the contours of each other's bodies, following familiar trails across bumps and ridges of hairy flesh, sharing a tactile joy. But it was not long before they moved to seek a greater release...

Time passed. The vernal equinox of 1868 came and went. And as the days steadily lengthened and warmed, the snow was forced to retreat up the slopes of the surrounding hills.

Meltwater flowed, flooding the nameless creek the men drew their water from. It became a turbid, foaming torrent from bank to bank, hesitating only a little while to swirl violently about in the manmade pond before spewing over the small rock dam, to rush madly on towards Lemolo Lake. The trees that shaded the pool grew downy with new, pale green foliage and wildflowers bloomed amid the tender shoots of grass, carpeting the stumpfield around their mountain cabin with fragrant, vibrant color.

Silas and Will each made preparations to leave their home, but neither man was feeling a great desire to go and be separated from one another. As a result, the outfitting for their journeys went more slowly than usual and their lovemaking was tender and deep, expressing without words their reluctance to part. On a sunny day not long after the equinox, Silas looked up from sewing a patch on his jeans when Will spoke.

"You hear something?" he asked, pausing over the pot of stew he was tending.

Silas cocked his head and strained his ears. Faintly, he caught a thin and hollow sound, rising and falling melodically. He looked at his lover with surprised eyes.

"Damn! Iffin' that ain't the song of the heron, I'll eat my hat!"

Going to the front door of their cabin, the men scanned the stump field, looking for the source of the music. It did not take the pair long to spot a familiar, lithe figure leaning carelessly against one of the big willow trees that grew around the pond. His glossy, unbound black hair fell far past his coppery shoulders and was stirred gently by the breeze as he played his flute.

A cincture of rawhide string encircled his lean hips, supporting a scrap of deerskin passed between his thighs. Besides his Elxa glyphstone and the beaded moccasins he wore, it was his entire wardrobe. The tawny skin of his exposed body shone like old satin in the warm vernal sunlight.

"Mayati!" Will exclaimed.

As the heron man ceased playing, Silas and Will noticed Mayati was not alone. Two horses grazed nearby, and a white man they did not recognize was busy digging into the saddlepack of his palomino. Pulling out a small brown leather bag, he joined Mayati. The native hung his flute from a string looped crosswise over his chest and they approached the cabin together.

The stranger's plain dark woolen suit gave him the look of a townsman. However, a more careful eye would have noted the scuffed, well worn boots, the guns partly hidden by his coat and the battered, wide brimmed hat, all signs of a familiarity with the frontier. His dark ruddy hair and beard were carefully trimmed, giving him an air of importance that was reinforced by his muscular frame.

"What are you doin' here?" asked Silas as the heron man came closer.

"I was guiding my companion to the cave of mysteries," Mayati answered. "And I persuaded him to detour here to see you, Silas."

"Why?" the prospector asked, turning to face Mayati's companion.

"My name's Cyrus Orwins," he began, extending a big hand for the pair to shake, "but you can call me Cy. I'm a doctor. I settled in False Pass last summer, after I found out that my kind of people lived there. Mayati tells me you had an accident last year, Silas."

"Yeah, but I'm better now."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that? Let's go inside and have a look at your eyes."

"Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt."

As Silas sat and allowed Cy to examine him, the doctor told him and Will how he had learned of the heron men from his first lover, a cowboy who worked near the town of Spring Hill, but he had not been the only source of Cy's information. Doctors were still somewhat of a rarity in the hinterlands of Oregon and Cy had been called to a great many timber and mining camps to treat injured men. In those all-male bastions, the doctor had come across others of his nature and heard their stories.

Among other tales, the myth of the heron men had come up time and again. The lost valley, the elusive Indians, the supernatural forces they consorted with, all these details were compelling elements in the stories. The idea of a whole tribe of man-loving males had enthralled Cy, but he had put no credence in them, believing the native fables to be too good to be true.

When his lover suddenly died of a fever, Cy was heartbroken and left Spring Hill, vaguely intending to wander south, to California perhaps. On the way he met one of the men who lived in False Pass, Nick Jones. His subsequent adventure with Nick led Cy into staying at the small town.

Cy learned from Nick that the heron men were real, and that a majority of the men in False Pass were members of the Elxa tribe, while the rest shared their nature. Cy found False Pass to be the next best thing to the legends he had heard about. The men there were welcoming and friendly to him, and eager to have a resident doctor. Cy had settled in False Pass gladly, looking forward to a life where he would be free to be his true self.

Little by little, the doctor came to realize that False Pass existed to shield the homeland of the heron men. This was evidenced by the frequent, flying visits of certain white men and Indians who were also heron men. Cy learned they lived somewhere to the east, in an area that most people thought was trackless and uninhabitable mountain wilderness. As the town leaders got to know him, they began to take Cy into their confidences and told him more about the valley of the heron, where the Elxa tribe resided.

At last, just before the spring thaw, the sheriff of the town, Robert Vaughn, the famous gunfighter known to the natives as Holy Irons, had taken Cy aside. He revealed that he himself was considered a chief among the heron men. Then he showed Cy a roll of deerskin, with a message for the doctor written on it in violet paint.

It was an invitation from the heron men's chief shaman, Falling Star, for Cy to visit the valley of the heron. Cy knew that Nick had spoken to Falling Star about him, and it seemed the shaman had sought and received approval of Cy from his spirit helpers in medicine dreams. Shortly after the arrival of the letter, Mayati had shown up, ready to guide Cy into the lands of the Elxa.

As Cy had spoken, he continued to examine Silas. After he reached the end of his story, he confirmed what Silas already suspected. The medicine Red Hand had given Silas had healed his eyes completely. Cy shook his head, saying he knew some of his old teachers at the medical school in Philadelphia where he had studied would give their right arms to know about the curative properties of the starflowers, but that would mean telling the world about the valley of the heron, which was not an option.

The four men spent an enjoyable day and evening together after that. And in the morning, Mayati and Cy resumed their journey. Like so many gentle men before him, Cy was following the trail to the cave of mysteries, to meet Falling Star and be received into the Elxa tribe.

They were not the last visitors. Soon after, on a bright, late March day, while Will was out hunting, and Silas was occupied with cleaning his guns, the prospector was startled by a knock at the door. Obviously, Will would not have bothered knocking.

Silas frowned at the noise and reflexively placed a hand on one of his pistols. Until the heron men had come into their lives, it was an exceedingly rare novelty for Will and he to have visitors. The legs of his chair grated noisily against the rough floorboards as he scooted it around to face the door, before calling out a challenge to whomever had knocked.

"Silas?" a familiar voice boomed happily in reply. "It's Phil Caddell."

Instantly forgetting his guns, Silas quickly moved to the door. Opening it, he was immediately encircled lovingly by a huge pair of muscular arms. The English heron man called Big Otter lowered his head and kissed Silas, pressing his dark beard sensuously into the spun copper that pressed enthusiastically back.

Silas was in heaven, blissfully enjoying the feel of being held in Phil's arms, the taste of the big trapper's lips, and had no intention of stopping anytime soon when he heard the sound of a throat being cleared nearby. Startled, he broke away and looked. For a long second he did not recognize the man grinning at him through a thick, bright beard, one that was even redder than his own.

"Howdy pardner, remember me?"

"Greg!" Silas cried happily, realizing it was the heron man known as Tavani as they hugged and kissed. "And with a beard no less! What brings you two here?"

"I'm on my way to Port Bolon, to sell my furs," Phil rumbled good-naturedly, "and Greg here wanted to tag along with me, at least as far as your cabin."

"I'm ready to take you up on your offer, Silas. We can go out prospectin' together if you still wanna, pardner."

"Of course I wanna. And I hope both of you'll be stickin' around long enough to visit a spell with Will and me."

"Where is your partner?" asked the big trapper.

"He's out huntin'."

"Hmm. That's not a bad idea," Phil said thoughtfully as he turned to retrieve his rifle from the holster that hung on his mule's pack. "Since you weren't expecting us, Will might not bring back enough to feed us all. So I'll go and see if I have any luck."

"Well, he went east. You'd better try a different direction. We can't have you two mistakin' each other for bears and shootin' at each other!"

"Thanks," Phil chuckled. "I'll try ranging north and be back before sundown with some meat, I hope."

"Good huntin'," Greg grinned.

"I'll put your mule in our stable," added Silas.

"Okay now, Hotee," Phil began as he reached out and scratched his mule's head between its ears, "you be good for Silas, you hear?"

"His name is 'Hotee'?"

"Sure!" grinned Phil. "Haven't you ever heard of 'donkey hotee'?"

Silas groaned aloud at the bad joke as Phil flashed a bright smile at his friends before he strode off. Silas led the well-read trapper's punningly-named mule into the stable, removed the packs and pulled some hay down for the animal. Greg's arms came around his waist from behind as he finished.

"They might be gone for hours," Greg whispered breathily, his lips grazing his friend's ear gently.

Silas could feel a familiar, exciting hardness pressing insistently through Greg's jeans against his backside. It brought back memories of the amorous games they played together the previous September at Roman Rock. Both men were eager to pick up where they had left off.

"Let's go up in the haymow," Silas managed, his throat suddenly gone dry, "just in case you're wrong."

As the sun was setting, Will emerged from the forest, feeling more than a bit chagrined. As he tramped towards his cabin across the stumpfield that surrounded it, he carried three scrawny rabbits, his sole and pitiful result of the day's hunt. He spied a person whom he naturally thought at first was Silas kneeling shirtless by the pool near their home and turned at once in his direction.

The man was intent on some chore and as Will neared him, the trapper realized it was not his lover. The stranger was physically bigger and his hair and beard and body fur were black. Will was about to call to the man when he suddenly looked up, having heard the swishing sound Will's legs made as they moved towards him through the tall grass.

"Phil?!" he exclaimed as he stopped short in surprise, recognizing the man at last.

"Hello, Will," the big man returned easily. "I'd give you a hug, but I'm a mess right now."

For the first time, Will noticed the fair-sized buck Phil was in the process of skinning and butchering by the edge of the creek. The big man's technique was exceedingly skillful and the 'mess' he referred to was only a few spots of blood on his hands. Will admired his art, knowing he himself was often red to the elbows whenever he attempted similar chores.

"I'm glad one of us had some luck today," he said, smiling wryly at his brother heron man as he threw down the rabbits for emphasis. "Them skinny varmints wouldn't even make a snack for a big guy like you, I wager."

"Or a decent dinner for you and Silas," Phil grunted in agreement, returning to his task.

"It's good to see you. When did you get here?" Will asked, squatting down next to Phil.

"Greg and I got here around noon."

"Greg's here too?"

"Yes."

"Is he with Silas?" Will asked in a noticeably flustered voice.

"I suspect so," Phil answered with deliberate blandness. "No one was in the cabin when I looked."

"Oh?" Will asked, glancing at his home.

"That doesn't bother you, does it?"

"No... Yes... I mean I knew Greg wanted to go prospectin' with Silas this spring," Will murmured a bit absently, reaching out to pick at a clump of young fiddlehead ferns with tentative fingers. "I guess... I guess I just didn't expect Greg to come here lookin' for him... "

Phil glanced at Will questioningly as he paused in his work on the deer carcass.

"Ha," Will laughed mirthlessly at himself, "guess I'm not completely a heron man yet if I can still feel jealous."

"No, you're just human, and the Way of the Heron is still new to you. Also, we did sort of barge in on your privacy. I told Greg I thought it might be better to wait until you two came to us, this year, but Greg was really eager to go and see Silas... "

"It's okay, really," sighed Will. "I mean, I can understand how he must feel... about Silas... "

A not uncomfortable silence fell between the men for a time as Will pulled out his knife and started cleaning the rabbits he caught. As Phil worked at his task, he hummed softly. Will could not recognize the tune. Then the big man started chanting softly, the words spoken unconsciously, or so it seemed.

My love has gone beyond the valley seeking I known not what, seeking for what I cannot give him, what he needs and wants...

And when he returns I find he brings me things both odd and rare, things I could not do without, feelings strong and fair...

Will wondered as the song ended. Images and ideas flashed in his mind as he remembered the things Falling Star had spoken of during his last visit to the shaman's home. One verse in particular of the heron elder's love poetry replayed itself in his mind.

The Way of the Heron is not a thing to be named...

He who needs names and definitions will never find the heron's track, but he who looks with his heart and listens with his spirit will find an intangible treasure of tender feelings in the hearts and spirits of his heron brothers...

Their - our - love is mighty, like a river in springtime, just as deep and refreshing, always renewing itself, unending, eternal...

Will thought about what all the heron men had tried to teach him. About the deep and untapped possibilities they believed lay beneath the physical act of love between two men. The use of their spirit wings and the potential to generate an energy field around coupling lovers that could affect the physical world around them.

Silas and he had discussed and tried out those ideas, and Will wondered if the images he held onto as they made love all during the long winter just past, images of Silas healthy and completely recovered from his accidental blinding the previous September, had helped his lover. Silas was well now, he mused. Then the trapper's attention was pulled back outside himself when he realized that Phil had begun to speak to him again.

"This was a little bit of a detour for me when I guided Greg here. I was headed for Port Bolon to sell my furs and pick up some supplies, but I thought it might be worth it." Phil paused and turned to look at Will with a meaningful twinkle in his blue eyes. "I understand you're a trapper too."

"That's right."

"I don't know where you're planning to dispose of your furs, but you're quite welcome to come along with me to Port Bolon, if you'd like. I know some traders there who share our nature. I'm sure they'd like to meet you and give you a good price for your pelts... "

At once, Will recalled a story Silas had related to him, about waking up one morning next to Phil, and making gentle love to the big man. It suddenly seemed a useless exercise to analyze the mysteries of the heron as Will felt Logger twitch between his legs and start to swell. The Way of the Heron was right there, open before him, revealed in Phil's smiling blue eyes. Will tried to speak, but his voice faltered, and he coughed before he tried again.

"I'd like that," he finally managed.

"Good," Phil whispered, leaning over to kiss his companion's cheek lightly as he added, "I'm glad you'll be traveling with me."

Will's eyes fell to the tightness that had appeared in the crotch of Phil's buckskin pants. They widened as Will examined the sheer size of that bulge. It appeared that Silas had not been exaggerating about Phil's equipment.

Will wondered briefly if he could take Phil on. Then he licked his dry lips, swallowed and forced himself to concentrate on his rabbits, saving his speculations for another time. Phil smiled and turned back to the buck.

"This is a lovely little valley you and Silas have found to settle in," the big man commented.

"I hope the rest of the heron men don't mind us bein' here," responded Will. "I mean, we didn't know they considered their lands to extend this far north."

"Don't worry about it," Phil reassured him. "In fact, I don't think it's a bad thing you're here. I'm not the only one who believes that, sooner or later, settlers are going to find their way into the valley of the heron, and that individual heron men need to start taking out homestead grants, staking legal claim to our lands before someone else does."

"What about seeking a reservation from the government?"

Phil chuckled and shook his head. "The Elxa are not a recognized tribe. And the chances of getting recognition from the political powers that be would be practically impossible, once our, er, 'unique tribal customs' became generally known."

"Well, when you put it that way... " Will laughed. Then he paused and scratched at his beard in thought. "Puttin' in a claim to this valley might not be a bad idea at that. But I wouldn't feel right about it until I could speak to Falling Star."

"That's probably wise."

They continued to work on their catches while they spoke. When Phil was done, he wrapped the cuts of deer meat up in the bloody hide. Then, taking hold of the animal's antlers, he dragged what remained away, deep into the nearby forest. It would not do to leave the carcass too close to the cabin, which would attract potentially dangerous varmints: bears, wolves or catamounts.

Upon his return, Phil removed his moccasins and pants, and waded into the pool to wash off. It seemed a bit unnecessary to Will, who had already noted how ably Phil had avoided getting dirty, but he was not about to complain. The sight was heavenly. Phil seemed as unaware of the hungry stare his Herculean nakedness elicited from Will as he was of the coldness of the water.

"Too bad there's no soap," the big man commented, sitting down on a submerged rock in the pool and splashing his face.

"Look in the crack of that boulder there," directed Will.

Will had finished his task and was already stripping, eager to join Phil in the water. Phil turned his head to look where Will indicated, causing a small shower to fall from his long beard. It disturbed an orange dragonfly perched on the rock. With a blurred movement of its iridescent wings, the colorful insect whirred away.

"Ah!" Phil exclaimed, locating the bar and beginning at once to lather his broad chest. "I do enjoy having soap. It's one of the few civilized things I've found I can't live without here in the valley of the heron. I've learned how to make soap from a farmer I know, but it's a time consuming task, and dangerous, if you're not careful. The kind of strong lye solution you need for soapmaking will take your hide right off if you get it on you!"

"Here, lemme get your back for you."

Phil handed Will the slippery bar and it almost got away from the trapper's nervous fingers. Getting a grip, on the soap as well as himself, Will began to scrub Phil's back, an expanse of flesh hairier than most men's chests. Phil obviously enjoyed what Will was doing to him, as he made little sighing noises of delight and stretched himself luxuriatingly.

Will was amazed at the utterly sensuous feel of Phil's back muscles rippling and undulating under his fingers. He found the sensation was terribly exciting. And the fact that Will's stiff-as-steel cock was mere inches away from Phil's beautiful, hairy backside certainly was not helping to calm him down any.

Phil at last dipped himself into the water to rinse off and turned around. His enormous organ hung heavily outward, bumping up against Will's hip as Phil faced him. Will could not help but stare. The man's cock was every bit as amazing as he had been told.

Phil smiled, pretending to ignore the condition Will was in, and took the soap from him. Then, to Will's delight, Phil began to wash his chest, with an even broader grin on his face all the while. The large soapy hands glided easily over the furry bumps and ridges of Will's body, exploring, learning...

Too soon it seemed, Phil finished Will's front. Phil gave him a playful, soapy pull on his painfully erect cock and ordered Will to turn around in a low voice. The whimsical gesture and the tone of mock-menace in his voice set Will's mind to whirling.

Turning around obediently, Will found himself facing one of the granite boulders that defined one side of the creek. 'How convenient!' he thought. He placed his hands against the rough stone and leaned slightly forward, waiting.

Phil's big hands came down and began gliding across his back, reaching around to the sides. He kneaded Will's back muscles expertly and Will moaned softly in pleasure. The movements of Phil's fingers bespoke strength as well as gentleness. He had an expert's touch.

Will felt so good as the firm fingers worked their way down Will's torso. Eventually, inevitably, they found his backside, glided across the firm globes of Will's buttocks and slipped slickly into the asscrack, rubbing, pressing, spreading, seeking... Will sighed again in total pleasure, giving himself up completely to Phil's attentions, surrendering himself sweetly...

He spread his legs further apart and raised his rump, thrusting it up to meet the fingers that played about his manhole. It was a silent invitation, one that was gently accepted. Everything except the sensations Phil elicited from his body faded away from Will's consciousness like a morning fog before the sun.

Will felt one gentle, soap-slick finger glide across his puckered backdoor, defining it, learning its size, its center. The inquisitive digit sank in, probing mysterious tightness. Then, another joined it, and in unison they pressed inward, testing, stretching, until they found the firespot within, sparking more joy...

The sensitive flesh relaxed under Phil's knowing touch as he lubed it thoroughly. Will groaned aloud, and Logger stood up achingly, but the trapper kept his hands resolutely against the mossy boulder. Then the questing fingers retreated and Will gasped at the sudden, empty feeling, almost crying out for their return.

Will felt Phil moving behind him and the aching emptiness was filled again. There was pressure against his manhole, but from something much larger than a finger. A hot, slick, inexorable object pushed through the relaxed ring of muscle and slid slowly into his body, inch by slow, delicious inch. Will concentrated, willing himself open before its mirific, irresistable, oncoming force, determined to take it all, to hold its awesome strength within him completely...

At last, Phil's thick belly-fur came to press wetly against the small of Will's back. The big man waited for Will to become accustomed to the great fullness within him, whispering broken words of passion and encouragement hotly in Will's ear. At last Will moved, pressing back against Phil's thighs, signalling his readiness, wanting, waiting...

A large, soapy hand came around and gripped Will's cock, beginning to stroke it as the hugeness inside Will slid out and back in, slowly at first. Moving as one, it seemed to Will that time itself had been suspended by the beauty of their loving act, by the beauty of Phil, by Will's own beauty. Movement in eternity, movement for no time at all...

It was an old, old communion, a merging of spirit as well as body, almost as ancient as the stones around them. Phil and Will, joining together, in a way that generations of man-loving men before them had experienced. The act forged another link in a subtle, loving chain stretching unimaginably far, back into the mists of unrecorded time...

Back unnumbered centuries ago, when the earliest men began to think for themselves and experiment with the ways of pleasure. Learning how their bodies could please other men, as well as themselves. Discovering the deep sharing, exploring the mysteries of man-to-man love...

For as long as reasoning humans had lived on Earth, such men had existed, sought out one another and come together in that way. Feeling what Will and Phil now felt, the incredible warmth between them, within them, around them, pleasing soul as well as body. So warm inside, so warm...

Then time returned as their passionate tempo quickened. Faster now, more urgent, as they both neared the edge. They shuddered, they gasped, lost in the pleasure of that ultimate moment...

Spasming and gasping as one, their orgasms seemed to be cosmic things, sending hot, white comets shooting, arcing, falling. Impacting against dark, ancient stone. Filling dark inner man-space...

The two men stood there, exhausted, panting, floating on the aftermath of their orgasms, still united. A minute passed, and then another before Phil finally moved. He pulled himself out of Will slowly, reluctantly, his huge penis still half-stiff and trailing a glistening strand of liquid nacre from Will's backside.

Skinning off the semen that still clung to Will's cock, Phil lifted his dripping hand to Will's face and rubbed it into the hair around his friend's mouth. The man moaned like a lost soul as he licked and sucked what he could off the rough and callused fingers. With his other hand Phil playfully slapped his rubbery, massive dong against Will's backside.

"Had enough?" Phil asked wryly.

"For now," sighed Will contentedly.

Will turned around, wanting to see and touch the incredible cock he had conquered and held inside his body. He was surprised at how large it still was. The awestruck look on Will's face as he ran his fingers along its warm, pale length made Phil suddenly serious.

"You did want me to do that, didn't you?" he asked quietly.

"Yes! Oh, God, yes!" Will ardently affirmed, reaching up to caress Phil's bearded cheek gently, letting the heron man know with gestures as well as words that he had wanted him.

"Some men are frightened by my size, afraid I'll hurt them."

"Not me. You're gentle, nice and slow, and I wanna take you in the same way, soon."

Phil hugged Will in answer, trembling slightly with desire for his heron brother. They rinsed off and went to sit at the edge of the pond. Will pointed out the dam and told Phil how he and Silas had built it as a warm spring breeze dried the men off.

After awhile, they got dressed and began to gather up the meat from their kills. Will was considering how to prepare their catches for dinner when Phil nudged his companion. The man looked up to see Silas and Greg approaching.

"Hi, pardner," he smiled, rising to kiss Silas.

"Hello, umm... "

Phil's eyes held a secret amusement as they flickered from Silas to Greg. Greg noticed and tried his best to look innocent as he began unbuttoning his shirt. Kicking off his boots, he dropped his pants and stepped cautiously into the pond.

"We thought we'd take a dip before it got dark," Silas explained, as he began removing his clothes also.

"We'll go start dinner then," Phil suggested tactfully, lifting the bundle of deermeat and moving towards the cabin.

"See you later," Will smiled knowingly to the pair before following in Phil's wake with his rabbits.

Phil's prize fed the four men well over the next couple of days. Will used the time to finish getting his pelts ready for the trip to Port Bolon. And Silas prepared to go with Greg, who volunteered to guide Silas to the cave of mysteries, so they could visit the Elxa shaman Falling Star.

Silas and Will chose to spend those nights together, clinging to one another passionately. It was the thought of their imminent parting that spurred them on to greater intimacy. Again and again, they drove lovingly, fiercely into each other by turns, as if each sought to leave a portion of his soul with the other, a sweet remembrancer to keep each of them company until the time they would meet again.

Early on the morning of the third day, the four men began their journeys. Will and Phil led their loaded mules westward, following the creek, while Silas and Greg traveled south, towards the valley of the heron, with their gear packed upon the prospector's mule, Daisy. By mutual agreement, the two lovers kept their goodbyes brief.

But as Silas followed Greg, he looked back one last time at Will's dwindling form and it flung up a hand in farewell. Silas realized Will was looking back as well, and he returned the salute at once, even as a sudden longing to touch his lover again possessed him. But then Will disappeared among the distant trees, leaving Silas to drop his hand and turn to follow his own path.

Though the trip into the valley of the heron was one Silas had made before, the previous autumn, the scenery was new to him now that he could see where he was going. Time passed swiftly for Greg and Silas as they followed the nameless trail that led southeastward towards Heron Creek. It passed through mountain meadows lush with new grass and dotted with wildflowers, fresh spring beauties seemingly worshipped by flocks of flitting butterflies and droning bees. The men's passage into the valley of the heron was a play-journey for them, filled with love for one another.

They stopped along the way at odd intervals to make love whenever the urge possessed them, in ways as varied as imagination could make them. At such times, Daisy would be left free to graze undisturbed. Before the day was done the mule ceased to prick her ears in alarm at the noises the men would make, as she became used to them growling and gasping out their lusty ardor for one another as they rolled and grappled in fevered passion the tall, sweet-smelling vernal grass.

Because of these distractions, the two men did not reach the campsite they sought beside Heron Creek until after darkness had fallen. Greg knew the way by heart of course and could have found it without any help, but a fire burning brightly in the distance guided them to it unerringly. As they approached, the pair could hear a guitar being strummed and a gruff, masculine voice singing to the tune of 'On top of old Smoky'.

...when my pard comes home, from ridin' all day, I'll give him a warm smile and here's what I'll say:

"Come put up your horse now, go feed him some hay, then bed down beside me, all night 'til it's day."

And when the sun returns to the blue skies above, I'll thank all that's good for your sweet tender love...

Following the song, the pair found a small hunting party of Elxa at the campsite. The leader of the group, Ho'va, welcomed the newcomers happily and offered them food. Hungry after the 'exertions' of their trek, Greg and Silas thanked him heartily and joined the feast, helping to finish off the deer the hunting party had caught and cooked. As they ate, another tribesman recited some apt verses.

A band of hunters were we. All day long our feet had trail'd the woods. The panther fierce, the snorting bear, the cowering wolf, the deer swift as our bullets, had fallen, as crack'd the shots of our slim, deadly rifles.

"This is delicious," Silas commented. "It was lucky Greg and I ran into you fellas."

"Thank our 'lucky charm' here," one of the heron men said as he clapped the man next to him on the back, who had been introduced to Silas earlier as Sun Bear.

"Tulun is too generous with his praise," the burly blonde man insisted. "After all, it was your shot that brought the animal down."

"Yes," admitted Tulun, "but you found the trail and followed it, sniffin' it out better than any old hound dog could've!"

Later the men talked and exchanged stories under the slowly turning stars. Some told the myths of the heron men, tales of gods and demons. Others related how they had come to join the Elxa tribe. Silas listened and learned much that night as he reclined by the low-burning fire in Greg's arms, relaxing in their quiet, protective strength.

Will's journey that first day had been just as interesting. His previous supply trips had always taken him north, to the settlements along the Willamette. Consequently, he had never been to the town of False Pass, and Phil was looking forward to showing the town to Will as they followed the trails that led to the westward.

Skirting Lemolo Lake, the path they followed paralleled the Umpqua south of that body of water for a short distance, perhaps a mile or so, before they came to a ford. They led their mules across it and found a campsite on the other side, one of many the heron men maintained throughout their territory. But this one had an unusual landmark. Will was amazed by the sight of the great talking stone that stood nearby, an enormous boulder whose rounded surface had been covered with native carvings.

Pausing long enough to look the talking stone over and take a quick dip in the comfortably warm pool that sparkled invitingly nearby, the heron men continued west. They eventually crossed the ridge that separated the watershed of the upper Umpqua from that of the Clearwater. Numerous tributaries flowed into the latter river from the north and south, swelling the stream as they followed the trail that paralleled it west. At one point, where the strong current of a creek gushed into the Clearwater, the travelers' attention was caught by a crudely lettered and somewhat amusingly misspelled sign nailed to a tree close to the confluence of the two streams.

August 17, 1867

Publik notice is hereby given to all consarned individuals:

I claim Horn Crick & all of the vallee it drains for myself & my family

The declaration was signed: 'Geo. Ormonde & Sons'. Phil gazed at the claim marker for a short while, stroking his black beard in thought as he did so. Will waited for him to speak.

"Well," he began finally, "that's new."

"Do you know this fella, George Ormonde?"

"Only by reputation. My friends in False Pass tell me George and his two sons drifted in from the north last summer and spent most of their time prospecting in these hills. I guess they must have made a strike along Horn Creek somewhere."

"Are they... "

"... like us?" Phil grinned, anticipating Will's question as he glanced at his traveling companion. "I haven't had the chance to find out personally, but I'm told they are, George and his two sons. They seem to be a... er... close-knit family."

"Really," Will murmured, thinking he understood what Phil meant. While Will had fooled around with his brothers and young male friends while growing up, he could not quite imagine playing with his stern father like that, even though he had desired other older men, but George Ormonde was obviously a different kind of father.

As they urged their mules onward again, Will wondered what it must be like to grow up with a father like that. A man who understood the natural curiosity of his sons. And who would gently lead them into a knowledge of what their growing bodies were capable of.

Will frowned to himself as he thought about how he had learned about mansex. From peers as ignorant as himself, in hurried bouts of guilty silence, haunted by the fear of discovery, keeping what they had done resolutely to themselves, and never talking about it. Will was amazed he had survived the experience with his sanity intact.

"Oh," began Phil, "that reminds me. We have some new brothers, who met Wiscoup'a last winter... "

"How is Wiscoup'a?" Will asked. "Mayati told us of the sorcerer who attacked some people in the valley of the heron last fall, just after we left Roman Rock."

"He's much better. Wiscoup'a was naturally depressed afterwards. Anyone would be, after being scarred so horribly. He went off to spend the winter by himself in the northern wilds of the valley of the heron. Spirits spoke to Wiscoup'a in medicine dreams, leading to his meeting with two prospectors. He, they and the Spirit-Wolf had quite an adventure together, finding and adopting some orphaned boys, who I think are destined to grow up into men of our nature."

"Really?"

"Lemme tell you about it... "

As they continued on their way, Phil told Will the story as he had heard it from the parties involved, amazing his traveling companion. It was no less uncanny than what had happened to Silas and himself the previous autumn. Again, Will was reminded of the palpable reality of the mysterious forces that dwelt in the valley of the heron.

"...the Cooke homestead is in the far northeastern part of the Elxa's lands. They'll probably get visits from any heron men headed to or from Maury City. Some go there to trade for supplies. And others, like my lover, Mark, who were cowboys before they joined the Elxa, go to see the sights."

"Huh?"

"There's a notorious saloon in Maury City, the Mineshaft. It has a 'reputation' as being a place where men like us meet."

"I know it," replied Will. "I've met some nice guys there, the few times I've been in Maury City."

"I've been there a few times, too." Phil smiled. "Between the men who work the silver mines there, cowboys from the outlying ranches and the soldiers from Fort Seward, the Mineshaft is a veritable smorgasbord of masculine possibilities!"

After that, the big trapper described the lay of the land around them to his brother heron man. The Umpqua made a wide semicircular detour to the north, coming within a few miles of the upper Willamette. Will knew the Staley Creek portage trail that connected the two valleys well. Then the Umpqua arced southward to join the Clearwater. It was at the two rivers' confluence, surrounded by a number of mountains that loomed overhead like green, inverted V's, that the town of False Pass stood.

When Will saw the mountain settlement at last, he thought few would have considered that it warranted the title of town, seeing as it was so small. Jammed into a roughly triangular flat bounded by the fork of the Y where the two rivers met was one short main street, hardly wide enough for a wagon to navigate, and perhaps a half dozen buildings. Some rough workers' shacks and bunkhouses lay scattered about in the surrounding canyons, built wherever a flat spot had been found or scraped out of the steep landscape.

Will followed Phil to a livery stable on the abbreviated main street. He looked through the open doors of the barnlike structure and saw the Clearwater flowing past the corral behind it. Turning his head, Will could see the Umpqua about a hundred yards away, at the end of the street. He raised his eyes and regarded the legend painted across the building's front in bold, fancy letters: 'Felix Amante, Propietario Establo'.

"Nutria grande!" a handsome Hispanic man exclaimed as he came out to greet Phil. "What brings you here?"

As the man, whom Will took to be Felix, chatted with Phil, Will noticed another worker there, a muscular black man. He introduced himself as Nick Jones and took their mules inside. Will did not miss the subtle signals that passed between Nick and Felix. They told him Nick was much more than just Felix's business partner.

Once they had concluded their business at the stable, Phil led Will directly across the street to the Trail's End Saloon. That single building almost seemed to house the entire town. Saloon on the ground floor and hotel above, it was also the post office and meeting hall, with the sheriff's office built up against one side and the doctor's small clinic on the other. Will found that Phil was well known to the inhabitants there.

They were warmly welcomed by the proprietor of the Trail's End, Matt Able, when they entered his establishment. Will soon learned Matt was the unofficial mayor of False Pass. Once Matt served them some beer and moved away to deal with his other customers, Phil leaned over to whisper the bartender's intriguing nickname to his companion through a wry grin. Will's brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

"Eight-dollar Jack?" he repeated. "What's that mean?"

Phil laid a silver dollar on the bar counter.

"Imagine eight of them, all lined up neat," he began. "Now imagine a man being able to lay his stiff pecker on the bar and sweep all eight off onto the floor!"

"Wow. So Matt's... "

" ...hung like a stallion?" he finished with a grin. "Yep."

"Have you seen him do this trick yourself?"

"Well, no... "

"So it could all be just a tall tale."

"Not according to Nick."

"Felix's pardner?"

"That's right. He and Matt got drunk one night this past winter, or so I hear tell, and started arguing over who's cock was biggest. I guess you've heard stories about how big black men are supposed to be, and I guess Nick thought he had something bigger than anyone else's in False Pass. Anyway, they went up in the hayloft of the stable to have a showdown, agreeing beforehand that the bigger man would get to fuck the other. Well, Nick lost, and Felix says his partner couldn't work for a whole day afterward!"

"You don't say," Will managed, trying to suppress his mirth and keep a straight face.

"But don't use Matt's nickname to his face, he's... er... sensitive about it."

"No doubt," Will muttered into his beer. "How many silver dollars can you do?"

"I've never tried the trick," demurred Phil.

"Let's see," Will began, figuring out loud, "eight silver dollars would be about yay long... " The trapper measured out an imaginary length on the bar. "Hmmm," he concluded with a grin, "I think you've got ol' Matt beat by two or three bucks!"

"Flatterer!" snorted Phil.

As the evening progressed, Will met several of Phil's friends who lived in the town, most of whom were also members of the Elxa tribe, and he got reacquainted with the town doctor, Cy Orwins. Cy showed off his office to Will, a small, but carefully made structure appended to the Trail's End. There were two beds in the back for patients and a comfortable room for the doctor himself upstairs.

"This is a nice place, Doc," Will said, looking around in admiration. "Your carpenter does good work."

"Yes, he does," Cy blushed.

"You okay?"

"Yes." Though they were alone, Cy glanced around before he spoke again. "Have you met Russ Seton?"

"I've heard his name come up in conversations in the saloon. Who's he?"

"Russ is the carpenter who built all this," began Cy, "and he's quite a handsome man. I... um... tell me Will, how did you let Silas know that you... uh... was interested in him?"

"Why, I... " Will began and then paused. "Do you have feelin's for Russ, Doc?"

"Yes," he said a bit dejectedly, "and I'm not sure how to approach him. I get all flustered and tongue-tied every time he's around."

"I take it he's not a heron man?"

"No, but he is like us, and Matt thinks well of him. I expect he'll get invited to join the tribe one of these days. Um, do you have any advice for me, Will?"

"Hmm... well, just be honest with him Doc, and tell him you like him a lot. And that the like could grow into something more if he's agreeable to it. If he's like the other men here, he'll be flattered to have a handsome cuss like you come courtin', and if he ain't, well, he oughta have his head examined!"

"Not by me," chuckled Cy, "I wouldn't stop at his head!"

They left the office and stepped onto the wooden plank sidewalk outside. It was only a few steps to the batwing doors at the entrance of the Trail's End, but Cy froze as he glanced through the window. Will followed his gaze and saw Russ, whom Cy had described to him, chatting with Phil at the bar.

The carpenter was short and stocky, the muscles of his arms and thighs straining against his clothes whenever he moved. Though Russ did not have Phil's size or reach, Will was not sure which of them would win in an arm wrestling contest, if pitted against each other. Russ's hair was a dirty blonde, while his chin whiskers and the tufts of chest hair that poked from the open top of his shirt were a light shade of golden brown.

"You go on, Will, I'll see you later."

"Don't be like that, Doc," urged Will. "C'mon in. This is your chance to tell Russ how you feel."

"Not in front of the rest of the town! You don't know them like I do, Will! They'll poke fun and ride me for days!"

Will recalled some of the gossip he had heard already. The men of False Pass did seem to be overly interested in each other's sex lives, but the trapper had figured that was because there was little else to talk about in such a small town.

"Well," Will considered, stroking his dark beard, "just be friendly and talk to him. I'll be there to help if you get stuck."

Cy hesitantly agreed and they joined Phil and Russ. Will watched the carpenter covertly, looking for any signals that would tell him how Russ felt about Cy. Russ did tend to listen respectfully whenever Cy spoke, which Will took for a good sign. When Cy excused himself to take a piss, and Phil turned to Matt for another beer, Will decided to play cupid.

"Russ," he whispered to the man, "I think you ought to know that the Doc has an awful crush on you, but he's too shy to make the first move."

"You're joshin' me!" the carpenter replied, looking genuinely surprised.

"Honest Injun!" smiled Will. "Aren't you interested in him too? I was watchin' you while we were talkin' and you seemed that way to me."

"Yeah, I like Cy, a lot, but he's a doctor, an educated man, and I'm just a dumb workin' stiff. I figured we didn't have enough in common to be, well, together."

"Hush. You're a good man, Russ, if I'm any judge of character. And if you feel anything for Cy, you owe it to yourself to explore those feelin's and find out where they might lead. If I hadn't told Silas how I felt when I met him, well, I've have missed out on some of the best times of my life. Don't sell yourself short."

"Thanks for tellin' me, Will. I didn't think I had a chance with the Doc, but now... "

Russ trailed off as Cy rejoined them. Cy and Russ just looked at each other hungrily, but wordlessly, and Will heaved an inward sigh. He decided to give the shy couple a push for their own good.

"Russ here was just sayin' he was goin' out for a walk, to get some fresh air," he began. "Maybe you'd like to go with him, Doc. Nothing healthier than fresh air, I say."

"Uh, sure," Cy managed. "Shall we go?"

"Ah, okay... "

"What's going on?" Phil asked when he noticed the two men leaving the saloon together.

"I'll tell you later," grinned Will.

"Oh, Phil?"

"Yes, Matt?" Phil answered, turning to the barkeeper.

"I almost forgot... " Matt reached beneath the bar to get something. "I have a parcel for you."

"Are you the postmaster here too?" asked Will.

"Yep," Matt grinned as he handed over a thick envelope to Phil.

Will glanced at the letter, which looked important. The writing on the envelope was beautiful, an example of someone's fine calligraphy. The stamps bore an image of Queen Victoria, and on the back was a sloppy splotch of violet sealing wax, imprinted with an intriguing heraldic device.

It looked like a shield, divided crosswise, from upper left to lower right. In the upper right field was a Maltese cross. On the lower left field was a swimming swan. Phil opened the letter and Will could see at least four other envelopes enclosed within it, wrapped in a covering letter, which Phil studied.

"Good news, I hope?" Will ventured after his traveling companion had read for awhile.

"Not really," mumbled Phil, a little distracted. "One of my uncles has died... "

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Me too... "

After reading a little more, Phil stopped, stuffed everything back into the envelope and pocketed it. But Will noted that the big man was quieter for the rest of the evening. He wondered if he should ask what had been in the letter that so obviously distracted Phil.

After enjoying a few more beers, Will and Phil jointly agreed to turn in for the night. Matt, putting on his innkeeper's hat, offered them one of the rooms he kept upstairs, which they gratefully accepted. Once there, Will stripped to the waist, poured some water into a basin and splashed his face and upper chest. Phil took a seat at a writing desk.

"Matt offers baths here too, you know," he informed Will as he pulled out his letter to study it some more.

"It looks to me as if there wouldn't be a town without Matt! He provides a little of everything here!" chuckled Will. "After that dip in the hot spring near the talking stone we took earlier today though, I don't feel like I need another whole bath."

"Well, there's other reasons you might be interested in trying out Matt's bathhouse."

"Oh?"

"Did you notice the boys helping Matt behind the bar?" Phil asked as he flattened the letter on the desk.

"The Chinese boy and the black boy?"

"Yeah. The black is Alex, Nick's little brother. The Chinese boy is Hung Wei Lo, or Lo for short. They'll draw you a tub of hot water and wash you. All you have to do is lie there and enjoy it. And if they see you enjoy it a lot, they'll do just about anything you might have a mind to doing with them."

"I wouldn't wanna get on Nick's bad side by debauchin' his little brother," Will smiled nervously, thinking about the damage the muscular black man might be capable of.

"Alex knows more about sex than some men I know," chuckled Phil, "and Lo's no shrinking violet either. If anything, they might be able to teach you a thing or two!"

"Are they a pair?"

"Yes," Phil answered, apparently able to read his letter and carry on a separate conversation at the same time, "A friend of Nick's found Lo after he'd been beaten up and left for dead by some anti-Chinese bigots... "

"What? Here in False Pass?"

"No, attitudes like that would never be tolerated in False Pass. This was in Douglas City. After Nick met Cy, they passed through there and the friend of Nick's I mentioned, a blacksmith named Lars, asked Nick to take Lo to False Pass where he'd be safe. Cy treated him and Alex helped nurse Lo back to health. After that, Alex and Lo became inseparable. I figure they'll get an invitation to visit the valley of the heron when they get a little older, because they seem like they'd fit right in as heron men if they were given half a chance."

"Um, Phil, if you don't mind my askin'," began Will, changing the subject as he toweled himself dry, "I couldn't help but notice how that letter disturbed you."

"Yes," he sighed. Phil looked at Will. "I'd like to talk about the situation with someone. I discuss it with my partner Mark all the time. Can you keep it confidential?"

"Anything you tell me will stay between us," Will vowed as he pulled up another chair and sat. Phil nodded and sighed.

"I mentioned before that my uncle was dead."

"Yes, I remember."

"This," said Phil, indicating one of the letters, "is from his lawyers, outlining my inheritance. This one," he pointed to another, "comes from the head of my family, another uncle. And this," he tapped another, "is from my grandmother, the grand dragon of the family. I don't need to open the latter two to know what they say. It'll be the same thing I've been getting from them for years. Orders to come home and take my place in a society that's alien to me now."

"Years? How long have you been livin' here?"

"I came out west in 1858 and met the heron men soon after. When the war broke out, I used it as an excuse to delay going home. But I can't use that dodge anymore."

"Silas told me you'd attended a few universities. You seem young to have done all that studyin' and then spend ten years in Oregon," Will commented.

"I don't like to brag, but my teachers considered me a genius of sorts. I completed my studies in what they say was record time, and they encouraged me to keep going, attend other universities and get more degrees. I was happy to comply, since it kept me out of the clutches of my grandmother. She's obsessed with 'preserving our glorious family lineage'," Phil lisped the last words, mimicking the voice of an old woman, apparently his grandmother. "She has arraigned marriages for most of the members of my family, and I know she'll try to marry me off as well if I go back."

"Then don't go," shrugged Will. "Tell them you're your own man now and don't need them."

"I envy you Americans," Phil squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "Freedom isn't just a word to you. But I was raised in England, and had it drummed into my head from an early age that an individual is only as important as the family he's born into, and is supposed to live to support that family, no matter what. I know that's just someone's opinion, a cultural quirk, but it's hard to let go of concepts memorized at such an early age."

"How important is your family?"

Phil picked up the outer envelope and showed Will the seal on the back of it.

"That is the heraldic shield of the Barons of Swansgrave," he explained. "The first baron was a companion of William the Conqueror, and he married a Saxon heiress whose lineage can be traced back to the old Wessex kings of England, as well as British families of Roman extraction. One genealogy connects us with the imperial family of the Caesars, though I'm not the only one who doubts it."

"Wow," was Will's comment; his knowledge of history was not as complete as Phil's, but he understood and was impressed by a family lineage that stretched back over two thousand years, to ancient Rome itself. "I'd believe it if I was you," he grinned wryly. "How else do you explain that sceptre of imperial proportions you carry, one that great Caesar himself would have envied?"

"I never thought of my endowment that way before!" Phil laughed. "Anyway, though later barons never acquired any higher titles of nobility, they did, through careful husbanding of their assets and judicious marriages with wealthy heiresses, become one of the richest families in England. Today, only the royal family and a few dukes and earls have more money than the Barony of Swansgrave controls.

"About a hundred or so years ago, an ancestor of mine founded his own private bank, which my family still owns. There was a financial panic, called the South Sea Bubble, because when it popped, most of the investors were left destitute. But my banker forebear sold his stock at the right time and achieved riches beyond anything his ancestors had accumulated. He used his windfall to start a bank and thanks to it, our family fortune has continued to multiply ever since."

"I don't understand. If you're rich, shouldn't you be able to do whatever you want?"

"You'd think that, but having money can be limiting too. The head of my family, the current baron, my uncle Constantine, is responsible for literally hundreds of people, his retainers, tenant farmers and all their families, as well as his relatives. If you count all the depositors in his bank, there would be thousands. He can't do it alone, and it was laid down a long time ago that only family members can be trusted to help see to family business. He expects me to do my part. But that means leaving everything and everyone I've come to love here in the valley of the heron."

"Can't you, um, abdicate or something?"

"Unfortunately, that's only an option for kings. And there's a further complication to consider."

"What's that?"

"My grandmother was, er, quite prolific as baronesses go. Most aristocratic families have trouble producing a single male heir, but she gave my grandfather eight sons. I know that's no great accomplishment in itself... "

"I know. My grandmother had fourteen kids!" Will chuckled. "She was a model Puritan wife. was fruitful and multiplied, like the Bible commanded!"

"Anyway," smiled Phil, "the family succession seemed secured. But as the years passed, a curse of childlessness struck. Though all eight of the sons married, only two had children. I'm the son of the fifth son, and I have a female cousin, the daughter of the seventh son. So, as the years have passed, more and more I am looked upon as the eventual successor to the barony, and if I don't have a son... "

"There'll be no more barons," Will finished.

"Exactly," sighed Phil. "And with uncle Theodoric's death - he was son number three, if you're wondering - I'm that much closer to inheriting it all. I don't want it, Will, I have all I need, right here in the valley of the heron. But do I have the right to put my personal happiness before the debt I owe to 800 years of ancestors and all they have struggled to build and hand down to me?"

"That's sure a hard question," Will agreed, "but men like us can't ever be happy in a regular marriage, let alone what it would mean to the woman and kids involved. Two miserable people shouldn't raise children."

"I know," Phil breathed as he looked at the letters. "Huh! Here's one from my uncle Rupert! I haven't heard from him in years. He held a government post in India, last I heard."

"Which uncle is he?"

"Number four. As the next in line to succeed, he has a title of his own now. He'll be known now as the 'Right Honorable Squire of Swansgrave'."

"Do you have a title?"

"In polite English society, I'm addressed as the 'Right Honorable Philip Caddell of Swansgrave'."

As Phil explained that, he opened the letter. A number of separate folded papers slipped from the missive. Phil's face brightened as he scanned his uncle's words.

"What is it?" asked Will.

"The answer to my prayers, I hope," Phil began, "Listen: 'My dear nephew: My not wholly unexpected elevation to the position of Squire of Swansgrave has moved me to write to you, my heir in the eyes of the world. I remember you as a good and dutiful son to my dear departed brother Montague, but my long years of service in India have since, alas, prevented me from getting to know the sort of man you have grown into, though I have made inquires and have heard nothing but good from those who knew you in your student days. What you remember of me, I know not. I assume you heard of the death of my first wife, a good woman who died trying to give me an heir. I have lived since then as a grieving widower, not completely without sincerity, though I admit it has protected me somewhat from my mother's predicable importunings for me to remarry.

"'I hope I can trust you with the following information. By the time you receive this message, I will have left India to take up my family duties, and break the news to my mother that I have remarried and had a son since last I saw her...!'"

"You're off the hook!" Will congratulated Phil.

"Don't start celebrating yet. There's more: 'I am enclosing notarized copies of my wedding certificate, my son's birth certificate and pictures of my family. The reason why I am doing this is because I fear my mother will never accept my wife, a woman half my age who is a perfect lady. I love her deeply, and it is a neverending source of wonder to me that she returns the sentiment. But Matilda's pedigree will, I am certain, shock and offend my mother. Matilda is the daughter of an Indian Army officer, Australian by birth, Thomas Cantrell, a fine, upstanding and impeccably respectable officer who can unfortunately trace his ancestry back to a convict from London who was exiled to that southern continent when it was founded as a penal colony in the late 1700's.'"

"Oops!" Will smiled.

"'Oops' is an understatement," muttered Phil darkly. "This could mean a lot of family trouble. Eberhardine will never forgive Rupert for mixing the blood of the Caesars and Charlemagne with that of the spawn of an exiled convict!"

"Eberhardine!?"

"My grandmother," Phil explained. "She was named after one of her relatives, a German countess, Eberhardine von Trompp." He smiled as he went on. "It could have been worse. She had an aunt named Hildetrude and a two nieces named Friedeswinda and Erdmuthe!"

"Isn't she being a little harsh?"

"That's just who she is, Will. She judges everyone by their bloodline and lineage. I dare say if she had lived in ancient Judea, she would have spurned Jesus because of his questionable birth!"

"So she won't accept Rupert's son as the legitimate heir?"

"That's what Rupert fears. Listen: 'I intend to make fully sure of my position as Squire of Swansgrave and heir to the barony before I reveal the existence of my wife and son to the rest of the family. I have arraigned for them to live in London incognito with a old school chum of mine. His name and address are included herein. Matilda has notarized copies of the same legal documents you do. I take these precautions for reasons I believe you will understand well.

'With the vast fortune of the Caddell family at stake, I would not put it past my mother to attempt to disinherit my son, should, God forbid, something happen to me. I trust you to help uphold my son's claim should the unthinkable occur, mostly because I sense, from the sparing way you draw on the allowance granted you by our family's trust and your reluctance to return home, that you have no burning desire to assume the glittering, but burdenful circlet of the Barons of Swansgrave. I sincerely hope that whatever your situation is, dear nephew, you are happy in it.

However, in order to guard against unforeseen eventualities, I have come to the conclusion that you are the most logical choice to entrust the future of the barony to at the present time. I want you to know that I have named you in my latest will to be my son's guardian in the event of my death occurring before his twenty-first year. I pray you, dear nephew, to do me this duty if God sees fit that it should fall to you, and see that my son grows into as decent a man as I believe you to be. Sincerely, your affectionate uncle, Rupert Sigismund Oscar Quindlen Caddell, the Right Honorable Squire of Swansgrave.'"

"It still sounds to me like you're off the hook, Phil."

"Barring any unforeseen accidents," he added, looking over Rupert's letter again. "Hmm."

"What?"

"A postscript: 'After I finished this letter I received more information on my wife's ancestry. I seem to remember that you found genealogy interesting, so I am including a copy."

"She is a beautiful woman," Will said looking at the photos as Phil scanned Matilda Cantrell's pedigree.

In one, Rupert Caddell appeared to be a fifty-something, mutton-chopped gentleman, resplendent in his official uniform as Her Britannic Majesty's Consul in Pondicherry, an Indian territory that belonged to France. Rupert was standing beside his seated younger wife, a fair-haired lady in a gauzy white gown who held their son on her lap. The one-year-old child was dressed in a smaller version of a British sailor's suit and looked uncomfortable.

"Well, well!" chortled Phil.

"What?"

"It seems that Matilda's maternal grandmother was the daughter of a Mogul prince! That means she can trace her ancestry directly back in the male line to the great central Asian conqueror, Tamerlane, who in turn, or so most sources claim, was descended from Ghengis Khan in the female line."

"That explains your cousin's name," Will pointed to a note on the back of the baby's picture that read 'Thomas Tamerlane Caesar Cantrell Caddell, aged 1 year, 2 months'. "Whew! The name's longer than the baby!"

"All the men in my family have four names."

"Oh? What's yours?"

"I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh."

"I promise."

"Okay, but I warn you, Mark made the same promise to me once and afterwards laughed like he was going to die!"

"I can do it," Will vowed. Phil took a breath.

"My full name is Philip Thurston Percival Algernon Caddell."

Will's eyes grew large. His lips trembled. Phil was sure his heron brother would lose control of himself and laugh, but Will managed to conquer his mirth in silence. At length, when he was sure of himself, he spoke.

"Well, that sure beats hell outta me, plain old William Robert Dern!"

Phil perused the rest of the letters, which as he suspected. were demands he come home. Since none of the others mentioned Rupert's son, Phil assumed his uncle had not told the rest of his family yet about the new heir to Swansgrave. He checked the dates on the letters. All were over three months old.

He wrote an acknowledgement to Rupert's letter, promising to support his uncle's plans. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Phil sent it care of Matilda at her London sanctuary, the home of a Lord St. Croix. Phil knew of the man only by reputation. He was a noted senior British diplomat.

Phil penned a polite note to the nobleman, thanking him for his considerate help during a difficult family situation. Phil enclosed another note to Matilda. He assured his new aunt that he welcomed her wholeheartedly to the family and, though he was half a world away, was at her service if she needed anything.

' ...I currently live in the midst of what you might think of as a 'howling wilderness',' Phil wrote her, 'but letters sent to me care of Matthew Able, the postmaster of the town of False Pass, Oregon, are sure to get to me in a timely fashion.'

Phil decided to wait until he got to Port Bolon before he posted the letters, in case he should think of anything else to include. After finishing that task, Phil was ready to relax. Soon he and Will were cuddled warmly together in a comfortable bed. Will amused himself by combing his fingers through the thick and luxuriant pelt of body fur that grew on his big companion as he asked another question that had occurred to him.

"Phil," Will began, "about the heron men here at False Pass, why don't they live with the rest of the tribe?"

"Well, if you're not born an Indian, it can be hard to adapt to native ways of doing things. These men prefer to live in a town, and by doing so, they help keep the rest of their brothers safe."

"How?"

"By acting as a buffer between the valley of the heron and the outside world. They can try to deter strangers from going into the valley of the heron as well as passing along any news we ought to know about."

"News?"

"We can't be complacent about how most of the world feels about our kind," sighed Phil. "It's odd, but have you ever noticed how men like us have no interest in how others live their lives, yet there are many unlike us who seem to have a sick fascination with how we live?"

"Sorta like the relationship between the saint and the sinner."

"How's that?"

"It's something I heard once that stuck with me. I think it went: 'Good people love hearin' about sin. Although the sinner takes no sort of interest in the saint, the saint always has an uneasy curiosity about what the sinner is up to'."

"That sounds about right," Phil nodded. "We heron men need to know about the politicians and other men of importance who live in the area, which ones can or cannot be trusted to treat men like us fairly. You met sheriff Vaughn, whom the natives call Holy Irons. He had many contacts thanks to the adventurous life he led before coming to the Elxa and he's in a good position to hear about such things and pass them on. The Elxa tribe has always had to deal with persecution, even long before our forebears were led to the shelter of the valley of the heron. We have good reason to want to keep our existence and our home as private as possible."

"It must be hard, I mean, to balance your privacy with being open to the men who seek you out."

"It would be exceedingly hard, if our tribe wasn't allied with and protected by the benevolent spirits who guide those who seek for us."

"I keep forgettin' about that... "

"Didn't you see enough during your vision quest to convince you that something quite powerful and invisible watches over us all in the valley of the heron?"

Will fell silent, acknowledging Phil's statement. But Phil did not wait for a reply. He kissed Will in open mouthed passion, hugging the man's body to his, letting their conversation segueway slowly into another bout of lovemaking.

"Will?"

"Silas?" Will responded, as surprised as his lover. They had not expected to see one another again for some time. "What are you doin' in False Pass?"

"I'm not in... "

The lovers both paused and looked around, realizing for the first time that neither of them was where they were when they fell asleep. They had somehow been transported back to their valley, and were standing some distance from the cabin they shared. As the men watched, the door of their home opened and a familiar figure emerged to walk towards them.

"Falling Star?!" they exclaimed together.

"Yes," the shaman murmured, pausing to look around himself before speaking again. "I know of your talk with Big Otter, Southwind, about taking title to this land. I have brought you and Fire Wolf here to tell you both that you have my permission to do so." As he finished speaking, Falling Star looked away, to the east.

"But... "

Whatever objection Will was going to make died in his throat as he and Silas both followed Falling Star's example and also glanced to the east. Just beyond the jagged skyline of the towering mountains, black clouds hovered, lit by intermittent flashes of lightning. Tendrils of foul-looking black vapor were seeping between the icy peaks, flowing downward, towards the valley of the heron. Silas pointed at the menacing sight.

"What's that?"

"It is a warning, Fire Wolf. There is a dire danger coming from the east, a threat to us and our brothers," Falling Star intoned as their surroundings began to quaver and fade. "Save the lands you have shared, my brothers, go to the white authorities and make a formal claim on them, Southwind."

Will reached out for Silas as the darkness closed in. He grasped his lover and hugged him. Silas breathed.

"Do as Falling Star says, my love. I'll see you again, real soon."

"I will, Silas, I will... "

"You'll what?"

Will blinked at the bright sunlight slanting in the hotel room's window. Phil looked at his bedmate expectantly. Taking a breath, Will recounted his medicine dream. Phil listened gravely.

"It's just as I feared. Someone, or something, is coming to take our lands. I know a land agent in Port Bolon. He'll help you draw up the necessary papers."

And far to the east, in a nameless camp beside Heron Creek, Silas woke, with Will's name on his lips, and the memory of his lover's touch...

Later that morning, Silas and Greg bid the hunting party farewell and began to follow Heron Creek upstream, paralleling its murmuring course. Silas recognized landmarks along the way, remembering what his lover had told him of the journey he had made to Falling Star's home. Silas thought Will's description of the land a pale thing next to the vividly beautiful reality he witnessed.

Though they could have reached their goal that day, Greg and Silas agreed to stop beside one of the many hot springs Heron Creek flowed close to, long before sunset. There they swam and made love in the late afternoon sunlight, before seeing to the more serious concerns of making a camp. Later in the night, the pair lay in their shared blankets, holding one another, feeling warmly safe as they watched the distant stars flash and wink above their heads.

The same day, Will and Phil had left False Pass riding horses borrowed from Felix. They rode in the company of two other heron men, Woody Quade and Dusty Laird. They owned and operated a general store in the town and were going to pick up some merchandise. As they passed a cabin on the trail out of False Pass, Woody pointed from his mount and spoke.

"That's Chris Barlow's cabin. Did you meet him, Will?"

"No, I don't remember that I did."

"He's sheriff Vaughn's partner," Dusty added from his seat on the wagon he drove.

"And deputy," added Phil.

Not long after that, they reached a fork in the trail. Waving farewell, Dusty and Woody turned down a rutted road that a pointing sign said led to the town of Cedar Flat. Phil and Will took the other route, followed by their tethered mules.

The well-worn trail they followed led to the coast and their goal, Port Bolon. But after a couple of hours of riding, Phil left the road and led his companion along a narrow track that wound up to and along a pine forested ridge. When Will asked where they were going, Phil told him they were making a detour.

"A detour around what?"

"Douglas City," Phil frowned. "It's run by some really corrupt men. One of them is a man called Peterson, or Pete for short. 'Pete' Peterson is what Falling Star would call a hyaena."

"Oh." began Will, recalling what the shaman had told him. Phil's words meant that 'Pete' Peterson had the same nature as Phil and Will, but hid it so that he could pass as 'normal'.

"He has a partner, Lou Tyrone, as bad as Pete by all accounts." Phil went on. "They run a boy brothel on the sly."

"It sounds like Douglas City is the opposite of False Pass, when it comes to the men who live there."

"I suppose you could put it that way," Phil agreed.

"So it's not a good idea for us to pass through? Even if we didn't stop?"

"Pete is obsessed by the legend of the Elxa," explained Phil. "And if someone saw our glyphstones, he'd know about it quickly and, at the very least, we'd be asked a lot of questions we wouldn't want to answer."

"I don't suppose we're gonna get to Port Bolon before sundown," Will observed, eyeing the sky. A line of tumbling, angry-colored clouds looked as if they portended rain. "Are we campin' out in the open tonight?"

"No. I know a farmer, Seth McClun, who lives a few miles to the west of Douglas City. He's the one I was tellin' you about the day I arrived at your home, the farmer who taught me how to make soap. Seth'll be glad to give us shelter, I'm sure."

"Lemme guess," Will smiled. "He's one of us?"

"Yes and no. He hasn't been to see Falling Star yet," Phil said as he fished a small leather pouch out of a pocket, "but I've got an invitation for him right here."

"What is that?"

"A glyphstone, sent by Falling Star. Like I said, Seth's a good man. Things like that tend to get back to the Elxa." Phil glanced upward, at the same clouds that had worried Will. "I figure we ought to reach his place before sundown."

On the third day since Silas had left his home, he and Greg neared their goal. As the surrounding terrain rose and became ever so more barren, Silas eyed the exposed rock formations around him speculatively. He felt the odd, peculiar feelings he had whenever he thought gold was nearby, and wondered at them.

Leaving the course of Heron Creek at last, they crossed to the north side of the stream, climbed a gravelly slope and came out on a grassy plateau. It was bounded by forests and a sheer rock cliff. The latter was cleft in two places. One opening was the entrance to the cave of mysteries, the other was smaller and spewed steaming water into a manmade pool.

Silas looked around some more and noted a stone and timber cabin and stable nearby. He knew it had been built for the shaman's visitors. The structure stood at the edge of a field strewn with odd humps of rock that protruded from the earth. A pair of horses grazed there peacefully and Silas allowed Daisy to join them, once he had removed her pack and harness.

"Huh," Greg breathed, "that's new."

Silas followed his companion's glance. In the forest beyond the field, discreetly screened by just enough trees to have escaped Silas' initial look around, stood another stone and log building. Thin, bluish smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, rising to vanish above the treetops.

"Whose cabin is that?"

"I think it's the one Sees Far and Nizano built. I heard something about a new cabin here before I left Roman Rock."

Silas thought of more questions to ask about the structure, but Greg started to walk away and Silas followed. When the pair finished stowing their gear in the guest cabin, they came back outside. The shrill cry of a red tailed hawk echoed across the rocky land mournfully, catching Silas' attention. He craned his neck to look skyward for the source at once.

His eyes described an arc through the blue air as they followed the bird's flight. In the process, they fell upon something odd. It was perched on an outcrop higher up on the slope of the cliffs above the entrance to the cave of mysteries. He squinted, trying to focus on it. That action drew Greg's attention to the object at the same time.

It was spindly, oblong and flecked with bits of color: red, green, blue and yellow. Some of the colors moved with the wind, waving or gyrating like flags, flying gayly in the mountain breeze. But the frail-looking structure itself did not move. Apparently it had been quite firmly set up on the rocky ledge.

"It's... it's a sky-cradle," Greg said, with a note of puzzlement in his voice.

"A what?"

"An Indian grave," he explained. "I'm sorta surprised you never ran across one before, considerin' how much travelin' you say you do."

"Well, I never have," replied Silas, "and iffin' I had, I woulda turned around and made tracks pronto. I believe it's the worst kind of bad luck to disturb the dead."

As he spoke, Silas examined the structure again. He paid more attention to the poles that held up the sky-cradle and spotted something odd. He pointed it out to Greg.

"There's something reddish under it, see?"

"Yeah," Greg squinted, "but I don't... "

The words died in his throat as the thing they were focused on moved. It stood up and shook itself. Then it looked down at the nonplussed pair before lifting its blunt muzzle. A low, mournful howl echoed across the mountain wilderness.

"The Spirit-Wolf!" Greg hissed.

"That's the Spirit-Wolf?" whispered Silas, who had never seen it before.

"Yes. I... " A rustling noise from the woods distracted Greg just then. He glanced towards the trees and blanched. He gripped Silas' shoulder hard, lowered his voice and murmured urgently: "Look!"

Glancing in the direction Greg indicated, Silas froze. As if in answer to the Spirit-Wolf's howl, an enormous pale furred bear had emerged from the forest and, ignoring the two heron men who watched in frozen fascination from the doorway of the guest cabin, went to a point below the outcrop. Daisy and the horses watched the intruder warily, but did not seem spooked by it. Once there, the huge bear stood up, stretching itself as far as it could towards the gravesite. It might have wanted to climb up but there were no footholds fit for a beast of its size.

"The Ghost-Bear!" Silas exclaimed quietly, remembering the glimpse he'd briefly had of it the year before.

The Spirit-Wolf looked down, then slowly began the descent from the ledge. As it neared the waiting Ghost-Bear, the men noted how it seemed to move listlessly, with head and tail lowered. The Ghost-Bear nuzzled the Spirit-Wolf gently and lovingly, licking what appeared to be tears from its face and muzzle.

"It's as if he was in mournin'."

"I agree. I'd sure like to know whose grave that is."

"It is that of our brother, the Elxa elder, Xaculi."

The unexpected sound of the third voice that had answered Greg's question caused both men to jump with surprise. But they knew before they looked who it was. Red Hand had approached his two heron brothers with his natural stealth.

"When did it happen?" Greg asked in shock. "We haven't heard anything about this at Roman Rock!"

"Three days ago, Tavani. Xaculi passed peacefully, in his sleep. We raised the sky-cradle soon after and Falling Star has only just finished the funerary rites this morning." Red Hand glanced at the two Elxa spirit guardians and murmured. "The Spirit-Wolf has been here guarding the grave since it was set up, without eating. He was... very close to Xaculi. I am glad the Ghost-Bear has come at last to be with his brother and ease his grief."

"Mebbe I should come back later to have my vision quest," Silas muttered, watching the two spirit animals as they moved slowly back into the woods the way the Ghost-Bear had come.

"No, Fire Wolf, Falling Star knew you were coming and is waiting for you now. Follow me."

Neither man questioned how the shaman could have known they were coming. Instead, Greg took his friend's hand and whispered some encouraging words to him before retiring to the nearby cabin to wait. Then Red Hand conducted Silas inside the cave of mysteries.

As they descended into the darkness, Silas thought about the dead man with a touch of regret. He had never had the chance to meet him, though he remembered their paths had crossed briefly the previous autumn. But his pensive reverie was ended when the prospector came at last into the presence of Falling Star.

The Elxa shaman sat with his back towards the approaching men, painting on the cave wall. He continued to work, even as Red Hand sat by the fire and motioned for Silas to join him. While they waited, Silas looked in curiosity over Falling Star's shoulder at the odd drawings the elder was laboring over.

A brown triangle was daubed on the gray rock. Inside of the triangle, two short white lines were drawn, at right angles to each other. Spots of brilliant red surrounded them.

Finishing his work by surrounding it with a black, broken circle, Falling Star turned, his fingertips still wet with paint, and faced his visitor at last. The shaman's eyes locked with Silas' and stared, deeply, probingly. Silas met his soul-searching gaze calmly, although with a bit of surprise. It was almost as if the Elxa chieftain were about to accuse him of some crime.

From the stories Will and Greg had told of their visits to the cave of mysteries, Silas had come expecting to experience some kind of vision, something outside reality. Certainly not this unnerving, penetrating contemplation that he was receiving from Falling Star's eyes. They glinted like hard chips of obsidian in the firelight as they seemed to gaze into his very soul, his secret inner being.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw there, the heron elder pointed with a discolored finger at the drawing he had been working on. Silas looked at it again, then at Red Hand. Receiving no sign of what to do from him, Silas turned back to Falling Star, who spoke at last.

"This is a ghost from my past," he explained, still pointing at the mysterious drawing, "and one I would rather forget, but my spirit guides tell me that you must know about it, Fire Wolf. And you must decide what to do with the knowledge they wish me to share with you, about this land. If your decision is an unwise one, it could destroy the Elxa tribe and scatter it like autumn leaves before a storm."

Silas glanced questioningly at Red Hand again. There was an expression of stunned disbelief on the native's face that elicited a similar response from Silas. It was not often that the prospector saw the elders of the Elxa tribe caught off guard. Falling Star went on, choosing not to acknowledge his listeners' dismay.

"Know then, Fire Wolf, that when I was a young man, and had not yet begun to follow the song of the heron that I had always heard in my heart, I followed the desires of my father and the dictates of my tribe, riding as a warrior. I was one of those who followed a young chief, Osola. As I said, he was young, and time had not yet seasoned his strength and bravery with wisdom and discernment, as befits a leader of men.

"Still, I and my comrades respected Osola. We willingly followed him on his many raids. Usually these were directed against white settlements, for Osola was especially ill-disposed towards the white people who increasingly pressed our tribe, taking lands our ancestors had roamed across freely for generations.

"One day, we happened to be ranging far to the south and west of our tribe's accustomed hunting grounds, for game had been scarce that year. Suddenly, we heard the screams of a woman in the distance. Osola took off at once towards the sounds, with the rest of us in pursuit.

"Following the sounds, we came to a low and broken up wall of rock and left our horses to creep closer, over the scattered stones. The screams were coming from an odd three-sided cabin that we soon saw. As we crept to the one window, it so happened that I was on one side and Osola was on the other as we looked inside.

"The sight that met our eyes could not have been more calculated to inflame Osola's wrath. Two naked white men were raping a native woman, one restraining her arms while the other thrust and pounded into her madly, crying out as he came within her. The other had already taken his turn with her, as we could see his wet cock hanging heavily, glistening in the half light as it dripped semen.

"The white man who was in the midst of his orgasm threw his head back and gasped, grinding his hips into the screaming woman as he seeded her. Osola, having seen enough, brought his rifle up and shot the man through the head. His companion had no time to find his weapon before I finished him with another shot.

"The woman was of a tribe that lived even further to the south, and only Osola could understand her tongue. She told him her story, which he told us later: she had been engaged to cook and clean for the two white men, but once she had been brought to their isolated cabin, they had begun to abuse her. She did not know what the white men were doing there, only that on most mornings they left the cabin, heading north, and did not return until nightfall.

"I have always suspected that she told Osola more than he told us, for part of her story made his face more grave and thoughtful than usual. She gathered her belongings and left to go back to her people, riding on the white men's mule. Osola then took the unusual step of swearing us all to silence about what had happened there, and such was the fear of his anger that no one of that party has spoken of it, until this day.

"I have broken my word today because the spirits who guide our tribe tell me that Osola did indeed conceal something from myself and his other followers, something of great consequence to the Elxa. They also tell me this mystery concerns you, Fire Wolf. Your spirit quest is to find this cabin. Learn its secret and decide what you must do with that knowledge."

"Alright," he agreed. "Where's this cabin at?"

"Follow Heron Creek upstream until you come to a small creek flowing into it from the north. Then follow that stream and you will come to an opening in the face of a cliff, where the waters come forth. Beyond that opening is a thickly forested area, large and relatively flat. The cabin is somewhere in those woods."

Falling Star paused and gazed into the flames of the small fire burning between them, as if looking for something.

"You did not travel here alone."

"Yes, Tavani came with me."

"Tavani... yes... " Falling Star mused briefly. "It is as the spirits told me. He must go with you. Tavani will help show you the way to the right decision. Now go, my brother, and may the guardian spirits of the Elxa be with you both."

After Silas and Greg had left, Falling Star and Red Hand emerged from the cave of mysteries. Falling Star looked towards the guest cabin and saw the red tailed hawk that had recently moved into the area, perched on the roof ridge. The bird returned the shaman's intense look for several moments, then took wing. Red Hand noticed.

"What is it, my love?"

"His heart is good for us," Falling Star murmured. "He will follow Fire Wolf and Tavani as far as the forest where the lost cabin is located and return to let me know when they have reached it."

As the couple spoke, they moved towards the new cabin Sees Far and Nizano had built. They had chosen to settle close to the cave of mysteries, as Nizano continued to learn from the shaman and Sees Far honed his clairvoyant faculties under Falling Star's tutelage. To the westward beyond their cabin, where neither Silas nor Greg had been able to see, another structure was almost complete.

An Indian lodge had been built there, on a spot Falling Star had chosen with the guidance of the Elxa spirits. At first glance it looked like an ordinary conical lodge, no different from others of its type. But the seven poles that made up its framework were thicker than what would normally be expected, as well as being set quite deeply and firmly in the ground. They were also lashed tightly together at the top where the poles met.

The outer covering of the structure was moving slightly. Someone was working inside, securing the skin to the poles. As the heron elders approached, they could hear the workers chatting.

" ...wonder why Falling Star wanted us to build this."

"He'll tell us when he feels the time's right, Asa," came a reply. "Planting these poles sure was a job though!"

"Logs, you mean! Damn, Zeke, this thing's built so sturdy I doubt an earthquake could topple it!"

"The stronger they are, the better, Sees Far," Falling Star said as he stepped into the lodge and looked around. "You are almost done?"

"Yes sir," Asa replied contritely.

"Good. If you go on with your work, I will tell you why I need this lodge."

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" asked Zeke.

"No, I have already spoken to Sun Bear and Laughing Wolf about what I propose to do here. Sun Bear and Laughing Wolf, Red Hand and you two, Nizano and Sees Far, will be the witnesses to the rite I intend to conduct here tonight."

"What rite?" asked Asa.

"The ceremony of the shaking tent."

"But," Zeke began, wide-eyed with surprise, "I thought that rite was a myth. I mean, I remember you mentioning it in a couple of Elxa legends, but... "

"It is no myth, as you will soon see, Nizano. Before he died, our brother Xaculi saw strange visions and told me many things. He advised me to conduct this rite after his death, to raise the spirits of the earth and speak with them."

"Why?"

Falling Star smiled indulgently at Asa. "If I knew why, Sees Far, I would not have had you build this lodge, a vehicle with which to commune with some of the invisible powers that protect our tribe. But I do know this: strange dreams have troubled many of our brothers this past winter. I have spoken to you of this before. Something evil is coming, and Xaculi believed the ceremony of the shaking tent would bring clarity and understanding to me of these portents. So when Sun Bear returns with Laughing Wolf, we will begin."

Below the plateau, at a spot along the banks of Heron Creek, Zack Weir held his lover, comforting him in his grief. Xaculi and Eben Hale had been quite close, and the Elxa elder's death had grieved Eben deeply. Eben seemed to doze in his man's arms. He was weakened somewhat by his foodless, three day vigil at Xaculi's grave.

Zack had gotten a message from Falling Star telling him the news. How Eben had been present at the elder's deathbed and was taking Xaculi's passing hard. Zack was also told his presence was wanted for a ritual, so he left Roman Rock in the company of a hunting party, the same one Silas and Greg had encountered. Parting from them, Zack had continued on to the cave of mysteries as Falling Star had requested, drawing upon the uncanny powers he possessed to cross the many miles quickly and with little sign of fatigue.

Having urged Eben down from his station beneath Xaculi's sky-cradle, Zack had brought him to the banks of Heron Creek, where he had left their clothes. Discarding their werebeast forms, they dressed and settled into an intimate, gentle embrace. Zack was seated with his back against a black rock marked with the Elxa's birdlike glyph. He held Eben, felt the warmth of the man's body against his, felt his love for Eben as a similar, but inward warmth, and sighed, feeling fine and complete as he watched a gorgeous sunset deepen into a delicately colored twilight.

Slowly, something began to bother him, as if a corner of his consciousness were being gently tugged on. Zack ignored it at first, but his supernaturally heightened senses would not be denied. From somewhere above and behind him in the gathering darkness he caught the faintest sound of footsteps approaching, too faint for normal human ears to have perceived. Then he caught Red Hand's familiar scent on the evening breeze.

"I'm sorry, my love," he murmured softly to Eben, breaking the more than comfortable silence between them, "I believe Falling Star is ready to begin the ritual and he's waiting for us."

Soon thereafter, Eben and Zack joined their fellow tribesmen to begin the ceremony of the shaking tent. All but Falling Star sat outside, around the strongly built teepee. The shaman took his place within the lodge and began chanting in the Elxa tongue, calling to the spirits of the earth, and incredibly, they soon answered.

Those outside the teepee saw multicolored lights appear, flashing like peacock-hued fireflies. They rose from the floor of the lodge and began moving erratically about within the structure. Seen through the translucent buckskin sheath of the lodge, these points of light appeared vague and varied in size, color and intensity as they floated around the chanting shaman, circling him and spiraling upwards. As some neared the top of the structure, more rose out of the earth to take their place.

At the same time, the strangely tinted illumination showed that the teepee was vibrating in the most peculiar way. Asa saw then why it was necessary to build the lodge as strongly as they had: if its thick poles had not been planted so deep in the ground, the construct would surely have collapsed under the strain. But then the tempo of the violent shudderings wracking the structure changed and the lodge began to move.

Impossibly, as if the teepee's substance had been somehow transmuted into something elastic and pliable, like India rubber, the lodge began to sway. It twisted one way and then the other. It bent from side to side.

The startled witnesses expected any moment to hear the sharp noises of the lodge's wooden frame splintering, breaking and collapsing as the top of the teepee waved to and fro, stretched, bent and curled over, sometimes so much so as to almost invert itself and touch its apex to the ground. But the construct gyrated and shimmied in a singular silence. The only sound that could be heard was Falling Star's voice floating through the evening darkness as he continued to chant within the writhing, inwardly glowing structure.

A few of the rising lights began to emerge from the top of the writhing lodge, swirling and tumbling weightlessly in the air about its swaying apex. The shapes of the spirits Falling Star had raised were a surprise to the witnesses. Though they varied a little in size, their forms echoed that of the teepee. They appeared to be regular cones, like the illustrations one might find in a book of geometry, each glowing vibrantly in one of a hundred different hues, no two of them quite the same.

Having reached a pitch of unnatural, furious motion, the spectacle held for several suspenseful minutes. Then, abruptly, Falling Star's chant came to an end. Just as suddenly, the floating, swirling bevy of multicolored cone-spirits vanished, and the lodge stood just as it had before the rite had begun, straight and tall. It almost seemed as if some sort of illusion invoked by a master magician had been dispelled with a snap of his fingers, breaking the spell and restoring normalcy in the blink of an eye.

The witnesses rose and went to the door of the lodge. When their calls went unanswered, they entered and found Falling Star lying unconscious. Red Hand assured them that this side effect of communing with the spirits would pass without any bad effects. At his bidding, they carried the heron shaman into the cave of mysteries, where Red Hand would look after his lover until he awoke.

Silas, in the meantime, had found the directions given him by Falling Star to be easily followed. Along with Greg and his faithful mule, Daisy, it was not long before he located the nameless stream the Elxa shaman had spoken of. Seeking the source of the water led them in a generally northeastward direction, into a maze of upland hills beyond the cave of mysteries.

The rocky land on either side of the stream sloped upward gently, but steadily. As they followed its course, the number of trees diminished and those the men did see were stunted, starved by the poor soil. Silas pointed towards a dead tree, its barkless white branches gleaming starkly in the bright mountain sunlight.

"Hey, does that bird look familiar?"

Greg squinted at the red tailed hawk Silas had pointed out, perched on a skeletal branch. "No. Why?"

"I don't know why, but I think it's the same hawk we saw flyin' around Falling Star's home."

"Aw, you're imaginin' things." he scoffed.

The hawk watched as the men and mule passed by. The stream they followed gradually shrank, becoming a shallow ribbon of foaming crystal, a rushing white froth, spilling across banks of rough gravel that gave almost no foothold for plantlife. The bird took flight again, anticipating their course.

At length the two men came to a wall of dark gray rock that loomed suddenly up ahead of them. The stream they had followed turned away, to the east, but trickling from a roughly u-shaped gap in the stone barrier was a rivulet of crystalline water, joining the stream from an unseen source to the north. They agreed this had to be the place Falling Star had spoken of. Their boots crunched in the loose, wet gravel at the opening as they passed through.

It was like entering another world. First, they saw a still pool, about a dozen yards or so across, surrounded by mossy, fern-choked boulders. Dragonflies, vividly colored and lacey winged, droned lazily, patrolling the reeds around its edge and spotted frogs filled the air with their plaintive croaking.

Beyond the waters, a dense forest of firs and pines spread away. It was impossible for the men's vision to penetrate too far into that green fastness. But they could hear a medley of sound, the songs of the many birds that those trees sheltered. And in one near at hand perched the red tailed hawk.

"There he is again." pointed Silas.

"Don't pay the darn bird any mind," Greg almost scolded, far more interested in their new surroundings. The hawk, having done what Falling Star had asked of it, took wing to return to its home near the cave of mysteries.

In the meantime, the men found room for themselves and Daisy to edge around the pool, from the gap to an open patch of low ferns. The ground was wonderfully springy underfoot, moist and mossy. They paused there, between the pool and the lush stand of timber before them, wondering. It was quite a dramatic difference from the rocky, barren slope they had been following only a few minutes earlier.

"I don't understand," Greg began, doffing his hat to run his fingers through his brilliant hair, damp with sweat, "why are there so many trees growin' here, but not just a few feet thataway, outside of that gap?"

"I've seen places like this before," explained Silas, as he hitched Daisy to a conveniently placed tree. "That there pool is all that's left of a lake that once filled this whole place, an old volcanic crater, most likely. Before it wore through the rock and drained away, it laid down a rich layer of silt and the surroundin' walls helped shelter anything that started growin' here."

"Whatever you say, pardner," Greg grinned in reply to the impromptu geology lesson, "you know more about these things than I do. I'm just glad it looks like we'll have a nice, soft campin' spot to sleep in together tonight."

Silas shot him a grin in response, then thoughtfully eyed the stony barrier a moment or two before speaking again.

"I'm gonna climb that rock wall and see if I can get a better look at the lay of the land."

They exchanged their boots for moccasins, freeing their toes to help in the climb. The wall was riven with cracks and crevasses, allowing them to pull themselves upward easily. Soon they emerged above the treetops and paused to look around. Greg could see Silas had been right.

The portion of the wall they stood on was part of a roughly circular formation, enclosing perhaps a square mile of forest. To the northeast, there seemed to be another, wider break in the wall. Silas pointed it out to his companion.

"That must be how Osola's band entered the crater."

"I remember you tellin' me about that," Greg replied. "If we head towards it, we might find the cabin."

"I hope so. If we have to go trampin' through all that forest, piggly-wiggly, it might take us weeks to find."

"Pig-what?"

"Piggly-wiggly. It's a southern expression, meanin' to wander about at random, kinda like a pig does when it's lookin' for food."

"I'll take your word for it, pard," Greg grinned.

Returning to the poolside to collect Silas' mule, the men began heading as best they could in the direction of the break in the crater wall. The dense, moistly fragrant forest into which they waded did not make the going easy. Between the trees, they padded silently on moccasined feet through a lesser forest: masses of soft, pale green ferns, thick beds of moss and an occasional patch of orange-spotted toadstools, patrolled slowly by bright-yellow foot-long banana slugs.

Silas, afraid they might start going in circles in the trackless forest, began marking the trees with his knife as they passed. He looked back over his shoulder often to make sure his previous marks lined up. After a while, whenever he paused to carve another sign, Greg would take the opportunity to look about himself carefully, peering attentively into the surrounding woods, alert for any indication that men had been there before.

"Ow!" Greg yelped, stopping suddenly. When Silas turned to look, his companion was standing on one leg, massaging a moccasined foot.

"What happened?"

"I stubbed my toe on... hey! Look at this!"

Silas watched as Greg lifted up an old, rusty pickaxe by its rotted handle for him to see.

"It was leanin' against this tree." he explained.

"Why, that's a prospector's pick! Those fellas Falling Star told me about must have been prospectors. We must be close," Silas figured, eyeing the rusty tool thoughtfully. "Nobody would leave their tools out like that too far from their base."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled... " Greg started to say, staring even more intently into the woods about himself, before stiffening and grabbing his companion's shoulder. "Silas! Look!"

Silas glanced in the direction of Greg's pointed finger. Soon, despite the thick, intervening growth of young trees surrounding it, he was just able to make out the form of a three-sided log cabin. One side was defined by a ridge of dark, volcanic rock and the only door stood open opposite, at the point where the two walls of hewn logs came close together.

The cabin had obviously been long abandoned. A luxuriant growth of mosses and lichens nearly covered it's outer surfaces like a second skin, making it easy to miss amid all the surrounding greenery. Besides that, the roof had partially fallen in and a young fir was growing vigorously up through the gap.

Leaving Daisy to graze, Silas and Greg approached the cabin. They soon saw that there was a single window in one of the log walls, just as Falling Star had described. The blank window of the old house was uncomfortably suggestive of the staring eye of a corpse. Silas went closer and looked in, already guessing what he would see.

It took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust to the gloom inside the ruined cabin. Then Silas saw them. A pair of skeletons, their bones gleaming whitely in the half-light within, stark irregular objects lying in a two-dimensional semblance of their original order. Belatedly, Silas remembered that Asa had seen this too, when he had touched Silas with his prophetic power last autumn.

"Gawd... " Greg exhaled, looking over Silas' shoulder.

"I guess... I guess we oughta give them fellas a decent burial," Silas murmured, turning to get a shovel from his mule's pack.

They chose a spot nearby, at the foot of an enormous Douglas fir. The two men took turns digging, then carefully gathered up the remains of the murdered men. Finding some old, rotting flour bags in the cabin, they placed each set of bones in separate bags and laid them in the ground together.

When they finished filling in the pitifully small grave, Silas laid the rusty pickaxe on top of the mound to mark it. Then he and Greg doffed their hats and stumbled through the Lord's prayer. They had to help each other a bit, to remember the words they had learned in their childhood but had heard or used rarely since they came to live in the Cascade wilderness.

"Greg," Silas asked quietly, as they turned from the grave, "would you think it... strange, iffin' I wanted to sleep in that there cabin tonight?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I was gonna suggest it."

"It don't bother you to sleep where them fellas died?"

"Nah. You afraid of ghosts?"

"I've seen ghosts, and the sight wasn't none too purdy. Maybe I'll tell you my ghost story tonight."

"I'd rather you kept me awake in another way," Greg winked.

"Anything you want, pardner," Silas breathed, running his hand down Greg's back.

"I don't believe in ghosts," continued Greg. "And even if those two fellas' spirits were still hangin' around, I think we laid 'em to rest right respectful just then, so they shouldn't have no cause to be comin' around here and botherin' us!"

"Yeah, I didn't think about it that way. Well," Silas said, glancing at the angle of the sun, "let's go through the cabin while there's still light enough to see. Mebbe we'll find some clues as to why those guys were here."

"Lemme check the roof, or what's left of it, first. If it collapses on us, we might end up like them two fellas we just buried!"

Finding a long branch, Greg poked and prodded at the ends of the broken roofbeam. Though he could make them move, they still seemed to cling firmly to their anchoring points, so he and Silas decided it was safe to stay there. Inside, they found a roughly built fireplace that had been set up against the stone wall that constituted one side of the cabin. A sort of crude, but functional chimney was formed by a v-shaped notch in the rock that ran up above the roofline.

Silas kindled a fire, dispelling the chilly gloom and lighting up the old cabin's interior. Greg was poking about in the corners with the shovel, using it like a broom to remove the pine needles and cones and other debris that had accumulated over the years. But he was also carefully searching as he cleaned.

Soon he found a lump of something on the floor and called Silas over to help investigate. It turned out to be a pile of the men's rotted clothing, and as they tried to separate the garments, the old fabric fairly disintegrated in their hands. In the pockets of the pants, they found several coins, an old pocket watch and a few jagged pieces of yellowish rock.

"Is that what I think it is?" breathed Greg.

"Lemme see."

Silas took one of the rocks and went to the fireplace. He placed it upon a flat hearthstone and picked up another stone. Using it like a hammer, he brought it down hard on the ore sample.

"Whatcha do that for?"

"If its pyrite, it'll shatter. But if it's gold... "

Silas raised the rock. Greg watched intently for the result. The yellow stone was still there, but flattened and deformed by the force of the blow.

"Yep. That's gold," Silas said, picking it up.

"Wow. So that's what them fellas were doin' here. There must be a gold mine around here, somewhere nearby."

"Damn," Silas breathed, holding the pieces closer to the fire to get a better look. "These nuggets must be nearly pure gold. And see how jagged they are? They were broken off of a larger mass. Tomorrow we ought to go scoutin' north of here and try and find the diggin's."

Silas helped Greg finish cleaning the cabin floor, and then they spread their blankets out before the fireplace. Dinner consisted of pemmican, biscuits, and strong coffee. The pair's dessert was miraculously provided by a lone jar of preserved peaches they found, left forgotten in one corner, it's seal still intact. The slices of fruit had fallen apart after so long a time, and the men ended up having to pass the jar back and forth, sipping the sweet, thick, liquefied yellow pulp from it.

Afterwards, they laid more wood on the fire and readied themselves for bed. The hair on Greg's bare chest was turned almost orange by the firelight, and Silas touched it, ruffled it gently as they kissed. Greg's familiar taste, mingled pleasantly with the tang of peach juice, caused Silas to moan softly in desire, wanting, needing to feel Greg inside him, and himself in Greg.

Somehow, Silas found himself standing before the entrance of the cave of mysteries again, but it did not cause him concern. The cry of a hawk made him look upward. On a ledge high above him, an elderly, white-haired Indian wrapped in a scarlet blanket was speaking and gesturing.

The native was too far away for Silas to hear what he was saying. But when the elder gestured towards the east, Silas turned and looked that way. The sight gave the white man pause.

Instead of the rugged mountain vista he expected to see, Silas found himself looking across a vast, level plain. The horizon was black with weird, ugly stormclouds. Their twisted, jagged shapes were illuminated from within by bursts of brilliant lightning. But mingled with the wind and the thunder was another sound. That of a man's laughter, a harsh, hard and pitiless noise.

Silas knew then that he was having another medicine dream. It was a warning, but it did not seem to have anything to do with the vision quest Falling Star had sent him on. He looked back up to the ledge, but the native was gone. Only the sky-cradle stood there now, and the sight of the grave made Silas uneasy.

'Was it Xaculi? But he's... '

Silas caught himself. Higher up on the slope, on another ledge, he saw something moving about. Try as he might, his eyes could not focus on the action, nor see who or what was moving there. But he made a note of the spot for future reference.

"I have to tell Falling Star about this," Silas murmured determinedly as he turned towards the entrance of the cave of mysteries...

...and opened his eyes in the semi-dark of the ruined cabin. Greg was a warm, reassuring presence beside him, breathing quietly. Silas sighed and pressed himself closer against his friend before he closed his eyes again.

Some hours later, Silas woke again. Everything was quiet. The fire had dwindled to only a few small tongues of flame wagging languidly amid the white ashes and livid embers in the old hearth. Daisy stood just inside the cabin's door where Silas had hitched her, droop eared in sleep.

Without disturbing Greg, the prospector got up to go and stand at the cabin's sole window, staring out into the darkened woods. Scattered shafts of dull moonlight fell through the branches overhead, blending with the contorted forest shadows to produce a fantasy landscape, through which the night life of that place moved silently. Presently, Silas spied a puma slinking between the trees, its golden hide was transmuted to silver by the indistinct lunar light. It treaded soundlessly on huge paws as the great cat padded along through the thick growth of feathery ferns that carpeted the ground.

Though the man moved nothing but his eyes as he watched the graceful predator, instinct alerted the creature. It froze and looked directly at Silas with great, round, startled eyes for a long moment. Then it vanished as noiselessly as it had come, into the forest. But soon Silas heard its discomforted snarl, somewhere in the black distance, beyond the range of his vision.

The prospector scratched himself unconsciously, riffling the hair on his chest. The temperature in the open-roofed cabin was rather brisk. At length, Silas went and placed more wood on the fire. The pieces of pine crackled softly as the flames rose and began to consume them, the only sound in the room.

"Hey, pardner, come back to bed."

Silas turned to look at his companion, Greg. The lanky redhead sat up from the blankets they shared, his eyes and hair and beard catching orange sparks from the fire, and held out his maimed hand. Silas took it and knelt, kissing him.

Silas was surprised by his own feelings, by how Greg aroused him, constantly, sometimes just by being nearby. Silas just could not get enough of the man. He shook his head in mild dismay.

"Whatcha mean, no?" Greg asked quietly.

"No, not that," Silas replied quickly, "I was thinkin' about something else."

"You think too much," commented Greg as Silas straddled his chest.

"You talk too much."

"You gonna make me shut up?"

"Yeah, and you're gonna like it too."

Silas reached and grasped his semihard cock. He guided it to Greg's lips and they parted, taking it all in. The hairs of Greg's beard tickled Silas' balls as he went to work.

'Gawd, that tongue... ' Silas thought.

Silas slipped his hands behind Greg's head as he thrust in and out of Greg's mouth. Greg's fingers were working as hard as his tongue. As one hand fondled Silas' balls, the other found the small leather sack of special salve the heron men made.

Greg scooped some of the fulvous grease from the depleted pouch, which had been well used by the pair during their journey. Then his slick fingers were slipping into the crack of Silas' furry backside, piercing the bull's-eye, one finding and tickling the hypersensitive firespot. That busy digit grazed knowingly across the soft button of flesh teasingly, seeking, pressing, pleasuring, in a way he knew would drive Silas crazy.

It worked. Silas could not hold out long against both the nimble tongue and the educated fingers. And Greg himself turned him on, almost too much. The feelings Greg evoked almost frightened Silas, in a way, and that was a turn-on too. Silas looked down at Greg, his hair and beard and chest fur glinting orange in the firelight, and shot off in thick, gooey spurts down Greg's hungry throat.

In those fleeting moments of ecstasy, Silas was dimly aware of Greg's hands on either side of his thrusting hips, ready to urge them back. Once Greg had relished the taste of Silas' last shot, his grip tightened and Silas prepared himself. Greg pushed his partner back, gently, down onto his own aching, rigid cock.

Silas' slickened insides accepted Greg's manhood easily. And Silas was more than willing to be filled and taken by this man. The prospector let out a heavy, breathy sigh as he felt Greg's cock slide in to its limit.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... yeah. You?"

"What do you think?" Greg grinned, his hips thrusting upwards, thoroughly enjoying the sensations Silas was freely giving him.

Greg took his time, savoring the experience. Silas was in no hurry either and it was a long while before Greg's growls of passion broke the stillness of the night. From somewhere in the darkened forest, the screech of an owl answered him.

Greg's eyes fluttered open the next morning to see Silas, splendidly naked, kneeling beside the fireplace. He was trying to revive the fire, arranging small pieces of wood carefully over the coals. Greg called his friend's name softly.

"Silas... "

"Morning," Silas murmured, looking at Greg with a grin.

Greg reached out and touched Silas, feeling the hard muscles under the pale, faintly freckled skin and ruddy fur. Silas sighed softly, obviously pleased by the gesture. As if to emphasize the point, his cock lengthened and touched the stony ground.

"Morning, pardner," Greg yawned. "See anything you like?"

"Hell, yes," replied Silas. Then he began to declaim softly.

Oh, pardner, the memory of you takin' me, by the fire, in the night, so slow, so gentle and slow, so wonderful gentle and slow, can't never be forgot...

"Thank you," Greg said, kissing Silas, "that was nice. I'll make up a love song for you, once I'm all woke up."

"Here," Silas said, guiding a cup of coffee into Greg's hands. "Mebbe this'll help."

"You're too good to me, pardner!"

As Greg drank, Silas got up and donned his clothes. Leading Daisy outside and setting her loose to graze, he looked northward as he buttoned his shirt, eager to begin the search for what appeared to be a gold strike greater than anything he had ever heard of or imagined. Greg's arms sliding deftly around Silas, hugging him gently from behind and squeezing his chest lovingly, interrupted the prospector's reverie. Greg's low whisper was hot and sweet in Silas' ear.

Big Otter says two ancient Romans were fed by wolves... Well, so am I!

Whenever I hunger, I only have to call and my wolf feeds me!

I take his cock in my mouth and please him until sweet man-milk flows from him, just for me...

"That sure was nice, Greg," Silas said, turning to reward his companion with a lingering kiss.

"Well, you ready to go gold huntin'?" Greg asked at length.

"You don't mind skippin' breakfast?"

"Nah."

"It ain't like you to pass up an opportunity to eat, as I recall."

"Mebbe I've got a touch of the gold fever!" Greg grinned at his partner. "And you know what they say, 'feed a cold and starve a fever'!"

"You lookin' to strike it rich?"

"Aren't you?" Greg asked, a little surprised by Silas' reserved manner.

"I know it seems like I oughta be more excited," began Silas, looking troubled, "but I don't feel right somehow. I mean, I thought I was on a vision quest here for gosh sakes, not a prospectin' expedition!"

"Huh! I'd just about forgotten about that." Greg paused to think. "But you're right. There's gotta be something more to all this, if Falling Star thinks it's as important as what you've told me."

"I agree. Lemme get a rock hammer and a pick. You bring the shovel."

"Okay."

Zack stepped from the guest cabin near the cave of mysteries. He had just gotten up and walked the few feet to the edge of the plateau where he pissed, sending a yellow stream down towards Heron Creek. As he finished, he stretched his naked body luxuriatingly in the new sunlight, looking up at the same time to see an azure sky fleeced with puffy clouds.

He rubbed his fuzzy belly, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his hairy skin and curled his toes in the cool grass beneath them, gripping a few blades of green, feeling fine. Then he saw Red Hand emerging from the cavern's mouth, just as naked as Zack was. He walked over to the heron elder at once.

"How is Falling Star?"

"He is well, Sun Bear. The fatigue of the ritual has passed and he will speak to us all later about what he saw."

Zack looked as relieved as he felt. He owed Falling Star much and the thought of injury to the shaman had haunted him. "I'm real glad to hear that."

Red Hand smiled. "Come, help me start a fire. I want to make some broth for Falling Star's breakfast."

Will and Phil both reined in their horses when they saw the activity going on before them. They had left Seth McClun's farm earlier that morning and expected to reach Port Bolon by evening. Phil had expected to see something like what they encountered, but Will was quite surprised.

"What's all this?" he asked as they gazed at the number of new buildings, most still being worked on.

"A railroad is coming through here," Phil explained as they got their mounts moving again. "It's going to connect Portland and the Willamette valley to California. I'd heard that here, where it crosses the trail between Port Bolon and the interior, a new town was being built. But I didn't think it would grow up so fast."

"What's the name of this town?"

"Grant, I believe." Phil answered.

As the men passed through the still growing settlement of Grant, Oregon, they were treated to a cacophony of sounds as saws, hammers and other tools were wielded by diligent craftsmen. They crossed the railroad right of way, graded and leveled, ready and waiting for the labor gangs to come and lay ties and rails. Soon the busy, noisy scene was receding behind them, and the peaceful quietude of the dense northern woods returned to line the dusty road leading to Port Bolon and the sea.

When Silas and Greg men left the abandoned cabin, they cast about until they found the faint traces of an old trail, leading away into the woods. It was not an easy path to follow, because of the thick mat of dark mosses and pale, feathery ferns that grew so lushly on the ground they trod. But after they had been walking for awhile, Silas felt something unexpectedly hard and sharp-edged under his moccasined feet and bent down to investigate.

"Find something?" Greg asked.

"I dunno," Silas replied, feeling about in the damp ferns where his foot had been, "I thought I stepped on... ah!"

Silas came up triumphantly with something clutched in his hand. Greg could see at once that it was another roughly edged nugget of gold, like the ones they found in the cabin. Silas scrutinized it.

"We gotta be on the right path," Silas said at last, slipping the rock into his pocket. "Someone had to have dropped that on their way from the mine."

After another fifteen minutes or so of walking, they began to glimpse the stone walls of the crater, sloping roughly upward through gaps in the trees. Then they found a number of old, rotten stumps, softened by decomposition. The appearance of the trees' remains showed they had been chopped down, forming a clearing that had long since been taken over by young saplings.

Despite the small trees, and the ubiquitous ferns and sedges, the men could see that the ground was covered with a thick layer of rough gravel. Silas used the shovel to turn up a spadeful or two of the ground. After a quick inspection, Silas pronounced the rubble to be mine tailings.

"They wouldn't have dumped this too far from where they were diggin'," he commented.

And soon, not far away as Silas had guessed, they found more abandoned tools, leaning up against the rock wall, dark with rust and rotten-handled. Then they saw the scars those tools had made. The marks of picks ran along the rock wall, cutting into it only slightly and exposing what lay beneath.

Both men gasped in astonishment as they scanned the nearest end of the shallow gouge. Cradled in it was the unmistakable, untarnishable glitter of gold. The gleaming yellow streak ran roughly parallel to the outer surface of the rock of the crater wall, but it was the sheer size of the metallic vein that caused Silas' prospector's heart to skip a beat. It appeared to his and Greg's eyes to be fully two feet in diameter.

"Are you okay, pardner?" Greg asked, concerned at the sudden pallor he saw in Silas' face.

"Yeah... It's just that, well, every prospector dreams of makin' a find like this... " he managed, reaching out to touch the gleaming surface of the monstrous vein, in something like unbelieving, awestruck reverence. Then his voice took on a more determined tone. "But I can't ever tell anybody about it. You neither."

"Why?"

"You musta never seen what happens when news of a gold strike gets out," Silas explained, looking grim. "Hundreds, mebbe thousands of men would be attracted here, swarmin' all over the Elxa's country, diggin' everywhere and shootin anyone who'd try to stop 'em. And then there's the saloons and the gamblers and the whores who'd follow, foundin' wild towns without law... It ain't a purdy sight anywhere, pardner, but if it happened here, it'd be the end of the valley of the heron for sure. Osola musta known that too, and didn't want this place to be overrun with white men driven crazy with gold fever. And I don't neither."

"I agree we should keep quiet about this, but if we only took what we needed, a little from time to time, who else would know?"

"Mebbe you've got a point. When we get back to the cave of mysteries, I'll see what Falling Star thinks."

At noon the men at the cave of mysteries gathered in the hemispherical chamber far within the earth. Falling Star's paintings surrounded the group, like silent watchers. At length, their author came in from one of the side tunnels and sat with his friends. He loaded his long stemmed pipe, lit it and began to speak.

"I have seen much, more than I can tell, for the part of me that speaks cannot find words to describe it," he said, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke. "There are many things the spirits showed me that I do not yet understand. But great changes are coming for the Elxa. I saw that a wise man from beyond the great sea is coming who will reveal to us a great and powerful magic."

Asa Sykes stiffened, remembering the things his power has shown him the previous autumn, and Red Hand's speculations concerning them. "Do you mean the love-magic I've seen in the futures of the tribesmen I've touched, Falling Star?"

"Yes, I believe so, Sees Far. Perhaps it is that magic Blue Badger discovered long ago but failed to pass on. But the wise one the spirits spoke of to me is already on his way here."

Red Hand quietly asked, "Is there more?"

"Yes, but the vision is vague. When I try to make words for it, the memory of what I saw fades like smoke," Falling Star returned. "I will commune with my spirit helpers in medicine dreams and try to make what is obscure clear. But it is sure that the wise one is coming, and we must send out guides to find and bring him to us safely. To that end I have written to five of our brothers who are skilled at tracking and each of you will bear a message to them."

"But... but that would leave you alone here," Zack objected.

Falling Star laughed, emitting little clouds of smoke. "I have been alone here many times, my son. There is no reason for you to concern yourself about my safety." The shaman turned and picked up five rolls of deerskin and handed them out to his audience. "Go my friends. I will be perfectly safe."

The group left the cavern. With a piercing cry, the red tailed hawk returned to perch on a rock that jutted out above the cave entrance. Falling Star looked up and the two studied each other briefly before the bird took off, disappearing into the forest. The shaman touched Red Hand's shoulder and whispered.

"He says Fire Wolf and Tavani will be returning quite soon, my love. And my spirit helpers have warned me that it will be best if I receive them alone."

That afternoon, Silas and Greg returned to the pool near where they had first entered the crater, planning to camp for the night there. Leopard frogs, belying their fierce spots, croaked in alarm as they leapt from before the booted feet of the approaching men, seeking shelter in the water. As Silas unloaded his mule, his eye fell on the plump sack of gold nuggets he had collected. He patted it where it rested at the base of a tree, testing its reality, still not quite believing what he had found.

A small, greedy part of him was raising holy hell inside his mind. He should file a claim, it urged, keep it all for himself, live the rest of his life in comfort... Silas shook his head to dispel the dark, selfish thoughts.

He was comfortable. The rhythm of his life, the winters with Will, the wanderings of summer, these were the things Silas wanted, and they were enough for the man. And now his heron brothers were part of that contentment, a part he could not conceive of harming, as the news of this fabulous gold strike would certainly harm them.

A noise brought Silas around. His recent thoughts were all muted and overwhelmed by the sight of Greg, removing his clothes, preparing to go into the pool. Silas watched as the man kicked off his boots and pulled his faded jeans off.

Greg laid his garments out on a rock at the pool's edge and turned to gaze into the pool, gauging its depth. Silas watched his friend, dry-mouthed, as Greg stood motionless on a rock at the edge of the pool naked, absent-mindedly fluffing up the thick, almost-orange hair on his chest, stiff with dried sweat. As if in a liquid mirror, an identical image of the bearded redhead echoed his every movement on the surface of the crystal-clear water at his feet.

Silas swallowed hard, awestruck by Greg's unconscious, careless, almost overwhelming sexuality at that instant. He thought of the many times he had held that man's body, had felt the great strength and passion within it, surging through it like an irresistible tide. In that brief moment Greg became, for Silas, a gay archetypical image, a new Antinous, a universal deity embodying all that which man-loving men sought.

Unconscious of the sublime inspiration he was inducing in his companion with his stance, Greg was lost in his own secret thoughts. He gazed pensively across the pool and through the gap that led to the outer world beyond. Then, after several moments, he suddenly dived into the water, shattering the tableau.

Silas shook himself loose from his thoughts after a moment - he had been surprised by their vividness - and prepared to follow his friend into the pool. The cold shock of the water felt good against his skin, but Greg showed a less stoic tolerance as he came shooting back up to the surface, shivering and sputtering. He shook the water out of his bright hair and beard as he hauled himself up onto a dark rock, pregnant with the day's heat, and lay on his belly.

Silas gazed at the pale buttocks, covered with coppery hairs, and inhaled sharply. He swam lazily, nonchalantly, towards Greg. Coming close, he ran a hand over one of Greg's legs, smooth-wet eel skin slipping away under his fingers.

Greg turned over on his back and looked at Silas quizzically as he floated nearby. Greg's cock lay long and heavily across his thigh as his legs moved apart slowly. An invitation.

Greg allowed himself to slip lower on the rock. Silas' mouth went dry again as he watched his friend's cock stir and rise. Silas began to swim towards him again, his face now on a level with Greg's crotch.

He slowed as he approached the rock and reached out to grab ahold of Greg's knees. He looked up and the man grinned, bent down and kissed him. As the intimate touch ended, one of Greg's hands moved around behind Silas' head, urging him gently towards his stiff cock.

Silas needed no such urging. Tenderly, lovingly, he gave Greg's rod a series of kisses, beginning at the base, where his balls had drawn up against his crotch from the shock of the cold water. The prospector's lips skipped up the rigid shaft, toyed with the loose foreskin, felt its hardened length slip past his lips and tongue, tasted Greg's maleness...

Greg was bent almost double over his friend, whispering words of amorous encouragement, tickling Silas' ears with his hot breath and hotter tongue. As he felt himself slipping, slipping, into that hot-wet place of delight, Greg sighed and laid back on the rock. His legs came together to crisscross Silas' back, trembling slightly at the pleasure this man was giving him.

Silas' fingers found the furry rear, the tightened sphincter. He tickled, pushed and prodded until the muscles loosened and let him in: one finger, two... feeling for the firespot... stroking the spongy button of joy gently, gently... in time with the movements of his tongue across velvety skinned rock hardness... Greg cried out suddenly in a convulsive surge of pleasure, blasting his male essence hotly into Silas.

Silas swallowed and swallowed. When the last of Greg's juicy spasms wracked his body, Silas climbed up onto the rock, lifting Greg's legs as he did so. His cock emerged from the pool like some cyclopean sea monster, red and swollen with raging desire. Greg saw and spat in his hand before grabbing Silas' prick, spreading his thick saliva over it as he helped guide his friend inside of him.

Greg jerked involuntarily as the cockhead kissed his sphincter. Then he relaxed before the blunt, insistent pressure of Silas' penis. He gasped and groaned as his partner slid into him, slowly, irresistibly, all the way...

Silas took his time with Greg. He had been thinking about making love to the handsome redhead all day long. Now that he was where he wanted to be, he intended to stay there, make it last as long as possible.

His long, slow, sensuous strokes soon had Greg's manhood standing erect once more. Greg reached down and began to stroke himself, groaning with excitement, and Silas spat on the angry red prong that was being manipulated before him, lubricating it for his friend's pleasure. He wondered as he did so how much longer he could possibly hold off his own orgasmic release.

Greg writhed on the rock before Silas, blissfully impaled, making Silas gasp at the rhythmic way Greg's inner muscles gripped and pulled at his cock, as Greg himself fisted his cock before him. The red-purple head appeared and disappeared in and out of the bulging foreskin, glistening with Silas' saliva and Greg's precum. Silas could no longer control himself and conscious thought took a back seat to the primitive instincts of lust.

Greg gasped and almost cried out as Silas bore down into him, going for his orgasm. The sudden, almost violent change in tempo seemed to fulfill Greg's fond desire to be taken, hard, by this beautiful man, and it pushed him over the brink. Silas could feel his cock being squeezed unmercifully by the powerful convulsions of Greg's second orgasm, and it quickly brought Silas to the same place.

His fingers sank painfully into Greg's shoulders as he drove into the man, again and again, filling him with his burning essence. Greg was shooting so hard that some of his seed flew up to splatter against his own face. Silas went down upon it at once, licking and kissing, savoring Greg's taste in the man's beard and sharing it with his friend, both moaning in primal, absolute pleasure.

After a time, Silas' softening cock slipped wetly from Greg's rear and the prospector moved to join his friend, stretching out on the rock. Greg sighed in utter contentment as he wrapped his arms around Silas, kissing him. For awhile, they clung there together, feeling their pounding hearts slow and relax into quieter rhythms.

Eventually, they slid back into the pool together again and ran their hands over each other's bodies, wiping and washing. Silas went under and came up snorting and shaking the water out of his hair and beard. Leaving the pool, Greg got out a big blanket and spread it over a patch of ferns, making a soft pad to lie on. Silas soon joined him there and they held each other under the warm, bright sunlight.

"Silas," Greg breathed, "that was so... I ain't got the words... "

"Hush. Just tell me you love me, like the way I love you."

"Alright. I love you, something fierce!"

"Greg, I been thinkin'. We may have found a fortune in gold today, but," he snuggled closer to his companion so that they touched at all possible points for emphasis, "I think this feelin' is the real treasure of the heron."

"Yes, I understand. Silas?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanna take a nap here, in the sunshine, with you lyin' close to me. Can you?"

"Well, I'm sure tired enough," he grinned in reply. "Sure."

"Good."

As Greg whispered that word he kissed Silas again and lay back. Silas relaxed and breathed in deeply. The air was warm and moist, like the body of the man beside him.

Two brilliant orange dragonflies zipped by over their heads, like a pair of fire arrows loosed from an elfin bow. Silas watched them dart down to graze the surface of the still pool, where they left little vee-shaped wakes rippling outward on the waters. Then Silas closed his eyes.

All too soon it seemed, the sun slipped behind the rim of the crater and the air cooled rapidly, forcing the men to don their clothing and start a fire. They shared a simple, but ample supper as the setting sun cast its last fiery rays through the gap, touching the clear pool with tints of crimson. Later in the evening, bellies comfortably full, they lay wrapped in their blankets, holding one another, gazing up at the simple, eternal wonder of a starry night sky, before sleep claimed them.

Dawn broke on an indistinct world. Vapors rising from the pool were quickly scattered by the new light, but they left their traces on the tips of the ferns. The dewdrops hung on the gray-green fronds, looking like quivering crystal beads in the morning sun.

After breakfast, the two men broke camp and returned to the cave of mysteries. As they approached it, they were mildly surprised to see no one on lookout outside the cave opening, as they expected. And no one came to meet them as they reached the cavern's mouth.

The men went first and looked in the nearby guest cabin, wondering where everyone was. Finding no one inside, Greg decided to wait there while Silas searched the cave. Shouldering the sack of gold he had collected, Silas entered the cavern.

In the distance, he could see a light. It led him, as he knew, to the large circular chamber and Falling Star, who was still engaged in painting on the cave wall, just as he had been when Silas had last seen him. Silas put down the small, but heavy, sack and sat beside the fire to wait for the shaman to acknowledge him.

"You have returned, Fire Wolf," the shaman murmured quietly as he turned to face Silas after several long minutes. "Tell me what you found on your journey."

"Yes, Falling Star," answered Silas, respectfully. "I saw many strange things, in the wakin' world and in my dreams."

"Tell me of your dreams."

Silas described his short dream. The Elxa elder listened attentively, while his dark eyes glittered with light reflected from the fire. When Silas finished, Falling Star nodded slowly.

"You saw our brother, Xaculi. I agree with your belief that what he showed you did not bear directly on your vision quest. It was another warning to the Elxa."

"Another?"

"I too have been on a spirit journey while you were away, Fire Wolf. And some of the things I saw were like what you saw."

"What do these signs mean?"

"Danger for us and our heron brothers, or so it seems, but I shall have to commune further with our tribe's spirits before I will know the answer to your question," the shaman demurred. "But go on and tell me about the rest of your adventure."

"Everything you saw, everything you told me, was true. We found the cabin and the bodies."

"What did you do?"

"The first thing we did was bury them. It was as decent a burial as Tavani and I could make it, even though from what you told me earlier, those fellows weren't exactly decent men."

"Your intentions were good, Fire Wolf. I believe their spirits could not rest until the remains of their earthly bodies were interred. I am sure they have suffered enough for what they did, so long ago. Do you know what the white men were doing in that place?"

In answer, Silas reached into the sack beside him. He selected a particularly pure nugget and handed it to Falling Star. The Indian's face did not change, but his eyes seemed to lose some of their glitter as he studied the bit of yellow metal by the firelight.

"There's more, much more, where that came from," Silas informed the shaman in a grave voice. "Enough to make every man in the Elxa tribe a millionaire, I'd wager."

"I now see why my spirit guides directed me to send the others away before you returned. No one should be tempted thus," the heron shaman murmured and then fell silent. After a little while, he whispered. "What have you decided to do, Fire Wolf?"

"Whatever you recommend, Falling Star. As I told Tavani, if word of this gets out, the valley of the heron will be overrun by gold-crazy miners and the scoundrels that follow them. But Tavani also thought that if we could keep it quiet, take from it sparingly, this could be a great blessin' for the tribe."

"You have chosen a difficult path, Fire Wolf. I have heard, that a find like this," he said, holding up the nugget, "is something prospectors like you dream of."

"You're right. I never thought that if I found something like this, I would never be able to talk about it. But that's what I gotta do, or else it would mean the destruction of this land and the end of the whole tribe."

"What will you do with this?" Falling Star asked, indicating the sack of nuggets.

"I thought you could keep it... "

"No," the shaman said flatly. "I was responsible for the death of one of the men who found this. It would be bad medicine for me to possess it." As he said that, he put the nugget he held back in the sack. "Besides, there is nothing it can buy that I need."

"That's strange, I said something almost like that to Tavani just the other day... "

"Do not be surprised that we think alike, Fire Wolf, for we share the same nature."

Almost a minute passed in silence before Silas spoke again, as he stared into the fire, thinking.

"I'll take this and hide it somewhere then. Since I'm a prospector, it won't cause much notice if I bring a little extra gold into town from time to time to trade. And of course, I can always go back to the vein, if there was any great need."

"Do what seems good to you, Fire Wolf. I trust you, for you are my brother, and you indeed walk in the Way of the Heron."

After Silas and Greg had left, Falling Star took a lighted torch, exited his cave and began to climb the hill behind it, following narrow paths he had been shown as a young man, paths unused to the tread of human feet. At one point the path widened into a ledge, where stood the sky-cradle of old Xaculi. The shaman murmured an apology to his friend as he passed by. But his intrusion could not be helped.

The path he followed was the only one that led up to another cave, one known only to a handful of Elxa elders. That Silas had been allowed to see it in a medicine dream was the most surprising thing he had revealed to Falling Star. In light of that revelation, the shaman had to go to the cave himself. He hoped to see if something had happened there, an event the Elxa had awaited patiently for, over almost four decades.

Falling Star paused at the mouth of the cave when he arrived at it, peering hesitantly into the darkness. Then he extended the torch he carried before him and entered. He moved upward through a narrow gallery, until he reached a large chamber.

It was not unlike the cavern he called home, with fissures in its rough walls that led off to several blind side tunnels. Falling Star looked around himself very carefully. But he saw no disturbance, no sign that anyone had been in the place recently. As he paused in thought, his eyes fell upon a strange sign carved into the stone wall.

It consisted of five odd symbols. Falling Star knew from the books he had that individually they were letters of the Greek alphabet. But in the legends of many tribes of the Pacific Northwest, those letters collectively were the mystic signature of a demonic entity that once had protected the Elxa from outsiders, the sign of the immortal demon known as Hunts-by-night.

"Where are you, O mighty one?" Falling Star whispered to the surrounding darkness. "If Fire Wolf did not foresee your return to us, what did he see moving about in your old lair?"

Falling Star retraced his steps, lost in thought. Because of that, he did not at first notice the stranger who sat before the visitors' cabin. But when the light brown haired and bearded white man stood up, the movement alerted the Elxa elder to his presence.

He recognized the handsome young man at once. The heron shaman had first seen the man's face in a medicine dream some weeks before. Immediately after that, Falling Star had sent a message out across the valley of the heron to him. The heron elder quenched his torch in the waters of the hot spring as the man moved towards him. He smiled a greeting as they met beside the pool of misting waters.

"Welcome to my home," he murmured.

"Are you Falling Star?" the man asked, looking at the shaman with clear, green eyes.

"Yes."

"My name's Goodland Ormonde. My friends call me Goody," he grinned. "A heron man named Heyoka brought me a message sayin' that you wanted to see me, and the men at Roman Rock told me how to find you. A little while before I got here, I also met two handsome guys on the trail who assured me I was gettin' close to your home."

"I am glad you have taken the time to journey here, my son."

As Falling Star murmured those words, he gestured easily towards the rock lined, manmade pool of steaming water that softly rippled beside them. Goody could see it was fed by a hot spring that gushed from a crack in the cliff face above the artificial basin. The overflow meandered away into the field of tall grass, towards Heron Creek.

"I am sure you are tired from your long trek." Falling Star went on. "Would you like to join me in the pool, to relax awhile?"

"Sure!" Goody replied at once, as he eagerly began to pull off his clothes. He was remembering the pleasures he had experienced with other heron men in other hot springs, and hoped Falling Star would like to play the same sort of games with him.

"And we can talk as well," the heron shaman smiled at Goody's youthful enthusiasm as he doffed his scanty native garb, "about the medicine dreams I have had of you... "

"Well, that's done," Will sighed as he and Phil left a state land office in Port Bolon.

Tucked in his coat pocket were the papers that gave him and his partner Silas title to the valley they had settled in, as well as all the land drained by the nameless creek that ran by their cabin. Since the creek had to have a name for the records, Will had joked that it ought to be known as 'No Name Creek', but the clerk had not found that acceptable. Phil suggested 'Lovers Creek' and so it was entered in the records and on the land deed.

The men had already disposed of their furs. As Phil has promised his heron brother, the traders he knew in Port Bolon were fair and they got good prices for their pelts. They took their profits and bought supplies. Now they were heading back to the livery stable where they had left their horses and mules. Once the goods were packed onto the animals, the men could return to the valley of the heron.

"I'm afraid you're not quite done with those papers," Phil began. "You have to get Silas's signature on those documents and return them within a year to finalize your claim. Then you'll have to wait for the surveyors to come, lay out the boundaries of your land, and have their findings recorded on the official land deed." Phil smiled at his heron brother. "But no matter how long it takes officialdom to do what they have to, now that you've filed your claim, no one else can take away the valley you and Silas live in."

"You're right, of course. I have to say, you've got a better head than me for legal things like this."

"Just part of my upbringing. I had to be familiar with basic legal practices if I was going to help run the family 'business'." Phil patted the papers nestled in his shirt pocket. "I hope Mark likes the piece of land I claimed on."

"What's not to like?" smiled Will. "It'll be great havin' you and your lover as neighbors. I'd clean forgotten that other creek that flows into Lemolo Lake to the south of ours. The piece of land it drains isn't as big, but you did get a nice big hunk of lake shoreline with it."

"Yes. On our way back, maybe we could explore it a bit and scout out potential cabin sites."

"Sure thing, Phil. Speakin' of goin' back, was there any other business you needed to attend to while we were here in town?"

"Yes, I have to go in there," Phil pointed at a store, "and then I need to have one last word with my banker. After that, I'll be ready to start heading back."

Will followed his companion into the store where the big trapper picked out a couple of small children's toys and a lady's shawl that had a Native American design woven into it, gifts for his new aunt and cousin. While the shopkeeper looked for a box sturdy enough to survive a trip to England, Phil produced the letters he had written previously and wrapped them and the toys in the shawl. Then he wrapped the whole in some heavy brown paper.

"You think this'll do?" the man asked, putting a small wooden crate that had contained soap on the counter.

"Perfect," rejoined Phil as he placed the package inside. "Now if I can buy a few nails and borrow a hammer... "

After nailing the box shut, Phil paid the shopkeeper and left for his next destination. Not far away was an unassuming brick building, the headquarters of the Oceanic Bank of Oregon. The man who ran it, Richard Ardley, dealt more with business and trade transactions than individual depositors. Most of the shipping companies that ran up and down the coast past Port Bolon kept accounts with Richard.

Since coastal shipping included a good bit of trade with Canadian vessels, it made good business sense for the Oceanic Bank to have ties with banks up in Victoria and Vancouver. And thanks to the international character of the British Empire, there were branches of the Bank of England in those cities as well. Richard was happy to handle Phil's infrequent drafts on the account set up for him by the Caddell family trust.

Will smiled as he recalled why. He had met the banker earlier during their visit to Port Bolon and found out Richard shared his and Phil's natures. He was also an accommodating bottom who had insisted the two trappers stay with him while they were in town, asking nothing in return except to be topped by them as often as they liked.

"Hello, Phil, Will," a good looking Irish clerk greeted them. Mike O'Reilly had recently come to work for Richard at the bank.

"Hello, Mike," they responded in stereo.

Will could not help but smile, recalling how Richard had sung the praises of his new clerk, calling Mike his 'wild Irish stud', to them until Phil commented that it sounded as if Richard were in love. To the trappers' surprise, the banker had blushed and admitted he was, though he did not know yet how Mike felt. Will and Phil had both given Richard advice on the matter and Will found himself hoping the pair would sort themselves out and become a couple.

"I'll show you in."

"I'll wait out here," said Will, looking for a seat.

"No, come along," Phil urged. Will fell in behind him.

"Phil!" Richard smiled, looking glad to be distracted from some papers on his desk. "And Will! Hold any more visitors, Mike."

"Okay, Mr. Ardley."

"I wish he'd call me Richard," the banker muttered after Mike shut the door. Then aloud he asked. "What can I do for you?"

"You remember I told you I have a new aunt and cousin," began Phil.

"Yes."

"Well, I'd like to send them a couple of gifts. Could you arraign for this package to get on a ship bound for Canada?"

"This is your lucky day, Phil," smiled Richard as he gestured at the papers before him. "I was working on some claims delivered this morning by a British ship. I was planning to have Mike deliver the paperwork to the captain when I was done, but I'll take them myself and introduce you. Maybe he can see your package safely off."

A couple of hours later, Richard led his trapper friends down to the docks. The ship he sought, named the Black Prince, flew a Union Jack and had steam powered sidewheels as well as sails. They found the captain and after making sure the papers were in order, Richard introduced Phil and Will. The captain was naturally interested in meeting another Englishman, even if he did appear one step removed from a Native American.

"Captain Francis De Rowe, at your service, sir. Always glad to meet a fellow Englishman!"

"Of the Cheshire De Rowes?"

"Why, yes!" he responded, surprised at what he was hearing from the shaggy, long bearded, buckskin clad trapper. "You know of my family?"

"My grandmother insisted I study genealogy. Fortunately I liked it. And I remember a connection between your family and mine."

"Phil Caddell, did you say?" Francis pondered before brightening. "Not the Swansgrave Caddells?!"

"My uncle Constantine is the current Baron. His brother Rupert recently became next in line succeed him."

"Well this is a bit of a coincidence!" Francis wondered. "I have a passenger who mentioned your uncle Rupert at dinner last night."

"Nothing bad I hope!"

"No, no, nothing of the sort. He's an old school chum of your uncle Rupert's. I'll go let him know you're here."

"Well," Will smiled, "you came to mail a package and found a family reunion of sorts!"

"Between genealogy and school associations, the nobility of England are bound up together as tightly as my package here," grinned Phil in reply.

"...are you quite sure?" a new voice was heard in the hallway as it approached.

"See for yourself," the captain said as he ushered a distinguished fifty-something man into his cabin. The gentleman looked Phil up and down skeptically.

"He looks like just another roughneck American backwoodsman to me!"

"I'm sure I've changed since we last met, but I remember you, Sir Terrance Sandersfield." Phil began easily. "You were the head of the British Consulate in San Francisco when I first came west in 1858, and I stopped to pay my respects because I knew you and my uncle Rupert were close friends."

"Philip Caddell!" he exclaimed, belatedly recognizing the man. The knight turned in distraction to the captain. "Egad! A brilliant scholar, practically the heir to the richest barony in England, turned savage!"

"You make it sound as if I was an American Tarzan, running with Indians instead of apes!" Phil laughed.

"Well, I'm not in San Francisco anymore, my boy. I'm on way back home to my estate in Middlesex where I hope to enjoy my retirement from government affairs."

"Huh! This is a stroke of luck!" Phil hefted his package. "I was hoping to forward this to my uncle Rupert's new wife. Matilda is staying temporarily in London with another of Rupert's friends, Lord St. Croix... "

"Oh, Clarence! Yes I know him too! Say no more, my boy, it would be my pleasure to deliver the package personally! It would give me a chance to meet this paragon of womanhood that Rupert has rhapsodized about in his letters to me of late!"

"Have you heard from him recently? The last letter I got was three months old... "

"Good Lord, man, we can't talk all this over standing up!" Sir Terrance exclaimed. "We must have dinner together tonight, in whatever passes for an elegant restaurant in this port!"

"Do you know of any place like that, Richard?" asked Phil.

"A man named Tonnaux recently opened a supposedly French restaurant here. But I haven't eaten there yet, so I can't vouch for it... "

"Oh, let's take a chance on the bally froggy! And bring your friends. They can eat while we talk. Will you join us too, captain?"

"I don't see why not," Francis replied.

"Alright, Sir Terrance," Phil looked wryly at Richard. "I guess Will and I will be staying with you one more night. I hope that's no inconvenience."

"You know it's not!" the banker replied. Both of the heron men smiled, knowing Richard would be happy to share his bed with them again.

"Gimme a hand here, will you?"

Greg stepped forward to help Silas move the bed in his and Will's cabin. Two day's travel had brought them there from the cave of mysteries, and at that moment they were working to find a secure hiding place for the gold they had found. Silas pried up a loose floorboard and Greg saw a small space concealed underneath.

"I keep my valuables in this hidey hole," Silas explained, pointing to an old, battered suitcase. "That holds my old confederate uniform. My medals are wrapped up in there too."

"Don't Will ever go in there?" Greg asked, as Silas eased the sack down into the hole and replaced the floorboard.

"Nah. He's got his own secure place. But you don't need to know where that is."

"That's true."

"Well, let's move the bed back, and we'll be done."

"Not unless you wanna use this bed for something other than hidin' things," Greg hinted with a smile.

"Can this something wait until after lunch?" Silas smiled back. "I need to eat if I'm gonna keep up with you."

"I didn't mean to wear you out... "

"You coulda fooled me! But hush. You bother me nice, pardner," Silas said softly, kissing Greg.

Will was relaxing, leaning against the bar in the Trail's End Saloon. As he drank his beer, he glanced in the mirror behind the bar and grinned as he scanned the few other men in the place. They were all reading the newspapers he and Phil had brought from Port Bolon, catching up on what was going on in the outside world. Will wryly contemplated the saloon's latest use as a library and looked around again for Phil.

The two trappers had only that day arrived in False Pass. After returning their borrowed horses to Felix's stable, Phil had gone off looking for Alex and Lo so he and Will could get a bath. The big man was nowhere in sight and Will resumed waiting for Phil. Soon after, a voice abruptly commanded Will's attention.

"Hello, Will!"

Will looked up from his drink. He smiled easily as he saw Russ Seton approaching.

"Hi, Russ. How's things goin' for you?"

"Great, Will, just great, thanks to you! The Doc and I have been seein' a lot of each other, since you gave us a shove, and I for one can't thank you enough!"

"I'm glad to hear it, Russ."

Russ glanced around and lowered his voice so only Will could hear.

"You gotta place to stay tonight?"

"I figured on sharin' a room here with Phil," Will answered in the same low tone.

"Well, the Doc and I have talked about it, and anytime you feel like it, you're welcome to bunk with either of us, so we can thank you in a personal way. We owe you a lot."

"Thanks for the invite, Russ. You and Cy are both good lookin' guys and I'm sure I'll take you up on it someday soon, but right now, Phil and I, well, we decided to save ourselves for each other, as long as our journey together lasts."

"I understand." Russ touched Will's hand lightly. "I've been on play-journeys myself with other heron men. I've given myself wholeheartedly and completely to another man for a time, and liked it, but the feelin's that are growin' in me for Cy, like I might be givin' him my heart forever... I can't describe how good it feels."

"I know. I feel the same for my pardner, Silas. Knowin' he's always gonna be there for me, no matter what, is something that can't be put into words."

Will saw Phil appear in the doorway of the saloon. He gripped Russ' hand, smiled and nodded. Russ looked and saw the big trapper too as he came over and put his hands on both men's shoulders.

"It's good to see you, Russ. I understand congratulations are in order. Say hello to Cy for me when you see him next."

"Thanks, Phil," he blushed. Phil looked at Will.

"Ready for that bath? I found the boys and they're champing at the bit to get their hands on us!"

"Okay. See you later, Russ."

Russ bid the pair farewell as they went out the back of the saloon. A wooden porch faced an alley wide enough for a delivery wagon to drive down. Phil glanced up and down the empty alley, which ran uninterruptedly in parallel to the main street of False Pass.

"Someone's been working on this. It wasn't so wide or smooth the last time I saw it."

"It looks to me like the town's tryin' to grow."

Will pointed to an excavated spot nearby, beyond the new general store next door. The alley and the main street merged and it looked as if someone intended to widen the trail that continued to the east, the one that led to the Elxa's lands. Phil nodded.

"Yes, I noticed earlier and had a word with Matt about it."

"Why?"

"I'm just not sure how good an idea it is to make it easier to get into the valley of the heron. But we can discuss that issue later. Our bath awaits."

Phil gestured to another door nearby and Will nodded before following his companion into the bathhouse. The two teenaged lovers who worked there greeted the heron men with big smiles. They were already naked and ready for the pair of trappers. Will had not taken a bath there before, but Phil had described the randy pair's talents in detail, so Will was aware of the sexual possibilities their bath could have. The boys were not slow in provoking said possibilities.

"Damn!" Lo exclaimed as Phil's clothes came off. "That pecker of yours seems to get bigger every time I see it, Big Otter!"

"He's gotta be the biggest heron man there is!" added Alex as he finished filling the tub.

"Let's get on with it, boys," laughed Phil as he got in the hot water. "I didn't get naked just so you could admire me!"

Will joined his traveling companion in the oversized tub. The two youths' experienced hands soon had the effect they intended, making the big trapper's mighty organ stand tall. After asking Phil's permission, both of them tried and failed to impale their asses on Phil's soap-slick weapon. Their frustration was apparent, but Phil told them to be patient.

"Remember, Rome wasn't built in a day," he smiled. "When you're older and a little more experienced, you'll have a better chance of taking it all."

"Here," Will offered, getting on his hands and knees in the tub, offering his rear end to Phil, "lemme show you youngsters how it's done!"

"Jesus H. Christ!" exclaimed Alex as he and Lo watched with wide eyes as Phil slowly buried himself to the hilt inside Will.

"God, I wish I could do that!" Lo added as he jerked himself, thoroughly turned on by the sight of Phil's huge cock pistoning in and out of Will's ass.

"Hey, don't waste that! Bring your dick over here so I can suck on it!" demanded Will.

As Lo immediately complied, Alex moved behind his partner. Soon all four were connected in a daisy chain of rising passion. As Phil stroked Will's hard cock, he acted as a referee, trying to get them all to come together at the same time. He was entirely successful, and afterwards the men and youths lay together in the soapy water, kissing and holding each other as they caught their breaths.

At length, Lo and Alex recovered and finished washing the men. After they had all towelled off, Phil hugged his three bathmates together with his big arms and kissed each of them. From the looks on Lo's and Alex's faces, Will could tell they were feeling as good as he was.

As they left the bathhouse, Will took Phil's hand. Phil looked at his friend. Will looked back, into the big trapper's blue eyes and whispered what was in his heart.

"I love you, Phil... "

Phil embraced Will and kissed him deeply.

"I love you too, Will," he vowed when the kiss ended. "And I'm glad you agreed to make our trip into a play-journey for us."

"How much longer are we sayin' in False Pass?"

"You ready to leave?"

"Yes. I wanna go into the wilderness and be alone there with you."

"Well, I've already spoken to Matt about the new road, like I wanted, so we can go anytime."

"What did Matt have to say?"

"He agreed with my misgivings about making it too easy to get into the valley of the heron, so we consulted a map and traced out an alternate route. On the way back, I want to follow the south bank of the Umpqua to where it flows from Lemolo Lake, cross it and pick up the trail that follows the east shore of the lake."

"That's the one I used to take north to Spring Hill and the other towns on the upper Willamette when I needed supplies."

"Yes, over the watershed to Staley Creek and downriver from there. I've gone that way a few times myself," Phil admitted. "I'd like to check it out and see if we can cut a new road along that route. I know it's a longer way around, but if we ever had unwelcome visitors, the extra time it would take for them to travel would give us time to prepare for them. And I must admit, the trees that would have to come down in the process would provide plenty of lumber for the house I'd like to build."

"Not to mention the barn I'd like to build this year," added Will.

"I'd like to go have a good look at the land I claimed too."

"Let's leave tomorrow, Phil."

"Tomorrow then, my love... " he murmured as he kissed Will again.

"This is a beautiful place."

Will murmured that comment as he stood on the shore of Lemolo Lake a few days later, close to the point where a stream about twelve feet wide gushed into the lake. About thirty feet back from the shore, the creek fell as a confused waterfall, tumbling around, over and through a jumbled mass of boulders and the remains of a tree trunk or two, their rough forms all covered and softened by green moss. Phil had dubbed the stream 'Dark Fire Creek' in honor of his lover.

"Umph!" Phil exclaimed wordlessly. Will looked to where his friend was. A few feet away, Phil was pacing along a relative flat spot, judging its size.

"Anything wrong?"

"This space isn't quite big enough," he responded.

"That bunkhouse Mark built would fit in here."

"Yes, but I'd like something bigger... "

"Like an English manor?" joked Will.

"If I wanted something like that I could go home and have it," he smiled. "I'd just like to have a home with more than one room. Three would do nicely for a start. A living/eating space, a bedroom for myself and Mark, and a room for my books... "

"A library?"

"And a place to sit and write. After ten years, I feel as if I've absorbed enough of life to write a book or two - not about the Elxa, of course!" Phil added after seeing the look on his companion's face. He looked around himself again and then out across the calm blue lake. "The scenery certainly is inspirational."

Soon afterwards, the men started following Dark Fire Creek away from the lake. The land the stream drained composed most of Phil's claim. According to the land papers, the property was bounded on the west by the Umpqua where it flowed into the lake, and southerly along a line drawn due west from the southernmost point of the watershed of Dark Fire Creek.

That description seemed to include the land that faced the site of the talking stone, and Phil's first thought was to build a cabin within walking distance of the marvelous hot spring there. But his better judgement told him to have a look at the entire property before making so important a decision. He was glad he had once he and Will got a look at the land around upper Dark Fire Creek.

After climbing past the pile of mossy boulders near the shore and passing through a gently rising patch of thick forest, the heron men came upon a rocky flat perhaps a hundred feet above the level of the lake. Only a few trees had found footholds there, allowing the pair to survey the relatively open space. There was more than enough room for a cabin the size Phil was imagining. But the deal clincher was the sight of another large hot spring, smoking away at the far end of the flat.

"Oh, this is too perfect," Phil muttered, looking around for some flaw he must have missed.

"Look at all these loose rocks here," said Will as he pointed out a cliff that defined the southern edge of the flat. It was the height of a man and riven with cracks, forming a convenient multitude of angular blocks. "You could easily build yourself a stone house!"

"I've got to bring Mark here to see this."

As Phil spoke, he moved towards the hot spring. Will followed and they soon determined that with a little work, the pool could be improved and enlarged. The overflow ran along a shallow channel in the rocks until it joined the creek.

"Well, I doubt I'll find a better spot to build on, but I'd like to keep going to the head of the creek."

"Okay, Phil. But can we come back here to spend the night?"

"Sure, Will." Phil threw an arm around his companion. "I'm glad you decided to tag along with me. You could've been home with Silas long before now."

"Yeah, I know," breathed Will as he hugged back. "I guess... "

"What?"

"After the time we've spent together, I'm findin' it hard to leave. I must be in love with you."

"I love you too, Will... "

Phil lowered his head and met Will's kiss halfway. It was a gentle acknowledgement of the bond they already shared. And a promise that they would continue to explore that connection, to see how deep their feelings went...

Greg stayed on with Silas at his cabin. They waited on the return of Will and Phil, knowing that event would end their idyll, and did not care. The future did not concern them: being together, they lived completely in the present.

While it was true that Silas was looking forward to doing some prospecting with his partner, Will, he still enjoyed Greg's company. In the days that followed, they tramped the surrounding countryside, exploring, hunting, and making love. Sometimes, they would leave the cabin for days at a time.

One afternoon, as they were returning after one of their trips, the pair received a surprise. They saw Matilda, Will's mule, quietly grazing neck to neck in the stump field with Phil's gray-nosed mule and four horses they did not recognize. It would not be until later that they learned Phil and Will had pooled their profits to buy horses for themselves and their partners.

"Looks like your pardner's back," Greg observed.

"Yeah... "

"I thought you'd be happier than this about it."

"I am. I'm just a little sad because it means partin' from you."

"I'll always be around. And I'll come to you anytime you call," Greg said as he took Silas's hand and guided it to the rigid lump in his pants. "I purely love you, pardner."

"I can feel that."

Silas chuckled as he grasped the stiff, familiar bulk in Greg's pants. Then he guided Greg away, pointing wordlessly to a nearby tree. Greg understood and leaned against the huge oak.

They kissed as long as they had breath to do so, their stiff rods pressing sweetly against one another through their clothes. Then Greg knelt before Silas, undoing the prospector's belt and popping the buttons on his pants, freeing his cock and balls for Greg's gentle, loving attentions. Silas felt his manhood slipping into Greg's mouth, a cavern of sensual, sudden, intense heat...

"Oh, pardner... " Silas sighed.

Oddly, Silas's thoughts turned to an armaments foundry his unit had once been assigned to guard, during the war. He recalled watching as the massive bars of iron rolled into the blast furnace, the metal softening and melting, pouring out into the molds for cannon and shot, glowing like the sun. And the countless sparks flying everywhere, up, high into the sky...

He felt a change in himself, a transformation sparked by so much love, so freely given. His spirit felt good, enlarged, stronger. Silas thought again of the foundry, and came. His orgasm seemed to him like a fountain of those remembered fiery sparks, shooting up and away into infinite blackness...

Greg got up, putting his hands on Silas's shoulders and kissed him again. Silas opened up to the kiss and tasted his own seed being fed back to him, drop by salt sweet drop. His hands came up to stroke and caress Greg's back, gently, lovingly...

That evening, Phil and Greg spread their blankets out together in the stable's haymow, as Silas and Will prepared to go to their bed. Silas fed the potbelly stove, stoking up a good flame. It radiated a comfortable heat that could be felt from their bed. Will sat on the edge of the mattress, waiting until Silas joined him.

"Whatcha think of the horse I picked out for you?"

"He's a beaut!" Silas replied, thinking of the great gray stallion. "I think I'll call him Jeb. He'll sure make it easier to get around in the valley of the heron."

"That's why I got him for you. Did you hear what Phil named his horse?"

"No."

"Bucephalus."

"What's that mean?"

"It's another one of his Greek fancies. Bucephalus was the name of the horse that Alexander the Great rode."

"Huh," Silas acknowledged before looking back at his lover. "Er, did you have any medicine dreams while you were gone?"

Will blinked. "Yes, and you were in it... "

"I know. I was there," the prospector smiled, thinking how incredible an experience it was, and how he had come to take such things in stride since becoming a heron man. "Did you do as Falling Star asked?"

"I'll have to get your signature on some papers and go back to Port Bolon sometime soon to finalize the paperwork, but yeah, I did. Soon we'll own this whole valley, all legal-like."

They fell silent for a short time, until Will looked into his partner's eyes.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered.

"Oh, Will! Of course I did... "

Will seized and kissed his partner, gently and deeply. For a long time. Showing without words how much he had missed Silas, desiring him, his touch, his taste...

"Oh, Silas, my love," Will said as he hugged his partner. "I have something else to tell you, something I hope you'll think is as wonderful as I think it is."

"What?"

"Last fall, before we left Roman Rock, I wrote a letter to my nephew Eric in New Hampshire and got one of the heron men to take it to False Pass to get posted. We'd stayed in touch and he's one of us - he told me so in an earlier letter - and he even has a pardner. I told him about the Elxa and suggested he come out here. Well," Will said, pulling a crumpled envelope out of his pocket, "this was waitin' for me in the post office at False Pass when I passed through there on my way back here."

"From Eric?"

"Yes. He's comin' here, with his pardner. Seems they're fed up with civilization, always havin' to keep their true feelin's secret, lest some nosey busybody with nothing better to do might go and make their lives miserable."

"Sounds miserable already," Silas grunted. "I can imagine what it's like. I knew a few hellfire and brimstone preachers in Kentucky who'd bust a gut if they could see the Elxa tribe! They'd be rantin' and ravin' about sin so fast it'd make your head spin!"

"I doubt they're worse than the pious puritans I grew up with," Will sighed. "I've seen people ostracized for bein' 'different', and it ain't a purdy sight. The poor folks would be shunned by their 'betters' until they couldn't stand it no more and moved away."

"It's no way to live."

"I agree. Anyway, they'll be here in late April or maybe sooner, if everything goes accordin' to plan."

"Good, that gives us some time... "

"For what?"

"For prospectin', of course. You forget?"

"No. I'm lookin' forward to it."

"That reminds me," Silas said, digging down into one pocket. "I've got something to tell you too... "

Will waited expectantly as Silas's hand came up and placed something in his. It was heavy, and the firelight shining through the grille of the potbelly stove struck soft yellow sparks off it's irregular surface. Will looked at it, then glanced up suddenly into Silas's eyes.

"Gold?"

"Yep."

"You made a strike?"

"Yep."

"Where... How... ?"

"It's a long story, pardner. And you gotta keep it to yourself for reasons you'll understand as I go along," Silas began, standing up and stretching, before beginning to pull off his clothes. "But knowin' you so well, I know you can keep this secret. Let's get comfortable in bed first. I wanna be holdin' your nekkid body close to me while I tell you about my vision quest."

Later, after he finished relating his adventures, Silas gave himself completely to his lover, and Will bore down into him with a gentle, aching, passionate need, that rhythmically pressed Silas's body into the bed, closer to the fortune that lay hidden below their united, straining bodies. Nevertheless, they both knew they had a greater treasure in the love they shared, and in the gentle comradeship of their heron brothers. Precious and rare were these feelings, the true treasure of the heron.

THE END

of Treasure Of The Heron

the seventh story in the series

'The Way Of The Heron'

by C. T. Creekmur

comments or suggestions are welcome at tcreekmur@hotmail.com

Copyright (c) 2009 by Charles T. Creekmur

"All Rights Reserved"

submitted to www.nifty.org 1/22/2009