The time had come to make arrangements to go to St. Louis. He intended to work his way east in whatever capacity Ashley might use him. He’d heard that this rendezvous would wind up shortly, and Ashley was eager to get back. He had a fortune in beaver pelts that he would haul to St. Louis on the packhorses that had brought out the year’s provisions. He found the general at his tent, near his trading store, sitting on a stump and bent over a ledger. The man radiated a certain august presence that impressed Skye. The man’s demeanor had helped him both as a politician and as an officer in the militia. He had a noble profile, and used it to advantage, often facing sideways from whoever he was addressing. “A word if I may, sir,” Skye said, his topper in hand. “Yes, yes, let me add up this column,” the general said, a bit testily. Skye waited until the man finished and stared up at his visitor, his gaze assessive and neutral. “I’m looking for a position—service to you on your trip east,”
