He sat up with a start. Years ago hostiles had attacked his uncle’s cabin and slain his uncle, and it was a secret fear of his that one day hostiles might try to do the same to him and his loved ones. His hand went to the small table beside the bed, groping for his pistols. The pounding continued. “Go see who is at our door, husband,” Winona said sleepily, her body a vague outline in the dark of their bedroom. “Better not be hostiles,” Nate muttered. “I doubt they would knock.” Nate got up and tugged on his buckskin britches. In his bare feet he padded out into the front room and over to the door. “Who’s out there?” “It’s me.” “Louisa?” Nate quickly threw the bolt and opened the door. She was in a dress and shawl. “What are you doing here at this time of night?” “May I come in?” “Of course.” Nate sheepishly moved aside, then peered out. There was just her horse, a few yards away. He thought maybe his son’s cabin had been attacked. “Where’s Zach?”
