Chapter 1

Home from kindergarten, Elena True Kirk threw on her plaid jacket and skipped outside with an apple in her hand. The winter sunshine held little warmth. Wind blew her curly reddish-gold hair as she headed for the shelter of the barn. She knew that her father would not be there today—he was in Boise on business—but she wanted to share the apple with her pony, Shiloh.

Halfway across the yard, she paused and looked back at her big log home, where Mama was busy in the loft painting one of her canvasses. As Tru turned and continued toward the barn, a movement caught her eye. Over by the edge of the woods, a flock of birds was pecking at the ground.

Tru's heart leaped with excitement and she froze in her tracks. Then very slowly she began sneaking toward them. The birds were not very colorful, but they were plenty smart. Long before she could even try to catch one, they saw her and scattered into the trees. Disappointed, she walked over and looked at the ground. A few oats were strewn over the dirt—the same kind of oats that Daddy kept in a bin to feed the horses. What were they doing here?

Something stirred in a nearby bush. The oats forgotten, she edged closer to the native Serviceberry, her brown eyes searching for a bird, her free hand outstretched.

Suddenly she saw it—but it was not a bird, after all. Dark, hungry eyes peered out from behind the branches.

A scream rose in her throat, but no sound came out. She turned to run. Behind her, the bush crackled. Strong arms gripped her body, and a salty-tasting hand clamped over her mouth. They fell to the ground together.

oooo

Before bed, Jim Kirk went to check on the horses one last time. They had been restless all week. Even before entering the barn, he heard them nickering and moving about. Inside, he went from stall to stall, looking over the pregnant Appaloosa mares, making sure each horse had a blanket. The weather service predicted temperatures well below freezing tonight. On the way out, he passed the rack where he stored the horse blankets when they were not in use. The rack was empty.

Jim stopped and stared. Before dinner, there had been two extra blankets—he was sure of it. And now they were gone.

Back at the house, he found Antonia already in bed, waiting for him. "Funny thing," he said as he sat and pulled off his boots. He told her about the missing blankets. "And I can swear that a whole sack of oats is gone, too." He looked at his wife with a puzzled expression. "Didn't you say that some food has disappeared from the kitchen?"

"Bread and cheese," she replied. "Tru probably used it to lure birds. You know how she's always trying to get one."

Tru! Of course that explained it, but Jim was annoyed. "I suppose the blankets are for the birds, too? I don't mind her using a handful of oats now and then—but a whole sack? That girl has some explaining to do."

A good night's sleep put him in a better mood, but it lasted only until he reached for his warmest shirt and discovered that it was missing from his closet, along with two others. A pair of pants and some socks were also gone.

"That does it," he declared.

Choosing a sweater from her dresser drawer, Antonia laughed. "Jim, look at yourself. Don't take it so seriously. She's only five years old."

"Five and a half."

"With a very active imagination. I can't wait to hear her excuse."

Antonia's dark, beautiful eyes made it hard for Jim to stay angry. Settling for a different shirt, he said, "You're right; it probably will be funny." But he could not resist adding, "At least, it better be."

Jim waited to broach the subject until breakfast was almost over. With everyone still seated at the table, he said, "Time for a game, Tru."

She smiled brightly in anticipation.

Taking a swallow of coffee, Jim set down his mug and said, "Tell me, what do all these things have in common? Bread, cheese, oats, socks, pants, shirts, and horse blankets."

Tru's smile faded and a rosy blush spread over her face. Staring down at her plate, she softly replied, "I…I don't know, Daddy."

"I'll give you a clue. They're all things that have disappeared around here. Do you have any idea who might have taken them?"

She gave no answer.

"Tru." Antonia's voice was gentle and persuasive.

The child shrugged. "It…it's probably…just somebody."

"Somebody?" Antonia coaxed. "Like you?"

Tru's eyes shifted toward the open door, with its view of the living room. Antonia followed Tru's line of sight to the fireplace mantel and her mouth dropped open in dismay. "My Indian baskets!" Bolting out of her chair, she rushed over for a closer look. Two of them were gone, alright. "Those were authentic 19th century, the real thing!" There was no amusement in her eyes as she stalked back to the kitchen and confronted her young daughter. "Elena True, what have you done with them?"

Tru's lower lip began to tremble.

Jim felt his patience slipping. "Well, young lady, I don't know what you're up to, but you're going to have a big spanking to go with your big imagination if anything else goes missing. Do you hear me?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears and the corners of her mouth tugged downward. "Yes, Daddy."

oooo

On Saturday, Tru saddled her black and white pony and asked her father to cinch the girth strap tight.

Taking care of it, he said, "Have you found your mother's Indian baskets yet? They're not bird feeders, you know."

"I'm trying," she answered in a small voice.

Daddy shook his head. "Don't go any farther than the top meadow," he warned, though she already knew the rules. She never rode beyond the meadow alone.

His sharp eyes watched as she mounted Shiloh and slung a little cloth sack over the saddle horn. "What's that?" he asked.

"Apples," she said, knowing there were cookies tucked under them.

He loosened the drawstring, peeked inside, and seemed satisfied.

Tru hurried Shiloh down the trail to the meadow. As she broke into the clearing, a small herd of antelope raised their heads and gazed at her curiously. A distinctive birdcall sounded somewhere to her left. Shiloh pricked his ears and Tru turned him toward it. In the shelter of the trees, she reined the pony to a stop and dismounted.

A dark, graceful figure appeared. The boy was a lot taller than Tru, and handsome, with long straight hair as black as her mother's. Even wearing Daddy's big clothes, and with a quilted horse blanket wrapped around his bony shoulders, he seemed as dignified as a Vulcan.

Tru handed him the bag of food. "This is all I could bring you. They're noticing things and asking questions. I got into trouble."

The boy's dark eyes widened and darted nervously toward the meadow. "Did you tell them? About me?"

"Of course not," she said, offended. "That first day…when you grabbed me…I was scared then, but not anymore. Now you're my friend."

He relaxed. "Good Tru. I will give you a new name. True Friend. I won't make any more problems for you. I will take care of my own needs. Come and see."

He sprang atop her pony and reached down for her.

"But…" Tru stammered, "but Daddy said I can't go past this meadow—not alone."

"You aren't alone," he pointed out. "You are with Lame Wolf. Come."

Lame Wolf. So that was his name.

It was a pleasant ride through forests and meadows, to a remote canyon. Along the way, they shared the apples and cookies. At last they forded a small, icy stream and came to a cave set in the gray stone of the mountainside. They dismounted and entered the cave. Not far from the entrance was a mound-shaped structure made from tree branches thickly covered with mud. Tru followed Lame Wolf as he bent over and went inside. Embers glowed in a central fire pit. The air was warm.

"This is nice," she said.

They sat on a horse blanket spread over the dirt. Lame Wolf showed Tru her mother's Indian baskets full of pine nuts he had gathered. Tru had given him those baskets. How could she ask for them back?

Lame Wolf offered her a piece of smoked fish. Biting into it, she made a face and said, "It needs salt. Maybe I can find you some. No one would notice if a little salt was gone, would they?"

The two of them left the shelter, and the boy led her down a game trail to a snare he had made for catching rabbits. "I have two pelts already," he boasted. "Soon there will be enough for a warm wrap."

Hopefully, Tru asked, "Do you ever catch birds? Can you catch me one for a pet? A pretty one?"

"A wild bird would die," he answered. "It is born free and it must live free." He saw her disappointment. "But I have a gift for you in my wickiup."

Back at the cave, he went into his shelter and quickly returned with a handful of colorful feathers—red, yellow, and blue. "Here, True Friend. These are for you."

Overjoyed, she sorted through the collection and then put them safely into her cloth sack. They mounted Shiloh, and as they made their way back to the ranch, Lame Wolf told stories about the different birds that had lost the feathers, and about other animals in the mountains. In response to her questions, he explained how he had come to live among the trees like the wild birds she loved.

They reached the far edge of her father's meadow. The boy slipped from Shiloh's back and looked with longing at the big pony. "You are lucky," he said, "to have such a fine animal…but the finest of all is the gray stallion, Warcloud. I saw the name on his stall in the barn. A good name for an Appaloosa."

Tru rode the rest of the way home alone. Without Lame Wolf beside her, she began to worry. She had been gone for so long that her parents would be upset.

Mama was standing on the porch and saw her first. Speaking into her wrist phone, she ran into the yard. "She's here, Jim! She just rode in and she's okay." She confronted Tru with an angry expression. "Where have you been? You know you're not allowed to ride past the meadow by yourself!"

"I…I wasn't alone," Tru said, fighting back tears.

"Shiloh doesn't count," Mama said with her hands on her hips, "and you know that. "

They had just finished putting Shiloh in his stall when Daddy rode in on horseback and dismounted. One look at his stern face and Tru began to cry. Taking the sack from her hand, he looked inside and saw the feathers.

"Out chasing birds," he said angrily. "Young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?" She hung her head and cried harder. "From now on, you don't get on Shiloh unless someone is with you. Is that clear?"

After he spanked her, she did not feel like riding, anyway.

oooo

Warcloud was missing. It happened one night as snow drifted down, covering the horse's tracks. Jim found the barn door ajar and Warcloud's stall wide open. "As if someone wanted it to look like negligence," he said. "As if I hadn't closed the barn last night and carefully checked everything."

At breakfast, Tru sat frozen with fear. Would her father think she did it? Every time he looked at her, she shriveled up inside. Before school, she put on her jacket and ran out to the barn. Atop a wooden slat of Warcloud's stall, she found a single pine nut. Her heart sank as she took it from the board and stared at it. There was no doubt in her mind that Lame Wolf was the culprit. Now what was she going to do?

The answer seemed simple enough. She would have to make Lame Wolf give the stallion right back, or there would be trouble of the worst kind.

Since Daddy had forbidden her to ride alone, she left Shiloh in his stall and set off on foot. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, but the air was very cold. As much as possible, she kept to the woods. There was less snow beneath the trees, so her tracks would be harder to find. But the way was much longer than she remembered. Her feet became numb and her legs began to hurt. After a while she grew so tired and hungry that she no longer worried about mountain lions and bears.

At last Lame Wolf's cave came into view. Warcloud's head peeked out, and as Tru trudged toward him, he nickered at her.

Lame Wolf heard the sound and came out of his wickiup. He saw her balancing on the stones of the creek. "True Friend!" he called out. "Where is Shiloh? Why are you walking?"

Tru made it across without falling into the water. She felt so miserable that the words just tumbled out. "Daddy said I can't ride Shiloh…and now you're in big trouble, too. You took Warcloud!"

Lame Wolf shrugged. "What does it matter? Your father has many horses."

"Warcloud is his prize stallion! The horse isn't yours, and that's stealing."

Lame Wolf stood tall. "Warcloud is mine now. If your father wants the horse back, let him come. I will fight him."

Tru pictured Lame Wolf and Daddy fighting, and began to cry. Lame Wolf had a sharp knife. Someone was sure to get hurt.

The sight of her tears softened the boy. "Why, you are nothing but a baby. Come, little one, I will take you home."

Tru gnawed on pine nuts and dried meat while Lame Wolf slipped a handmade bridle over Warcloud's head and brought him out of the cave. The day was growing dim and it began to snow. After leaping onto the horse's back, he pulled Tru up in front of him and held her with one arm. Tru had never ridden Warcloud before. She clung tightly to his dark gray mane as they loped along, but her strength was nearing its end. She was glad when the big horse slowed to a walk. By the time Lame Wolf set her down, her entire body ached and her legs were wobbly.

"They are searching for you," he said low, and pointed through the trees. "One of them is nearby. After I leave, call out. He will come to you."

Lame Wolf spun the horse around and was gone. Big flakes of snow swiftly covered his tracks. Tru stood alone, shivering. Something moved in the woods.

"Hello!" she shouted, her heart pounding with fear.

"Tru!" A familiar voice answered. "Tru, where are you?"

"Jamie! I'm here! I'm over here!"

A tan horse with a black mane came into view. Spock's son rode over on Biscuit and dismounted. The teenager dropped to one knee and put a warm arm around her. Then he spoke into his wrist phone.

oooo

Antonia stood at Tru's bedside, watching her cough in her sleep. It was evening. The doctor had come and gone. A virus, he said, complicated by exposure. A few days of rest, a bit of medication, and she would bounce right back. When she thought of what might have happened out there in the wilderness, a little cough did not seem so terrible. At least Tru's illness was serving one good purpose—it had tempered Jim's anger over the incident, but he was still simmering. And so was Antonia.

Quietly she left the bedroom and joined Jim downstairs, where he sat nursing a small glass of bourbon. Since recovering from alcoholism he rarely drank, even on social occasions. But as she settled on the opposite side of the sofa, he swallowed the liquor in one gulp.

"She's asleep," Antonia said, sitting stiffly.

"She went out looking for Warcloud…on foot." Jim spoke as if he could not quite believe it.

"That's her story." Antonia's irritation flared. "Must be that Kirk blood of yours. Fearless. Always hungry for adventure."

Jim lunged to his feet and confronted her. "Kirk blood! This is the second time she's wandered off. You're her mother. If you didn't spend so damn much time in that loft painting, you might know what she's up to."

The words cut deeply and Antonia felt her temper heating. "I was not in the loft this morning! Don't talk to me about responsibility! You're the one who takes her into the wilderness, and now she thinks she can go off any time she wants."

Jim turned away and stalked upstairs.

Antonia spent a miserable night on the sofa. Twice, Tru called out to her and she tended to the child, but her confidence had been shaken. Was she really a bad mother? Just before dawn, she nodded off. When she next opened her eyes, it was daylight. Jim sat on the edge of the sofa, his face full of apology. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek, and her heart reached hungrily for the warmth of his love.

"I didn't mean it," he said.

Antonia sighed and caressed his arm. "Me too. How is she this morning?"

oooo

Tru did not feel good at all. Her body was full of pains. Her throat felt scratchy and her chest hurt every time she coughed. She did not feel like eating, so Mama brought juice. Out past her windows the snow kept drifting down, and she thought of Lame Wolf safe in his wickiup, warming himself over a fire.

All morning her parents kept checking on her, pressing their cool hands to her forehead and cheeks, using a thermometer to see if her temperature had gone higher. When Tru was alone, she made mountains and canyons out of her blankets, and played with miniature horses and people.

"My name is Lame Wolf," said the boy doll with the horse. "You better go home, Tru. You're nothing but a baby."

Back home, the Daddy doll was mad. "You're a bad girl, Tru! Sneaking around all the time and stealing things!" Smack, smack, he spanked her.

The Tru doll cried. "But Daddy…"

"I don't want to hear it, Tru! You're a rotten kid!"

The little red-haired doll shouted back at him, "I am not rotten and my name isn't Tru! It's True Friend! Lame Wolf needs those things and I had to take them! But he's the one who took your horse! Not me!"

Then the Daddy doll went looking for Lame Wolf and there was a big fight.

"Daddy, be careful!" warned the Tru doll. "He has a knife!"

Out in the hallway, Antonia had heard Tru talking and listened near the open door. Then she found Jim and told him about the play conversation. They came up to Tru's room together. As they walked in, Tru fell silent and pushed her toys under the covers.

Casually, Antonia asked, "How are you doing, honey?"

"Not so good," Tru said with a painful cough.

Antonia and Jim sat down on the bed. Antonia said, "I heard you playing. Which doll is Lame Wolf?" Tru's eyes widened. "Is there a real Lame Wolf? A boy you give things to? A boy who took Daddy's horse?"

Tru just stared at the bedcovers.

Jim spoke sternly. "Tru, this is serious. If you know who's taken Warcloud, tell me, because I've already called the sheriff."

Tru's brown eyes darted to him. "No, Daddy! I don't want him to get into trouble. He's not really bad at all."

Antonia's heart lurched. "Then…there really is someone. Someone out there…with a knife."

Tru gave a reluctant nod. "He's older than me…and he looks like you, Mama."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "He looks like a woman?"

"No. He's a teenager with long black hair, and he looks like Mama. Kind of brown."

Now they understood.

"And he calls himself Lame Wolf?" Antonia asked.

Tru nodded again.

"Where does he live?" Jim's voice was taut.

"All alone near a creek. In a little house made of sticks and mud. He calls it a wickiup."

Jim met Antonia's worried glance, then turned his attention back on their daughter. "You've been out by the creek with this boy? What does he say to you? What does he do?"

Tru explained, "He told me my name is True Friend because I'm nice to him. We talk…and he shows me things."

"Things?" Jim repeated. "What kind of things."

Antonia took his hand and listened tensely.

"Just things. How to ride a horse without a saddle. How to catch a fish without a hook. How to tell an animal by its tracks. How to whistle like a bird. He has a little flute—a lot smaller than Uncle Spock's, made out of wood."

Antonia began to relax. "That sounds innocent enough. In fact, it sounds as if you've been studying Native American culture at school."

Jim was growing equally incredulous. "So there's a boy…living all alone in the woods…in this weather. I'm not sure if I believe it, but I'll tell the sheriff just in case."

Tru reared up off the pillow. "No, Daddy! Please don't! I'll show you where Warcloud is; I'll take you there, I promise!"

oooo

A week passed before Tru was well enough to brave the outdoors. It was February, and winter still held the land in its icy grip. Jim bundled Tru into a warming suit and with the child at his back they set off together, riding double on his gentlest Appaloosa. He was prepared to be disappointed. The child's story about an Indian boy sounded incredible. All week he had overflown the forest and canyons in his skimmer, using its sensors to search for his missing stallion. The abundance of wildlife confused the readings, but Warcloud had most likely been loaded into a hover truck and hauled somewhere far away. And now the trail was cold. Freezing cold.

Thick puffs of vapor rose from their breath as the horse carried them deeper into the wilderness. Now and then Tru ordered a change in direction, and Jim compliantly urged the Appaloosa down game tracks, through icy streams, and up a snow-choked canyon.

"Daddy," she said, her arms snug around his waist, "are you still mad at me?"

"Not if you're telling the truth," he replied.

"I am," she insisted. "You'll see. We're almost there now."

He shuddered to think of her walking all this way in the snow, an easy prey to the mountain predators. It was easier to believe that she was making the whole thing up, and they were just acting out a child's imaginary story.

Then her voice dropped to a whisper and she pointed. "Right here, Daddy. See? Up ahead, in the cave."

Jim pulled up on the reins. The horse stopped. From the cover of the trees, he looked beyond a creek and studied the rocky hillside. Suddenly he saw the cave. Taking out a handheld scanner, he switched it on and watched the readings appear. His eyes widened. "Will you look at that," he said softly.

The readings clearly showed a human and a horse.

Tru whispered, "Be nice to him, Daddy. Be careful, too. Remember, he has a knife."

Jim put the scanner away. He gave the cave one last look, then turned his horse toward home.

Tru was surprised. "What are you doing? Aren't you going to talk to him? Aren't you going to get Warcloud?"

"Not with you here," Jim answered. "But I'll be back, kiddo, believe me."

oooo

The following morning was a Saturday. Jim would set out fresh, and this time come fully prepared. At first light, Spock flew in from Plum Creek with his sons, Simon and James. The four of them rode horseback to the vicinity of the cave, then circled around on foot, ready to close in on Jim's signal.

Warcloud's nicker gave them away. Alerted by the sound, a slim brown-skinned boy emerged from his rude shelter and saw them. His black hair flying, he lunged to escape, but Simon and James caught him on the run and they tumbled into the snow together. Spock jogged up and reached into the scuffle with his gloved hands. Pulling the boy upright, he held him securely. Jim arrived and quickly relieved the young prisoner of a hunting knife sheathed to his leg. Then Jim took stock of him. The boy's coloring and strong, handsome features left no doubt as to his Native American ancestry. The outsized clothes under his fur wrap—Jim's pilfered clothes—hung loosely on his thin frame. His boots were disintegrating—the worn soles bound by leather strips. He looked ragged but remarkably clean for someone living in the middle of nowhere.

Spock tightened his vicelike grip as the boy fought to free himself.

"Settle down!" Jim told him. "We're not going to hurt you."

The young Indian strained defiantly.

Jim looked at his Vulcan friend. "Go ahead, then. Do it."

Spock used his teeth to pull the glove from his right hand, then his bare fingers found a shoulder under the boy's wrap. The Indian stiffened and went limp. Spock gently lowered him to the snow, then leaned down and retrieved his glove.

"Fascinating," the Vulcan remarked. "You say he spoke to Tru?"

Jim nodded. "He's not feral, at least in the textbook sense. Let's get him and Warcloud back to the ranch. Maybe he'll do some talking there."