light as if there
were eyes behind them.

"Goddamn it!" he shouted, and turned the case over, dropping the
spectacles to the stone floor. They shattered with a crack that sounded
loud as a pistol shot. He stamped on them for good measure, crushing the
glass to glittering splinters and twisting the frames out of shape under
the sole of his boot.

He threw the case into a pile of rock shards. Valuable or not, he didn't
want the damned thing anymore.

"I hope you're in Hell, Pierre!"

He didn't love Pierre. He hated him. He'd never loved him. He'd always
hated him, ever since Fort Dearborn.

Holding the bit of candle high in his left hand, his rifle in his right,
he started up the sloping tunnel. It was a long climb; the sacks of
coins in the saddlebag on his back weighed him down.

He stopped at the gravel pile that blocked entry to this tunnel. He
listened, and heard nothing but his blood hissing in his ears. He
scraped chunks of stone away from the pile until he could crawl through.

After more walking and climbing through tunnels and shafts, he no
longer had any notion how long it had been since he left his hideout. He
saw ahead a little square of gray, in the center of the black all around
him. And then he could make out the walls and floor of the tunnel.
Moonlight or starlight must be illuminating the mine entrance. Night,
then. Good, he could leave at once.

About twenty feet from the entrance he saw up ahead an opening where
another tunnel branched off from this one. He remembered it. This was
the side tunnel where the Indian he'd killed seven years ago had hidden.

As he came close to that opening he heard a rumbling sound.

The growl of an animal.

He felt as if he'd been doused with ice-cold water.

He took a few steps back from the branch tunnel opening, curled his
finger around the trigger of his rifle and raised it, one-handed. He
didn't want to let go of the candle.

It hadn't just been a dream. There _was_ something in this mine.

Maybe a wolf. Or a bear would like a deserted mine like this for a den.

He heard snuffling, grunting noises. Then a growl so deep it seemed to
shake the stone under his feet. He felt his stomach clench, and he
nearly lost his grip on his bowels.

Claws scraped on rock. With trembling fingers he set the candle in one
of the wall niches the miners had carved for their lanterns and raised
his rifle to his shoulder.

The bear came out of the branch tunnel. He saw