After the Daltons brought him into Rockton, he waited for his parents to rescue him. When they didn't, the only way he could deal with that was to reject them and accept what everyone told him--how lucky he was to have been "rescued."
Then he grew up and realized he'd actually been kidnapped. And he still has no idea why his birth parents didn't come for him. If he's ever asked Jacob, his brother didn't have an answer.
I want to help him reconcile this. At least, I want to help him confront his confusion and anger and the scars left behind. But I don't know where to begin. I get chances like this, when he mentions that life, but when I've tried prodding further, he slams that door and moves on.
So I only say, "What kind of traps?" and he resumes walking, up beside me now. "Could be bear, but that's rare. More likely ... Well, let's see."
We reach the edge of a semicleared area. The ground shows evidence of old fire damage, where sporadic shrubs have managed to take root and a few trees have established a fresh foothold. Almost dead center I see a log cabin, small but decently constructed. Dalton stops me on that clearing edge and eyes the shelter. Then his gaze sweeps the
clearing. He motions to a section where the snow dips, no tall vegetation poking through.
"Pit trap," he says. "It'll be covered in brush, but that hollow is a giveaway. There's another one. Can you see it?"
I take a moment. Then I point and say, "About five meters left of that black spruce."
"Good."
"There's another low spot over there, closer to the cabin, but it looks completely cleared from this angle."
"Yeah, that'd be a work area, maybe fire pit. Gotta be careful of the hollows and the dense undergrowth, which could be hiding a snare. Snares are particularly hard to see. I say don't even try--just lift your feet when you walk, so you don't drag through one. Even if you do, it's easy enough to get out of. Most of these just are to warn Cox of trespassers."
"But aren't snares more likely to be set off by animals?"
"Yep. Which means dinner."
"Ah."
We've gotten about halfway to that cabin when Dalton catches my shoulder again.
"Around here, walking up and knocking is not considered neighborly. Get your gun out but keep it lowered."
I do, and he calls, "Silas Cox?"
A noise from inside the cabin.
"Cox?" Dalton shouts. "We want to talk to you."
The door swings open. There's no one behind it. Then a voice calls, "What do you want?"
"We'd like to talk."
"Well, you're talking."
"Face-to-face."
A shuffling sound. Then, "Tell your boy to step away from you and put his hands up."
"I'm not a boy." I pull off my hat and then tug out my ponytail band. Dalton hisses under his breath, but I know what I'm doing--getting Cox's attention.
"You brought a girl?" Cox calls. A moment of silence, and I glimpse a head as someone peers out at me. "You Injun, girl? Fuck. You come to tell me this isn't my land? Hell yeah, it's mine, and--"
"We aren't here to discuss territory. Can we just speak to you, Mr. Cox? Please?"
"Tell your buddy to take off his hat, too," he says. "Let me get a look at him."
Dalton does. Silence stretches.
"Step closer. You, boy, not the girl. And put your hands over your head."