Old Man Billy peeled off his snow blindness goggles and shoved them inside his bedroll. He sighed when his rump made contact with the primitive wood seat in front of the fire. The dying embers called for another piece of wood. Sparks flared and within minutes the flames grew to illuminate the pitch-black cabin. He blinked a few times to squint through the smoky haze. Despite the sparse, dusty amenities, someone had started supper, probably before the blizzard. Venison with chunks of rutabagas and gravy simmered in an old iron cauldron. A stale loaf of bread crumbled in the center of the rough-hewn table. A single tin plate and half-rusted tin cup accompanied the loaf, but there were no eating utensils of any sort in sight.
Billy kicked off his boots, vowing to retrieve his lost snowshoe in the morning. He wiggled free of his damp coat and hung it near the fireplace to dry. He stirred the fire with a stick.
A simple rope bed with a mattress of straw abutted one wall. On top, an old moth-eaten wool blanket lay haphazardly at the foot. A cabinet leaned against the wall next to it.
Something glinted from the fire's light next to the fireplace. He leaned forward to pull it down. From a thin rawhide cord, hung a blackened, silver pendant shaped like a triangle. Billy held it near the fire to examine it closer. With his thumb he rubbed away years of dirt, soot and age from the pendant. A prominent design appeared before his eyes.
"Where have I seen this before?"
He recalled the man-horse, who had towered over the one he shot, had something similar around his neck. Old Man Billy sucked in a deep breath.
Had someone else met these things before me?
He shook it off.
"Help yourself to some stew," he said to himself as though speaking with someone else.
"Don't mind if I do."
He brought the tin plate next to the gently bubbling stew, scooped up a plate full, then held the plate up to his nose. It did not smell tainted. He took a bite, using his own fork he retrieved from his bedroll.
"Good stew. Fresh meat."
His attention focused on the pendant and the strange, pictographic language engraved into it.
The door to the cabin rattled.
Billy reached for the nearest weapon, which turned out to be the muzzleloader. The barrel was empty and he didn't have time to load it.
The door opened, slowly.
A grizzled old trapper entered with his back to Billy. He wasn't paying attention as he was busy trying to get the door closed with the snow pressed against it. He turned around and his eyes could not have been any wider.
"What the hell? Billy, you done near gave me a start!"
Old Man Billy placed his gun on the table next to him.
"Howdy Philip. Hope you don't mind. I saw fit to borrow your fire and stew. Had no idea who was living here."
"Haven't been here long. Found it abandoned a month ago. They left everything in a hurry, it looked like. Don't get company much. Help yourself to the stew. You know the rules around here, if a traveler needs a place to stay, any cabin is theirs for the night."
"Yeah. I got chased in here by the..." Billy paused. "Ah, the cold. You know."
"I got sour on it right quick on the weather, I did. Don't blame you one bit."
Billy grinned and pointed at the pendant in the palm of his hand. "What's this?"
Philip removed his heavy fur coat and sat on the stump next to the fire. "Found that in an old goat trail. Figured someone dropped it. It don't look like anything from any of the local tribes."
