Yet none of the men laughed or snickered when Ross made his quip, and Ross himself seemed to regret the remark as soon as it left his mouth, for they all believed, even Ross, the most cynical of men, that the lay preacher had been truly and irrevocably transformed.

LATE that morning after being treated by the doctor summoned from Waynesville, Serena and Pemberton dressed in denim breeches and cotton shirts gleaned from what sundries remained in the commissary. They sent a worker to town to buy clothing and toiletries the commissary could not furnish. Serena gathered some of the kitchen staff to prepare Campbell's old house for them while Pemberton went to make sure any stray fires had been put out. As he followed the fire's leaps and sidles, Pemberton found that though acres of slash and stumps had burned, not a single building aside from the house had been lost. After these tasks had been done, he and Serena lingered in the office.

"I probably should go and ride the ridge," Serena said, "just to make sure the cables are undamaged."

Pemberton looked at the bills and invoices on the desk, then got up.

"I'll go with you. The paperwork can wait."

Serena came around the desk and placed her bandaged hand on the back of Pemberton's neck. She leaned and kissed him deeply.

"I want you with me," Serena said, "not just this morning but all day."

They went to the stable and saddled their horses. Serena freed the eagle from its roost and they rode out of the stable. The noon sun shone on the train tracks, and even in the dingy light the linked metal gave off a muted gleam. Soon it would be time to pull up the rails, Pemberton knew, starting with the spurs and moving backward. He looked forward to taking off his shirt and working with the men again, asserting his strength. It seemed so long since he'd done that, spending all his days in the office, poring over numbers like some drudge in a bank. With Meeks settled in, he'd be able to get out more, especially at the new camp.

Warm ash blackened the horses' hooves and forelegs as Pemberton and Serena rode across the valley floor. They passed exhausted workers washing soot off their faces and arms, the men looking not so much like loggers as minstrels unmasking after a performance. The men did not speak, the only sound their hacking coughs. The last flames doused were where the cemetery had been, and smoke wisps rose there as if even the souls of the dead were abandoning the charred valley for some more hospitable realm.

Pemberton and Serena followed Rough Fork Creek to Shanty Mountain, halfway up when they heard a shout behind them and saw Meeks coming their way. The accountant had never ridden a horse before coming to the camp, and he kept his back bowed and head close to the mare's neck. When he caught up with the Pembertons, Meeks lifted his head and spoke softly, no doubt fearful a raised voice might cause the horse to bolt.

"Galloway called," he said to Serena.

Serena turned to Pemberton.

"I'll catch up with you in just a minute."

"No," Pemberton said. "I'll wait."

Serena looked at Pemberton's face a few moments, as if searching for some feature in it that might counter his words. Satisfied, she nodded.

"Tell us," she said to Meeks.

"Galloway's traced 'them,' whoever 'them' are, to Knoxville and they didn't buy a ticket," Meeks said with some exasperation. "He also said to tell you no freight train left before he arrived, so 'they' are evidently still there."

Meeks slowly lifted himself higher in the saddle to retrieve a piece of paper from his pocket.

"He told me a telephone number and said you needed to tell him what to do next."

"Go call him," Serena said, ignoring the proffered paper. "Tell him I said they've probably got no one there to stay with and no money, so he should start looking around Knoxville."

"I didn't realize I was also a receptionist," Meeks grumbled, then began his halting descent back to camp.

Pemberton and Serena did not stop again until they were on the mountain top. Smoke dimmed the sun to the color of tarnished copper, the light around them transformed as well, tinted like a daguerreotype. Serena untethered the eagle, raised her arm and lifted it skyward. The bird rose, its great wings beating as if pushing away not only air but the very earth itself. It veered left, caught an updraft for a moment, then continued the ascent.

Pemberton looked back at the camp, the blackened absence where the house had been. The chimney had crumbled but the steps remained intact, looking not so much like the last remnant of a house but instead steps constructed for a gallows. The ladderback chair where McDowell had sat still faced the steps.

Serena reined her horse closer to Pemberton, her leg brushing against his. He reached out his hand and caressed Serena's upper leg. Serena placed her hand on his and pressed firmly, as if wishing Pemberton's hand to leave its impression on her flesh.

"What shall we do about our former sheriff?" she asked.

"Kill him," Pemberton said. "I can do it if you want me to."

"No, Galloway can do it," Serena said, "as soon as he gets back from Tennessee."

Pemberton looked up and saw the eagle's circle had tightened. It had spotted something.

"What will it hunt in South America?"

"A snake the natives call a fer de lance," Serena said. "It's far more deadly than a rattlesnake."

"As for my hunting, it doesn't seem I'll get my mountain lion," Pemberton mused, "but a jaguar will surely be an equal challenge."

"One even more worthy of you," Serena said.

Pemberton gazed into Serena's pewter-gray irises, the specks of gold within them, then the pupils themselves. How long, Pemberton wondered, since he'd looked there, had the courage to accept such clarity.

"You're more the man I married than you've been for quite a while," Serena said.

"The fire reminded me about what matters."

"And what is that?"

"Only you," Pemberton said.

The eagle's shadow passed over them, then the bird flung itself earthward, landing fifty yards below. The bird jousted with its prey, the snake's rattles buzzing furiously at first but soon intermittent.

"That's forty-two it's killed since early April," Serena said. "I should take it over to Jackson County, let it kill some there before cold weather drives the snakes into their dens."

Serena took the metal whistle from the saddle pocket and blew, then swung the lure overhead. The bird ascended and with two great wing flaps glided up the ridge to land next to the horses, the dust-colored rattlesnake set down like a piece of slash. Pemberton's horse neighed and cantered backward and he had to jerk the reins, but the Arabian was so used to the bird and its prey that it did not even turn its head. The snake twisted onto its belly, and Pemberton saw where the bird's beak had opened the snake's midsection, tugged free strands of purple guts. The snake's tail rattled feebly a few moments more, then was still.

IT was two afternoons later when Pemberton heard the sound of Galloway's car as it bumped and rattled into camp. He went to the office window and watched Galloway rise stiffly from the car, a plum-colored stain darkening the left side of his face. The left eye socket was blackened, the eye just a slit. Galloway walked into the slash and stumps and searched with his good eye until he saw Serena. She was riding toward camp, the day over. Galloway hobbled up the ridge to meet her. With his gone hand and damaged face, he appeared a man who'd fallen sideways into some dangerous machine.

Pemberton sat back down. He told himself not to think about what Galloway's face might betoken of the child's fate. He made himself think instead about the fire, those moments flames had enclosed him and Serena, and how he did not know if they would live or die, but nothing else mattered except they'd live or die together. In a few minutes Galloway's car started up and drove off out of the valley. Serena came into the office.