After an hour or so, Frank pointed off to the left. “See that stand of trees? They mask the entrance to our hideout, but I don’t want to go there now. Place farther on has a little stream and is most hospitable.”
I stopped myself from asking how he knew this, since that part of his life was of no consequence to my mission.
He led me to a little meandering stream tucked in where oaks began to give way to pines that climbed the mountain.
We tied our horses so they could reach the water and nibble grass, and I laid out my bedroll in a spot among some bushes sporting pink flowers.
“Devil’s Paw,” said Frank when I touched a leaf and found it fuzzy and sticky. “Pretty, yet not,” he added.
“So that’s where the town got its name?”
“Guess so. Don’t rightly think they’d name a flower after a t
