Page 36 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
“No.” Hank was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. But there was a twinge of uncertainty in his voice. “Why?”
Johnny rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted his hat. “Eh, just wonderin’.”
“Look, well you want to give me a hand here?”
“I reckon.”
He swung out of the saddle and loosened the cinch a tad, walked his horse over to the offshoot trickle from the river they were settled by.
“How many head you got there?” he asked, raising his head over the horse’s back to ask.
“Forty, I reckon. And a few calves.”
He knelt down beside the stream and rinsed his face and neck, all covered in sweat and dust.
“How many more do you have to brand?”
“Just the calves and a dozen cows. Steers are all done.”
“Did ’em yourself, eh?” This was more to himself than to Hank. The picture was forming in his head, clear as a desert afternoon.
“Weren’t easy, but you’re looking at a good cowhand. Twenty years I done this.”
Silence.
“Johnny, how long you been doing this?”
He stood up slowly, adjusted his hat.
“Long enough.”
The wind howled like wolves outside; the fire responded by hissing and spitting. Henry and Addie were across the room, reading in the warm light of the oil lamp, Henry pointing out the words patiently as Addie read them in her soft, halting voice.
From outside came the sound of uneasy cattle. Henry picked up his head. He was looking more and more like his father every day.
Her gaze went to the rifle over the hearth first, and then to the window. It was blue-dark outside, too dark to see anything but shadows.
“Maybe Hughes and Mr. Teller are back,” he suggested.
“Maybe.”
She went to the door and pulled it open. Dust and icy wind stung her cheeks as she peered out. A couple snowflakes swept across her view.
There were cattle out; a man on a horse was pulling down slats in the south corral. She could not see well, but his shoulders were too strong to belong to Teller or Hughes.
She ran to the hearth and pulled down the rifle. “Henry, stay here and protect your sister. I will be back.”
Henry was standing now, mouth open, hand already in front of his sister. “Should I get the shotgun?”
“You may as well. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s me.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Don’t forget to stir the salt pork and beans. It might burn before I get back.”
“We won’t.”
She took a few extra bullets from the box on the mantle. It didn’t hurt to be prepared.
