Page 37 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
“Remember what I said.”
She took one last good look at the children as she stepped outside and closed the door.
The man was off his horse—the pony standing back to the wind—as he slid the poles of the south corral back into place. If he heard her coming, he didn’t turn around.
She pointed the rifle square at his back. “Stop where you are.”
The man’s hands stilled on the rough-hewn slat. He turned his head just enough to take stock of the situation.
“I’m bringing you your cattle, ma’am, that’s all.” His voice was slow and gentle. Appeasing. “I’m leaving, just now.”
“In this weather?”
“Weather is weather,” he offered. “Cattle don’t wait.”
“Are they mine?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you, and where’d you find them? Did you speak to my men?”
“I found them downriver.”
She peered against the darkness over his shoulder into the corral. The cattle were bunched together, backs to the wind.
“How many?”
“Forty I reckon, give or take.”
“All right then, turn around slowly.”
He did. In the dim light she could see a low-pulled brim, lean, strong-nosed face, just a glimpse of dark eyes. His hands were held up a little, away from his pistol.
“Where’d you come from?” It took all her willpower to keep her teeth from chattering. The wind was biting through her homespun dress something fierce.
“Yonder.”
“How’d you know they were my cattle?”
“Your brand.”
She lowered her rifle. “I have supper on the fire. Let me at least feed you.”
He didn't meet her eyes. “No, ma'am, I couldn't.”
“It’s the least I can do. Send you away with a good meal.”
“I’m pretty trail-worn. I got no call being in your house, ma’am.”
“Then put your pony up in the barn. It’s starting to snow. Spend the night out of the wind.”
He lowered his head a little, something relenting in the action. “Very well. Much obliged.”
She went out to the barn an hour later, a pot of coffee in one hand and a small pot of beans and pork in the other.
If she knew anything, a man like him’d be fit to finish both off, easy.
She cradled the coffee pot in one arm as she reached for the barn door latch and pushed her way in, against the wind-pressed door.
