Page 20 of Follow the Lonesome Trail

It was late morning by the time he rode over the hill and spotted the camp. He’d passed a couple clusters of Lucky Dollar cattle, but he’d pushed them into a box canyon. Something in his gut told him not to bring them along just yet.

Hank’s roan was there, and probably forty head of cattle.

A fire with a thin trickle of smoke coming out sideways burned beside a makeshift corral of hacked brush and saplings. Long handles from a pair of brands stuck out of the glowing embers.

He rode down, skirting wide and passing the cattle first. He saw the crook-horned cow that had threatened him yesterday. She had a fresh brand on her side: the Bar S. There were fresh tracks all around. There had been a couple other horses here too, not too long ago.

He licked his lips.

There was no mistaking it now.

“Johnny!” It was Hank, appearing from around the other side of the cattle pen, looking like he’d been startled. “Where’d you come from?”

“I just rode up a ways. Looking for strays.”

“And?”

He just shook his head.

"Well, as you can see, I’ve found some of ours. And some mavericks.”

“Mm.” There was no mistaking the other horses; one was missing a nail from its shoe, and the other was too deep to be made by Hank’s horse.

“What’s eating you?”

“Was there anyone else here?”

“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.

“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.

It was quiet and calm within.

He’d found the lantern and lit it. Its warm glow illuminated the beams and hay-strewn floor where his gear was.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” The man started up from the hay respectfully. He’d laid out his bedroll already.

“I thought you could do with something hot.”

“I didn’t want to put you out, ma’am. It’s a rough night.” Every line of his body was withdrawn, polite, but his eyes went to those beans, and he swallowed.

“You bring me back my cattle, a hot meal should be the least of my thanks.” She went over to an empty crate and set the food and coffee on it. “You have your kit?”

“Yes.” He was already crouched down beside his saddle, undoing the straps that held it. He pulled out a tin cup, a plate, a fork.

“Don’t hesitate to ask if you want more. I was expecting my foreman and hand back, and I don’t know if they’re coming.”

“Probably not in this.” He glanced up at her and stopped. Something crossed his face, an internal debate, and then he got to his feet. “Is there two of them?”

“Yes.”

He leaned forward, speaking softly, not wanting to get too close, but not wanting to raise his voice on instinct. “Do you trust your men?”

“Not really.”

“Then don’t. I think they’re selling you out to the Bar S.”

“How do you know?”

“I ride for the Bar S.”

Her eyes went straight to his horse, calmly grinding the summer hay in the stall beside them. The Bar S brand was there.

“Some of your cows have the Bar S on them now.” His voice was still soft. Apologetic. “But if you look close, you’ll see the Lucky Dollar’s still underneath. The brands aren’t a perfect match.”

She studied his face. It was the face of a fighter, and maybe a warrior once, bearing a nose that had surely been broken, but there was a sweetness to the set of his mouth and an honesty in his dark eyes.

Whoever he was, he was not lying to her.

“I know the Bar S has been stealing. They’ve been doing it ever since my husband died, eight months ago. But I was hoping my men were not involved. They’re—they’re the last two—”

She had to stop. Why was there grief in losing the last two men who knew her husband? She’d suspected the betrayal, but the admission—it was another tiny moment of losing him again.

“I’m sorry about your husband, ma’am.”

She looked back at him, pulled herself together.

“Your head’s bleeding.” She lifted a hand in the direction of his right temple.

“A tree branch. It’s nothing, ma’am.”

“Do you have anything to clean it with?”

“I’ll manage.”

“There’s doctoring things in the cabinet over there.

” She went over and opened it up. It was a hard thing to explain, even to herself, but she had to do something with herself just now.

“There’s spirits, bandages, witch hazel, peppermint—you should have anything you might need. Please, help yourself.”

“I’m obliged ma’am. I’ll see to it.”

He knelt down next to the crate and poured out a cupful of coffee. The smell of it was starting to mingle with the comforting smells of the damp dirt and sweet hay. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend Frank was back, just for a second.

It was such a little thing, and yet it felt like the world, being in the barn her husband had worked many a late night in, smelling the food, and hearing the familiar sounds of someone eating.

She should go. But this moment—her heart had been longing for a moment like this, and it was going to be over the moment she walked out.

Behind her, she could hear the slow scrape as he poured out beans onto his plate.

“Ma’am?”

She turned to face him, hoped the tears in her eyes didn’t show in the dim light.

“It ain’t really my place, and I ain’t no good with words, but times gonna be better for you. I know it. You got backbone, more’n they do. You’ll outlast them.”

It took her a moment for the words to get out, and when they did, they were soft and dry.

“Thank you.”