Wind whistled through cracks in the logs. Outside, it was full dark. They sat side-by-side in the soft glow from the fireplace, listening to the wind and the whisper of the first falling snowflakes landing on the sod roof.
Smoke was so full of venison stew and peach cobbler he was sure he would burst. Sipping coffee, he stared thoughtfully at the flames. “We’ve got enough money in the bank to buy fifteen of those bulls at Chisum’s price, and maybe two hundred head of good longhorn cows. We’ll offer a few of the bulls to some of our neighbors. We’ll need about ten to service that many cows.”
“Everything I’ve been reading about Herefords makes this seem a sure way to breed cattle with more meat on them,” Sally replied in the same thoughtful tone. “They are far better than shorthorns for the type of range we have, and I’ve read that they are resistant to most diseases, although they are susceptible to pinkeye in warm weather.”
“Crossing ’em on longhorns will take some of that out of the calves. A longhorn don’t hardly ever get sick, and they can take any kind of temperature extremes.”
“I can’t wait to get started next spring. Of course, I’ll be worried until you get back.”
“You’re looking for reasons to worry. We talked about that before.”
“I know you, Smoke. I don’t see any way you can take men all the way down to New Mexico Territory without running into some kind of trouble. Sometimes, I think you look for it.”
“That’s not true,” he complained, sipping more coffee. “I try to avoid it whenever I can.”
“I want you to promise me that this spring, you won’t let anything happen. Please?”
He felt her snuggle against his shoulder. “I’ll promise you I won’t let anything happen to me or our cattle. I’ll swing wide of a fight whenever I can, even if some bastard is lookin’ for one.”
Sally touched his cheek, turning his face to hers. “I wish I could believe that,” she said, then she kissed him hard before he could insist that he meant every word… just so long as nobody pushed too damn hard.Ten
A layer of light snow blanketed the valley and slopes above the log cabin when dawn came gray and windy to this part of the Rockies. Tiny windblown snowflakes came across the higher ridges in sheets, spiraling downward where mountains protected the land from blustery gusts. Smoke came out before sunrise, when skies were brightening, to feed the horses. The temperature had fallen forty degrees overnight, hovering close to freezing, and as he put corn on the ground inside a pole corral protected from winds by a three-sided lean-to for their four horses, he shivered a bit in the cold and smiled inwardly. This was weather he understood, and he had a fondness for it. Surviving blizzards back when he was with Preacher had been difficult at first, until he’d learned how mountain men kept warm, no matter how cold it got, with layers of clothing and footgear made from tanned animal skins and fur, and how to prepare for weeks of hibernation like a bear when the elements in high country unleashed their fury. Glancing at snow-clad mountains around him now, he allowed himself to think about those times and Preacher, wondering if the old man might possibly be alive up there somewhere after so many years. Preacher would be against sentiment like this. However, Smoke found himself with a longing to hear that familiar deep voice, to see his grizzled face etched by hard times and adversity. Preacher wouldn’t allow it, of course, if he were still alive in his declining years, a man with too much pride to let anyone, even Smoke, see him when age took its toll on him.
Spits of snow blew across a ridge to the northwest, flakes falling gently, almost soundlessly, around him. He inspected the horses; two pack animals, Sally’s chestnut mare, and a bay and white Palouse three-year-old, sired by Horse, that he was breaking to mountain trails so it would be bridle-wise climbing narrow ledges, where surefootedness counted. When he was satisfied they were in good flesh and warm inside the shelter, he turned away from the pole corral to fetch pails of water from the slender stream at the foot of the slope where the cabin sat.
Carrying wooden buckets down to the creek, he was again reminded of Puma. This cabin and valley, the mountains, were full of old memories, and in some strange way it wasn’t painful to remember them this morning. A part of him was comforted by those recollections of bygone days. The moments of sadness he felt when they first arrived here weren’t with him now. He could remember Puma without feeling lonely for his company.
He came to the stream, brightened by a slow sunrise above thick storm clouds moving across the valley, his boots crunching softly in a few inches of newly fallen snow. There was a crispness to the air he didn’t notice as often down at the ranch, a part of the experience in higher country, where most of his life he had felt at home. What had changed his feelings, his love for the high lonesome, was Sally. His whole life had changed because of her, and he’d never been so happy, so content. As he knelt beside the stream, he vowed to keep the promise he had made her last night, to steer clear of trouble whenever he could… not because he had any fear of it, of bad men. But because he loved her.
A small brook trout darted away from his shadow, moving downstream. Crystal clear water gurgled over multicolored rocks in the streambed, a sound so peaceful he couldn’t help listening to it before he dipped his buckets full. To his right was a deep pool where, as the creek froze over, he would be chopping through ice to get their water, or using melted snow should temperatures drop and remain low for long periods of time.
Hoisting his buckets, Smoke thought about how different this was from his usual existence, or his more violent past. He gave a grin when he considered it, laughing at himself. His biggest worry now was chopping through ice, instead of chopping off the heads of his enemies. This was truly going to be a winter of contentment with Sally, not his usual fare of seemingly endless ranch work, always vigilant for the possibility of the return of old enemies, worrying about Sally while he was away.
When he entered the warm cabin, he found Sally building up a breakfast fire in the fireplace. Puma had installed two swinging iron cooking hooks, holding cast-iron cooking pots, that could be moved over the flames. A rusted iron frame for a skillet or a coffeepot sat to one side of the fire.
She smiled at him as he was closing the cabin door. “This is so nice,” she said, adding split wood to a pile of glowing coals. “I thought I might miss my wood-stove, but I was wrong.”
Smoke placed the buckets near the fireplace and took her in his arms. “The only thing I would have missed would’ve been you, if you hadn’t come with me,” he said gently.
“Nonsense,” she replied, pretending to sound serious. “You would have found Huggie and Del. The three of you would have been so busy swapping yarns you wouldn’t have noticed I wasn’t there. I know why you wanted to come up here this winter. You get this yearning look in your eye when you’ve been away from your mountain men friends too long.”
“That isn’t true,” he protested. “I’d much rather be with you.”
She rested her cheek against his chest “I believe that too, and I’ve never doubted you loved me, but it’s something else that brings you up here. You want to keep in touch with your past every now and then. I
