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  Night came and went and the day after that and then the next until a week had gone by, and then two weeks. Willis did his daily chores in a sort of daze. They were something to do but he had done them so often he could do them with his eyes closed. He was going through the motions of life, not really living, but he did not have the courage to do what he should.

  Then came a sunny morning, and Willis was out brushing the zebra dun even though it did not need brushing when the animal raised its head, looked down the mountain, and whinnied.

  A rider was coming. Willis figured it was Hank but then why was the riding coming from the east when Charlie had told him Hank was riding line to the south? He limped into the shack and put a fresh pot of coffee on and was outside waiting when the rider was near enough for him to identify.

  To say Willis was shocked did not do his reaction justice. He was more than shocked. He was stupefied. He would not believe it if he was not seeing it with his own eyes, and as it was, he wondered if his eyes were really seeing it.

  His visitor smiled and wearily reined up. “Hello, Willis. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Hello, Abe.”

  The Bar T’s owner surveyed the line shack. “Aren’t you getting tired yet of being way up here alone?” He did not wait for an answer but dismounted and started to lead his sorrel to the corral.

  “I’ll do that,” Willis said, reaching.

  “No, you won’t.” Abe was not a tall man or powerfully built, but when he spoke, other men listened. His head, framed by bushy sideburns that lent his face a bearish aspect, was almost too big for his body. “I don’t need coddling.” He stripped his buttermilk and hung the saddle and saddle blanket over the top rail. “I suppose you have coffee on?”

  “It should be ready,” Willis said, and respectfully waited for his employer to precede him.

  Abe paused in the doorway to admire the mountains. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful they are.” He shifted his gaze to Willis. “But hiding is still hiding, and it’s time you gave some thought to rejoining the human race.”

  “I’m happy here,” Willis said.

  “Lie to yourself if you want but not to me.” Abe went over to the stove. “Do you want a cup, too?”

  “It’s not right you should wait on me.”

  “Listen to yourself,” Abe said, “as if I’m someone special. I pull my pants on one leg at a time, just like you.” He filled two tin cups and set them down. “We should have done this long ago.”

  Willis ignored the coffee. “What brought it on?”

  “Charlie told me about the cat and the horses,” Abe said, “and how you insisted you had to stay—that it’s your job and nothing else matters.”

  “It is and nothin’ else does.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Abe swallowed, sat back, and studied Willis intently. “You can’t go on beating yourself up over it. Time to get on with your life whether you want to or not.”

  “It’s my life to do with as I want,” Willis sullenly reminded him.

  “I thought so, too. That’s the only reason I let you come up here. But I was wrong and you are wrong and we need to own up to our mistake while we still can.”

  “You’ve changed, Abe,” Willis said softly.

  “Elfie changed me. She made me see things don’t always need to stay the same. Life is a river, not quick-sand, and we should flow with the current.”

  That was too much for Willis. “As much as I respect you, and I respect no one more, that’s plain silly. I’m here because I want to be. Because it’s best for me. Because you were kind enough to keep me on when I was worthless.”

  “Ah,” Abe said, and was quiet a bit. “A man’s worth isn’t measured by whether he has the use of both his legs.”

  “Now you’re gettin’ personal.”

  Abe regarded each of the four walls. “This whole setup is personal. The line riders did just fine before you became the Teton Hermit.”

  “Is that what folks are callin’ me?” Willis was joking and was taken aback when his employer nodded.

  “Some, down to Cottonwood. Hell, you never go there anymore. You hide up here in your burrow and hope the rest of the world will leave you alone.”

  “There’s nothin’ wrong with a man bein’ by himself,” Willis grumbled.

  “You’re not worthless,” Abe said bluntly.

  Willis was so angry he stalled by drinking coffee. At last he said slowly, “You’ve been kind to me. You’ve treated me more decent than anyone ever has. But you’re strayin’ outside your pasture and I won’t have you or anyone tellin’ me how I should or shouldn’t live.”

  “Fair enough,” Abe said. “I respect your honesty. But the truth is, you don’t have a choice anymore. Charlie told you I’m selling the Bar T, didn’t he?”

  “He said there’s a rumor you are.”

  “The woman who is buying the ranch will be here in a week for another look and to sign the papers,” Abe disclosed. “Then the Bar T will be hers, lock, stock and line shack.”

  Willis said, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “What can I say?” Abe responded. “She offered me a good price. More than I ever thought I could get. Enough for Elfie and me to spend the rest of our days comfortably. I’ll miss the spread, sure. Impossible not to, seeing as how I built it up from free graze land into the third largest ranch in the territory. But it takes a lot of hard work and sweat to keep it running as it should, and I’d like to take it easy from now on. I’d like to enjoy what life I have left, not work myself into an early grave.”

  That’s Elfie talkin’, Willis was tempted to say, but did not.

  “I admit it took a while for me to warm to the idea,” Abe confessed. “Men are like mules. We get set in our ways and don’t want to change even when the change is good for us.” He glanced meaningfully across the table.

  “So what you’re sayin’ is that this Texas filly won’t want me stayin’ up here,” Willis said.

  “She won’t see the sense to it, no. And I wouldn’t refer to her as a filly. Her name is Laurella Hendershot and she is every inch a lady. She knows all there is to know about ranching and cows. Don’t underestimate her because she’s female.”

  “Where will I fit into her scheme of things?”

  “That’s up to her,” Abe said. “She wants to meet all the hands personally. Including you.”

  “One week, you say?” The niche Willis had carved for himself was no longer his to carve, and his bleak existence had just become that much bleaker. “What if I don’t come?”

  “I’ll send four or five of the boys to carry you. I’m sorry. It has to be. Your only other choice is to quit and that would disappoint me no end.”

  Willis stood, limped to the cupboard, and brought over his flask. “There’s not much left but we can share.”

  “I’ll go you one better.” Abe reached inside his coat and pulled out a silver flask of his own. “I took a few nips on the way up but there’s plenty left.” He poured some into Willis’ cup and poured some into his and replaced the flask. Raising his cup, he held it out. “How about a toast?”

  The last time Willis had toasted anything was before his life was ruined, but he raised his cup and clinked it against Abe’s. “What are we toastin’?”

  “The future. May yours be as happy as mine will be.”

  The whiskey and the hot coffee made for a fine mix. It burned a path clear down Willis’ throat to the pit of his stomach. “If you don’t mind my askin’, are you honestly and truly happy, Abe?”

  “Never more so. Yes, I know what people are whispering behind my back. That she holds the reins. That I’m acting like a lovestruck kid. That I don’t really want to sell and I’m only giving up the Bar T because she’s making me. It’s all hogwash,” Abe spat. “But then people will think what they want to think, and the truth be damned.”

  “There’s an awful lot of folks out there who don’t have enough brains to grease a skillet
,” Willis agreed. “I’ll miss havin’ you as the big sugar.”

  “I thought we were more than that. You’ve been with me from the beginning. The one man I could count on through thick and thin. We’ve shared many a drink, many a game of cards, and many a night around a roundup campfire.”

  “That we have,” Willis said quietly.

  “You’ve been as loyal to the brand as any man could ever be, and a whole lot more. I could no more cut you loose than I could cut off one of my fingers or toes.”

  “I appreciate that,” Willis said. To disguise how deeply it affected him, he tilted his tin cup to his lips.

  Abe wasn’t done. “I relied on you a lot in those early days. There I was, green as grass, an upstart from Ohio who thought he could make his fortune at cattle ranching when I hardly knew the first thing about cattle. Oh, I thought I did, from my farm days, but farm cows and ranch cows aren’t the same.”

  “You did fine though.”

  “With a lot of luck and a lot of help from men like you,” Abe said. “You’re a big part of the reason I am where I am today, and that’s why I’ve taken the liberty of coming up here and meddling in your personal life. This has gone on long enough. You need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get on with your life.”

  Again Willis grew angry but not quite as angry as before. “It’s hard for me to think of livin’ when I already have one foot—or make that one leg—in the grave.”

  “In all the years I’ve known you,” Abe said, “that’s the first damn stupid thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “Insults as well as meddlin’? If you’re tryin’ to cheer me up, you’d do a better job just shootin’ me.”

  “Oh, Will,” Abe said, “what will it take to get through that hard skull of yours? You’re not washed up. A lot of good years are ahead of you. All you need to do is ask God to guide you.”

  “I’ve never been much for prayin’,” Willis said. “It makes no sense to ask for help from someone who ain’t listenin’.”

  “You better hope the parson never hears you say that. He would blister your ears.” Abe sighed and stared into his cup. “I’ve overstepped my boundary, I know. But I’m done. I’ll say no more. It’s up to you what you do. But you might as well pack your things and ride down with me and meet the new owner. I doubt very much she will let you stay on up here when there is no reason for you to.”

  Now it was Willis who sighed. “I reckon I don’t have any choice. Maybe it’s just as well. When she lets me go, maybe I’ll drift down Denver way. Maybe I can get a job sweepin’ stores or shovelin’ horse droppin’s.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Abe, you’re as decent as they come, but you just don’t savvy. All I ever wanted to be in life, I was. All I ever wanted to do, I was doin’. I was as happy as a man could be. Maybe too happy, and that’s why the Almighty struck me down.”

  “You’re saying stupid things again,” Abe said. “God doesn’t hurt people to make them suffer.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re the one who doesn’t listen to the parson. Or have you forgotten about all those plagues and such? Or that she-bear God sent to kill those boys who were pokin’ fun at that prophet? Seems to me the Almighty did an awful lot of hurtin’ in the old days and liked it so much He’s still doin’ it today.”

  “I should have brought the parson,” Abe said.

  And that was where they left it. They drank more whiskey and made small talk about the ranch and mutual acquaintances and how much Cottonwood had grown, and by nightfall when they turned in, Willis was feeling a little better. He genuinely liked Abe, and it was nice Abe genuinely liked him.

  The next morning, however, Willis balked. “I’d as soon not,” he said when shortly after breakfast Abe Tyler suggested they get ready to head out.

  “I knew you would try this. So as your boss and not your friend, I’m telling you to pack and be ready to go in half an hour.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  It was like leaving a part of himself. The line shack had been his home for so long that Willis stared over his shoulder until they were too far down to see it anymore. He thought of all the cold winter nights when he slept by the stove and the hot summer nights when he spread his blankets outside and slept under the stars. He thought of rain pattering on the roof and the many, many mornings he had gazed out over the mountains and felt, if not at peace, content with having the shack, and the world, to himself.

  “Nervous?” Abe asked.

  “Why should I be?” Willis said, but he was as nervous as he could ever recall being. He had not been down from the high country in so long, he had the impression he was entering a world he did not fit into. He much preferred the line shack. There, he was not a freak.

  “Elfie will be glad to see you,” Abe said. “Believe it or not, she’s always liked you. Says you’re the only hand who never looked at her as if she were an insult to the ranch.”

  Willis had always been good at poker.

  “It’s a shame the men never gave her a chance. She’s not the shrew they make her out to be. Deep down, she’s as kind and caring as any woman who ever lived, and I’m honored she took me for her husband.” Suddenly Abe stiffened. “Say, who are they?”

  Absorbed in his fretting, Willis hadn’t noticed riders to the southeast. He counted eight, in all, white men, not Indians, traveling westward. They were only a half mile away. “They’re not any of the outfit?”

  “The only one up this way is you,” Abe said, and reined toward them. “Let’s go see. I don’t like trespassers on my range.”

  One of the riders saw them, stood in his stirrups, and pointed. Soon the whole group was trotting to meet them. A bright flash of light on the vest of the rider in the lead compelled Willis to say, “Why, it’s the marshal.”

  “What on earth is he doing way up here?” Abe wondered.

  Before coming to Cottonwood, Marshal Walt Keever had been a deputy in several cowtowns in Kansas. He never shot anyone or had his name written up in the newspapers like shadier lawmen always did. Keever was a rarity. An honest lawdog who applied the law fairly to one and all. When it came to drunks and troublemakers, he usually let his big fists do his talking. He wore a pistol but no one had ever seen him draw it. When firearms were called for, he was partial to a scattergun. As he once mentioned to Willis, “Buckshot means buryin’, and most hotheads would as soon wrestle a grizzly as go up against a shotgun.”

  Keever smiled as he approached. With him was his deputy, Ivers. The rest were townsmen. “Abe! Lander! This is a surprise. What are you two up to?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Abe said as he came to a stop, and grinned. “On an early elk hunt?”

  “A manhunt is more like it,” Marshal Keever said in that great rumbling voice of his. “Care to join the posse? Seein’ as how it’s your land, you’re more than welcome.”

  “Who are you hunting?” Abe inquired.

  “The Flour Sack Kid.”

  Willis was so jolted that he thought for sure all the blood had drained from his face.

  “I heard the Kid was heading this way,” Abe mentioned, “but he must have sprouted wings to get here so fast.”

  “It’s that damn Appaloosa of his,” Jared Ivers declared. “It can whip any horse in the country.”

  “It’s outrun ours,” Marshal Keever said.

  Willis had to clear his throat to ask, “What has the Kid done now? Killed someone again?”

  “What do you know that I don’t? He’s never killed a soul, accordin’ to the circulars,” Marshal Keever said. “No, he went and robbed the general store. Fred Baxter had just opened when the Kid waltzed in with that flour sack over his head and shoved a revolver in Fred’s face. Got away with close to fifty dollars.” Keever paused. “Strange thing, though. When he walked in, he called Fred by name, as if the Kid knew him.”

  “How far behind him are you?” Abe Tyler asked.

  “About an hour,” Marshal Ke
ever said. “Care to tag along?”

  “Why not?” Abe said excitedly. Twisting, he gestured at Willis. “What do you say? Up for a manhunt?”

  With all eyes on him, Willis could hardly refuse. “Why not?” he echoed, and then did something he had told Abe he rarely ever did. He prayed—prayed with all his might that they would not catch the Flour Sack Kid.

  Chapter 4

  Marshal Keever in the lead, the posse climbed toward a timbered slope. The tracks were plain enough. Abe Tyler rode beside Keever but Willis rode at the rear, lost in his thoughts, worry gnawing at him like termites on wood. He had pulled his hat brim and did not take part in the general gab of the others.

  Jared Ivers was saying, “—can’t savvy why the Kid came back. He’s been gone, what, four years? You would think he’d have learned. He barely got away with his hide last time.”

  “Who can think like outlaws?” Floyd Treach said. “Hell, if they had brains, they wouldn’t be outlaws to begin with.”

  “It has to be somebody from around these parts,” Deputy Ivers said. “But for the life of me, I can’t figure out who.”

  “I don’t care one way or the other,” remarked Ted Yost, a clerk at the Bank of Cottonwood. “Just so we catch him and hang him.”

  Marshal Keever overheard and turned in his saddle. “This isn’t a lynch posse. We catch him and we take him back for trial, just as we would do with anyone else.”

  “I didn’t mean we should hang him ourselves,” Yost replied. “Everyone knows you’re a stickler for the law, Walt.”

  “It’s not so much that,” Marshal Keever said, “as doin’ what’s right.” He tapped his badge. “When I pinned this tin star on, I took an oath.”

  “Who is under that sack, is what I would like to know,” Deputy Ivers would not let it go.

  “My word!” Abe Tyler suddenly exclaimed, pointing. “Look there!”

  A horse and rider were silhouetted against the sky on a sawtooth ridge to the northwest. They were too far off to tell much other than the horse appeared to be an Appaloosa and the rider had something white over his head.