Jake spent most of his days consigned to the McCord ranch where he lived behind walls. He was not the Jake I once knew. He once lived for the big sky and open range. I would leave my homestead and spend time at the ranch, trying to get beyond that far away look in his sky-blue eyes.

I'd rock away into the twilight with my child on my shoulder. He'd whittle away at a toy buffalo he was making for my son. Then suddenly he stopped and pointed his knife at some ghost in the air and said, "Do you still talk to you're husband beneath the old oak tree?"

I didn't dare answer him directly. I didn't have a mind to rub salt in an open wound, what with the scar along his temple and all. "When my husband died, it helped to have his grave nearby where I could talk things out."

I thought I saw a reckoning in his eyes. Or maybe it was the rosy clouds and powder-blue in the fading light. His folks said his memory tended to come in lightning flashes. I was hoping he'd recall more. I had to prod him some. "You recall my husband, Josh?"

He poked his knife in the floorboard and stopped rocking. "I think I killed him."

I leaned over with my child but too afraid to touch him, thinking I'd scare him away. "You didn't. Don't let no such thought fester in your head." I feared his scars besides the one on his head were somewhat deeper, between him in the creator. "I hate what war does to men. They leave with a world of color and then come back where all is gray."

"You're husband. He didn't deserve to die."

"I don't rightly know." Tears pushed against my eyes. "I reckon my husband was a good man. But what right we got to tell the Lord what we deserve, and what is fair? I've done my share of talking to his grave. Best I start taking my grief straight to the Lord. Besides, I'm holding a part of my husband in my son. There be some tender mercies."

There was a gulf of silence between us. I reckoned, I left something in the air to ruminate on when a few ranch hands came toward us with news that buffalo were said to have been grazing less than a days ride. They asked me if I wanted to come along. I jumped at the chance and hoped it would help Jake clear his thoughts or find the ones that mattered most.

By daybreak I kissed my sleeping son goodbye and saddled up my honey-colored mare. We road west with the rising sun on our backs across the sandhills and into the foothills. We trekked through trickling creeks until we could see the Rocky Mountains looming in the distance like God's ancient cathedral of steeples and jagged edges heavenward.

I kept a keen eye on Jake. He looked so far away, further than the clouds in the mountains and the blue beyond. I would have given him my farm to know where his mind lived. If only he knew how much I was ready to be with him. How even as a young widow, there was room for love.

We let our horses drink from a gentle flowing creek below a grassy bluff, a creek so clear we could see a reflection of ourselves beneath the gleaming sun. Thad, the McCord's most trusted hand lifted from his saddle and said, "Anyone who don't believe there be a God can't have been this far west."

I nodded my approval of his timely words, as the other men took in the scenery and rested on tufts of grass.

Thaddeus stuck a foot in his stirrup and lifted away from his horse with a skin for water slung over his shoulder. His black face sweated in the sun. He knelt by the creek and looked up at me. "I sure wouldn't mind it one bit if I found me a gold nugget at my feet," He said, as he let the water funnel into the horn of his skin. "I'd turn that piece of gold into a ring for the Missus."

As I knelt by the stream and cupped the crisp, cold water and placed it to my mouth, I said, "Thad, your wife herself is a gem. Poor people are the ones who don't know what they have in life, until it's long gone."

Thad looked up at me from the creek. "Miss Taylor, I sure do, got more than precious stone. I got my freedom." I watched a thick tear trail down his eye. "I got my Missus, and I got gold in the mornin' sun. I reckon, I need nothin' else this side of heaven. I'm a wealthy man."

"And we are all better for it."

I slipped off my boots, sat on a rock and let the icy water run over my sore ankles. Does the ground shake like an earthquake before you even lay eyes on a buffalo?" I looked at no man in particular though Redhawk, if he talked would be the authority on our adventure. With a stiff nod, he planted his boots on the other side where his horse followed.

The Indian, turned scout for the army and then ranch hand, walked his horse near some scrub brushes. I watched him, as he tethered his horse and put his ear to the ground. The rest of the men smiled, as if it were an inside joke they had no mind to share with me.

I looked at Thad, who threw his water skin over his horse. "What's Redhawk up to with his ear on the ground?"

"He's listening for the Buffalo."

I stood and put my hand over my eyes and strained to see. Waves of summer heat must have played tricks on my eyes.

Jake must have been watching too. He yelled out from his horse, having crossed the stream and placed himself near Redhawk. "Look!"

A cloud formed. The stampede was on. Something had scared the herd. And they headed toward us!

Redhawk pointed and confirmed a thunderous herd in the distance, drawing closer. The ridge from the creek was enough to conceal ourselves. As the sound grew deafening and we all looked at each other in wonder, I realized Jake hadn't taken cover.

Thad yelled at Jake. Redhawk grabbed his shoulders and forced him down.

The bison stormed through, threatening to overrun us while hunkered down in the creek bed. Most of the men had their guns ready to take aim, but then they pulled back and looked at each other with an astonished look. As the dust settled, Redhawk pulled out his scope and watched, holding his free hand back for us to lay low. The herd stirred beyond the bluff.

A small band of Indians looked to have triggered the rush. Arrows flew, some buffalo fell with a thud.

Thad reached over to his horse and pulled his henry rifle from its sleeve. "They want the buffalo, not us, Miss Taylor. Best we make ourselves small."

Redhawk turned and shuffled back toward us. "They are only a handful of Cheyenne. They hunt to survive. We hunt for other reasons."

I whispered. We build fences where the buffalo roam too."

Redhawk said nothing. Thad squeezed his rifle tighter and spoke in a hushed tone. "We best be on our way."

Without warning Jake stepped away from the bushes where Redhawk had been. He took his rifle, fell to a knee. A shot rang out. A buffalo stumbled and fell in some brush.


Redhawk pursued Jake. Thad looked at me with worried eyes. "So much for makin' ourselves scarce."

Jake didn't know how to keep his head down anywhere he went.