“Well, it’s a good thing wolves can’t climb trees,” Martha said.
Ellen laughed and it felt good. Martha was surely right. Jim was a cautious man and capable, too. He had fought through the long journey west. He had overcome the toughest challenges the trail threw at them. He would be home soon, perhaps within this very hour, and then all these dark days would be behind them. The gold would give them all a fresh start.
* * * *
Jim trudged on ahead of the big Appaloosa. Horse and man alike walked with heads low and beaten. Both were hungry and worn from so many days on the trail and at a run.
Last fall, Jim had discovered a rough path into Donovan’s Valley from the south. At the time, he hadn’t followed it over the peaks. But he believed he was on the far end of that path now, just a few feet shy of the summit.
“A little farther, fellow,” he said aloud. He took two more steps, swayed a bit, then steadied. The trail was steep here, much steeper than he’d thought.
“Come on now, I’m sure Ellen has supper ready for us.”
Am I speaking to the horse or myself?
Jim wasn’t sure. He was sure that the next hundred feet might be the steepest yet. He stopped to consider it. Was it even possible to cross?
Jim stood on weather-worn rock. He knew the trail he walked was an old one, made by thousands of moccasined feet. He’d found a few pictographs of elk or deer in overhangs and ledges along the way. But patient time might have done its unending task too well. Wind and rain and ice would surely have gnawed down the mountain. Enough to make that last twenty feet impassable? He could see no way forward.
Home, Donovan’s Valley, lay just over this ledge. If he rode into the night, he could sleep in his own bed tonight. He could hold Ellen and know she was safe. But only if he found a way over.
It was when he looked to his right that he saw it. Fifty feet behind him, a second trail—less worn—branched off from the first to follow the length of the ridge and then vanish into a grove of pines. The path was narrow, too tight to turn a horse if it, too, proved impassable. Jim tied the Appaloosa to a young pine and walked ahead.
The new trail dipped and swerved through the pines, then it rose higher until it disappeared at the mountain’s very crest. It was still steep—the going would be slow—but they could make it.
“Good thing,” Jim said. He couldn’t resist the urge to go farther and peek over the ridge toward home. Thoughts of home lent him strength; the last few feet, he practically ran.
Jim’s heart soared with the sight of it, the great green swath of Donovan’s Valley far down below. The fading light of afternoon bathed valley and mountains alike in oranges and reds. Where he could see it, the creek shone sparkling gold, and it pleased him. Barely discernible, the cabin lay off in the distance. Cattle were near the cabin—his cattle—feeding and content. That pleased him more. Smoke rose from the cabin’s little chimney, and Jim could smell supper cooking. A foolish notion—he had miles to go yet—but he couldn’t shake the feeling.
After Jim retrieved the Appaloosa, he too seemed to draw strength from the sight of home. His head lifted and his steps grew lighter.
The descent proved tricky in only one place, where scattered rocks had fallen across the trail. Jim spent a half hour clearing it enough to allow the horse through, then they were down. The sun had long since gone and they had only the pale moon to see by.
Stopping would have been the smart thing, but it was out of the question. Jim hadn’t eaten in two days. He was hungry, tired, lonely. Thoughts of Ellen, Walt, Alma, and the rest of the family spurred him on.
He hadn’t considered what to tell them about the lost money. He’d saved the greater part of it, the bank note in San Francisco, and that was by far the most important.
The house was quiet when they finally arrived. Lantern light shone in the windows. Someone had left it burning. Jim considered putting the horse in its stall and leaving his care until tomorrow, but did not. The Appaloosa had seen him through a bad time and had had the worse of it. Jim was feeding him a double portion of oats when the door to the cabin opened and light blossomed out. Shadows moved as someone came into the barn.
“Who’s there?” David said. He held a rifle in his hands.
“A tired man who’s ready for supper and bed,” Jim answered.
“Jim, thank God.”
“Amen to that. One more night on the trail and I might have starved to death.”
“Ellen’s been worried, though she tried to hide it. What kept you, man?”
“Trouble,” Jim said. He finished putting the Appaloosa away and turned to David. “I sold the gold. Lost some of the cash, though. They were waiting for me in town. They chased me out and jumped me on the trail.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “He called himself Cord Bannen.”
More shadows moved outside the barn and then came voices. Ellen peeked around the barn door first. She saw Jim and ran to him.
“Jim, I was so worried.”
Jim wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her tight. He didn’t want to let go. “I was plenty worried myself,” he said.
Walt and Alma joined them, hugging them both.
“I wasn’t worried,” Walt said. “I knew you’d be fine. I told the others, too.”
“That’s awful grown-up of you,” Jim said. “I did have trouble, though. A heap of it. I could have used a good man with me.”
“A good man with a gun?” Walt exclaimed. “I been practicing with that wooden one you carved me.”
“A good man with a gun and a level head,” Jim said. Then he winked at Alma. “Or a good girl with sharp eyes and keen ears.”
She smiled and dipped her head shyly.
“What trouble?” Ellen said.
“Some men on the road. They were waiting in town and jumped me on the trail after the sale…” Jim hesitated. He didn’t want to admit his loss, but he had no choice. “I lost part of it.”
“How much—” David started.
