Sinclair held a finger to his nose, his thumb pressed under his chin.
“There are medicines I can send with you,” he said. “They are expensive, I’m afraid. I’m not likely to get any more until after spring, when the trails open.”
“I brought money.” Jim hefted a small bag of coins. “It may not be enough, though.”
“If it isn’t, we can work something out and you can repay me later,” Sinclair said. “Wait here and I’ll see what I have.”
Jim stomped his feet, trying in vain to warm them. The wind howled around the corner of Sinclair’s house, carrying a chill that he recognized only too well. Those northern clouds had advanced now, masking half the stars behind a curtain of snow-laden gray.
The door opened. Sinclair held out a sack containing a pair of small brown bottles.
“The bottles are precisely the same; this is all the town can spare. One spoonful each evening before bed. It will ease her sleep and help her recover. It’s the best I can do.”
“I appreciate it,” Jim said, and meant it. “How much do I owe you?”
“Those two are ten dollars each.”
Jim sighed. He counted out twenty dollars and handed over the coins. Mentally, he calculated how many remained.
Not enough, not nearly enough.
“Will you have more?” he said.
“I ordered a number of medicines from San Francisco. They are due to arrive by ship in another month, maybe two. The ships are not dependable. Come back then if you need more.”
“I will, thanks.”
“You will ride back tonight?”
“Most of the way. I’ve got to hope it warms enough tomorrow to melt the pass clear.”
“The weather seems against you.” Sinclair glanced up at the oncoming clouds. “Good luck, young man.”
After securing the bottles, Jim started back over the frozen trail home.
Two months until he has more medicine, and then it’ll be another twenty dollars. Twenty we don’t have.
“I’ll have to find it then,” Jim told his horse. “One way or another, I’ll have to go out and get more.”
* * * *
Sinclair’s tonic worked as promised.
Abigail took a small spoonful each evening before bed and slept deep and restful afterward. Her fever did not return, and day by day Ellen’s mother grew better. They shepherded the precious medicine, giving her spoonsful until the first and then the second bottle was empty.
A full month after Jim’s trip to town, the tonic was gone and Abigail, mercifully, didn’t seem to need it anymore. The family breathed a sigh of relief and settled into the business of wintertime ranching.
With Colton’s help, Jim kept close watch on the cattle, herding them near to the house or staying out with them when the snow retreated enough to let them graze elsewhere in the valley. Often on these trips, they spent the night with the cattle. Wolves remained a constant threat, killing a small calf and wounding its mother.
The cow survived with some doctoring from Jim and a healthy dose of luck.
Winter in the high Sierras proved a steady rhythm of violent storms, usually at night, followed by still, quiet days and scattered rays of sunshine. The sun would melt the snow just enough for the ground to show through before another stormy night piled yet more on top. The children cut marks on their bedroom wall to track the passing of days.
Finally, the storms grew more rare, and the exposed ground showed hints of green life.
“I think we’ve made it through the worst of it. Surely this is spring,” David said one March morning.
“Sure looks like it,” Jim said. “I’ve seen more snow than I ever wanted. Did it come down like this in Illinois?”
David looked out at the Sierra peaks. “It snowed often enough, but nothing like this.”
They stood in front of the barn, basking in warm sunshine and standing on a thin carpet of fresh green. The mountains remained snow-covered, but each day the white retreated a few feet higher. The streams ran frothy and full, swollen with icy runoff.
The cattle, what remained of them, cropped at the new spring growth with reckless abandon. Twenty-six cows made it through the winter. He had the old bull among them and there were fifteen calves on the ground with the promise of more to come. He’d lost eleven in total—three the family had eaten, and the rest to weather and wolves. It was hard to tell which had killed them, but no matter what killed them, the wolves and buzzards feasted on the remains.
There was no way to replace the lost cattle. They were flat broke. Between medicine and supplies, they had only a handful of coins remaining.
Ellen and Colton, both dressed for travel, came out toward them.
“Ready?” Ellen said.
“I loaded up your gear already,” Jim said. He turned to David, and they shook hands.
“Good luck and travel safe,” the older man said.
“We will,” Jim said.
Ellen wrapped her father in a hug. “Kiss the children each night for me,” she said.
