“You did nothing to produce the trees on your land, but you’re eager for those
loggers to cut them down for whatever profit you can get. I don’t imagine you’ll
be donating any of that money to the public domain.” She felt torn between
wishing she could keep her big, critical mouth shut and thinking why should
she? Wasn’t a woman entitled to an opinion? She loved a good argument and
seldom chanced on one. “Not that I think you should, but I don’t see a big difference between you and the lumber companies.”
“Yes, you’re right about that. I quite intend to keep every penny. I’m no
crusader. But I can see when a thing’s wrong, even if I put my own hand in it.
People like you miss the point – which is that it ought not to be allowed. The government shouldn’t let it happen. The government’s supposed to protect the
public domain, not help the rich men who own the railroads and logging
companies and insurance brokerages get richer.”
“I’ve never thought about it that way before. Most of the time I’m too busy
wondering how I could get to be one of those rich people getting richer.”
“Dreaming of a house with seventeen bedrooms and a ballroom?”
“At this point I’d settle for a couple of windows in my cabin.”
“That’s little enough to ask.” He turned and smiled at her. “Windows are
usually put in before the walls go up, but you can cut them out later. But you’d
best wait until you’ve passed your first winter here before you go cutting any holes in your house. That’s the reason your uncle built it that way. You get a five
foot drift up against your wall, you worry a lot less about light and air and a lot
more about how to keep from freezing to death.”
“That’s what Mourning says.”
Neither of them spoke for a while as she trudged along behind him. Then he
stopped at the edge of the clearing in which his log cabin stood.
“Oh Jeremy, it’s beautiful.” She edged around him, eager for a closer look at
his home.
A spacious roofed porch ran across the front. On the far right side, where the
porch wrapped around, stood a large stone bake oven and stove top. Pans and cooking utensils hung on the wall next to the front door. A table and two chairs
stood in the center of the porch and a string hammock hung between two posts at
the far corner.
“What a clever idea – to do all your cooking outside.” She moved closer.
“Try to. Weather’s got to be really bad before I’ll fry up anything inside.”
“It’s the exact opposite of what my father used to say – people design their homes to hide the kitchen way at the back, so you can’t see how they’re trying to
poison you.”
Jeremy’s big red horse stood free in the yard, munching on buffalo grass.
“Hullo Ernest.” Olivia approached him and the animal took a few steps to allow
her to stroke its head.
“We don’t have time for much hospitality,” Jeremy said. “It’s later than I
thought it would be. Unless . . .” He looked at her again in that unfocused way,
as if making up his mind about something. “I could take you home on Ernest, but you’d have to ride behind me. Western. And bareback. I don’t suppose you
know how.”
