Corral Nocturne by Elisabeth Grace Foley Page B

children well-educated. Cole, however, had still grown up on
the range, working among the men in his father’s crew, and was as
much at home in the saddle as he had ever been at college.
    He turned into the Stricklands’ yard. Ed was
just visible over in one of the corrals, bending over fastening the
trace-chains of the team hitched to the mowing machine, and nearer
at hand, Ellie Strickland was working at the well platform, her
sleeves rolled to her elbows, scrubbing the dirt from some freshly
dug vegetables. She glanced up as Cole rode in. A few wisps of hair
had fallen down around her face, and she pushed one back with a wet
hand, leaving a little streak of mud across her cheek.
    Cole touched his hat to her as he passed.
“Good afternoon,” he said.
    “Good afternoon,” Ellie answered, looking up
at him with clear serious eyes.
    Cole reined his swift-stepping bay horse
alongside the fence and dismounted, and looped the reins around a
post. He turned back toward Ellie. “Is Ed around?” he asked,
walking over toward the well. “I just stopped by to see him about
something. I hope he’s not too busy.” He glanced over at the
corral.
    “No, he’s not. He’ll be up in a minute—he’s
just over here,” said Ellie. She gestured with her elbow, her wet
hands twisted in her apron as she wiped them.
    “Thanks,” said Cole. He smiled at her and
turned away to meet Ed, who had just made an appearance round the
corner of the corral and was coming up to see who the visitor
was.
    “Afternoon,” said Cole as they met. “How are
you?”
    “Hey,” said Ed briefly, an unremarkable but
not too unamiable greeting.
    “Dad wanted me to come see all of you out
this way who’ll have wheat to thresh this summer,” said Cole. “Nate
Barker, over west of us, is getting in a new threshing outfit, and
he asked us to figure up how many people he’ll be threshing for and
let him know by the Fourth. He’s planning on starting at the north
end of Catlin Creek about the middle of July, so he’ll be getting
to your place around the twentieth of August.”
    “That’s late,” said Ed, squinting one eye in
a dissatisfied manner.
    Cole shrugged, and leaned an elbow on the
fence. “Well, it takes a while to do everybody on the Creek, you
know, and we always work north to south. Are you in for it?”
    “I don’t see as I’ve got much choice,” said
Ed darkly. “Not if that’s the way you’ve got it figured.”
    “That’s Nate’s look-out; he just asked Dad to
tally up the names for him. Anyway, they tell me he’s been doing it
this way for years.”
    Ed grunted as if he doubted it, though he
knew Cole’s observation was correct as well as anyone. Ed was, not
surprisingly, the last person to let Cole’s status as heir-apparent
to the Newcomb empire have the slightest effect on his manners.
    “That’s a long time to go pitching in on the
other jobs, too. Dunno how I’m going to manage with just the one
team if I’ve got to wear ’em to death threshing all summer before
we even get to my wheat—besides doing all the cultivating, hauling,
feeding…” Ed’s voice trailed away in a discontented grumble.
    “Well, we could loan you another team if you
need it,” said Cole. “We’re sure to have an extra one, and we’d be
glad to let you have it for a few weeks.”
    He had made the offer as easily and simply as
he would have done to anyone else along his route that morning, and
from the tenor of Ed’s previous remarks he expected him to take it
up at once. Instead Ed scowled at him, his upper lip curling in
something like disgust, and uttered a short disagreeable laugh.
    “I may be spread thin, but I’m no mark for
charity yet,” he said. “Thanks for being so considerate, but I can
get along all right without your team.”
    Cole did not answer at once, for he was
looking past Ed’s shoulder at something else. He had happened to
look that way just as Ed spoke, and glimpsed the stricken look on
Ellie’s