the horse. As far as I’m concerned, the first wire I sent you is all the bill of sale you need.”
Bret scooped up the money and tipped his hat.
Pleased with the transaction, Bret couldn’t help sharing with Mrs. Petty. “I might not get hung for a horse thief for selling that horse,” he said, “but I would get shot for a swindler by anyone who paid fifty dollars for him.”
She gestured toward the men still doing drills on the parade ground and held up both hands, all ten fingers extended.
Bret nodded. “They’re an all-Negro regiment. Good Indian fighters from what I hear, and if they’re lucky they’ll get sent west to do just that soon. Serving under Grayson must be a trial.”
He untied Jasper and Packie and waited till she was mounted before swinging up himself. “What do you say we check out the establishments catering to civilians around here.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Unless she was frightened, Mrs. Petty was a pretty agreeable female.
Chapter 10
----
H ASSIE HAD NEVER been so happy. Staying in towns meant a hotel room to herself, baths, restaurant meals, and sending clothes to a laundry. Even though tracking down one man like Rufus brought more money than most people earned in a year, she marveled at Bret’s generosity.
Out on the trail, the days in the saddle were long but hardly ever boring. Wildflowers bloomed on hills that rolled away to the horizon. Birds sang. Prairie dogs stood like tiny sentinels over their towns and whistled warnings as she and Bret rode by. Now and then antelope appeared in the distance, tan and white specks that bounded away long before the horses got close.
The only small blight on the intoxicating luxury of traveling with Bret was that he didn’t talk to her. Sometimes she suspected him of deliberately avoiding her, but much as she wished things were different, she was used to the way he was acting. Mama’s second husband and his family had never been willing to talk to her and neither had her own husband. They talked at her, gave orders.
Of course Bret didn’t need to give her orders any more. They had arrived at a satisfactory division of chores and rode northwest into buffalo country with few words between them, spoken or written.
Things changed the first day Hassie ran. She couldn’t help herself. Morning chores were done. Bret had breakfast on the fire, and he never let her help with cooking.
Fresh, cool morning air, bright sun, and level ground all around the camp provoked a burst of exuberance. She took off, whirling and pirouetting at first with arms outstretched, laughing as Gunner whirled too, barking encouragement. Then she ran.
When the stitch in her side stopped her, she picked wildflowers to weave in Brownie’s mane until she caught her breath and could take off again. By the time her wild joy calmed, breakfast was ready.
Bret said nothing until they were almost finished eating. “The women I know would say running like that isn’t ladylike,” he said finally.
She fetched the slate and pencil and left the flowers by her saddle. “Ladies don’t wear trousers and ride astride.”
“That’s my fault.”
“Ladies have soft voices and can sing.”
“That’s not your fault either.” He hesitated then asked, “What happened to your throat?”
Hassie studied his face. Was he really interested? The whole story would be a lot to write out, and no one cared how it happened. They just despised the effect.
“It is my fault. We went to the park. I climbed a tree when Mama said not to, and I fell. The man who took care of the park used a wire to tie a branch up.” She shrugged.
“If falling into a wire didn’t take your head off, I’d expect you to bleed to death from a wound like that.”
“It didn’t cut straight in. More....” She used one hand to show him the angle. “A doctor was in the park. He saved me, but then he was sorry.”
Bret’s mouth thinned. “He thought you’d be
Bret scooped up the money and tipped his hat.
Pleased with the transaction, Bret couldn’t help sharing with Mrs. Petty. “I might not get hung for a horse thief for selling that horse,” he said, “but I would get shot for a swindler by anyone who paid fifty dollars for him.”
She gestured toward the men still doing drills on the parade ground and held up both hands, all ten fingers extended.
Bret nodded. “They’re an all-Negro regiment. Good Indian fighters from what I hear, and if they’re lucky they’ll get sent west to do just that soon. Serving under Grayson must be a trial.”
He untied Jasper and Packie and waited till she was mounted before swinging up himself. “What do you say we check out the establishments catering to civilians around here.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Unless she was frightened, Mrs. Petty was a pretty agreeable female.
Chapter 10
----
H ASSIE HAD NEVER been so happy. Staying in towns meant a hotel room to herself, baths, restaurant meals, and sending clothes to a laundry. Even though tracking down one man like Rufus brought more money than most people earned in a year, she marveled at Bret’s generosity.
Out on the trail, the days in the saddle were long but hardly ever boring. Wildflowers bloomed on hills that rolled away to the horizon. Birds sang. Prairie dogs stood like tiny sentinels over their towns and whistled warnings as she and Bret rode by. Now and then antelope appeared in the distance, tan and white specks that bounded away long before the horses got close.
The only small blight on the intoxicating luxury of traveling with Bret was that he didn’t talk to her. Sometimes she suspected him of deliberately avoiding her, but much as she wished things were different, she was used to the way he was acting. Mama’s second husband and his family had never been willing to talk to her and neither had her own husband. They talked at her, gave orders.
Of course Bret didn’t need to give her orders any more. They had arrived at a satisfactory division of chores and rode northwest into buffalo country with few words between them, spoken or written.
Things changed the first day Hassie ran. She couldn’t help herself. Morning chores were done. Bret had breakfast on the fire, and he never let her help with cooking.
Fresh, cool morning air, bright sun, and level ground all around the camp provoked a burst of exuberance. She took off, whirling and pirouetting at first with arms outstretched, laughing as Gunner whirled too, barking encouragement. Then she ran.
When the stitch in her side stopped her, she picked wildflowers to weave in Brownie’s mane until she caught her breath and could take off again. By the time her wild joy calmed, breakfast was ready.
Bret said nothing until they were almost finished eating. “The women I know would say running like that isn’t ladylike,” he said finally.
She fetched the slate and pencil and left the flowers by her saddle. “Ladies don’t wear trousers and ride astride.”
“That’s my fault.”
“Ladies have soft voices and can sing.”
“That’s not your fault either.” He hesitated then asked, “What happened to your throat?”
Hassie studied his face. Was he really interested? The whole story would be a lot to write out, and no one cared how it happened. They just despised the effect.
“It is my fault. We went to the park. I climbed a tree when Mama said not to, and I fell. The man who took care of the park used a wire to tie a branch up.” She shrugged.
“If falling into a wire didn’t take your head off, I’d expect you to bleed to death from a wound like that.”
“It didn’t cut straight in. More....” She used one hand to show him the angle. “A doctor was in the park. He saved me, but then he was sorry.”
Bret’s mouth thinned. “He thought you’d be
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