Red squinted into the lowering sun. “Let’s push on until we drop.”
“We should take a chance, if we see a cabin,” Tim said. “Another day without food will finish us.”
“We better not knock on any cabin doors after dark. Someone’s liable to shoot first and ask questions later.”
The cavalry detachment had made them wary. They kept a careful watch as they approached the crossing and waded in. They followed the trail the horsemen had used until it branched east. There was plenty of water and they drank as often as they found a spring or a mountain stream.
As the shadows of night crept up the ridge the men were so tired they could barely move. They were thinking of resting when Red noticed a pinpoint of light in the gloom several hundred yards beyond them in the direction of the ridge. “Our fate lies there,” he said. “Before we’re tempted to knock on the door we better bed down for the night.”
They woke before dawn. There wasn’t a sign of the light in the trees, so they waited until the sky turned pink in the east. As they gathered up their things and made themselves ready it seemed to Tim that he felt even worse than he had last night. The cold sliced into his bones and the landscape swam before his eyes. He noted that Red must feel the same. He swayed as he struggled with his haversack. Tim felt the beat of his heart as they started walking through the trees.
They hadn’t traveled three hundred yards when they found themselves at the edge of a clearing. There were stumps all around. The trees had been cut, maybe two or three years before, and some of the land had been farmed. In the middle of the clearing was a cabin. A curl of wood smoke twisted away from the chimney, carried off on the morning breeze. Behind the house was an outhouse and a shed, both rudely built.
The soldiers moved up slowly with their hands held away from their sides. When they were halfway up the slope a woman came around a corner of the cabin. At first Tim thought she was unarmed. Then he saw a pistol in her hand. Her voice came strong. “Straighten up and come along.” When they were closer she said, in the purest mountain accent, “I saw men play at bein’ tired before.” Then she cocked her head and strained forward. “No, by gum, yer not play-actin’ at all.”
The men stood on the frozen ground, swaying slightly, waiting for the woman to make the next move. She was of medium height and probably no more than twenty. She wore a Mother Hubbard of rough homespun cloth drawn tight across her breasts, cinched in at the waist with a man’s wide leather belt. Her raven hair hung loose to her shoulders and her skin was tanned. She looked at them hard with piercing black eyes.
Tim looked down at the gun in her hand. It was a Colt revolver, cocked, well oiled and in good condition. The hand that held it was muscular but a woman’s hand nevertheless. Neither man lowered his eyes before her gaze.