For a long time he held her, unaware of the other people in the room. He heard the thudding of his own heart, and then, after a while, he realized that the breathing of the girl he held in his arms had changed. She was no longer gasping for breath in convulsive, painful, wracking sighs, but was breathing deeply, her breasts rising gently. He knew wonder. He turned his eyes to Maria's, across the bed. "She's asleep," he whispered. Maria nodded. Her face was relaxed, smiling. In a moment she came to his side. "Leave her to sleep, now. She needs rest."
Kirby carefully withdrew his arm. She murmured his name again in deep sleep as he covered her gently and as quietly as he could, got to his feet and followed Josh from the room.
Doc Williams waited in the parlor, his tired face wreathed in a smile. "She'll make it now, men. She needs rest and sleep. And no excitement. Come back in about a week if you want. If there's any change I'll send for you." He paused and blew his nose violently into an enormous bandana. "Times like this, I'm glad I choose this profession. Right now I could stand a drink and a smoke. Wait until I get my coat."
While he was gone, Kirby gave Josh a steady regard. "When did Bill leave?" he demanded.
Josh's reply came in the tone of a man holding a grudging sympathy. "When she went to sleep in your arms," he replied. "He was cryin' like a baby… like he used to when you took one of his toys."
Doc joined them then, and they tramped the snow-covered street back to the Nugget. It was Josh who first noticed the change in the weather. "The wind's shifted to the south," he said wonderingly. "And by golly, it's warmer. Looks like we're goin' to get a thaw."
Hub Dawes was standing at the bar talking to Joe when they went in. He listened, eyes on the floor, as they answered Joe's questions about Jen. He said nothing. Joe set a cobwebby black bottle on the bar. "Been savin' this," he said proudly. "This is the occasion. Join us, Dawes. On the house."
Hub moved his burly figure down a few steps, stood waiting.
As Joe filled their glasses, he asked: "What hapened to Bill? He came roarin' in here lookin' like he'd lost his last friend, bought a quart, and left without paying." Joe's voice was anxious. "Hope he doesn't drink it before he gets back to Lazy B. This ain't no kind of weather to fall off a horse drunk."
Hub spoke sneeringly. "He won't get drunk. Guess he was just worried about the Bryant filly. Me, I always say no female is worth worrying about… after you get what you want."
Josh was nearer to him, so he beat Kirby's move. His hammer-hard fist, brought up from the knees, caught Hub flush on the point of the chin. Hub's boots flew up, and he measured his length in the sawdust, jerked a time or two and lay still.
Doc leaned over and looked at him interestedly. "Speaking as a medic," he said, "my diagnosis is that he will sleep peacefully for a spell. In the meantime, shall we refer to that wonderful bottle of yours, Joe?" He gave Josh an admiring glance. "For an old man, Josh, you sure pack a powerful wallop!"
Josh scowled. "Who's an old man?" he began belligerently, then, catching Doc's grin, dropped his voice. "I always say a man is as old as he feels. Right now I'm just a kid. Joe, haven't you got any bigger glasses? I'd like a real snifter before that bottle goes back into hiding."
A new voice broke into their conversation.
"Danged if I ever saw anything like it," said Sheriff Lon Peters. "You ain't been to town for a month, Kirby, and the first dad-busted thing I know you got somebody stretched out on the floor. What did this one do… and what's in that bottle?"
"A nose like a bloodhound," said Joe, pouring a fresh glass. "All I got to do is get out my special stuff, and the sheriff comes in before I can get the cork back."
"It's so seldom you put anything out on the bar except footwash, a man can't help noticing." The old lawman sighed. He looked at Kirby. "Remember that gunhawk who was going to take you on when I bent my best cutter over his head? Saw him in Wellsville the other day. Had the nerve to speak to me. Said to tell you he'd see you sometime. Never did like a danged hired gun. Wish you'd salivated that one."
"I'm not much scared."
The sheriff sighed again. "If you leave that feller on the floor, he'll catch cold. Well, I gotta go serve a paper." He ambled out, followed by the smiles of the men at the bar.
"Anyone thinks Lon is soft as he sounds is sure in for a big surprise," said Doc. "He's as salty as they come."
Kirby's heart was singing as they rode back to Wagon that night. Jen was going to get well; he could see her again soon. She was safe in Maria's capable hands. Josh, as usual, had been right. There was going to be a real thaw. The snow was already getting sloppy, and the wind that fanned their cheeks was almost a chinook.
"This is a real strange winter," he said to the foreman. "Three blizzards and a spring thaw, and Thanksgiving is just over."
The reply held worry. "I just hope there ain't too big a thaw higher up. I'd hate to see the Clear flood before our stuff gets a chance at bottom graze."
The springlike breeze continued to blow that night and, combined with a bright sun the next day, soon turned the country into a sea of water. By the third day cattle that had been content to stay near the feeding corral drifted to the hills, where the snow had melted enough for grass to show through in spots, some of it showing the green of new growth.
Josh shook his head in wondering doubt, and sent riders to parts of the graze unchecked since before the first snow. Their report was better than he had hoped. As nearly as he could tell, he said to Kirby, they hadn't lost more than five percent of their herd. The crew was even able to make a drive to bring closer to headquarters parts of the herd that had wintered thus far in the hills marking Wagon's most distant boundary.
The Clear was running high, and much bottomland was flooded, but the run-off upstream had been slower than in the warmer flats, and the river had been able to absorb the water without a serious flood threat.
"This can't last," Josh told Kirby. "There ain't been nothin' right about this winter yet. We'll wake up to a blue norther one of these days that will make the first blizzard look like a squall."
"You're probably right. Wonder could we get a buckboard to town?"
"Yeah, I believe a team could make it by stayin' on the ridges."
"Have the boys hitch up pronto! Get one of 'em to drive… you and me'll ride. It's time to get Maria before the weather breaks and cookie says we need flour and sugar."
Later, when Kirby came out of the house to take the horse Josh had ready for him, the foreman whistled admiringly. "My, ain't you purty!" Kirby was dressed in doeskin riders, his best boots, and a soft blue flannel shirt that showed beneath his buckskin jacket. He grinned back at the old puncher. "Gonna do me some courtin'… after I get a haircut. You could stand to lose some pelt, too."
Josh shook his head. "Not me. Not this winter. This fur feels so good I've a mind to grow me a beard."
Leaving the buckboard to follow, they headed for town, feeling lighter of heart than they had for a long time. That feeling was short-lived.
They were halfway to Streeter when a shot took them by complete surprise. They were crossing a ridge thickly covered by brush and jack pine. At the crack of the rifle, Josh's horse stumbled and went to his knees. Josh went over his head but landed on his feet, still holding the reins. The horse stood trembling, blood spurting from a hole just behind the shoulder. Kirby's gelding reared, spooked by the commotion. As he fought to keep his seat, a second shot rang out and something plucked at his sleeve. He hit the ground, jerked his Winchester from the boot, and ran in the direction from which he thought the shot had come. Catching a movement in the brush above him, he levered three quick ones, but the sound of a running horse told him he had missed. He ran up on the ridge but found only the sign where the ambusher had waited. There had been one man there, but there were no distinguishing marks to identify tracks of horse or man.