Free Scotsman Wore Spurs by Patricia; Potter

seen them stones big enough to kill a horse.”
    As he spoke, she heard the cattle moving restlessly, the plaintive bellowing growing stronger. And the horses, closer yet to the campsite, were whinnying nervously. Among them, the voices of at least two cowhands could be heard, shouting to each other.
    When she saw Pepper hurrying toward the horses, Gabrielle ignored his order and followed him closely, using the shape of his shadow for guidance. She arrived at the remuda to find Jake, the wrangler, and Shorty moving the horses from their makeshift corral. They were tying the horses individually onto several picket lines that had been strung tight between a half dozen cottonwoods. Squinting in the darkness, she and Pepper silently joined them.
    One by one, they moved the remaining horses, and the task was made infinitely more difficult when, all at once, the rain turned into large pieces of ice, pelting the earth, pelting the shying horses, pelting Gabrielle with amazing force. Some were as large as quail eggs, and she wanted to do as Pepper had ordered, but both the wrangler and Pepper were staying in the open, trying to secure and soothe the horses. She couldn’t do less. She moved among the animals, her actions becoming automatic as she carefully tied the nervous animals.
    Though she began actually to fear for her life, the nearly panicked horses seemed even more afraid. Steeling herself against the pounding of hail, she stuck with the task at hand, and finally, after what seemed hours, the four of them—Jake, Shorty, Pepper and her—had over a hundred fifty horses and mules tied securely.
    Giving a sigh of relief, she longed for the relative comfort and safety of the wagon, but the men were remaining, moving up and down the lines of tied horses, trying to soothe them. She joined them, calming them with a touch, a whisper. All the while, the hailstones came faster, harder, and larger. Her hat and clothing protected most of her, but she felt the blows and knew she would have even more bruises the next day.
    One horse, apparently hit hard in the face, tried to rear and became frantic when he couldn’t. She moved over to the animal, whispering, even began humming the Scotsman’s lullaby that was still running through her mind. Slowly, the horse relaxed.
    Lightning streaked through the heavens, providing brief illumination before the sky went black again. Gabrielle stood still, then became aware of a deep rumbling, a trembling of earth underneath her.
    â€œStampede,” Pepper yelled. “Get behind a tree.”
    The rumbling grew stronger, and the earth shook. Cattle were suddenly everywhere, running blindly, veering as they saw the trees. Terrified horses reared and fought the ropes. Another bolt of lightning shot across the heavens, and balls of ice rattled through the trees, beating out a metallic rhythm. It was a symphony of violence, and Gabrielle had never been more frightened in her life.
    She clung to the slender trunk of a tree, terror clawing through her as the huge herd of panicked cattle parted, like a river, around rocks, to either side of the island of trees where she and the men and the spooked horses huddled. She prayed, as she had not prayed since her father had died. She prayed for herself. She prayed for Drew Cameron. She prayed for every man out there in the storm.
    â€œPlease, God, make it stop … please make it stop. Don’t let any of them get hurt. Please …” she prayed. And if her prayers for safe passage were focused more on one man in particular, one with a quick smile and a seductive voice, she refused to acknowledge it even to herself.
    She hugged a tree, straining to see in the dark, hearing sudden splashing, which meant the cattle were heading across the creek. Loud male voices, shouting above the storm, punctuated the sound of hooves as they moved away. Yet even after the splashing stopped and she knew the cattle were all on the other side of the