Free Stone Dreaming Woman by Lael R Neill Page A

him.”
    “That’s wise. After all, you still have to ride back to town. But then, if he does show any lameness we can trade horses and Midnight can rest up in Uncle Richard’s barn for a few days. Fleur is a big horse, and I’m certain she’s more than strong enough to carry you.” Jenny did not know whether the few exchanges that passed between them were getting less strained or more uncomfortable.
    Then Shane guided them off on a side trail. She watched as he leaned down to make sure his powerful rifle was clear in its scabbard. It was a huge Model 1895 .303 Winchester Center Fire, similar to Teddy Roosevelt’s favorite “Big Medicine.” To Jenny it looked as huge as a field artillery piece.
    “Do you always ride around armed like you’re expecting war to break out at any moment?” she asked.
    “What? This?” He gestured to the rifle.
    “Yes. That and the huge revolver, both.”
    “The revolver is part of the uniform. It’s fine for sobering up rowdy drunks and stopping fights, but you always carry a rifle in the woods. You never know when you’re going to encounter one of Mother Nature’s less friendly critters, and personally if I do I’d much rather have that rifle on my side. It’s much more powerful and accurate than a pistol. Bears don’t hibernate continuously, as you found out yesterday. They get up now and then, and they’re always out of sorts when they do. And though it’s not the season for it right now, we’ve all shot mad wolves from time to time.” Her idea of wolves came from the Brothers Grimm, and the mere mention of rabies gave her chills. It was the only communicable disease known to man that was one hundred percent fatal.
    They came to a place where the trail had washed out down to exposed rocks. Fleur lowered her head and picked her way through, scarcely slowing. Thomas Wise Hand must have spent years training her to render her such a good hill horse.
    After a long climb they broke out onto the top of a ridge. For a while they had to ride single file, and then they came to a bare peak. The whole valley back toward Elk Gap was spread out before them like a snowy cloak, and on the other side, a whitewater river tumbled down a canyon. To the north, the horizon was hemmed in by high hills. Jenny had never seen anything like that panorama before.
    “Oh, my,” she breathed. “And you’re right. I can see Uncle Richard’s house, and there’s the barn.”
    “Impressive, isn’t it?”
    “I’ve never seen anything like this. Is that the Elk River?”
    “No. It’s a tributary called the White Fork. It empties into the Elk River down by the railroad bridge.” She tore her eyes from the incredible scenery to look at him. She had never seen hair so black on a Caucasian before. Black European hair was always some shade of very dark brown, but his was Oriental black, the highlights glassy and colorless as obsidian. She also noted that his beard was spare and fine and his sideburns ended of their own accord without the clear delineation of a razor. It all pointed to Indian blood. Mixed-blood people were often handsome in the extreme, she knew; the observation certainly fit him. His face seemed a study in contrasts: square-jawed, heavy cheekbones that lent a slight concavity to his cheeks, and a very straight and vaguely Irish nose; yet it was saved from harshness by large eyes, slightly full lips, and the long, doubly thick lashes of a child. She turned her gaze back to the panorama before he realized she was staring.
    It was not long before the cold wind on the ridge forced them to start back. He led down the narrow part until they could double up along the trail.
    “I think Fleur passed the test,” he said at length.
    “Test?”
    “I was watching how she acted during the rough parts of that trail. I didn’t want you on a horse that could panic and strand you way out in the back woods. I know you’re an excellent horsewoman, but out here in this rough country you need a