Free Yellowstone Memories by Jennifer Rogers Spinola Page A

measurements. Crazy Pierre was thinking
feet
.” She lifted the hem of her skirt to show her boots. “These.” She pointed. “In an outhouse, you put two feet on the floor.”
    “And then ‘look up.’ ” Wyatt’s voice dripped wonder. “So … up in the rafters?” He felt his eyebrows nearly touch his hair. “You think it might still be there?”
    “I don’t know. But I’d like to find out.”
    Wyatt faced her, his breath huffing as his mind whirled through the possibilities. Ticking off all the crazy clues one by ridiculous one.
    “The spurs in the wooden box,” he said hoarsely, resting a hand on his forehead. “They had crescent moons.”
    “Like an outhouse door.” Jewel stood so still that Wyatt could see a stray snowflake catch in her hair as it blew through a crack in the log walls—a tiny white sparkle among gleaming black, like a lone star. He felt the sudden urge to reach out and brush it away, but instead he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.
    “Let’s go then.” Wyatt reached over the wooden post and patted Samson’s shiny neck.
    “Now?”
    “I’ll tell my uncle you’re indisposed for the evening.” Wyatt straightened his hat. “First one to Pierre’s gets dibs.”
    Jewel’s eyes glowed. “I’ll beat you there.”

Chapter 7
    L ight snow whirled around Wyatt as he scrambled off his horse. He threw a wool blanket over Samson’s back and gathered up his lantern, rifle, and shovels. A brooding sky hung in blue-gray layers over the pines, like translucent paper.
    “Come on.” Wyatt looked over his shoulder, the cold wind nearly blowing his hat off. “I don’t like the way these clouds are rolling in. Looks like a snowstorm.”
    “If the gold is up in the rafters, it shouldn’t take long.” Jewel slid off her sleek Indian pony’s back, her long black hair blowing. She’d tied it back with a simple velvet ribbon; Wyatt was amazed at its length and thickness. The women in Cody would pay big bucks for a wig made of hair like Jewel’s.
    “But do you really think an old outhouse could support the weight of, say, a hundred pounds of gold?” Wyatt finished tying Samson and shouldered his things, forcing his eyes away from Jewel and into the gray distance past Pierre’s house. “And if there’s as much gold as he said, it would weigh a lot more than that.”
    “Depends on the outhouse, I suppose.” Jewel ducked her head into the wind and walked side by side with Wyatt. “The structure and the design.”
    Wyatt shook snowflakes off his glasses and snorted. “If it’s really there, old Pierre was crazier than I give him credit for. Or smarter. Nobody in their right mind would hide gold in a privy—and nobody in their right mind would look for it.”
    They rounded the corner of the old cabin, and the front door creaked in the wind, swinging slightly open. Wyatt hushed, listening for footsteps or voices. “That old place gives me the creeps,” he whispered, moving closer to Jewel. “I guess we are really crazy to do this.”
    “Maybe so.” Jewel set her lips in a determined slant. “But I’m not giving up now—maybe never. I need to find this gold. I have to. It’s more important than you can possibly imagine.”
    Wyatt looked sideways at her, lifting a thick spruce branch for her to walk past. His shovels and rifle clinked together, hollow and metallic.
    “What’s so important?” he asked. “Why do you want the gold so badly?”
    Jewel hesitated a moment, her eyes briefly meeting his. “I need it to start over.” She rubbed her nose, which had reddened in the cold. “Nothing more.”
    “Start over?”
    “You know what they say about me. That I killed my husband. But I didn’t. I give you my word.” Her eyes glittered, but Wyatt couldn’t tell if it was tears or wind that made them fill.
    “Did you have any reason to want to kill him?”
    “Many.” Branches snapped under Jewel’s boots.
    Wyatt drew back in surprise but said nothing. The wind