Free Showdown at Buffalo Jump by Gary D. Svee Page B

small stand of trees hugged the rim on the northeast corner, and brush, turning red and yellow in the heat, competed with grass for the water near the spring.
    â€œWhy didn’t you dig your hole here, Mr. Bass?”
    â€œSoil’s too sandy.”
    â€œCertainly a nice place for a hole.”
    Max stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “Neighbors coming day after tomorrow to raise a barn. Wedding present. Give you a chance to get to know some of them.”
    â€œI have no desire to meet anyone who holds you in such high esteem as to build a barn for you, and it will be a cold day in hell before I allow anyone to see me in that snake pit you call home.”
    â€œMa’am, I’ve weathered storms that froze cattle standing straight up, and I’ve never seen anything as cold as this place has been the past couple of days.”
    â€œMaybe hell has frozen over, Mr. Bass. This certainly is as close as I ever want to come.”
    Max sighed again.
    â€œI have to go to town today to order the lumber. You’re welcome to go along.”
    â€œYou want me to be seen in public dressed like this?”
    â€œI’m going dressed like this, ” Max said.
    Catherine’s lip curled.
    â€œStop at the dugout. I’ll change.”
    The ride to town was silent save for the creak and rattle of the wagon and the clapping of the horses’ hooves against the prairie hardpan.
    Catherine’s mind was racing. She might escape, but how? She had no money, her savings spent in Boston because she knew she was marrying a rich Montana rancher and wouldn’t need the few coins in her cloth bag. But now she desperately needed money, enough for a ticket to somewhere else, someplace Max wouldn’t find her.
    These same thoughts were bumping through Max’s mind, but reversed as by a mirror. Catherine might—probably would—run, but only if he turned his back. Her pride was too fragile to bump it against the eyes and wagging tongues of the people of Prairie Rose.
    So on they rode in silence, each plotting against the other.
    Max pulled the mare up to the hitching post outside Cole’s General Store and climbed down, stepping to the other side of the wagon to give Catherine his hand. “Might as well come in.”
    â€œI thought I would go over to the dry goods store.”
    â€œThere’ll be time for that later.”
    They went in together. The store smelled of leather, vegetables, tin, spices, floor oil, tobacco, horses, and a blend of other odors too exotic or intertwined to recognize.
    A tobacco rope, woven of half-inch strands of leaf, hung by the door, and a long glass-front counter ranged the length of the building. Shelves lined the walls floor-to-ceiling, and stepladders offered access to their shadowed depths. Goods hung on ropes spun down from the high tin-clad ceiling like spider webs to trap customers with their wares, and the aisle wended its way through a maze of saddles, farm gear, sacks of potatoes, and whatever else needed immediate space.
    Catherine had never seen a store like it. She wandered, drawn finally to a shelf full of hats. Pastel green and beautiful it was, and capped with a bouquet of silk flowers.
    Mrs. Cole, two axe handles high and one wide, appeared behind the counter. “It’s the green one, isn’t it?”
    Catherine was startled by the woman’s intrusion.
    â€œNo, I mean yes, but I don’t need a hat.”
    â€œThought so. The green will bring out the color of your eyes. You must try it on.”
    â€œNo, I …”
    Mrs. Cole bustled around the end of the counter, and reached almost full length to place the hat on Catherine. She stepped back, head cocked, surveying her handiwork, then leaned into Catherine again, tipping the hat just a bit over one eye.
    â€œThought so,” she said. “That hat’s been here for a year now, and there hasn’t been one lady to come in but doesn’t try