Part 24 (1/2)

He unbuckled the other fastener. The contents from that pouch followed therest onto the bed with the noisy clang of metal hitting metal. He felt around again, more urgently. His fingers found a warm piece of wood and hestopped.

He picked up the little piece and held it with both hands. It was the last one he had done. At first it seemed like just a rounded chunk of wood, buthe knew each little groove. He traced with his fingers the cuts he had madewith the knife. Here were the ears, laid back across the body. There were the haunches, and there the round tail. He had been so proud of it, a littlerabbit with no projections that little fingers might break. He held it for a moment more and then tossed it onto the bed and continued his search.

Finally he found what he was loo king for. The gun. He always carried it inhis saddlebag; he hadn't wanted to wear it since the War. His rifle, in thescabbard of his saddle, was needed more often on a cattle drive than apistol, he had reasoned. People who wore pistols found reasons to use them.

He ran his fingers over the b.u.t.t and barrel. He hated this gun. He couldn't hold it and not remember the War. The death and the blood and the pain.

He sank onto the bed beside his belongings. He slowly positioned the guninto his right hand, his finger on the trigger. The cylinder rotated withtwo ominous clicks when he pulled back the hammer. He sat for a long timebefore star ting to raise it to his head. With a shaking hand, he lowered itonto his lap.

He couldn't do it here. He didn't want Cynthie to come in and find him.

The picture made his stomach turn.

He'd walk away, a long way from the house. One of the men would find him.

Surely they would understand. Louie could explain to Cynthie how impossibleit was to live this way. Louie could explain to Cynthie and Greg.

Greg. Winn felt his head spin along with his stomach. No one would be able to explain something like this to Greg. He had promised Greg that he wouldsay goodbye. Greg already had a father and grandfather buried on theprairie. He couldn't think of Greg and even consider doing this. As useless as he was, he still couldn't do it.

Holding the gun over the bed, he emptied the chambers, hearing the rattle ofthe cartridges as they dropped against one another. With his fingers, hecounted them to be certain the gun was empty, then began gathering thearticles from the bed. Rawhide string, picket pins and a picture of Cora allwent haphazardly into the saddlebags; he didn't even notice what he shovedinside.

Feeling over the covers to make sure he had gotten everything, heinadvertently sent the little wooden rabbit rolling off the mattress andunder the bed, the sound m.u.f.fled by the discarded blanket.

The next morning Cynthie was surprised to find Winn waiting for her in thekitchen. He stood when she entered the room. His saddlebags were lying onthe table and his fingertips tapped them nervously.

She stood still and watched him.

”You're up early,” she said. She knew that he might have been up all night.

”I would have made coffee,” he said, ”but that seemed kind of hazardous. I did bring in some water.”

”Thanks,” she said. She realized that she had been standing in the doorwaystaring at him and quickly went to start the coffee.

”I need you to do something for me,” he said.

”In these bags somewhere is a pistol. I want you to find it before Gregdoes. Can you put it up someplace?”

”Of course,” she answered, coming over to the table. She was standing nearhim. He wanted to reach out and touch her. He wanted to and couldn't and for once it didn't make him angry. It was as if the cloud he had been tryingto outrun had caught up with him last night and now there was no thing leftto run from.

Cynthie had opened one side of the saddlebags and tried to look inside.

It was so fall of things she had to reach in and feel for the gun. Her fingers touched something flat and square and she pulled it out withoutstopping to think. It was a picture of a woman in a silver frame. She was young and beautiful, her eyes sparkling merrily at the camera. At the bottom a careless hand had penned, ”To Winter, with love.” When he told her there was no one to write to, had he been thin king of this woman? Was this the Rosie he had called for in his dream?

She felt a stab of jealousy. She knew Winn was listening intently to hermovements so she put the picture carefully away and opened the other pouch.Whoever she was, he had left her. Maybe he carried her picture with him andnever forgot her, but he wasn't with her, was he?

She was surprised at her dislike for someone she knew no thing about.

She found the pistol and made certain it was empty. ”I'll put it in the topof the cupboard,” she said, crossing the kitchen to do so.

”That will be fine,” he said. He said the same when she invited him to eat breakfast in the kitchen with her and Greg. She wasn't particularlysurprised; he was more and more willing to eat in their company.

But later she realized that the morning marked the beginning of a change inWinn's behavior. While she had worried before about his irritability, nowshe worried about his lack of it. He seemed to go along with anything thatwas suggested and, while he never seemed frustrated, he never seemed happy,either.

Greg didn't seem to notice. He played with his favorite companion andmanaged to keep them both busy.

Two days later, Winn helped Cynthie move the furniture while she cleanedunderneath. She felt a little guilty about asking him to help.

She didn't have any real reason to clean; it had never been a high priority anyway.

It did, however, give her a chance to spend time with Winn.

She caught herself watching him push aside her desk instead of lending him ahand. He had no right to look so good. The attraction she had recognized along time ago had only gotten stronger. She felt a need to let him know how she felt about him but she didn't know how to do it. The little flirtatious advances on wash day and since hadn't seemed to register. She couldn't quite bring herself to tell him how she felt. No thing he had doneindicated that her feelings were returned.

The muscles in his arms flexed as the desk slid across the floor.

”That's far enough,” she told him, hoping her voice sounded sweet andalluring.

He relaxed and turned to lean against the desk. With an inward sigh, Cynthiebegan to sweep where the desk had been. What excuse could she find to brush against him? She glanced at him. He stood silently listening. As she sweptcloser, paying little attention to any dirt on the floor, he casually steppedout of her way.

Cynthie wanted to swear. She swept away from him, gathering the dirt thatshe had earlier scattered. What had she expected? In the mood he was in lately, he probably wouldn't respond if she threw her arms around his neckand kissed him full on the mouth! She glanced at him as she reached for thedustpan. It might be worth a try.

She let the dustpan lie and propped the broom against the wall. She took three slow steps toward him. He looked like he was trying to guess what washappening by the sound.

”Winn?” she whispered softly.

”Winn!” they heard Greg yell.

”Winn, guess what!”

Cynthie stepped away, embarra.s.sed. The little boy burst into the room andran straight for Winn who scooped him into his arms.

”What's up, Greg?”