The man collapsed across the threshold.
He was tall but painfully thin, wrapped in wolfskin and canvas, his beard frozen white and his left cheek crusted with blood.
Gideon caught him before he hit the floor.
“Easy.”
Jo slammed the door while Levi and Ezra braced it against the wind.
The stranger's boots were wrapped in rawhide. One glove was gone. The exposed fingers of his left hand were gray.
“Get him near the stove,” Jo ordered. “Not too close.”
Clayton frowned.
“He could be anybody.”
“He can be anybody after we keep him alive.”
They laid the man on a blanket.
Jo removed his wet outer clothing and examined his hands.
“Frostbite.”
Tommy leaned closer.
“Can you fix it?”
“I can try to keep it from getting worse.”
She resisted every instinct to put the man's frozen fingers directly beside the flames.
Cold flesh had to warm gradually.
She wrapped his hands in dry wool and pressed warm cloth around his neck and under his arms.
Gideon crouched beside her.
“You heard what he said.”
“I heard.”
“Devil's Basin.”
Jo's face tightened.
She knew the place by reputation.
A great depression lay several miles northeast, surrounded on three sides by steep ridges.
In summer it held water and grazing grass.
In deep winter it became a trap.
If frightened cattle descended into the basin during heavy snow, they could crowd together against the cliffs and suffocate, freeze, or tumble beneath one another.
Two thousand cattle could become two thousand carcasses.
Clayton heard them.
“So what? We ain't chasing cows in this.”
“No,” Jo said.
“Good. Because for once—”
“But if the storm eases, we may need to find them.”
Clayton stared at her.
“You want us risking our necks for cattle?”
“I want us understanding where our supplies might come from when the flour runs out.”
The room quieted.
A steer meant meat.
A herd meant survival.
Provided any were still alive.
The stranger groaned.
Jo leaned over him.
“Can you hear me?”
His eyes opened.
Blue.
Sharp despite his exhaustion.
“Water.”
Jo gave him two small swallows.
“Name?”
“Silas Webb.”
“Where'd you come from, Silas?”
“North ridge.”
Gideon spoke.
“You alone?”
Silas closed his eyes.
“Been alone twelve years.”
Clayton gave a humorless laugh.
“So we've let a crazy hermit inside.”
Silas's eyes opened again.
“Crazy hermit knew where your cattle went.”
That silenced Clayton.
Jo almost smiled.
“How?”
“Watched them from the ridge yesterday. Wind pushed the herd northeast. Lead steers dropped into Devil's Basin.”
“Yesterday?”
Silas nodded faintly.
“Some may still be alive.”
“Why'd you come here?”
“This dugout used to be mine.”
Several men exchanged looks.
Silas raised one trembling finger toward the rear wall.
“There's more than a dugout.”
Jo's attention sharpened.
“What do you mean?”
“Tunnel.”
Gideon stood.
Silas pointed.
“Behind the old ore shelf.”
The rear wall had partly collapsed years ago and was hidden beneath mining debris.
Levi and Ezra began clearing it.
After twenty minutes, they uncovered a narrow timber-framed opening.
Cold air breathed from darkness.
Clayton grabbed a lantern.
“I'll look.”
“No,” Jo said.
He turned.
“You don't own me.”
“No. But you're already cold, impatient, and scared. That's exactly who shouldn't enter an abandoned mine first.”
A few cowboys looked away to hide smiles.
Gideon took the lantern.
“I'll go.”
Silas caught his sleeve.
“Supports are rotten. Keep left at the split.”
“Where does it go?”
“Storage chamber first. Vent shaft beyond that. Other side opens below the ridge.”
Jo's pulse quickened.
“A second exit.”
Silas nodded.
“And supplies?”
He closed his eyes.
“Maybe.”
Maybe became three sacks of old but usable coal, rusted tools, two intact lanterns, a coil of rope, an iron skillet, several sealed tins of peaches, and—most valuable of all—a wooden crate of dried beans Silas had stored there in autumn.
The mood changed.
Not celebration.
Something more cautious.
Hope.
Jo reorganized their provisions.
With the beans and careful rationing, they could last closer to twelve days.
Possibly longer.
She cooked the smallest meal she dared.
Thin bean soup strengthened with bacon grease.
Half a biscuit per man.
Coffee weakened with hot water.
Clayton stared into his bowl.
“My horse eats better.”
Jo sat opposite him.
“Your horse isn't eating anything right now.”
Nobody laughed.
The storm continued.
On the second night, Amos developed a fever.
Jo checked his wound and found swelling.
Her stomach tightened.
Infection.
She cleaned it again.
Amos woke enough to grip her wrist.
“Take the boys south.”
“Not yet.”
“Jo.”
His voice trembled.
“If I die—”
“You're not dying tonight.”
“You always this stubborn?”
“Yes.”
His mouth twitched.
“Should've listened about the gorge.”
“Yes.”
That earned the weakest laugh she had ever heard.
He closed his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For telling you to cook.”
Jo looked at the man who had dismissed her hours before losing control of everything.
“You were scared of being late.”
“I was proud.”
“Those are cousins.”
He opened his eyes.
“You should run this outfit.”
“Get well first. Then we'll discuss your terrible ideas.”
Outside, wind shook the hillside.
Inside, men began working according to Jo's schedule.
Two hours tending Amos.
Two hours watching the fire.
Two men checking the tunnel supports.
One person melting snow.
Nobody ate without permission.
Nobody argued about it.
Except Clayton.
On the fourth day, Jo noticed the bacon was lighter.
She weighed it in her hands.
Then she counted portions.
Someone had stolen food.
She said nothing immediately.
That night she placed a thread across the storage bundle.
By morning it was broken.
Jo called everyone together.
“We have a thief.”
Clayton crossed his arms.
“Maybe you counted wrong.”
“I don't.”
“Everybody makes mistakes.”
“Not with food.”
Gideon's eyes moved around the room.
“Who took it?”
Nobody spoke.
Jo waited.
Silence had weight.
Eventually Tommy Hale looked terrified.
Jo noticed.
“Tommy?”
The nineteen-year-old swallowed.
“I saw someone.”
“Who?”
Tommy stared at Clayton.
Clayton moved so fast nobody expected it.
He grabbed Tommy by the coat.
“You little liar—”
Gideon hit him.
One punch.
Clayton fell backward into the wall.
His hand came up with a knife.
Then six guns pointed at him.
Jo stepped between them.
“Put it down.”
Clayton's face had changed.
The swagger was gone.
There was fear beneath it.
Real fear.
“You don't understand,” he said.
“I understand you stole from everybody.”
“I was hungry.”
“So is everyone else.”
“I thought if we had to ride out—”
“You were saving food for yourself.”
Clayton's jaw worked.
Jo lowered her voice.
“I know you're afraid.”
“I ain't afraid.”
“Yes, you are.”
His face flushed.
“You don't get to—”
“Everyone in this room is afraid. Gideon is afraid. I'm afraid. Courage isn't pretending otherwise.”
Clayton looked around.
Nobody mocked him.
That somehow seemed to hurt worse.
Jo continued.
“But if your fear makes you steal food from injured men, then your fear becomes dangerous.”
Gideon asked, “What do we do with him?”
Every eye turned toward Jo.
She could have humiliated Clayton.
Could have repaid every joke.
Could have enjoyed watching him lose status before men he had tried so hard to impress.
Instead she said, “He works double watch for two days. He gets the same rations as everyone else.”
Clayton stared.
“That's it?”
“No.”
Jo pointed toward Amos.
“You sit beside him tonight and change the warming cloths every half hour.”
Clayton looked disgusted.
“Why?”
“Because you need to remember there are people in this room besides yourself.”
Gideon's eyes met hers.
Respect flickered there.
Something warmer too.
Later, while Clayton tended Amos, Gideon joined Jo near the tunnel entrance.
“You could've broken him.”
“What would that accomplish?”
“Might feel good.”
Jo smiled faintly.
“For five minutes.”
“You're a better person than I am.”
“No. I'm too tired to waste useful men.”
Gideon laughed softly.
It was the first pleasant sound Jo had heard since the storm began.
“You always have an answer?”
“Usually.”
“Then answer something.”
“What?”
“Why did you come west?”
She looked at him.
“That's not a short story.”
“We may be snowed in awhile.”
Jo stared into the darkness.
“My husband died six years ago.”
Gideon's smile disappeared.
“I didn't know.”
“Most don't.”
“What happened?”
“Pneumonia.”
She folded her hands.
“Samuel was kind. Couldn't manage money to save his life, but kind. When he died, I had debts. No children. No family nearby.”
“So you took to cattle camps.”
“I took the work nobody thought a woman like me should want.”
He looked toward her.
“What kind of woman?”
Jo's expression hardened slightly.
“You know.”
“I want to hear what you think.”
“A woman who takes up too much space.”
Gideon was quiet.
Then he said, “I've known men half your size who take up twice the space and leave nothing useful behind.”
She looked at him.
He wasn't joking.
Before she could respond, Silas called from his blanket.
“Jo.”
She hurried over.
The old miner was holding a small leather notebook.
“I kept records.”
“Records of what?”
“Weather. Snow. Wind.”
He handed it to her.
“Storm like this came once before.”
“When?”
“Sixty-six.”
She opened the notebook.
Silas tapped a page.
“Look at the pattern.”
Jo studied the crude marks.
Falling pressure.
Northwest wind.
Temperature crash.
Then a sudden lull.
“How long?”
“Storm blew hard five days. On the sixth morning, wind stopped for six hours.”
Jo looked up.
“And then?”
“Came back worse.”
Gideon had followed.
“If this storm follows the same pattern…”
“We may get a window tomorrow.”
Jo rose.
“To reach the cattle?”
“Maybe.”
“No,” Silas said.
All eyes turned to him.
He pointed at the notebook.
“Forget the cattle first.”
“What then?” Gideon asked.
Silas looked toward the tunnel.
“There's a line shack beyond the eastern ridge. Bigger than this place. Stone chimney. Medical chest if nobody looted it.”
Jo thought of Amos's fever.
“How far?”
“Three miles through the tunnel and down the creek.”
Clayton overheard them.
“Three miles?”
“Maybe four in snow.”
Gideon looked at Jo.
“If the wind stops, I can go.”
“So can I.”
His face changed.
“No.”
Jo raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“You've already done enough.”
“That sounds suspiciously like you're ordering me.”
“It sounds like I don't want you dying.”
The room went still.
Gideon realized what he had said.
Jo did too.
Clayton looked between them but, for once, kept his mouth shut.
Jo stepped closer to Gideon.
“If there are medical supplies at that shack, I need to know what we're looking for.”
“I can carry a list.”
“If labels are damaged?”
“I'll bring everything.”
“If the roof collapsed?”
“Josephine—”
“You need someone who can tell medicine from rat poison.”
Silas chuckled.
Gideon closed his eyes briefly.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
At dawn on the sixth day, they woke to silence.
Not ordinary silence.
The frightening absence of wind after nearly a week of continuous screaming.
Jo opened the door.
The world outside was white and motionless.
Clouds hung low.
Silas whispered, “That's your window.”
Gideon loaded his rifle.
Jo wrapped herself in wool and tied rope around her waist.
Then Amos began convulsing.
His fever had spiked.
Jo dropped beside him.
His skin burned.
“Gideon.”
“I'm here.”
“We don't have six hours.”
He nodded.
“How long?”
Jo looked toward the silent white wilderness.
“We reach that shack and return before the wind wakes up.”
Clayton stepped forward.
“I'm coming.”
Everyone stared at him.
Jo's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
His gaze moved to Amos.
For the past two nights Clayton had sat beside the injured trail boss, changed cloths, helped him drink, and listened to him mutter in fever.
Clayton swallowed.
“Because Tucker gave me work when nobody else would.”
Jo studied him.
Then handed him a rope.
“Stay between us.”
The three stepped into the snow.
Behind them, the dugout door closed.
Above the mountains, clouds began moving again.
And somewhere beyond the ridge, wolves started howling.