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man’s place a time or two. The house was a squat, solid affair. It had good outbuildings and set of corrals. It was right along the edge of the Indian reservation.
    His own house was small and tight and set back from the Sweetwater River. Little by little he had added a few furnishings and had built it with plans to add on if the need ever arose. It suited him just fine.
    Trell rode through tall grass toward the foothills. From somewhere across the meadow he heard a meadowlark. That song was a sound he had loved since he was a boy.
    His thoughts suddenly turned to Virginia Gray. He’d bet that she was a lot like his sister-in-law Mara Shannon. He had caught only a glimpse of flashing green eyes, but he’d seen plainly the set of her stubborn chin and the squaring of her shoulders as she prepared to do battle with Havelshell. Her features, her statuesque figure, and her regal bearing were striking. Yet it was not so much her pretty face that lingered in his memory, but her spirit and her fearlessness. Only a brave woman or a fool would come into this wilderness alone. And he doubted that Miss Virginia Gray was a fool.
    He wanted to see her again … close-up. Of course, an educated woman like her wouldn’t want anything to do with a rancher who had only a handful of steers and several hundred head of wild horses to his name. Hell, he reasoned, he could still call on her, take her a haunch of deer meat. Be neighborly.
    If just half of what he’d heard about Havelshell’s dealings at the Agency were true, the lady was going to have a tough row to hoe. All the way home Trell mulled over reasons why he should call on Miss Gray at Stoney Creek, and why he should not.

Chapter Two
    The land they were passing through was beautiful, but Jenny was too tired to enjoy it. To add to her tiredness, Beatrice’s,
“Jenny, I’m hungry,”
had frayed her nerves to the breaking point.
    “How much farther, Mr—?”
    “Wilson. But call me Frank.” He turned and stared at her for the hundredth time since they left town.
    “How much farther?” she repeated the question.
    “Ten miles … maybe.”
    “How far from town?” she asked tight-lipped.
    “Twenty miles or more.”
    “We’re only halfway? Mr. Havelshell said it wasn’t far.”
    “’Taint. Hell, some folks have to go a hundred miles to get to town.”
    “I’ll thank you not to swear in front of the children.”
    “That ain’t swearin’. Now if ya want to hear some puredee old hoedown swearin’—”
    “I don’t.”
    “What’s a high-toned woman like you doin’ out here?”
    “That is none of your business, Mr. Wilson.” The question wiped all traces of politeness from her expression and blunted her speech.
    He grinned, showing a row of white teeth. “I’m a beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”
    “I’m sorry for being short with you. This has been a very trying day. I was hoping to have a conversation with Mr. Havelshell. He is the Indian agent, isn’t he?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Headquarters is on the reservation ‘bout five miles from Stoney Creek. Got a store there for the Indians, but spends most of his time in town. He reads law, you know.”
    “I was told that. Why is it that I have to buy my supplies in town? Why can’t I trade at his store on the reservation?”
    “Don’t know.” Frank wrinkled his brow. “He don’t care much for white folks goin’ out there. Says it’s for the Indians.”
    The road was really just a trail, probably used by horses more than wagons. The wagon bumped along. Jenny was tired, but there was excitement in her, too. She was going to a new place, and would be doing new things. It never once occurred to her that she would fail to do the job. What she did worry about was keeping the children safe.
    Jenny kept her eyes on the land ahead of them, politely refraining from probing questions. She glanced back at the girls. Beatrice had fallen asleep. Cassandra’s shoulders drooped, disappointment in every line of her