He looked up from his ploughing and wiped his brow with his wet sleeve. He had been working on the acre of land since sun up. The last of the pine tree stumps have been removed yesterday. The morning mist had disappeared from the surrounding mountains. From the length of his shadow, he knew it was past noon. Above him, a condor floated on the cushion of the warm breeze. He heard the tinkling of water from the stream nearby.
His stallion snorted. He looked in the direction of the horse's intense stare, and saw a dark patch just below the horizon. Pegasus had the nose of a hound dog and it was one of only two horses in the valley. The other was his pack horse in the barn. The light wind must have carried the scent of the rider's mount. He unstrapped himself from the plough and walked down to Pegasus, grazing under the shade of the pine trees. He knelt down by the water's edge and drank a few handfuls. He threw the cold water on his face. He paused and thought about the rider.
He led the stallion up the steep valley slope to the small barn behind the wooden cabin. He filled Pegasus's trough with water and added oats to his bucket. The other horse in the barn snorted when he entered its stall with water and oats. He stood in the shadows of the barn entrance. The dark patch was a few hours away. A single rider. A cautious single rider, who kept to the trees and away from the open. He knew this day would come. He was ready. He wasn't going to speculate on who the rider was. He would know soon enough.
He lifted his holster off the wooden hook, buckled it on and checked his Colt pistols. He reached for his Winchester '73 repeater and Sharp buffalo gun from behind the barn door, and with both, headed up to the cabin. On the porch, he shucked more shells into the Winchester. The Sharps was always loaded. There were always hungry bears in the spring. He had seen signs of a big grizzly the other day. He stopped to look at the progress of the rider.
He had a panoramic view of the valley below.
The valley was surrounded by steep mountain slopes and sheer cliffs. The only way in was through a tunnel made by the Ancients. It looked like someone else other than the Sioux knew it. The valley was untouched by human hand; left to nature by the Sioux. There was plenty of water, deer, wildfowl, fish and grass. He was just a boy when he had helped Gramps build the log cabin, the cold store and the barn. All were well above the valley, but below the snow line. The cabin was refreshing in the summer and snug in the winter. It was well camouflaged against the pine trees.
Inside the cabin, a pot of coffee was brewing on a black stove. The cabin sparse, but neat. Everything inside was purposeful. It was built for defence and not for socialising. Only Tells The Truth's people came for their summer reunions. On the stone-made mantle, was a well-cared photograph of his parents, all solemn and uncomfortable in their Sunday best, a battered one of Gramps and a drawing of her. He hadn't said her name in a long time. That was all in the past. The table, in the middle, had a set of glasses and a glass vase with wildflowers from the day before. Gramps had liked the wildflowers. He had planted wildflowers on the old man's grave. His sleeping area was a wooden bunk bed and a table with an empty enamel wash basin. The windows had glass panes and shutters; Gramps had brought them when the cabin was finished. They were his pride and joy. The front door was made of strong beams of pine. The back door was similar.
On the porch, he had lunch consisting of cold roast wildfowl, leftover wild cabbage and beans, washed down with hot coffee. After that he sat back and lit a cheroot. His rifles were behind him cocked and ready. On the floor next to his feet was Gramps' army telescope. He drifted off to sleep after the cheroot died out.
He heard Pegasus's nicker. He opened his eyes. The rider was at the bottom of the valley. There was no place to hide. He had made sure of that. The grass at the bottom of the valley was kept short. He looked through the telescope.
