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?"

"You mean, 'sides me?" The boy giggled.

Cynthie s.n.a.t.c.hed up the broom and dustpan and began vigorously cleaning the pile of dirt, scattering as much as she swept into the pan.

"Sorry had her puppies," Greg said.

"You got to come see them." Before Winn could answer he hurried on.

"I know you can't see them but I held one with my eyes closed and I could still see it."

Cynthie found herself smiling.

"Go ahead, we can finish later."

Winn let the boy slide to the floor. He took the small hand but hesitated a

moment.

"Don't try to move that yourself," he said.

"It'll keep," she a.s.sured him.

He stood for a moment longer, as if there were something else he wanted to

say. Finally the boy's insistent tugging won and they left the house.Cynthie considered going with them but she was too frustrated to care aboutpuppies. She went back to her sweeping, realizing the games she had been playing' to gain Winn's attention had only caused her to clean the same area three times.

She should know better anyway. The more time she spent with Winn, the

stronger her feelings for him became, and ultimately the deeper she would be

hurt. She should avoid Winn whenever possible, she told herself.Even as she thought it she knew she would ignore her own advice. In herheart she knew the attraction she felt for Winn was already too strong toignore.

Chapter Eleven.

Q^zr^s^Q At dinner the next evening, Greg asked Winn if he knew how to play checkers.

"I used to," he said.

' "I watched Peter and Jerry play checkers. I know how so I can help you 'member," Greg offered.

"Remembering isn't the problem," Winn said quietly.

Cynthie winked at her son.

"After you eat you can get out Grandfather's set."

"I'm done," he said around his last mouthful of bread.

As the boy scampered off to find the game Cynthie began clearing the table.

"Father had a special set made," she explained.

"The board has pegs that the checkers sit on. There's a peg on the top of

each checker, too, for a crown. One player's pieces have smooth edges and

the other's have serrated so you can tell them apart."

She helped them set up the game on the table and then turned them loose to play while she washed

dishes. Greg was confused at first because the checkers were all the same color.

"That makes the game more even," Winn said.

Greg tried to play with one hand over his eyes but he couldn't resist the urge to peek.

Cynthie listened to them play and tried to pinpoint what had been concerningher. No thing Winn said really sounded wrong. The way he spoke to Greg wasas patient as ever. He made sure the boy was happy, but that was where itended. It was like he had no feelings of his own, anymore.

"I watched Peter and Jerry play. They was real serious," Greg said."Were serious," Winn corrected."Maybe they were playing for money.""Jerry said they were playing to see who was best."Winn laughed."We're just playing for fun, aren't we?"Greg shrugged."I get to jump you. Jerry says you don't know he's a colored man."Cynthie looked at Greg sharply. She hadn't even thought of that, and it could very well make a difference to Winn.

"I kind of thought so by his speech." Winn felt the board to make sure thepieces were where he pictured them."There are colored men working on the trail drives. They lost homes the same as a lot of others. Crown me.""Ah, gee!" Greg dutifully put a captured checker on top.Cynthie was almost disappointed. She might have preferred him to be upset.

The next afternoon Louie returned from town with a letter for Winn.

He delivered it to the house with some groceries. Cynthie set it on thetable and eyed it as she unpacked the box.

It was addressed to Mr. Winter Sutton, in care of Mrs. Franklin, Wichita,Kansas. Who would be writing to Winn that knew he was here?

Had he found someone else to write to his family for him?