Q^^s^Q Winn sat on the porch swing listening to the sh.e.l.lsrattle in the wind.

It was Sunday morning and Greg and his mother had gone into town forservices. The house was empty without the little boy, and Winn realized howmuch he counted on Greg's chatter to pa.s.s the time.

He had been staying here just over a week. The Double M herd should have gotten to Abilene, and in a few days his friends would be back to get him.

He would be more than ready to go. The possibility that he might not haveregained his sight by then entered his head and he shied away from it. Of course he would be well. The headaches had decreased, and he knew he wasdoing much better.

Dr. Gordon had been out on Friday and he had confirmed Winn's opinion.

The swelling had not completely subsided, but Winn was certain he would seeagain once it had. He touched his forehead gingerly; it was still tender.At least he was through with the bandages.

Winn allowed the swing to rock gently. He felt more comfortable out here at night. He didn't know how many people might still be around the ranch orwhat they would think of him sit ting here. He had learned to get around thehouse a little and even around a small part of the yard. He could find the well to get a drink and, thanks to Mrs. Franklin's rope, find the outhousewithout help. He smiled. He remembered Greg counting off all the things hehad learned to do.

During the past week, he had spent a lot of time with the boy. Mrs. Franklin brought him his food, offered instructions, but it was Greg who spent the daywith him. In fact, now that he thought about it, Mrs. Franklin had seemedvery cool toward him since the night of the storm.

Through the open window he heard the clock chime once. It was half pastsomething. He would have to wait thirty minutes to find out what.

Ten, he guessed, because it was already getting warm.

He rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt. He knew it was blue because it was his own for a change, not one that had belonged to Mrs. Franklin'shusband. He hadn't noticed the others being uncomfortably tight, but hecould move more freely in this one.

Maybe he should have gone to town with the others. The offer had seemed sincere. But the thought of a church full of people to b.u.mp into hadn't beenappealing, and the picnic dinner that was to follow had been terrifying.

What was she planning to tell all those people, anyway?

"This is a blind man I'm loo king after out of Christian charity"

Winn knew some people did things to help others without expecting anything in return. He tried to himself, sometimes. Mostly, though, folks contentedthemselves with small acts of kindness. Taking in a stranger with only theclothes on his back was more than most people were willing to do.

Maybe she took him in so she could show everyone how good she was. He knew people like that, too, but she didn't seem to act the way they did.

Anyway, if that was the case she would have insisted he go to church withthem.

He couldn't figure her out, and something about her made him hesitate to askquestions. He couldn't watch her face to know what she was thin king.

He almost chuckled out loud. Being blind was turning him into a coward, atleast where this woman was concerned.

He heard a faint whistling in the direction of the barn and corral.

Smell alone had determined their whereabouts when he had gone to the wellwith Greg. The whistle was a nearly tuneless strain that ended briefly andstarted up again. As often as he had been outside he could not remember having heard whistling before. The sound grew louder, and Winn put thepieces together. Someone unused to whistling wanted Winn to know he wascoming.

Winn heard the visitor's feet crunch on the gravel in the yard. The whistle was weakening.

"Good morning" Winn called.

"Good morning yourself," came a warm, deep voice. The steps continued towardthe porch with a quicker stride. Spur less boots came up the three steps,and the porch post creaked slightly when a heavy frame leaned against it.

"Louie LeBlanc," the voice said.

"I met you when you first came."

"Winn Sutton," he said. He reacheda hand toward the voice and felt it

gripped firmly by a hard, callused hand."Mrs. Franklin asked me to check on you while she and the boys are gone,"he explained."Can I do anything for you?""No, I'm fine," Winn answered."Wanted to invite you down to the bunkhouse come noon. I don't cook as good as Mrs. Franklin but it'll fill your stomach."

And pa.s.s the time, Winn thought.

"I'd be obliged. The other hands all went to church?"

"Peter did," Louie said.

"He and I are all that's left around here till the others get back from the

drive. You met Peter?"Winn grinned."Not yet, but I hear a lot about him. Greg thinks he's quite a hero."Louie laughed, a relaxed, easy sound."Well, the boy does have a way with horses, and that's about tops in little Greg's book." Louie paused and studied the big man. He seemed curiously outof place on the docile swing. Strong forearms showed beneath the rolled-upsleeves, and the loose shirt couldn't hide the broad shoulders and hardmuscles from Louie's practiced eye. His job called for him to pick men theway Peter could pick horses.

He watched Winn's face for signs of shame or pride as he continued.

"He talks about you a lot when he's down with Peter." Winn didn't respondand Louie grinned. "Yeah, seems like you're a real cow boy and all of a sudden Peter and I nolonger qualify. Sleeping in a bunkhouse is our main failing, I think."

Winn laughed.

"He does ask a lot of questions about the drive."

"Questions he's good at. Well, enjoy the quiet while you've got it."

The post creaked again as Louie pushed away from it. He clapped a handfirmly on Winn's shoulder.

"Give a holler if you need anything."

Winn nodded his thanks and Louie walked down the steps. Halfway across theyard he turned to look at the man on the swing. If he stayed blind, thosehard muscles would soften and he wouldn't look out of place on the swing anymore. It was a shame, too, Louie decided. Sutton looked to be the kind of man he would have liked to work with.

The same Sunday morning Mike Grady and Slim Jackson rode south out ofAbilene. Winter Sutton's mare, with his saddle and gear strapped to herback, was secured to Slim's saddle horn by a lead rope. The boy occasionallyturned to regard the animal with distrust.

Mike noticed the action with some sympathy. The boy had developed a fear ofthe horse that wasn't altogether uncalled for. She did seem to enjoytrouble, though she wasn't quite the witch Slim seemed to think she was.

He would take over the responsibility of leading her as soon as this headachewent away. He looked up at the cloudless sky and realized that instead ofimproving, the day would probably get worse as the sun grew stronger.

Last night had been a disappointment. Sat.u.r.day night in Abilene with moneyin his pocket and all he could think of was Winn Sutton. He kept imaginingthe fun he would have been having if Winn had been around, and every time hethought of Winn he had ordered another drink. To make it worse, he had beensaddled with the care of this youngster who planned to take all his moneyhome to Papa. Slim hadn't turned out to be any fun at all.

He eyed his companion again. The boy disapproved of him. That was easy to see. Mike wanted to groan in frustration but resisted the urge. Why did hehave to inherit the kid from Winn anyway? It was Winn who liked to take the babies under his wing, not him!

Now he had to play nursemaid all the way to Texas. Boss had figured the twoof them should be the ones to go to Wichita with Winn's horse and gear, so hewas even denied the company of the other men on the way home.

The kid was bound to cause trouble when they got to Wichita, too. He had his mind set on taking Winn home with him. Did he think Winn would still have a job even though he was blind? Was he going to take him home to Papa's littledirt farm and say here's another mouth to feed?

There was just no explaining anything to the boy.

Mike watched Lullaby prance up beside Slim and saw the boy urge his horseaway from her. He dropped back a little and began fishing in a saddlebag fora bottle. A little drink would ease the headache. Maybe he would let Slimlead that crazy mare all day. It would keep him too busy to talk, and Mikehad heard enough of what the kid had to say.

* * * The clock slowly chimed out the hour. Winn lay still and countedtwelve chimes. Louie would come for him soon. He had gone back to bed anhour before, his head feeling tired while the rest of his body seemed toresent the inactivity. Maybe it was just boredom.

He sat up and found his boots where he had left them. Running his fingersthrough his hair, he wondered what he looked like. He had always taken acertain amount of pride in his appearance, and it bothered him that hecouldn't trim his beard. His habits had afforded him considerable teasingsince he had come west.

He realized with some amus.e.m.e.nt that he was nervous. This would be the first time he had eaten with anyone besides the bread and cheese picnic Greg hadarranged nearly a week ago. He didn't really think an old-timer like Louiewould be too upset by his manners, but he was nervous just the same.

Sitting here waiting for Louie to come wasn't going to help. He had a fair idea of the direction he needed to go to get to the bunkhouse. He would probably hear Louie when he got close anyway, or Louie would be on his way toget him. At the very worst, he could get lost and have to holler for Louieto find him. Even that would be better than waiting.

Winn got up quickly before he had time to reconsider and counted the steps tothe bedroom door. He started across the front room determined to ignore thepersistent thoughts of tripping over things and walking into buildings.

He felt the tabletop b.u.mp against his thigh an instant before he heard thecrash of breaking gla.s.s. He had somehow veered too far to the right ortaken longer steps than usual.

This was the table Greg had warned him about the first time through this room. He had always remembered it until now.

The table still rested against his legs. He had very nearly knocked it over.He stepped back and righted it, pressing his hands on the top to make sureit was stable. Its legs didn't seem to be damaged, but his own were shaking.What had he knocked off the top?

Whatever it was, it sounded like it had shattered. He eased around the table. Stepping on a piece of gla.s.s would scratch a polished floor, and forsome reason that was how he pictured Mrs. Franklin's floors--polished andhard and cold. He shuddered.

Bending, he felt gingerly along the floor. His callused fingertip nudged apiece of gla.s.s and he carefully picked it up. It was thin, but not as thinas his mother's crystal. He didn't know enough about such things to tell byits feel if it had been valuable.

He pictured his mother's crystal goblets in shattered pieces on the diningroom floor the way his sister had described them. He felt a surge ofresentment and knew it was irrational. That was a long time ago and had nothing to do with this.

This was something he had broken. He was the outsider here. With a flick of his wrist he cast the piece aside. The quick movement brought his hand incontact with a larger piece, its jagged edges several inches from the floor.He felt the sting and knew he had been cut. It seemed odd that he couldn't tell how badly when he couldn't see it. He clapped his other hand hardagainst the cut. It was slick with blood.

He heard the sound of boots on the porch and Louie calling his name as he opened the door. Winn rose slowly to his feet.

"I think I cut myself," he said.

"I think so, too," Louie answered. The older man was soon beside him, moving his hands so he could see the cut.

"What were you doing down there?"

"I wanted to see what I had broken," Winn said, embarra.s.sed by his own choiceof words."Did you learn much?"Winn smiled."I think whatever it was got revenge.""Small revenge, I'd say. You'll heal sooner than it will."Winn tried to laugh. * "What was it anyway?"' "A bowl Mrs. Franklin kept on the table. She put flowers in it sometimes.

Don't know if she set store by it." Louie could tell the incident had leftthe younger man shaken. He tried to imagine how helpless he must feel."Do you want to lie down while I clean this up?""No," Winn answered quickly.

"I'm fine."Louie led him to a chair where he sat and listened as the broken pieces weredropped into some kind of metal bin. Winn was afraid to touch anythingbecause both his hands were b.l.o.o.d.y. He wondered if blood had dripped on thefloor and if Louie would be able to remove the stains if it had. He didn'task.

Winn no longer felt hungry and considered skipping dinner with Louie, but what would he do? He was tired of doing no thing.

He felt Louie's hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go eat," the older man said.

Winn let himself be lead out the door, down the steps and across the yard.

In

side the bunkhouse, Louie helped him wash in a basin by the door.

It made him feel like a child.

He sat where he was directed and listened to the sounds Louie made with lids

and spoons and tin plates. The handkerchief around his hand was wet, but hedidn't want to ask for another."Those headaches any better?" Louie asked."They come and go," Winn replied.Louie set a plate in front of Winn.

"Saw Doc was out the other day. He have anything good to say?"

Winn inhaled the warm spicy smell and tried to decide what he was being served.

"I'm healing all right, I guess."

Louie dipped up a plate for himself and took it to the table. He helped Winn

find his spoon and watched as he hesitantly dipped it into the food on theplate. "This is my specialty," Louie said."It's kinda like hash, I guess. I like it best with antelope but this is plain old beef." He noticed Winn had yet to taste it and grinned.

"Yes, sir! When I first found Peter he was fixin' to starve. He claims it was my hash what nearly finished him off."

Winn chuckled.

"Now you've got me wondering if there's some reason you want to get rid of

me." He raised the spoon to his lips, hoping there was something on it.There was, and it was good. He knew his face must have registered hissurprise when he heard Louie laugh.

Winn decided it would be best to keep the other man talking. He would beless likely to notice how he ate."What did you mean when you said you found Peter?""Well, I didn't exactly find Peter. He found me, you might say. I was in town, see, and there was this kid, only about twelve, you understand, and hewas asking everybody about a job. He was trying to tell people what he coulddo and they were asking him where his folks were. I watched him a while. No one was taking him serious but he.