Tanner blinked to sharpen his attention on the lad. His entire body tensed.
“We was already headed there to get a gander at the ladies,but two Snake Indians we met on the trail told us about it. They acted like it was somethin’ mighty special. Like it meant gold would be fallin’ from the skies soon enough. One o’ the boys with us said the last white buffalo seen in this area was close to fifteen years ago. Soon as I get back to camp, we’re headed to have a look at it. Maybe those gals will bake us a batch o’ biscuits too while we’re there.” He accompanied the words with a low whistle, then flashed Tanner a grin. “Even if they’re ugly as a hound dog, reckon I’d rather be watchin’ them than twiddling my thumbs here. Right good to meet you, fella. Wha’dyou say your name was?”
“Mason. Tanner Mason.” He barely ground out the words.
“Horace McGill. But folks call me Pole Bean.” The kid offered a cheeky salute and a farewell, then turned and strode through the door, leaving it open once more.
Tanner closed the door and pulled the latchstring in, then placed the bar across to lock it closed. He scooped up his gun and shot bag, strode through the back door into the courtyard of the little fort they’d built, and covered the short distance to the room he’d built as a cabin. Inside, he shoved the board off the hole he’d dug in the ground to store cold foods and scooped up the flask of milk.
As he nudged the cover back in place, he was grateful he’d finished the hole in the storage room floor where he could keep extra rifles and the few other expensive goods they carried. Surely no one would break into the place in the couple hours he would be gone, but having those precious goods hidden away made him feel better.
White Horse had come for the milk yesterday, but it looked like Tanner would be delivering it again today. He couldn’t let all those men converge on the Collins sisters togawk at them and who knew what else, not without being there to step in if they needed help.
Maybe he shouldn’t meddle. But he’d been in the business of protecting the innocent for too long to stand by now.
“I, um ... think he’s nearing a couple weeks old. I call him Curly because of this tuft where his horns will grow in.” Lorelei fought her unease as she glanced down the row of trappers leaning against the corral rail. The fence would provide little protection if any of them wanted to get through to her. Or Curly.
These men had simply appeared. She’d been pouring water into the piggin pail when the low rumble of men’s voices had sounded. She’d spun to find this entire pack—eight shaggy, filthy men—staring at her from atop their horses and mules. She’d barely kept in a scream.
So far they’d been polite enough, but they’d wasted no time in dismounting and lining the fence to ogle Curly—and her, but she was trying to ignore those looks.
At least Faith was hidden away in the house. Rosie and White Horse had gone to check the herd and likely wouldn’t be back for an hour or two.
“He looks like any old calf back home. A mite older’n two weeks, though. Not sure what’s so all-fired special about him.”
“I heard the Indians will give nearly anythin’ they have for one of these. Heard we can get a whole winter’s worth of furs in trade.”
“No.” One of the older men in the group barked the word. Maybe he was the leader. “White buffalo can’t be boughtor sold. It belongs to all people, and wherever it stays, it brings good health and plenty.”
One of the younger men shifted his focus to her. “If you’re not already hitched, ma’am, I’d be awful proud to marry up with you. My name’s Horace McGill, and I’m from Georgia, but I be plannin’ to stay in these parts for now. I’d make an awful good man for you.”
She nearly choked on the dusty air blowing in her open mouth as she stared at him. No hint of a grin to show he was jesting. He couldn’t possibly be serious. Could he?
The sound of their front door closing jerked her attention over Mr. McGill’s shoulder to the house.
She nearly groaned.Go back in, Faithie. Stay far away from these men.
But her sister marched toward them, dressed in her trousers. She and Rosie had taken to wearing them nearly all the time since pants were easier to work in. Lorelei couldn’t bring herself to throw propriety to the wind so fully.
She had to get rid of this group before they started proposing marriage to her baby sister too.
Turning back to the strangers, she honed her focus on the one who’d made such a preposterous request. She would proceed under the assumption that he’d been jesting. Better yet, she’d ignore the absurd comment completely.
She shifted her gaze to sweep along the entire row. “Gentlemen, it was nice to meet you, but little Curly needs rest now. I’m sure you understand.”
Several nodded, but the rest just eyed her. None of them turned to leave.
“Hello.” Faith stopped behind the men, and every one of them spun to face her.
No. Lorelei had to grab their attention back. She raised her voice. “Sirs, good day to you all. It’s time you leave.”
A pounding of hooves from the south stopped any of them from obeying. Frustration sluiced through her, and maybe a touch of worry. What now?
She shielded her eyes from the sun to see better, and the familiar form eased the fear away.
Mr. Mason.
Why had he come back today? His horse covered the ground with a long stride, not the easy lope he and his partner had approached with before. Why the urgency?
