Part 7
Chapter 7
"A home is worth more than schooling," Sarah replied, holding his gaze with unyielding frontier strength. "You gave us safety when the whole town turned away. We stand with you, Garrett Thorne."
Hearing his name spoken with such quiet conviction struck Garrett like a physical blow. He looked at Sarah Miller—her broad shoulders, her clear honest eyes, her steady, beautiful dignity.
For five years, Garrett had believed himself completely dead to the world, a mere ghost walking among cattle. Yet here was a woman who offered her last coin to keep him from falling.
"Take the box, Sarah," he said gently, using her name for the first time. "I promise you, on my father's memory, this house will not fall. Keep your coin. We will find another road."
Two days later, Cole rode in from the high country, his face grim. "Mr. Thorne! A herd of three hundred wild mustangs came down through the notch, chased by wolves. They're trapped near Devil’s Gate."
Garrett stood up instantly. "Wild horses? Are they the Spanish herd from the Red Desert?" "Yes, sir," Cole shouted. "Prime stock. The army buyer in Cheyenne offered ten gold eagles a head last autumn."
Ten gold eagles meant one hundred dollars per horse. If they could corral and break thirty prime horses before Friday, Garrett could raise the three thousand dollars needed to clear every mortgage note forever.
"Saddle every mount!" Garrett ordered, his voice ringing with commanding authority that electrified the entire ranch. "Call the hands from the south camp! We ride for Devil’s Gate before the snow thickens!"
Sarah hurried to the pantry, packing dried meat, hard biscuits, and tins of hot coffee for the men. She knew the dangers of Devil’s Gate; the steep icy ravines could break a horse's leg instantly.
Penny stood by the barn door, bundled tightly in her red coat, holding Garrett’s leather gloves. When he hurried past, she caught his wool sleeve with both hands.
"You bring the horses home, Mister Garrett," Penny ordered sternly. "And don't fall off in the cold snow. I told Cinder you were going to bring him some big horse brothers."
Garrett knelt in the slush, his coat flaring around him. He took his gloves from her small hands, looked into her serious little face, and smiled—a full, brilliant smile that transformed his rugged features.
"I will bring them home, Penny," he said softly. Then he looked up at Sarah, who stood just behind the child, her eyes shining with quiet prayers. "Keep the hearth fire burning, Sarah."
"It will burn until you ride back through the gate," Sarah answered, her heart swelling with an emotion so deep and sudden that it took her breath away.
For three days and two nights, the men fought the mountain wilderness. From the high kitchen window, Sarah watched the northern pass, keeping pots of thick stew simmering on the cast-iron stove around the clock.
On Thursday evening, the thunder of wild hooves shook the frozen valley. Sarah ran to the porch, wrapping a heavy wool shawl around her shoulders, with Penny clutching her apron tightly.
Down through the snowy timber came the Thorne riders, caked in mud and ice, driving forty magnificent wild horses into the heavy cedar corrals. Their coats were bay, roan, and silver, snorting white vapor.
Garrett rode at the head on his big black stallion. He looked bruised, exhausted, his coat ripped by mountain brush, but his head was held high, his posture that of a triumphant king.
The Cheyenne army agent, Colonel Bradley, had ridden alongside them, having met the riders at the canyon mouth. He dismounted at the gate, pulling a heavy canvas sack from his saddlebags.
"Best mountain stock I've seen in ten years, Thorne!" Bradley bellowed, laughing heartily into the cold wind. "Thirty-five unbroken studs. Here is thirty-five hundred in U.S. Treasury gold coin, signed and sealed."
The heavy canvas sack landed on the kitchen table with a resounding, metallic clink. Garrett stood in the doorway, removing his hat, his face smeared with soot and sweat, looking straight at Sarah.
"The eastern range is safe," Garrett said, his voice quiet amid the cheering ranch hands outside. "The Thorne Ranch belongs to no syndicate. It belongs to us."
Penny ran across the floorboards and jumped directly into Garrett's arms. He caught her effortlessly, swinging her up to his shoulder, laughing aloud as she patted his stubbled cheek with her mitten.
"You did it, Mister Garrett!" Penny cheered. "You got the wild horses! Now the mean vinegar man will have to run away and eat cold turnips in the snow!"
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Finch entered the kitchen carrying a bottle of aged cider, his formal composure entirely shattered by genuine joy. "Dinner is served for the finest horsemen in the Wyoming territory!" he announced grandly.
—END OF Chapter 7,
