Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.


North rode into the yard at dusk the following day. Stars were beginning to appear as he trudged up the front steps after tending Rush and the skins he had gotten. With a haunch of deer in his hand he went into the house. The smell of roasted squash and bread greeted him warmly and Faith came from the bedroom hearing his step.

"Hello how did you make out?*" She asked coming over to him. He thought she was going to embrace him for a moment but she stopped short seeing the freshly sectioned meat.

About to respond, the shotgun caught his eye. It was leaning against the table. Hammers still back.

"Faith. The gun. Was there trouble?" His feet moved to the kitchen but his eyes remained on the gun.

His wife glanced at it nervously but she put on a flickering smile, "No, well the Millers came up."

North went rigid, dropping the meat on the little preparation table.

"Millers...did they come in here? What happened?" He walked over to her, boiling anger and concern flushing his face. His hands still stiff with drying blood kept him from taking her shoulders.

With wide eyes she shook her head, "No, they left. They didn't even come in the yard."

How could he have missed their tracks? They had never come to the house before, it was an emboldened move.

North took up the gun and broke it open, "There's no shells in here."

Faith looked as though she had never considered whether it was loaded or not. So beautifully innocent and dangerously naive. He almost growled at himself for leaving her on her own.

Suspicion had been humming around like a nat in the back of his mind and he had gone up to John's cabin.

It was up higher across the next summit in a little valley of it's own surrounded by aspen and pine.

Vacant now, it still showed signs of the man who had so recently lived there. It was tidy and well kept. Many carefully gathered roots and herbs hung from the rafters. Soundly made woven baskets held beans, nuts, dried berries and other foodstuffs in the well stocked cooking area by the fireplace. Above it, the rifle was gone. Of course North now had it in his possession.

There was a little wooden box on a shelf and North had picked it up and opened it. Yes is was John's tobacco but it smelled nothing like the cigarette he had. The papers were sisal and not rice. Where had he gotten the end of that cigarette? A visitor?

That was when he noticed the skid marks on the dirt floor. The earth was compact but it seemed there had been enough of a disturbance so that some thrashing had scared and grooved it.

North began to look around the little cabin. Then he had seen the flash of the metal from underneath the smoothly made bed. Squatting down he reached under the corner and pulled out a silver disk the size of a coin, ornately engraved. It had a hole in the middle and a rawhide string looped through. On the other end of the string was a tobacco pouch. It was the size to fit in a man's pocket, the disk would hang out for one to easily pull it out. Burned into the flesh of the pouch were the initials: BM. He didn't even need to see that though. He'd seen Blythe Miller pull that pouch out multiple times.

So it was murder. Murder just to make it look like they had shot each other? It would have made it neat and clean. He would be out of the way. The land would surely go to them as Faith would have nothing to stay for? Not on her own.

He'd have to ride into town and tell Cecil. No, Cecil had mentioned he was going for two months to San Antonio. Could he really leave the property now anyway? The law from Henryville would have to be contacted. How could he get word to them? Send Faith to town with a letter? He dismissed the idea, sure Rett Miller would bother her. How was it he always seemed to be in town when North was?

Now standing in his house he knew what they must have tried to do and Faith had stopped them. He wanted to sweep her up and praise her for her courage. For her to back down the Millers must have been something to see indeed. But then he knew what could have happened, what they might have done and he was worried again. What could he do? Take her with him everyday? It was impractical. She had to tend to things here sometimes and he had to be out there sometimes 18 hours a day or more.

Despite his soiled hand he put it on her shoulder and gave her a faint smile.

"I'd better wash up. Pretty dirty. We got soap?" He went past her to the bedroom where they kept the soap by the washbin.

"A bit." Came the soft reply.


A week later Sheen's back had healed sufficiently. There would remain a scar, a discoloring of her fine coat and every time Faith looked at it she'd have to close her eyes and scoff almost painfully at her own foolishness.

Now, after the Millers had come to their homestead, North had her ride out with him a lot more. He always brought the shotgun, his rifle and sixshooter.

The sun was setting, a cooler than normal breeze was welcome after the long hot day in the meadow pastures. Faith had gone out with him to the cattle and the herd had seemed twice as big and twice as troublesome.

She had finished helping settle the horses and North was examining the beltline if the gun holster that seemed ready to be replaced. She carried a gunny sack with what was left of their lunch and her book she took just in case she had a chance to read. Starting to the house she was tired but had to see to dinner.

"Faith, take the colt and set it on the bed. I gotta mend this leather." North pulled the gun from the holster and handed it to her carefully.

Shifting the sack to her other hand she took it with her stronger right for the gun must have weighed at least 4 pounds. North cleaned and oiled it and the other guns often. Keeping a them in good condition was vital.

Wearily Faith started out of the barn for the house. She had made a sunbonnet from her old dress and the wind kept blowing the brim into her face. She brushed at it awkwardly with her left hand.

The gun suddenly leaped, the sound deafening. Somehow she still clutched it clumsily. The ring of the misfire echoed against the mountains around and Lobo bolted from the barn barking. Right behind him was North, the rifle to his shoulder and ready. He scanned the area only for a moment then looked to her. She stood there looking stupidly at the smoking gun in her hand wondering where the bullet had gone.

"What…?" was all she could say.

Instantly North was next to her, snatching the pistol from her fingers and then searching over her. There was abnormal fear in his eyes, "Did you get hit? Are you shot?"

If she was she had yet to feel any pain and she shook her head, "I don't think so. I'm alright."

North's face set and his lips tightened. He took her by the wrist and moved her aside. A crater in the earth practically under her right foot told of where the bullet had implanted itself. There was a burnt groove in the leather of her boot.

Pushing himself to standing, her husband shoved the gun into his waistline.

"I'm sorry it just went off…" She stammered.

Dropping his head he took a deep breath, his hands on his hips as if struggling to calm himself, "You're sorry? What have I told you about be'n mindful with it?"

Faith didn't reply, she couldn't think of what to say. He'd told her so many times to be careful.

She could hear the real anger in his voice. "What if you had shot your foot off?! Then what good would you be?!"

He had scolded her about Sheen's back that one time but he had never shown anger towards her. His words shook her. They shook the world around her and made it crumble. She had to look away, but didn't cry. Perhaps she was still in shock at the situation.

"I'm sorry North." She uttered.

He ran both hands through his hair roughly in exasperation. "Go in the house."

Numbly she obeyed and somehow her body started dinner.

He didn't come in until she had everything on the table was sitting there waiting for him. He

washed with no soap then sat down, his face stony. Putting his elbows on the table he pinched the bridge of his nose.

She didn't know what to say to him so she took his cup and filled it with...coffee? Had she made that? Faith couldn't' remember doing it. It smelt sour and looked as though it were separating into granules and an oily slick. Meekly she sat it next to his plate anyway.

When he didn't say anything she spoke, "North…"

His hand moved smoothly and deliberately, knocking the cup from the table and spilling it onto the floor.

Faith jumped at the sound and stared at the rolling cup until it settled. The house was quiet for a moment. Biting her lip as if to keep the tidal wave of emotions from breaking loose she made as if to stand to go get a cloth.

"Don't." North said placidly, staring into the table. "I'll see to it."

Faith looked at him, her heart bursting and she couldn't stay still. She stood and hurried into the bedroom. She took her boots off and slipped under the quilt, pulling it up over her head.


North let his head fall into his hands. His heart hadn't stopped pounding since the shot had cracked the air. Pounding in his chest and head. He had been waiting for that shot. Waiting to feel the bullet go through his body somewhere. But it hadn't and it had struck him with a fear far worse. Faith. They'd shot her.

The relief at her being alright had been short lived. He loved her. So much that he barely knew himself. The thought of her hurt...gone struck him with unfamiliar panic. Everything, the loss of those cattle, the confrontations with the Millers, the life changing experience of being so quickly married had finally broke his composure.

He had lost his temper.

Even with six older brothers, he had prefered to be alone. It was safe ground and he always knew where he stood with himself. He could rely on himself and knew what he had to lose.

Marriage had never been something he'd aspired to. It was fine for some but it seemed more trouble than it was worth.

Why had he let Cleve talk him into such a thing? Maybe it was some loneliness he had refused to acknowledge for sometime. He had rejected his family's inquiries about 'settling down' for years. He was settled and he liked it how it was. That had changed practically overnight.

He rode in from the herd and looked at the dark cold house and suddenly felt desolate. Yes it was his home he had built, but there was no heart there, not really.

There were little enough women around and he never had sparked with one anyway. And so he lived that way for a while until his closest aged brother had come out on a visit with a letter. It described vaguely a situation involving an 'comely' eastern girl 'of age'. A shallow description that even now wouldn't have really done Faith justice. It told of her love for books and music, she almost sounded like a mythical creature. Foreign and fantastic. But he had almost been insulted that his brother would suggest such a thing. He knew little of love but he knew you had to have it first before you should bind yourself to a woman.

His brother had left the letter when he returned to California. The letter sat on the table every night and he read and reread it. Something had taken to root in him and one day he found himself writing a crude letter back to his brother saying to fix it up. Then it was done.

North realized now he wasn't afraid of being alone, he was afraid of being without Faith.

The fire was low after he had cleaned up the untouched food and scrubbed the floor where he had so childishly tossed his fit.

Nervously he went into the dark room. Moonlight shown on the still figure of her laying in the bed. He undressed to his night clothes and laid down. He wasn't angry with her, he never had been. He had been angry with himself and his insufficiency in caring for her. No, she hadn't deserved his temper and he surely didn't deserve her.

Scooting over, he moved the hair away from her tear stained cheek. He almost groaned in dismay at himself.

"I'm sorry Faith, I'm sorry I'm sorry." He whispered to her. She didn't stir so he fell back into his pillow and waited for sleep to numb him.


When Faith awoke the sun was barely defining the trees outside in a ghostly blue. She heard his footsteps come around the bed and she quickly closed her eyes again. North stood there next to the bed for some minutes. She felt him move the hair from her face and put his hand on her shoulder, "Faith?" he said quietly.

She didn't answer. She didn't know if he really thought she was asleep or knew she was keeping silent on purpose.

"I'm out to pasture." he said after a long pause, the warmth of his hand leaving her as he walked away. The door closed and soon she heard Rush gallop away.

The creek babbled and the grasses in the meadow rubbed against themselves in a hushing rustle. The meadowlark's song carried it's sweet tones to Faith's ears but she could no longer hear the beauty of it.

It was time to give up. North's words had seeped into her dreams. 'What good would you be?' His cup of coffee clanking to the floor. She had tried and tried but she was useless.

She was as good as the coffee she made. Something North choked down because he had to. Lew Miller was right, she didn't belong here and she must remedy it while she still could.

Arising, she dressed, put her hair up and made up the blankets carefully. Then from under the bed she took out her valse and began to pack. Her books, brush and other things she had brought. Faith stopped herself as she almost put the shawl and comb that he had given her on their wedding day in as well. She smoothed the white linen and sat it on the bed then placed the comb on it carefully. No, she wouldn't take them. They were for someone who could do much better for North than she had. Glancing at the blue dress that she hadn't worn since they had gone to Box Junction she decided to leave it as well. He could get his money back. She took out the shirts she had made for Mr. Fry as well and sat them alongside. They may cover some of the dress she had to wear.

About to close the trunk, she was met with the sight of the colt. It hadn't been cleaned which was unlike her husband, North.

With a shaking hand she picked it up, five shots still in the chambers of the drum. Impulsively she put it on the bed by her bag. Below that was a fold of leather with North's cash money and some silver coins. She would have to have something. He had offered to pay for her way home that first day. Faith would take the fare now and she pocketed $30.

Then she felt the ring, still on the string around her neck, the weight of the gold loop warmed by her skin. A sharp intake of air filled her lungs and she hurried to remove it. She laid it down on the shawl next to the comb but for a moment thought of taking it with her. It was something of him she could keep. She did not want to forget him, she doubted she could. But no, it wouldn't be right.

Taking up her things, she carried the gun carefully and went to the barn. Quickly she saddled Sheen and affixed her valse. Then she filled her canteen and climbed up astride the horse.

She closed her eyes as she went by the house, about to kick Sheen into a gallop. But she stopped and forced her eyes to view it one last time.

Suddenly she was out of the saddle, running back to the door and into the bedroom. Snatching up the ring she left again. This time for good.