He could not move. He could not speak. He knew he should say something, walk towards her, anything. But he could not, he just stared. She flushed, embarrassed, broke the gaze and gathered her charges to begin the tour. An hour later they arrived at the stables, led by Charlie, their tour guide. Ben Craig was grooming Rosebud. He knew they would come. It was on the route.
‘This is where we keep the horses,’ said Charlie. ‘Some are cavalry mounts, others belong to the frontiersmen who live here or are just passing through. Ben here is looking after his horse Rosebud. Ben is a hunter, trapper, scout and mountain man.’
‘Want to see all the horses,’ yelled one of the children.
‘All right, honey, we’ll see all the horses. Just don’t get too close to the hooves in case they kick out,’ said Charlie. She led the youngsters down the line of stalls. Craig and the girl were left facing each other.
‘I’m sorry I stared, ma’am,’ he said. ‘My name is Ben Craig.’
‘Hi. I’m Linda Pickett.’ She held out her hand. He took it. It was warm and small, the way he remembered.
‘Could I ask you something, ma’am?’
‘Do you call every female ma’am?’
‘Guess so. Way I was taught. Is it bad?’
‘Kind of formal. Like from a long time ago. What did you want to ask?’
‘Do you remember me?’
Her brow furrowed.
‘I don’t believe so. Have we met?’
‘A long time ago.’
She laughed. It was the sound he recalled from around the campfires at Tall Elk’s lodges.
‘Then I must have been too young. Where was it?’
‘Come. I’ll show you.’
He led the puzzled girl outside. Beyond the timber palisades the peaks of the Pryor Range rose in the south.
‘Do you know what those are?’
‘The Beartooth Range?’
‘No. They are further west. Those are the Pryors. That was where we knew each other.’
‘But I’ve neve
r been into the Pryor Range. My brothers used to take me camping as a kid, but never there.’
He turned and looked into the beloved face.
‘You are a schoolteacher now?’
‘Uh-huh. In Billings. Why?’
‘Are you going to come back here again?’
‘I don’t know. There are other parties scheduled to come later. I might be assigned. Why?’
‘I want you to come again. Please. I must see you again. Say you will.’
Miss Pickett flushed again. She was too beautiful not to have been in receipt of many passes from boys. Usually she brushed them aside with a laugh that conveyed the message but gave no offence. This young man was strange. He did not flatter, he did not smile invitingly. He seemed solemn, earnest, naïve. She stared into the frank, cobalt eyes and something fluttered inside her. Charlie came out of the stable with the children.