But his father-in-law reminded Joe of an animal brought down by hunters, mortally wounded, its eyes glazing over as it waited to die. The fire of life had fled from Loren Hollister. He had lost all will to go on—and Joe could in no way blame him.
They helped him into the back seat of the buggy, under the hood. Amelia climbed in beside him, leaving Joe alone in the front to drive the team.
It was midday by the time they reached the ranch. Abraham, the gentle giant whom Amelia had promoted from ranch hand to nurse, was waiting on the porch. He came down the steps, lifted Loren out of the buggy, and carried him into the house.
A cowboy was waiting to take care of the buggy and the team. Joe handed him the reins and followed Amelia into the house. Abraham had placed Loren in his favorite armchair. Loren’s mouth worked until one unmistakable word emerged.
“Whiskey.”
Amelia poured three fingers into a glass and helped him drink it. As soon as it was gone, he managed another word. “More.”
Amelia handed the glass to Abraham. “You saw how I had to help him,” she said. “Give him all he wants.”
Just then Mason came in from the kitchen. He took one look at his grandfather and burst into heartbroken sobs. “Grandpa . . . no!” he wailed.
Joe stepped forward and lifted his son in his arms. “Let me take him today,” he said to Amelia.
“Fine. Just have him home in time for bed.”
“How about it, son? Do you want to spend the day with me?” It was a safe question. Mason always loved spending time with Joe.
“Uh-huh.” Mason smiled through his tears.
“Then let’s go.” Joe carried his son outside, retrieved his horse from the corral, and rode off holding Mason in front of him on the saddle. He had work to do, but Mason enjoyed tagging along to see the cattle, the horses, and the sawmill. Joe also planned to talk with the boy about his grandfather’s condition, what he could expect, and how to help.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough. As darkness fell, Joe took his son back to the ranch and turned him over to his mother at the front door. He’d known better than to get entangled in the family problems there. Still, he couldn’t escape the tension and worry. As he rode away, headed home, it was as if the events of the past few days had come circling in to roost like black vultures on a snag.
Reaching the spot where the trail to his place turned off the main road, he swung his horse aside, then hesitated. There was nothing to do at the house except read for a while and then go to bed. But with so much weighing on his mind, he was liable to spend the whole night tossing and turning.
Maybe a drink and a little socializing at the saloon in Blue Moon would settle his nerves. With luck, there would even be a poker game going on. Losing a few dollars to some happy cowboy might prove a welcome distraction.
By the time he tied his horse to the hitching rail outside the saloon, along with four others, two with bedrolls and gear on their saddles, the moon was high in the sky. Although he’d sworn not to do it, he couldn’t help looking in the direction of the school and Sarah’s house, which was just visible at this distance. He could see no light through the high windows. Sarah and Blake would likely be asleep.
At the bar, Joe settled for a single whiskey before joining the lively poker game around the large, round table. He played a few hands, won a little cash, lost a little more. Never mind. It was just a way to pass the time before riding home and trying to get some rest.
Usually he knew the other men in the game. Tonight, he recognized two cowboys who worked for the Calders; but two of the men at the table were strangers, rough types whose unwashed clothes and unshaven faces marked them as trail bums. At least their money was good. And they were both winning more when, abruptly, they exchanged glances and quit the game. One of the men, the bigger one, ambled outside. The other man had a quick shot of whiskey at the bar, then followed him.
Joe played a few more minutes before he realized he was tiring of