Or maybe Smith loved her enough not to ask her to trade herself away in order to make white folks more comfortable.
“You are mining now, Marlowe?”she asked.
“I have a silver claim and a ranch I bought with a partner a few miles south of Elkhorn.So far, I ain’t worked the mine, though.I raise cattle.”
She stood for a moment, watching him and considering until she reached a decision.She uncocked the shotgun and crossed the room.Rows of pegs had been driven into the logs above a line of barrels, and she set the Greener up with three other rifles.
They were quite a collection for a miner.A Springfield .45-caliber single shot that made Caleb think Smith had served in the Indian Wars.An old .50-caliber Hawken that could bring down a charging grizzly.Above them all was a .47-caliber Lancaster flintlock with a gleaming maple stock.Old Jake always held that the Lancaster was the best rifle he ever carried.
“Are you hungry?”
“I don’t want to cause you any bother, ma’am.”
“Sit there.”She gestured to the table and then lit a fire in the stove.
He removed his wide-brimmed hat, hung it on a peg by the door, and sat at the table.She lit a candle and placed it in front of him.
Caleb watched her go wordlessly to the line of barrels along the wall and come back carrying an iron pot that she put on the stove.When she lifted the lid to stir it, he smelled stewed pheasant, and his stomach rumbled.
“I apologize for busting in through the door and surprising you like that.”
She put a basket of biscuits and a spoon on the table for him.“You didn’t surprise me.I knew you were coming from the time you left the main road.”
Of course she did.She was waiting with a shotgun aimed at his chest the moment he walked in.
“I was told Smith lived alone.I didn’t expect to find him or anyone.But coming up to the cabin, I knew someone else was here.I just didn’t know who.”
“You are more alert than the six men who came looking yesterday.”
Caleb figured she was speaking about the judge’s men.
“You didn’t show yourself to them.”
He didn’t mean it as a question, but the side look she sent him reminded Caleb of the dangers she faced.A native woman alone in an isolated cabin.It was best to hide.
“Sorry.I shouldn’t have said that.You were right.”
She stood by the table.“Smith does not drink spirits, but there is a jug filled with water from the creek.And I can make coffee for you, if you want it.”
“Thank you.I wasn’t expecting any of this, but I’d love coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble.Smith drinks coffee morning and night.”
She took a tin bowl down from a shelf by the stove and filled it with stew.She placed it in front of him.“Eat, Marlowe.”
“How about you?Ain’t you eating?”
“I ate before.”
The stew had large pieces of pheasant, potatoes, parsnips, and herbs he couldn’t identify.The food was savory and filling.He finished it quicker than was polite.She filled his bowl a second time, and he sopped up the gravy with the biscuits.It was a better meal than any other he’d had in the four months since he arrived in Elkhorn.And that included several of the “best steaks in town.”
It had the taste of a home, which made it stranger still to be eating it while hunting the man who belonged here.
When he told her how much he was enjoying the food, she made no response.
As she went back to the stove for his coffee, he decided he should get down to business.
“When did you last see your husband, Imala?”
