He tapped another place. Snow came sideways. Horses were losing footing. Grant ordered us back before we got five men trapped instead of two. Shelter.
A line shack here. Walter pointed. Too far uphill. Anything downhill? He shook his head.
Not that I recall. Hannah looked at the map again. The ink was old. Some notations were newer. Fence lines, feed points, water.
Her eyes stopped on a small mark near the western slope. What's this? Walter leaned closer. Old trail. No, beside it, he squinted.
Don't know. Hannah left the table. She crossed to the account cabinet and opened the lower drawer. Grant kept supply receipts there. Henry watched her.
What are you looking for? Something I saw. She thumbmed through old invoices. Salt, harness oil, oats, a receipt from late winter. She stopped.
Trapper cabin feed cash. 20 lb oats. One sack salt lamp oil. Hannah laid it beside the map. Walter read it.
His eyebrows lifted. That cabin. You know it. Forgot about it. Where?
Walter traced to the old trail again below the divide, maybe three miles from the shale cut. If Grant couldn't go back up, he'd go down. Walter finished the thought. Hannah looked at him. So where would he go if he couldn't come home?
Walter's finger settled beside the faded mark. There. Henry leaned over the table. Then go. Walter looked toward the window.
Snow had thickened. Hannah, can you reach it? Maybe. That isn't an answer. It's the only honest one.
Hannah looked at the map, then at the medicine cabinet near the kitchen. Grant's shoulder linament. Ludinum tincture from the ranch medical box. Bandages, blankets, coffee. She began moving.
Walter caught her arm lightly. You're not coming. Hannah looked at his hand. He released her immediately. I know the medicines he's been using.
I can carry medicine. I know what his shoulder looked like the first time. Walter exhaled. Hannah, riding in this weather isn't like taking the wagon road to town. I know.