Careful, cowboy. You may be smarter than you look. I've been accused of worse. The crowd began to break apart as daylight faded. Wagons creaked towards the road.
Traders returned to packing goods. Ranch hands drifted back toward their horses, already retelling the story in louder, less accurate versions. Nollie stayed. So did Emmett. For the first time that day, neither had an audience worth performing for.
They talked beside the corral, while the stallion stood quietly near Emmett's shoulder. Nollie asked where he had learned to handle horses that way. Emmett told her about Abner Knox. Not everything, just enough. How his father had believed a frightened animal remembered every hand that hurt it and every hand that did not.
Nollie grew quieter. My grandmother would understand that, she said. Suma. Nollie nodded. She understands most things before the rest of us do.
Emmett smiled. Sounds dangerous. She is. Another laugh passed between them, softer now. Nollie looked at the gray stallion.
Does he have a name? Not yet. He earned one. Emmett watched the horse for a moment. Slate.
Nollie repeated it once, testing the sound. Slate. The stallion flicked an ear toward her. The sun had nearly dropped behind the mesas when Nollie finally said, "My family's camp is up river about half a day from here." Emmett looked at her."
If you want to see how Slate does after today, you could come by next week. He understood the invitation for what it was. Not a promise, not yet. Something smaller and more important." "I'd like that."
Nollie smiled. Emmett rode out of Copper Creek on scout with Slate following behind on a loose lead. He told himself he was thinking about the horse. By the time the trading post disappeared behind him, he knew better. A week after Copper Creek, Emmett Knox rode up river with Scout beneath him and Slate following on a loose lead.
The open flats narrowed toward Cottonwoods and low red ridges. By noon, Emmett saw cooking smoke ahead and heard children laughing beyond the trees. Nollie met him before he reached the camp." You came, " she said." You invited me.
I was beginning to think cowboys only kept promises when a crowd was watching." Emmett tipped his hat." Then I'm glad I got here before you started another wager." That earned the smile he had hoped for. The Apache camp felt different from Copper Creek.
A trading post asked nothing from a man except money and manners. This place belonged to families, memories, and routines older than his arrival. So Emmett did what Abner Knox had taught him to do around anything unfamiliar. He watched first. He let Nollie lead.
She showed him where her family kept horses, where water was drawn, and which plants along the riverbank could help clean a wound or settle a stomach. She laughed when he mispronounced an Apache word and made him try again until he got close. In return, Emmett told her about cattle drives, lonely nights on the range, and Abner. He said his father had taught him nearly everything worth knowing about horses before fever took him when Emmett was 17. Nollie did not offer easy comfort.