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her fire and coffee and left her a skillet sizzling with fried venison and potatoes.
    Clutching her treasures in her arms, Low Down sat on a log near the warmth of the fire and whispered a word of gratitude for the mist. It would have embarrassed her half to death to have anyone see tears in her eyes, and they would have seen because she sensed the men nearby in the chilly mist.
    "Thank you," she shouted when she could trust her voice. "You didn't have to do this. Chipping in at the wedding was more than enough." As far as she knew, Max wasn't aware of the pouch Billy Brown had presented her after Max had stomped away, and she didn't plan to tell him about it. "I'll think of you every time I use these wonderful things."
    No one answered, but the mist seemed less gray and the sky brighter than it had a minute ago. When she sensed the men slipping away, she poured coffee into her new speckled cup and inspected her gifts one by one, taking her time to admire each item thoroughly. She wasn't a weepy woman, so it irritated her that her eyes kept fogging over, but hell, she couldn't recall the last time someone had given her a gift, and here she had more than a dozen.
    The new hat went on her head and her old hat plopped on the fire. New socks replaced old. She carefully tucked the watch into her pocket, and she chose the least-faded bandanna to tie around her throat. Then, feeling very grand, she stirred a sugar cube into her coffee with the silver spoon, and afterward she meticulously polished the spoon on her shirttail before she tucked it safely into Frank's pouch of nuggets. She added the pouch to the leather cord tied around her neck, which already supported the chipping-in money and the gold dust she had panned out of Piney Creek.
    After she washed her skillet and plate in the creek, she tested the toothbrush and enjoyed the luxury of tooth powder, something she'd been out of for a couple of weeks. The powder had a faintly peppermint taste that she liked a lot.
    By the time Max showed up, just as the morning sun was burning off the ground mist, she'd finished attaching her gift stirrups and had slung the new saddle blanket over Rebecca's back.
    "I thought you'd be ready by now," he remarked impatiently.
    "Well, pardon me." She slid him a glance, trying to determine if he was looking over her belongings, figuring they were now his. On the other hand, it occurred to her that Max McCord might not think her paltry possessions worth claiming.
    His hat was comfortably worn, but there were no holes and the brim was smooth. His denims weren't patched or thin in spots, nor were his jacket or waistcoat. His boots looked practically new. And his horse. Low Down had never owned a ride as fine as the mustang Max sat atop.
    "What's her name?" she asked, admiring the shine of sunlight on the mare's fiery coat.
    "Marva Lee. Are you ready to go?"
    "You can see I still have to strap down my saddlebags." And tie on her bedroll. The tent she would leave behind; maybe someone could use it. If events progressed the way they were supposed to, she'd be sharing Max's tent.
    When she finished loading, she checked the site to see that she hadn't forgotten anything, then pushed back her hat and gazed down the slope at her diggings. A lot of hope had run through that sluice.
    Tilting her head, she studied the sugary early snow frosting the high peaks, listened to the tumble and splash of the creek. Finally she dropped her gaze to the men pretending to work along the banks, pretending not to watch her and Max prepare to leave. Some of them she liked, some she didn't. But they'd always treated her squarely.
    She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. "Good-bye all you gold grubbers! Just remember, I've seen you naked and none of you got do-diddle to brag about!" Laughter ran down the banks, and she grinned. "Strike it rich, boys!"
    A chorus of good-luck wishes rolled down the creek banks and once again Low Down felt her throat getting tight and her