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else from her mind and watched until the colors
faded. Then she walked on, aware of an ease beginning within her.
    The mood was broken
abruptly as she approached the gate to the Bellevance home and
suddenly had the eerie sensation of being observed. She looked back
down the street, and though she could see no one in the
fast-gathering darkness, the feeling persisted. In her shoulders, at
the base of her neck, was a tense uneasiness she couldn't ignore. It
was as though her senses were telling her of someone hidden who was
waiting for her to turn away so he could strike from behind. But
hidden where? She turned and looked up at the Bellavance house, a
round-shingled, two-story cottage set on a high foundation. The first
floor was all alight, and since the house was smaller than most on
Ferguson Street, she could have seen anyone watching her from inside.
And there was no one. She looked up at the second floor, and her eyes
fixed on a darkened window. Had there been a movement? She couldn't
be sure. The white curtains were still now, absolutely still.
    Determined to shrug off her
uneasiness, she walked to the door and rang the bell. Paul Bellavance
opened it himself, smothering her in an embrace as soon as he saw
her. "Sophie, Sophie. It's been too long. I'm so glad you came."
He kissed her soundly, then held her at arm's length. "Ah,
Sophie, we're so proud of you. Here, let me have a look at you."
    As he was surveying her,
she considered him, his shrewd and kindly brown eyes, his weathered
face, deeply furrowed and creased. He was a big man, an imposing
figure, especially now that his hair had whitened. His clothes were
not new, but they were well-cut, giving him an air of relaxed
prosperity. Paul had done well in Cheyenne, Sophie knew. His
mercantile company had grown with the town until it provided him a
comfortable income. But she doubted he had pushed matters beyond
that. He wouldn't have speculated in land or cattle, not because he
disapproved of it, but the rewards it might bring simply wouldn't, in
his eyes, justify the effort. "There's nothing I want I can't
buy now," she'd heard him saw when such a venture was proposed.
More than most men Sophie knew, Paul seemed guided by a concept of
sufficiency. The mercantile company was success enough for him; the
due paid him for being one of the territory's longest-term residents
was recognition enough. His easy, relaxed way had always made him
good company, and she realized she had missed him. "It has been
too long, Paul," she said. "Almost nine years. You could
come see me in New York, you know."
    "Too many people,
Sophie. I'm too much a part of this land now, and I can't stand being
away. But come on, you don't want to talk to me, you want to see Joe.
Come on, I'll take you upstairs." He led her through an entrance
hall paneled in dark wood and up a carved walnut stairway.
    "It's good of you to
make a place in your home for Joe," she said.
    "James was going to
have him over there, but the children like to run and make noise..."
    "Sally especially."
    He smiled. "Besides,
Joe's like my family. I'm real honored to have him here."
    They had reached a dark
upstairs hallway, and Paul put his hand on her arm, guiding her into
a low-ceilinged bedroom dimly lit by a wall sconce. A nurse was
sitting by the bed knitting black wool. When Paul spoke to her, she
gathered her things and left the room.
    "He's so pale,"
Sophie said. "And he looks so small." Joe's eyes were
closed and he lay very still. She sat down in the nurse's chair
beside the bed. "It seems so odd to see him lying here. He could
do anything, that's how I always think of him. Anything he ever
tried."
    "And according to some
of his stories, there's not a lot that he and my dad didn't try.
There were some wild times when the two of them were trapping in the
mountains."
    "I got the tamer
stories, or at least tamer versions. I remember he liked to talk
about you and your dad building Fort Martin."
    "That was one of