He ate sparingly. They were running out of food. There wasn’t much of the flour left, and Mary was reluctant to kill another chicken. He made up for the lack with half a pot of coffee. The three of them came out to see him off. The cold had abated somewhat, thanks to warmer wind from the south. Fargo was about to step into the stirrups when Mary came over and, in front of the children, kissed him warmly on the cheek. “Take care and come back safe.” Fargo said he would try. He climbed on and looked down and felt a strange constriction in his throat. “If I don’t make it back and Cud Sten shows up, wait for your chance and steal three horses and head out of the Beartooth Range.” They wouldn’t last another six months, otherwise. Mary put her hand on his leg. “You’ll come back. I know you will.” Fargo used his spurs. He looked back once and they were still standing at the corner of the cabin. All three waved. He waved back, then swore. Fargo told himself he was upset because of Mary.
