Wyatt didn’t seem to notice the prairie dogs but made sure to steer well away from the mounds and burrows and the honeycomb of holes that could cause injury to the horses. He pointed at something in the distance. “Look over yonder.”

She lifted her hand to shield her eyes and saw what appeared to be a herd of some sort of deer. Several dozen were grazing in the open grassland. Against the rise of the foothills, the grandeur of the scenery washed over her, drowning the doubts and anxiety of earlier.

“It’s awe-inspiring. Are they deer?”

“Pronghorns.” He slowed, allowing his mount to fall into step with hers. “Like antelope but faster.”

The slender, graceful creatures were brown, with portions of their bellies, legs, and rumps a snowy white. Most had horns, some longer and bulkier than others. “They’re beautiful.”

“And they’re pesky, sneaking in and mowing my hay to stubs.”

As they rode, Wyatt talked more about the pronghorns and the benefit of a bountiful supply of pronghorn meat, which he described as having a tender texture and mild flavor compared to other game.

He answered her questions about how much land he’d plowed and planted, along with the irrigation ditch he’d built from the river to the field. Since the rainfall in Illinois was usually sufficient during the growing season, Pappa had never needed to irrigate his crops. But Wyatt explained how the climate in the central mountain valleys was too arid to grow much of anything without the ditches.

“Might be wasting a whole lot of time growing my own hay,” he said as they urged their horses onto higher terrain up a hillside dotted in aspens, ponderosa pine, and Douglas fir. “Some say there’s enough natural grass here that we ain’t got nothing to worry about. But Judd said we should have extra in case we get a bad winter.”

“Sounds like a wise decision. Are the winters severe?”

“You’d think so since we’re out here in the middle of the Rockies. But the past couple have been pretty mild. Lots of snow, but it don’t stick around long enough here in South Park to keep the cattle from being able to graze.”

“Better to be prepared than watch your herd starve to death.”

“That’s what Judd said.” Wyatt reined in his horse and shifted to peer back over the direction they’d come.

She did the same. At the sight that met her, she sucked in a breath of amazement. The view was just as spectacular to the west as it had been a short while ago in the east when they’d watched the herd of pronghorns. A panorama of high-peaked giants lifted their bald heads to the sky. The expanse was vast against a cloudless hazy blue.

“I ain’t been here long,” he whispered reverently, “but already this land is winning me over something fierce.”

“I can see why.”