How long was it before Matthew felt as if his face had frozen solid and the exertions of the drive began to ache in his bones? He figured he’d been up top close to three hours. Steam curled from the horses’ nostrils. Even with snow on the road, the coach juddered to its joints and swung back and forth with alarming abandon. He had just about reached his limit. Therefore when in the next twenty minutes he saw off to the right a stone cottage with smoke rising from its chimney, a barn and a corral and a neatly-painted sign out front that read Travellers Welcome, he made a decision for resting the horses and getting some hot food, and he began the rather strenuous task of slowing the team and guiding them off the road toward the chosen destination.

The viewslit came open. “What’re you doing?” Julian asked from within; more of a demand for an answer than a question.

“I’m stopping at this inn ahead. I need to get warm, I need food, and I need to do everything that I’ve been holding back for a solid hour. I expect our guests would wish the same.”

Julian paused for only a few seconds. “All right. Agreed. We might be stopping too soon, but I’d care to get a warm cup of ale at least. But we’re not staying here very long.” He slid the viewslit shut, and Matthew said, “Whoa, whoa,” to no avail and felt as if he needed the strength of three Hudson Greathouses to get the damned team to stop in front of the inn.

At last he fought them to a compromise, halting about fifty feet from a snow-laden green awning that hung above the front door. As Matthew performed his last pull on the reins, the door came open and a stout figure bundled up in a gray woolen cap and a brown coat with a fleece-lined collar hurried out to meet them.

“Hi hidy!” called the man in a voice as rough as the weather but sunny with good cheer. “Welcome, all! How many there be?”

“Four,” Julian said as he came out of the coach. He had put his gun out of sight for the sake of not scaring the innkeeper to death. “All cold, hungry and in need of some rest. The horses too. Can you handle them?”

“Cack a bull, what a team!” The man stepped back, hands on his wide hips, to regard the coach as Matthew climbed painfully down from his perch. “I have never seen the like of such a wagon! Too handsome for this road, by a cannon shot! Well, I reckon I can handle them giants and my teeth hope so. Get ’em unhitched and into the barn, feed ’em and let ’em warm up a bit. That suit?”

“Suit,” Matthew said.