“I’ll be darned,” Jessie whispered to herself as she watched Henry and the horse disappear into the gently swirling mixture of rain and fog at the edge of the yard.

Henry started by heading due west along a wash that was normally dry, but now had two feet of swift running current in it from the storm. He found a good place to cross about a mile or so upstream where the bank was gradual on both sides and the water wasn’t too wide, and he brought the young horse to its edge. The buckskin gelding hesitated for a second, watching the fast-running water before stepping quietly across the creek and scrambled easily up the other side. The pair continued along the opposite side of the wash for half a mile, then turned southwest toward a large, lone tree. As expected, Henry found a small band of horses huddled beneath its branches and he stopped to count noses. There were seventeen total, and although he didn’t know all the horses names, he did recognize colors and markings and make a mental note of the horses he saw. He turned the gelding due north and headed for another place he figured horses might be holed up, a spot near the river where a large rock outcropping would provide shelter.

With very little wind, the rain was falling almost straight down and limiting Henry’s visibility to less than one hundred fifty yards. He scanned the horizon for horses from time to time, but for the most part kept the brim of his hat tipped toward what little wind there was to keep the rain out of his face. After an hour Henry reached the river and followed its bank to the outcropping another half mile up stream. There he found another fifteen head standing dry and quiet in the sand under the rocky roof. With forty-one horses back in the catch pen, seventeen under the trees and the fifteen he found under the outcropping (along with the one he was riding), he figured he was still missing two.

Henry and Jessie had covered most of the ranch on horseback over the past three weeks as a way for Henry to get a feel for the country, learn where the fence lines and gates were, and where the watering holes and places were the horses go to feed were. Along with seeing all of that, Henry also noted places like the two he had just visited, places where horses—or other livestock for that matter—might go to seek out shelter in bad weather. He sat across the river from the band under the rocks and ran through all the places he could remember that might afford a dry, safe place in a storm like the one that had passed through.

There were three spots he could think of off-hand. One was a half-mile-long box canyon lined with trees and rocks, another was a grove of trees a little smaller than the one he had already checked, and one was a shallow ravine with a deep cut into the red rock that lined it. The only problem was all three were over on the other side of the ranch; at least two hours ride to the east. Henry looked up at the gray sky for any break in the clouds that might hint the rain was coming to an end, but found none. He took a deep breath, tipped his head to let the water drain from the brim of his hat, and urged the buckskin forward.