The early morning sun crested the notch formed to the east between the high walls of the valley as Nathan pressed his hands into the small of his back and breathed deeply. A light, chill breeze stirred the timber, bringing with it the sharp scent of pine and cedar. The sensitive still life of a rushing, meltwater creek stretched around him and there was nothing still about it. He knelt at its edge, listening to the gurgle and thrum. Behind him two pack horses stood, loaded with canteens.

The chuckle of the creek and towering stoicism of red canyon walls beyond the cottonwoods reminded him of his decision to live as a scout, or mountain man as Day Long might joke. This was the life he chose, born in the wilds of Virginia, where his family made a name for themselves along the east coast with the infamous Boltons. Aleya's father left the Bolton home of Somerfield Island when Aleya was a young girl. When Nathan traveled west working as a scout and tradesman, he found a piece of home on Aleya's family farm in St. Maria. Many harsh winters spent in the Colorado Territory led to the meeting of Nathan and Van. Once Van and Aleya married, with their ranch established, Van trusted Nathan as a friend and potential business partner.

Nathan laughed, his first cry echoed. He'd thought of Day Long. The Seminole scout was an entirely different story. Was he a Seminole? Nathan wasn't clear on all that. Andros Island, Florida, runaway slaves, Seminole Wars, and reservations. His head full of contradictory stories, he stood and walked back to the horses with the final canteens filled.

Having taken an inventory of the chuck wagon after Day Long’s visit the previous evening, he’d decided on the addition of fresh foods for variety and health. Best found on a nearby farm, which the Semos cousins assured him sat in the parallel valleys and canyons along their route, it was time to discuss the matter with Van.

He led the pack horses back to the morning camp. The water barrels in the wagon needed filling too.

*

The camp sat beside a large needle of rock between the men and the cattle. If a stampede erupted in the night, at least they wouldn't be awoken from and trampled in their sleep. The covered wagon abutted the rock, its horses picketed beside it. Thick grass growing in the runoff field of the needle kept the draught horses sated. Teven served breakfast to everyone from the wagon, while black kettles kept coffee hot over the central campfire. Van, Day Long, and Christian sat together, apart from the Semos cousins and their fellow vaqueros—four of which remained at watch over the herd.

Nathan approached from the north, his packhorses in tow. “Van, how do you feel about fresh eggs and milk?”

“Absolutely brethren.” Day Long sat with his mouth full of bacon and beans. Nathan ignored him. Day Long hefted a battered metal cup. “Anything to fix up this brown gargle you call coffee.”

Van stared at his own cup, glanced at Teven, and raised the cup toward Nathan. “Agreed.” It was Teven who prepared the morning coffee.

Nathan shook his head. “I can be back before noon break.”

“Aw hell, who’s gonna cook midday chow while yer gone?”

“Driven by your belly, you are.” Nathan said before turning to Van.

Juan Semos stood and walked over from the cluster of vaqueros.“There are scattered farms here in the mountains, Señor Drake has already spoken of this with me.”

Van waved his hand. “Yes, as did we, buying when we can along the drive, if there are farmers willing to sell or barter.”

Juan Semos pointed to the north east. “An hour or two at a gentle ride, we will find a small farm. Señor Drake and I will go?”

Van stood and stretched. “First we get the herd moving. We can ride for the farm and join back up by noon or thereafter.”

*

Christian prepped a sorrel gelding from among the remuda as the spare horses grazed in the varied mountain grasses while Sende up-staked the makeshift corral. “Teven’s riding to visit a farm for eggs and the like.”

Sende stared at the young wrangler. “I heard them at desayuno, your brother, Señor Van, and Juan. Why do you tell me this?”

“Because they want me working with your cousin Marcos as a point rider. I'm in charge while they're gone.”

“The cookie is usually left to…”

Christian grimaced. “Well yes, but Nathan's already left with the wagon to ride ahead of the herd.”

“Señor Long?”

Christian misstepped as he tried to mount his sorrel. “Day Long? Señor Loco? No.”

“Then the cook, Señor Drake is in charge?”

“What? No. Take the compliment.”

“What compliment?”

“We're entrusting the remuda to you.”

Sende pulled at her hair. “Oh. I apologize.”

Christian spurred his mount into a gallop. “Yeah, damn it. Way to take the wind out of a fella’s sails.”

*

Van watched as the herd pressed east. Christian fell in ahead of Marcos at the head of the drive and lead steer. Van raised his hand. “Señor Semos, if you would.”

Juan Semos kicked his horse forward. Teven fell in beside Van and the trio set off toward the creek. “Señor Van, I must thank you once again for engaging my family in your employ.”

“Nathan recommended you, or I should say, Day Long. But Nathan went about seeking you out.”

“Señor Long?”

Van smiled. “It's Day Long actually. Not sure his first name is John, but his name is Day Long.”

Juan Semos raised his chin. “Ah, is he a Mascogo?”

Van and Teven shared confused glances.

Juan Semos raised his free hand. “Black men that settled in Mexico, to the south of here, beyond the Pecos. It makes sense to me.”

Van and Teven shrugged.

Teven tilted his head. “I only know of Andros Island.”

Juan Semos raised a forefinger. “He is a Black Seminole, yes?”

The friends nodded.

“Ah, si.” Juan Semos raised both hands, a broad smile creased his wrinkled and weathered skin. “Many traveled here years ago. Perhaps he visits his people?”

Van rubbed his jaw. “Maybe.”

Teven grinned. “Learn something new every day.”

“Day Long is a mystery.” Van said. “But he's one to ride the river with, no matter how he acts.”

Teven laughed. “Nathan sure suffers the gaff with him.”

The party neared the cottonwoods growing around the creek bed. The murmured rush of water filtered through the thicket.

Van shifted in his saddle. “Is it a Gasento farm you're guiding us to, Juan?”

Juan Semos shook his head. “No, I don't believe so, but there was a time when the people who worked these lands paid the Gasento family.”

“Sounds like Ireland. Tenant farmers.” Teven said.

Juan Semos nodded. “It is the same everywhere. The many poor and the few who are rich.” He pointed ahead. “We follow the creek up into the hills, where we can cross into the next valley.

Van remained quiet on the climb through the switchbacks between the two valleys. The trio paused atop the slope, impressed by the view before them, a panorama of nature's majestic simplicity. A plateau studded by mesas and cut by labyrinthine canyons. The turquoise-blue sky arched over the craggy outcroppings and thick foliage. A land of grandeur and ferocity.

“This is why we are here.” Van stared out over the fastness. “Easy to lose oneself and start over.”

Teven’s eyebrows rose and fell. “It seems as endless as the ocean.”