now over a year old. When was big enough, he would be ''taken to the shed'' and his meat would last Jenni and her family the whole winter. Because of this fate, he did not have a proper name, usually being referred to merely as ''The Calf'', although he was sometimes called ''The Mont''.
     There came loud snort from the stable to Jenni's right, and she quickly looked over her shoulder to it. Michigan, her small buckskin horse, with white socks on his fore-feet and a rump marked like an appaloosa's (only these were Bend-Or spots), was stretching his neck out over the bottom half of his Dutch door, trying to reach her. His black muzzle, with a white star on it, twitched furiously. His brown eyes could not be seen under a massive, thick and black forelock.
     'Hello to you too, boy,' said Jenni. She opened his stable door and walked in, peering down at his right foreleg which had been hurt countless times in the last month - by being rammed by a fence post, stuck in a rabbit hole and twisted when slipping in mud, among other things. Every accident had left him limping slightly. Was it the same after banging against the manger?
     Michigan, however, was fine; he backed away to give her room, trotting four paces with hooves lifted well up. He appeared to feel no discomfort when moving in the least.
     'Looking good!' said Jenni, bending down and running her hands over the stallion's leg, while Michigan nibbled at her coat playfully. 'Only walking for now, but you'll be able to have a good gallop around in a day or two. How would you like that?'
     As if understanding her words, Michigan swung his head around to look at his leather saddle and bridle, hanging at the back of the stable, and lightly blanketed with dust and specks of hay seed. He snorted in a lively way, bobbing his head.  He had not been ridden for a few days.
     'Jenni!' came Paul's voice suddenly from the house - it had a strained note to it. 'Are you tacking up Huron yet? Pa's leaving earlier . . . '
     'I'll see you later, Mich,' said Jenni, rubbing affectionately the nose of her horse, before hurrying out to prepare her father's.

   
Chapter II
On The Hilly Pasture

It was quarter past six when, after having a quick breakfast, mounting Huron and saying goodbye to his family, Sergeant Adams made his way out of Mill Town, aiming to have a ride in the Grey Hills, a rough piece of mountainous country. There he would exercise Huron, as well as himself, preparing them both for their return to duty at the local cavalry fort in a few days time.
     From the yard gate, Jenni and her mother, Anne Adams, watched him go down the street, swaying on the back of big, brown, short-maned Huron. He turned around, and waved. They waved back.
     'Four more,' sighed Mrs Adams, referring to her husband's remaining days on Leave. She time and again wished he wasn't a soldier of the US Cavalry - time and again she feared he would be killed by an Indian, or shot by his own men (as sometimes happened to soldiers), or by himself, if his gun back-fired, or . . . Her list of worries went on and on.
     Jenni nodded silently. She looked down and began fiddling with her apron strings; a thing she tended to do when she was nervous or worried.
     'The Morrises will be here in a couple of hours,' said Mrs Adams, once her husband had disappeared into the distance. She turned to Jenni. 'Are you going with Paul today?'
     'No, I'm afraid not,' answered Jenni, and stopped fiddling. 'Paul told me the town has been pretty rough lately; ever since the new settlers from the South came - don't know why. But I don't think it's safe to go yet.'
     'Oh, dear,' her mother said, turning towards the house sadly . . . now she had Paul to worry about.
     'Will he bring his gun with him, just in case?' asked her mother.
     Jenni nodded as they strolled across the yard. They looked over at the Red Shack, where Paul was readying the buckboard wagon in preparation for the Morris' arrival. The two Morris brothers - who lived on a homestead not far outside Mill Town - owned a number of draft horses which they hired out to people in need of one. At the expense of the United States Army, Paul used a horse once a month to drive provisions to the local US Cavalry fort. As a job perk, his family was allowed to use the hired draft for a few days before and after the monthly delivery.
     Mrs Adams called to her eldest: 'Will you take your gun, Paul?'
     'Sure will!' replied Paul, giving his anxious-faced mother a comforting smile and a thumbs up.
     'Mother?' Jenni said they reached the house door, and she opened the door.
     'Yes, dear?'
     'If it's okay with you,' Jenni said, 'after chores I was considering taking Hannah's bull and Mich up to that nice hilly bit of pasture belonging to Buckbone Ranch which Mr Crow the owner said we could use sometimes  - it's not too far from here. The one Father used to graze the goats on last summer. It would be great for the bullock to eat something other than the hay and Mich will like the adventure. Maybe even Ivy could come!'
     Again, her mother looked worried. 'Maybe not Ivy, dear,' she said softly. 'I mean, I don't like listening to rumours; but I have heard that there were a few Sioux Indians sighted by the Buckbone Ranchers recently, and I don't like the idea of even you going too far on your own.'
     There seemed to be a lot of trouble in and out of town lately.
     'What if we took a gun?' grinned Jenni.
     

Not a mile from Mill Town and one hour later, Jenni shouldered the rather large rifle and made her way slowly up a grassy hill, the big bull calf walking steadily behind her, with Michigan on a very long rope held by Jenni's little sister Ivy bringing up the rear of the small expedition party. The going was easy. They reached the top of the hill. With their backs to where Mill Town lay, they faced northwards a kind of valley; below their hill stretched a plain of lush green pasture land, on the other side of which lay another hill, a longer rise of land topped with what was known as the Fleewood Forest. It was a beautiful view, and the wind which blew towards the west, tousling the girls' hair and Michigan's black mane, was wonderfully refreshing.
     Jenni placed her weapon down and, using a mallet out of the bag she had taken with her, hammered a thick stake of iron into the ground. Then she hooked the end of the bullock's long tethering chain onto the notch in the iron. She took off her leather jacket, for despite the wind she was hot after the climb.
     'There you go,' said Jenni to the bull, patting his stomach gently. 'Enjoy.'
     Meanwhile, Ivy, who had red hair like her older sister (although of a brighter shade), had slumped onto the ground, quite tired out after the walk; her little legs could never keep up with her Jenni's quick pace. It was a big hill and she had never climbed it before. 'Ouch,' she said, still holding Mich's rope, as she pulled off one of her brown boots and checked inside it. 'I've caught some stones on the way up!'
     'Sorry, Ivy,' said Jenni, double-checking that the stake was safely in and then taking Mich's rope from Ivy, so that her sister could empty her boots without worrying about him. The little buckskin was tugging excitedly, seeming keen to move off to find a good bit of grazing pasture or a place to roll. 'That was probably the calf and I, kicking them in accidentally, on the way up.'
     'Are there really Indians around here?' inquired Ivy, squeezing a small hand into one shoe to dislodge a big pebble. 'Will they cause trouble?'
     Jenni steadied Michigan. 'I don't know really,' she said, pausing for a moment to tie the buckskin's rope to another metal peg. 'Like Mother said, that was a rumour. But we are still to be on our guard, anyway. Got that?'
     'But how close to the town might they come?' Ivy suddenly looked up, squinting anxiously at her sister.
     'Don't worry,' smiled Jenni. 'Now look . . . ' With Mich safely tethered, she went over to stand beside Ivy. Jenni gestured to the trees which peppered the hill opposite theirs. 'That's the Fleewood. Redskins have never come any further than far, far behind those pines. They're careful, you see, because the land between us and the trees belongs to Buckbone Ranch.'
     Ivy looked a bit more relaxed. 'Well, they'd be scared of our gun, though, wouldn't they? I'm mean they wouldn't dare hurt us if they knew we had one, would they?'
     It was Jenni's turn to look a bit anxious. 'Well . . . they have guns themselves.'
     'Oh . . .'
     'But really, Ivy, they've never come past those trees. Honest. And even if they did,