Jesse Clayton stopped his horse when he saw the old man hit the ground. The trouble was a few yards ahead on the trail; a wagon held up by two men on horseback was what he made of it. Sure enough, their eyes found him and he was part of this now. He tugged at the reins of his mare.

Getting closer, he could see the problem much clearer: atop the wagon sat a woman not much younger than himself doing an admirable job of hiding her fear. The old man was sprawled on the ground, his forehead all bloody, while a man in a ragged duster stood over him. Another in matching attire sat sentinel on his horse, a shotgun now aiming at Jesse.

“Just a conversation, mister. You go on and git, now.” said the standing man.

“That’s right, go on.” The rider said with a wave of his shotgun.

“This doesn’t look like much of a conversation,” Jesse said. He kept his voice low and cool, almost playful. “You got this poor feller lying in mud and his own blood and you’re pointing a gun at his lady. What kinda talking you doing here, friends?”

“The kind that’s none of your business.” the standing man said.

 For a moment Jesse locked eyes with the woman. Her eyes pleaded with him. “Guess I’m making it my business, friend.” Jesse pulled his town coat away from his hip and let his hand hover. He was cold and he was tired, but he’d be damned if he was to leave that woman to her fate. “What’s your names, boys?”

The standing man answered: “Name’s Dustin. On the horse is my brother, George.” Dustin’s hand had gotten awful close to his hip, now; George’s grip on that shotgun had gotten a little tighter too.

“Well, my name’s Jesse. Now that we’re all well met, let’s the three of us have a conversation. Nice and civil. Way I see it, you boys have two choices: first, y’all get back on your horses and ride off and we all have a lovely evening. Second,” Jesse nodded his head down to his hip, “You see where my hand is right now? If it gets any lower it’s gonna come up a lot faster. I’ll bet you’re thinking ‘but fast enough to plug you both?’ Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m sure as day followin’ night that I’ll get you, Dustin, before either of you get me. So what’ll it be boys?”

The brothers shared a glance. A long moment passed between them all, punctuated by the grunt of the old man. Jesse saw the temptation scrawled across their faces. Dustin’s hand was twitching. George held that shotgun of his so tight it could’ve snapped in two. Jesse was suddenly aware of the sweat beading around the brim of his hat.

“Well, gentlemen? We gonna fish or cut bait?” Jesse said.

Dustin held firm for a moment as he eyeballed Jesse. Then he folded his arms and sighed. “Put your gun down, George,” Dustin said. He drove a boot into the side of the old man before stepping away and mounting his horse. He tipped his scuffed hat to Jesse and the lady and waved his brother on. Their horses kicked up dust and soil in their wake. Jesse kept his eye on the two of them until he was of a mind that they were not about to change theirs. Once they were out of view he let out a long breath, pulled out his handkerchief and gave his forehead a wipe.

He hopped down from his horse. He greeted the lady with a “ma’am” and a tip of his hat before he knelt down beside the old man. He hauled the old-timer up into a sitting position. Half his face was slick with crimson from a deep gouge in his forehead. Jesse asked him if he was okay and the man only moaned in response. Behind him, the woman jumped down from the wagon.

“Daddy! Daddy, are you okay?” She had a handkerchief in her hand and was dabbing his forehead down with it. The old man grunted in pain.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine, Winona. They didn’t hurt you, now?”

“No Daddy, thanks to the kindness of this stranger.” She looked at Jesse and smiled. He believed it was pretty enough to disarm a man. She said something else but Jesse didn’t quite catch it, being lost in his own mind. “Hey!” That brought him back to attention, “You think you can quit daydreamin’ and help me get him on the wagon?”

“Sure, ma’am.” The pair of them heaved the old man up to his feet and walked over to the back of the cart.

“And don’t call me ‘ma’am’. Name’s Winona. Winona Squires. And this is my daddy, Bill.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jesse winced at his immediate mistake. “Sorry. Nice to meet you, Winona.”

It took them about half an hour to get back to the ranch. Winona rode on the wagon with her father while Jesse followed on his horse. He noted the fences, with their breaks and holes that needed maintenance; the cattle looking a little on the thin side (even to him, who was no expert in the matter). The house itself was big, if a little modest on the inside, with few furnishings but a wooden table and a few cabinets. Winona fed another log to the fire.

“Sonofabitch!” Bill yelled.

“Sorry about that, Bill,” Jesse said, “but this wound needs cleaning out. It ain’t deep, but it’s enough to cause trouble if you go and get an infection.” He upended the bottle of whiskey on the cloth and then dabbed his head again. The man howled and pulled away.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that and you pour us a drink?” Bill said. He pressed the cloth to his head and turned to Winona. “Baby, get us some glasses for the whiskey.” Winona nodded and fetched them, returning to the table. Jesse poured them all a drink. Bill raised his and said: “to the kindness of strangers.”

The three of them drank.

“You’re too kind.” Jesse said.

“Not at all, last thing I remember is expecting death and fearing for my daughter. Here I am now sharing a drink with the man who prevented the terrible things my mind had imagined up.” Bill grabbed the bottle and poured another round. “What brought you down to this part of Idaho anyhow, Mr. Clayton?”

“Just passing through.”

“So you’re a transient?” Bill chuckled. 

“More of a wanderer, but you could swing it that way, yes,” Jesse said.

“Oh don’t mind him, he’s all kinds of rude after a bang to the head,” Winona said. “There anywhere in mind you’re wandering to?” Winona asked. She’d gotten hold of some bandages now and was readying to dress her father’s wound.

Jesse shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes me, I guess.”

“Well, thank the Lord for the way of the wind, this night. Anything I can do to repay you? Room for the night is the least of it.” Bill said.

“Could use some supplies if you can point me to the nearest town,” Jesse said.

“Won’t be much there, but I can take you into Fortune in the morning. You’ll be able to get a thing or two there for your travels.” Bill reached for the bottle and went to fill Jesse’s glass. He shook his head and the old man filled his own. His vision had started to wobble like jelly and his mind felt locked away somewhere outside of himself. His body felt warm and his limbs like they’d been borrowed from another man. His eyelids had become heavy as lead.

“Much obliged. Now, I’m struggling to wrestle my eyes open. If you two will excuse me I think I’ll go get some rest.”

“Sure thing. Up the stairs, room on the left’s all yours.”

Jesse got up and pushed his chair under. He plucked his Stetson from the table and made his way up. Each step creaked underfoot. 

“Why did you stop?” Winona asked.

Halfway up he turned back to see her at the bottom of the stairs and said, “I did what anyone would do.”

“Not around here. People just up and hide the moment there’s trouble. But not you. Even seeing it was two to one you kept on, laughing and talking at them like it was a game.”

“That’s what you thought? It was a game?” He leaned against the handrail. “You keep a secret?”

Winona’s heart stopped as Jesse pulled his colt from its holster with all the swiftness of a viper. He tossed her the weapon and she caught the heavy piece of steel. She felt its heft as she wielded it. Something about it felt off. As she inspected it, she realized what was wrong. She looked up at Jesse who shot her the widest grin.

“There any place I can buy bullets in Fortune?”