The wind cut through the canyon like a wetted knife carrying the metallic scent of snow and the heavier copper tang of spilled blood.
Thain adjusted his collar pulling the sheepskin higher against the cold that sought to freeze the marrow in his bones.
His horse Bess huffed a nervous cloud of steam her ears twitching toward the ravine floor.
He guided the mare down the scree until the shattered wagon came into view.
Bodies lay scattered half buried in the drifting white.
Thain dismounted keeping his hand near his Navy Colt.
He checked each form knowing he would find no life until a flash of vivid crimson caught his eye.
There sheltered by the broken axle lay a woman in a long silken gown of blood deep red embroidered with golden threads.
Her skin was pale as old ivory and dangerously cold.
Thain knelt and pressed two fingers to her neck.
A faint thready flutter met his touch.
She was alive.
He stripped off his heavy coat wrapped her in its warmth and lifted her light body into his arMs. Her head lolled against his chest her black hair spilling like ink.
Ive got you he murmured.
It was a promise to the wind as much as to her.
The storm closed in as they rode to his cabin nestled in lodgepole pine.
He laid her on the bear rug before the hearth and built the fire high.
He removed her soaked embroidered slippers and rubbed her icy feet working to bring back circulation.
In the firelight her beauty struck him deeply high cheekbones and a mouth too soft for this hard land.
He wiped the grime from her face with warm water and draped a thick blanket over her watching her shallow breathing through the night.
Near dawn she woke with a sharp intake of breath.
Her dark eyes darted in terror as she scrambled backward against the hearth clutching the blanket.
She spoke a frantic string of musical words he could not understand.
Thain raised his open hands slowly.
Easy he said keeping his voice low.
You are safe here.
No one is going to hurt you.
She stared at him assessing his size his beard and the gun belt by the door.
After long minutes she crawled forward and took the cup of broth he offered drinking greedily at first then slowing.
When she finished she whispered in heavily accented English Thank you.
He tapped his chest and said I am Thain.
She hesitated then replied Mayin.
Days passed in the blizzard sealed cabin.
Mayin stayed near the fire regaining strength.
She preferred mint tea wrinkling her nose at his bitter coffee so he brewed it for her from his saved tin.
She examined her torn red dress with distress and mimed sewing.
Thain gave her his repair kit of heavy needles and rough thread.
She worked painstakingly unweaving strands with her teeth and nails to mend the delicate silk.
The black thread left visible scars but she wore the dress with quiet dignity.
You have strong hands she said one evening as he whittled an axe handle pointing at his scarred palMs. They work he answered simply.
She brought him a bowl of stew rich with herbs she had found.
The men in the wagon he ventured they were not just drivers.
No she replied softly.
Guardians.
They die for me.
Her voice carried deep sorrow.
Thain covered her hand with his rough palm.
You are not property he said firmly.
Not here.
Mayin interlaced her fingers with his in silent pact.
Weeks turned to a month.
Mayin ventured outside wrapped in his spare coat the red hem peeking like a wound against the snow.
She helped inside sweeping and reorganizing.
One day she drew characters on an old ledger.
It is a poem from my home she explained.
The mountain does not bow to the wind.
My father promised me to a general.
I did not wish to be conquered.
False spring arrived with treacherous sun and night ice.
Thain was breaking ice at the corral when Bess snorted a warning.
A rider emerged a sharp eyed man in gray duster on a black horse.
Afternoon the stranger said politely.
I am looking for a woman dressed in unusual finery.
There is a substantial reward.
Thain lied smoothly.
Found a wagon smashed.
No woman.
The man smiled coldly.
I am Graves.
I will be camped by the creek.
That night Thain loaded his Winchester.
He knows Mayin said clutching a pairing knife her fear turning fierce.
No he replied placing hands on her shoulders.
We hold here.
Night fell.
A firebomb shattered the bedroom window.
Mayin threw the rug over the flames stomping desperately.
The front door shuddered under impact.
Thain fired through the wood.
A shout of pain answered then return shots.
The door burst open.
Graves stood silhouetted with revolvers.
Thain dropped to one knee and fired.
The bullet struck Graves in the chest knocking him back into the snow.
Thain moved forward rifle ready.
Graves lay dying breath bubbling.
He looked up in surprise then the darkness took him.
Mayin stepped out shivering but steady.
She looked at the body then at Thain and nodded acceptance of the violence that kept them safe.
The next morning they buried Graves past the treeline under stones.
Mayin folded her red chong sam inside out placing it at the bottom of the trunk.
It is too loud for this life she said softly.
She put on his flannel shirt rolling the sleeves.
I am Mayin she declared.
I stay.
Spring came with green valleys and roaring creeks.
Thain and Mayin repaired the pasture fence working side by side lifting rails and lashing wire.
Their rhythm needed no words.
At midday they rested on a warm rock overlooking the land.
Thain brushed his hand against hers.
She smiled unguarded her face flushed with dirt on her cheek and hair in a practical braid.
She looked nothing like the fragile woman from the snow yet more beautiful to him now.
They sat as hawks circled above two solitary lives woven together by winter bound by the quiet enduring promise of the frontier.
