I nodded reassuringly to Lance, went outside, and was pleased to see James riding into the yard. His big cavalry mount blew steam through his nostrils after struggling through the snow. The rest of a squad-sized patrol had turned and was passing the farmhouse on the east.
“This is a surprise,” I said.
“No more than the new bridge. I’ve been thinking about one but decided to wait until my retirement. You’ve accomplished much.”
Aware he had intimacy on his mind, I held up my hand. “I had help. We have a guest.”
He frowned. “Who?”
“Dull Lance, one of the Sioux from up on Trickling Water. They were ambushed and wiped out by the militia at the beginning of snowfall. He was wounded but managed to get to the farm. I sheltered him here for the winter.”
James turned and gave a loud whistle. The officer leading the troop through the snow pulled up and looked in our direction. James waved him forward.