He came with the northern wind and a drizzle that was gone before he reached the farmstead. Place was a big log cabin with a single wall in stone, and more recent extensions added to it. He liked it. It was well kept and spoke of a certain degree of wealth.
Boy was sitting on the fence repairing some nails that had come off it. He swung the hammer like he was born to it. He must've been twelve maybe thirteen, blonde hair and that frame that's getting long and lanky and only later would likely be filled by muscles. Boy was looking at him with curiosity, but was still going hard at work, like his arm had memorised the perfect trajectory for the hammer to hit the nail right in the head and drive it in the gray wood and could've done it blindfolded.
Each hit was like a gunshot.
Boy stopped when they were ten yards distant from each other.
'Nice horse,' boy said.
'Name's Judge.'
'How come?'
'Belonged to one before the judge died and the wife sold it to the guy I bought it from.'
'Looks a good strong animal.'
'You got expert's eyes there, boy.'
'Name's Spencer.'
'I'm Lawrence,' he said, taking off his glove and showing his big hand to the boy. Boy smiled and shook it.
'Pleasure to meet you sir.'
'Nice place you got here. Parents home?'
'Only my mother. Father died of consumption when I was half as tall as I'm now.'
'Sorry to hear that.'
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Barely remember him. But that makes me the man of the house I guess. What can we do you for?'
'Looking for a place to rest my horse and myself.'
'Town of Glover a few miles down the stretch. Just follow the creek that way downslope.'
'I'm beaten and Judge is done in for the day. I can pay.'
Boy studied him. 'You stay where you are mister and don't get too comfortable. I'll call mother, see what she has to say.'
'Can I stretch my legs?'
'On that side of the fence mister, you're as free to do as you like as if you were in God's green Heaven.'
He grinned at the boy's manners and at his self-assurance. When he had been his age, he was more likely to avoid adults than confront them with that calm coldness. Must've been one hell of a woman, who raised a child like this one here.
She was, she stepped onto the front porch cleaning her hands on the blue apron. She wore a light red dress and her blonde hair kept in an onion. She was tall and standing straight and her face even from afar looked more than just pleasant to the eyes.
He tipped his hat, then thought better than that and took it off completely. Her steps were long and decisive. She walked like soldiers marching up and down the parade grounds. The way she kept her apron folded against her waist, he knew she had a gun nestled there, and he couldn't blame her for they were living in uncertain times and men were just as likely to be decent folks as they had to be outlaws and such. He made a show of keeping his right hand as far as possible from his holster, letting her know he didn't belong to the second category of men, 'cause he didn't.
'Ma'am,' he said.
She stopped a few steps from the fence. She was even taller up close, and he saw she was a beauty, even if she must've been well into her thirties and for sure must have had a hard life of running this place without a man helping out. Her skin was tanned by too many summers out in the sun and there were some lines around her eyes and mouth, but nothing that made her less of a looker than what she was. He had laid with women didn't look half as pleasant as she did, and he had to pay for the privilege as well. Her eyes were a deep blue like water up in the mountains. They were severe too, but he couldn't hold that against her. Talking with a perfect stranger and the day soon to die, would've put a scare on all sorts of women. She had to worry about the boy as well.
