Charlie lifted his felt hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, glad to be free of the stifling house.  Here on the front porch was a bit of a breeze, at least.  He gazed to the east across the rolling prairie, now parched and brown.  Miz McCall’s petunias had long since withered to stems despite her efforts to keep them watered.  August was just too much for them, especially this August.  It had been the worst summer he could remember, and he had lived through many a scorcher back home.  Wyoming’s cool green mountains had lured him here from Arkansas in the first place.  Well, the mountains were here, all right, just to the west, but they weren’t cool today.

            “Dadgum fool weather,” muttered Charlie, replacing his hat.

            Mister Bill was worried, he could tell.  Snows on the peaks had melted long before June, and the creek was down to a trickle.  This would be hard on the herd.  Mister Bill and the men were driving the bulk of it down from the upper pastures today to be near the well. Their range would be limited and they were sure to lose weight, no doubt about it.  Of course, Mister Bill could get a loan to buy feed.  Either way, he’d lose money.

            Charlie snorted.  “No use mopin’.  That never paid no bills.”

            He clomped down the front steps, his spurs ringing.  Miz McCall had requested he stay behind and mend the back screen door, and he’d been happy to oblige.  He liked Miz McCall; she reminded him of his mama—a real smiley, hymn-singing woman.  It was a pure pleasure to be around her.

            The door was fixed now, and she had sent him to fetch Sarah, the family’s youngest.  His eyes did a quick scan of the place, from the smoke house to the farthest corral.  Not a sign.

            He grinned, thinking of the little blonde-haired girl who had stolen all their hearts.  She was five going on twenty—sweet as honeysuckle one minute and tart as vinegar the next.  That one surely did have a mind of her own.  They’d all tried to tame her, but Zeke was the only person who could control her much.  She adored her big brother.  And though he made out like he didn’t, Zeke felt the same way about her. 

            Like as not, if he found Zeke he’d find Sarah.  Now where would that young’un be?  Daydreaming, most likely.  Bill Jr. and Sam were old enough to help with the cattle, but Zeke was a bit too young to be much help to the ranch hands.  Besides, he could hardly get his nose out of a book long enough to cinch a saddle. 

            Considering where the coolest place on the ranch was likely to be, Charlie headed for the windmill on the hill past the house.  Sure enough, there was young Zeke, head bowed over a book and hand gripping a glass of lemonade.  He had positioned himself so that the drips from a leaky pipe landed on his neck.  Pretty good thinking, thought Charlie with a smile.  He would never admit it out loud, but of all the McCall children, Zeke was his favorite.

            He was absorbed in his book and didn’t even notice Charlie walk up. 

            “Whatcha readin’ there, son?”

            Zeke’s eyes twitched in surprise, but never left the page.  “The encyclopedia.”

            Charlie looked over his shoulder:  Rembrandt...Remington.

“Plot’s mighty thin, I reckon.  You seen Sarah lately?”

            “Naw,” said Zeke, his eyebrows creasing together, “I sent her back to the house.  She was pesterin’ me.”

            “Now I cain’t believe that of our Sarie.  You sent her back just now?”

            “Nope, right after dinner.  Hour or so ago, I guess.”

            “Well, she ain’t there now.”  To himself he added,  “Now where do you reckon she went?”

            Zeke’s frown deepened.  “Wanted me to go ridin’ with her.  And it’s the hottest part of the day.  I told her she was crazy.”

             “Don’t imagine that set too well with her.” Sarah usually got her way, even with Zeke.

            “Nope,” he shrugged and returned to his reading. 

            “Yore mama wants her.  I’d best be lookin’.”

            He sauntered down the hill, picking up speed toward the bottom.  She was most likely in the barn out of the sun.  Sarah had a fond spot for horses, particularly Marigold, the two-year-old filly.  He’d found her one day feeding that danged horse her mama’s oatmeal raisin cookies.  Being Sarah’s favorite, Mister Bill had kept Marigold out of the ranch’s working remuda; consequently, she hadn’t been ridden much.  She was more or less Sarah’s pet.  He was sure he’d find her brushing that filly and giving her an earful about her no-account brother.

            The barn door was unlatched and open.  Neither Sarah nor Marigold was inside.  They weren’t in the rear corral with the spare horses either. 

            Charlie felt a twinge in his gut.  If that young’un was out riding that horse, Mister Bill would whip her, sure enough.  One thing Mister Bill would not tolerate was his baby girl out alone on the prairie.

            He saddled his best horse and set out west in search of her.  Sarah would likely head out toward the creek, and that worried him.  It meant she’d be in the foothills, and that was no place for an inexperienced rider.  Suddenly he changed his course, thinking she might have gone north toward the old home place to see her Grandpa Ezekiel.

            As the old house came into view, Charlie felt a bit foolish for having spurred his mount all the way.  Sarah would be all right.  After all, she’d been around horses all her life.

            There was no sign of Marigold about the place, but Martha McCall had heard him ride up and was at the door. 

            “‘Zekiel!” she called into the house.  “Somebody here to see us.”

            Charlie tipped his hat.  “Afternoon, Miz McCall.  Hot one, ain’t it?”

            “Yes, indeedy.  Get on down from there and sit a spell.  I’ve got iced tea.  ‘Zekiel!” she hollered, turning just in time to bump into her husband on his way out the door.

            “There you are!  This young feller has come to call.  I’ll fetch the tea.  You like sugar in yours?” she said, peering up at Charlie.

            “Thank you, ma’am.  I’d like to, but I cain’t.  I--”

            Ezekiel said, “And why not?  Get down here and rest those weary bones.”

            The old man’s voice boomed, from all those years in the pulpit, Charlie supposed.  It was a sure thing he didn’t need any of those new-fangled microphones some churches were installing these days.

            He shifted in the saddle.  He didn’t want to worry the old couple, but it had to be asked.  “Has Sarah been up this away the last hour or so?”

            “No.  No.  Has she, Martha?” he added, turning to his wife. 

            “Law, she isn’t missing, is she?” worried Martha.

            “Well, ma’am, not exactly.   It’s just that right now we don’t know where she’s at.”

            She replied, “Land sakes, I’m worn out just wondering what trouble that girl will get herself into next.”

            “Now, Martha,” comforted Ezekiel, “she’ll turn up.  She always does.  But you’ll keep lookin’ for her, won’t you, Charlie?”

            “You betcha.  She’s probably already home by now.  See y’all again soon.”

            Thoughtfully they watched him ride away.  Five minutes later Charlie crested the rise just north of the ranch house and looked for any sign of Sarah.  Sure enough, there was Marigold placidly drinking from the trough.

            His relief was short-lived.  Just then Zeke came running from the house, closely followed by his mother.  From the looks on their faces, something was very wrong.

            “Charlie!” yelled Zeke.  Charlie met him on the run.  Breathlessly Zeke said, “Marigold came back without Sarah!”

            That twinge in his gut just got stronger.