The French stockmen or guardians’ hut sat above a sheltered valley, deep in the rugged terrain. When it was time to round up the horses or the wild cattle, the stockmen stayed in the hut and others like it scattered through the wild pasturelands. Now there would be no one there—except Gaston. At least if luck were with them.
Colette scampered along as fast as she could, burdened by the heavy satchel filled with food and the gold coins she had filched from her father’s secret cache. Despite the need for haste, she was careful not to fall and drop the lantern, which then might spark a dangerous fire. The spring had been unusually dry and the grass was not as rich and moist as usual. She knew the senior de Jean was worried about the forage and she’d heard talk of a potential need to acquire
