He led the big horse down to the creek bank, and let her drink, then mounted and splashed past the trout weir. Just down the canyon, a trail angled up the dark hillside. Sett was surprised at how little the land had changed in fourteen years. The mossy boulders and huge trees on the north face of the mountain had never been Sett's favorite part of the homestead. He preferred the more open sage and cottonwood range that got some sun. Still he knew the forested land as well as he did the rest of the Cottonwoods, this area near the cabin especially.

The trail hair-pinned around an outcropping of boulders, a old pine leaning out horizontal over the slope. It looked the same as it had when his younger brother Ben had climbed straight from the saddle, leaving no footprints, and hid in its thick branches during a game of posse and outlaws. Young Sett had ridden by the tree three times searching for him, tracking Ben's pony down off the ridge and all the way home before realizing that his brother had skinned off and sent the little horse on alone. Sett could almost smile at the memory. He would have never found his freckle-faced little brother if Ben hadn't started giggling.

SETTLER'S LAW, page 94