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Martha smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening. "Good. I was worried it might be getting crowded."
"What do you think is over that next ridge, Nora?" Martha asked, staring into the flickering flames as the wind began to howl through the cracks in the cabin walls.
Should I add a to the story, like a runaway or a sheriff? I can expand this story in whatever direction you choose! Saddle Tramp Women
They were saddle tramps. It was a title given by townsfolk with a mix of sneer and awe, reserved for those who wandered from ranch to ranch on horseback, trading hard labor for a warm meal and a place to sleep before moving on to the next horizon. Most saddle tramps were men, but Nora and Martha had carved out their own space in the wild dust.
By nightfall, they had reached the shack. It was little more than a stack of rotting cedar logs and a stone chimney, but to them, it was a palace. Martha smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening
"My knees are screaming louder than a mountain lion," Martha muttered, her voice gravelly from years of trail dust.
Nora unsaddled the horses, checking their backs for sores and rubbing them down with a handful of dry grama grass. Martha got a small, smokeless fire going in the hearth, throwing a handful of Arbuckle's coffee beans into a blackened tin pot. Should I add a to the story, like a runaway or a sheriff
"There's an abandoned line shack another two miles up by the dry creek," Nora said, squinting against the glare. "We'll make camp there. Plenty of grama grass for the horses."