The sun is setting and he’s made himself comfortable in the steps of cabin where the ranch hands stayed. He busies himself with strengthening the rope he’ll be using in the next couple of weeks. It’s his way to relax and a good excuse for not joining the other ranch hands in their trip to the saloon.
Once in a while, he’d still a glance at the house several yards away. The owner of the ranch, a widow by the name of Adelle DeWitt, lives there with her young son and other members of the household. If stories he heard from the men are true, Adelle DeWitt was some sort of royalty in England, who eloped to America. That a few years ago, her husband had been killed by thieves and all were killed by the woman afterwards. They also say she has a better aim than the gunslingers that came to town and can out-drink anybody who challenges her.
Laurence looks at the house again. He has no idea if any of these are true; the number of times he had talked to her can be counted in one hand and from all their short conversations, she came across as a forceful, intelligent and reasonable woman, who has her hands full with her precocious son. And somehow, every time he sits on these steps, his thoughts would drift to the woman who owns this ranch.
Maybe he should find a new spot to sit on tomorrow.