Short and sweet.

Exactly the words John Cannon liked to think of when it came to visiting Casa Montoya and dealing with Don Sebastian . Although he paid a buck fifty a head more than he wanted, John still got the hundred yearlings and weaned calves he would need to replenish the herds after the ranch's latest sale to the Army. He wanted young stock and he got them. Seventy head now, with the promise of thirty more within ninety days. Sam, Reno and two new men, Gibbons and One-Eyed Riley, would stay for a few days and lead the first seventy up to the south end of the Chaparral, where they could take advantage of the spring growth and water until the remaining thirty were ready to join the herd. The drovers would be one man short. Word had reached Casa Montoya that Pedro's father was very ill and John told him to head home, and to take as much time as needed. Four men, he thought, would be enough manpower. Both of the new men knew which end of a cow held the tail. They'd be fine.

John popped the reins and the wagon jumped forward as Victoria waved and shouted good byes to Don Sebastian and his servants. Mano tipped his hat toward the Old Lion before trotting out in front of the wagon.

" Oh, John," smiled Victoria, "It is such a beautiful day to be traveling. The air is cool and the sun not too hot. I do love the spring."

John returned the smile and nodded in agreement. "So do I, Victoria. Best keep that parasol handy, though. That sun can creep up on you, if you're not careful. We'll be home a bit quicker this time. These two, " he said, nodding toward the chestnut mare and the gelding pulling the wagon, " are really pulling well. You'd think they'd made this trip before."

The two year olds were Chaparral's own, bred from two solid working mares and a stud John had rescued from a rancher who'd gone belly-up. It was Buck's idea to get the sire and John had to agree that the pairings with his mares were a success. Good, solid working stock, the backbone of any operation. Judging horses was one arena where the brothers Cannon saw eye to eye.

Victoria routinely checked the contents of the wagon as they traveled, something she always did, making sure the trunks and boxes of fruit, the smoked hams , the crates of eggs and various other items she purchased from Casa Montoya remained cinched in place and were not bouncing around. Today, John noticed, she seemed to look back far more often than usual. As casually as he could, he turned and looked to see what might be drawing his wife's attention. Everything seemed in order, everything riding nicely.

Victoria continued to check the load frequently. At length, John had to ask, "Alright, Victoria, what is back there that has you so interested?"

She jumped at the question. "Well, what do you mean, John?"

'You've been looking back there every five minutes. " he responded.

John turned back and eyed the contents carefully. As before, everything seemed in order. The only unusual item was a smallish woven box which he couldn't recall loading. The weaving on the box was spaced to allow air to pass through. As John's eyes focused on the box, he saw something move inside. He sighed and faced back to the trail.

Slowly he asked, "Victoria, what ..is..in..the..box?"

" Which box?" she replied, innocently.

"You know which box. The box with an animal in it."

The gig was up. Victoria released a puffy sigh. "It is a pigeon, John. A pigeon with a broken wing."

"What? " There was a lengthy pause. "Why on earth would you be rescuing a pigeon?" demanded John, more surprised than angry.

"Pepe was loading the hams from the smokehouse when a hawk scattered the pigeons in the couryard. This one flew into the big window of the dining room and broke his wing. I could not let the big bird come back and kill him."

"Its a pigeon, Victoria, a stupid pigeon." John could see Victoria stiffen as soon as his comment was made.

" The pigeon is a very intelligent animal , John Cannon." she spurted.

"Well how smart is a bird who tries to fly through a plate glass window ?" he countered.

"The pigeon can recognize itself in a mirror. I'll bet you did not know that. Did you know that, John Cannon?" The response was equal parts petulance and resolve.

"No " he drawled, lowly, not wishing to have the situation escalate. " I did not know this. I've never considered it. It's just a pigeon. "

"To you it is just a pigeon. In God's eyes..."

Oh, no, John groaned. Whenever Victoria played the "God's eyes" card, he knew he would be fighting a losing battle. Mano, who had been riding alongside the wagon, heard the same warning and gave Mackadoo a quick kick. A good time to ride up ahead, he realized.

"...he is equal to all other creatures. God made sure I was there to see St. Francis get injured. Why do you thnk that is ?"

"Because you were visiting Casa Montoya?" John responded, still a bit baffled by this turn of events. 'There are dozens of these things down there. They get killed all of the time. And who is St Frankencense?."

"St. Francis, John," she corrected. " St Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals. He is the namesake of this bird."

John resisted the urge to ask the name of the patron saint of lost causes. Victoria would claim that title at the Chaparral except brother Buck beat her to it. John just shook his head.

" I have no interest in having pigeons flying around the High Chaparral, crapping on everything in sight, like at Casa Montoya. We have enough going on there as it is. Wouldn't you agree?"

" Oh, John. You need not worry. When St. Francis' wing has healed, I will release him and he will fly back home." Victoria was now smiling. She was slowly gaining the upper hand.

'Do you honestly believe this bird will make it back to Casa Montoya?" John queried, his head tilted, an eyebrow raised.

'I told you, John, the pigeon is a very intelligent animal. They can always find their way home, even from great distances."

"Intelligence isn't the issue here, Victoria." he answered. " There are hawks, eagles, ravens; not to mention cats, humans, the weather. That little bird doesn't stand a chance, I'm sorry to tell you that."

"I will bet you, John. I will bet you one dollar that St. Francis will return to Rancho Montoya." she confidently responded.

Her optimism in the face of such long odds made John smile. "You have a deal, Mrs. Cannon." he said, holding out his hand. As she shook it, he remembered something.

" There is a nice bird cage out behind the bunkhouse, Victoria. It belonged to Annalee for her canaries. After she passed , the birds just withered away. There was nothing Blue or I could do to save them. They didn't want to live without her, I guess. Blue has never said so, but I think he buried them out with her."

'Are you sure, John? Are you sure Blue wouldn't mind?"

John chuckled. " Just try to stop him. If he can help an injured animal, I think you know by now, he'll do anything it takes. The boy's always been a bit partial to birds, anyway. Your biggest problem might be keeping him out of your way."

Victoria giggled, an ear to ear smile on her face. She thought of the wager and smiled the smile of possibility.

Likewise, John smiled as he thought of their wager. His was the smile of probability.