Walls of white buttress the house up ahead. Looks more like an oversized snow fort. That's how snow works on the prairie. Two inches can look like two feet. Snow piles up on whatever stops it.

Like the house itself, the snow drifts point east. Everything does. The trees around the house. The outbuildings across the yard. The few spears of grass treading above the snow.

I keep the truck in the tracks pressed into the driveway. Come to a stop in the driveway behind another truck. Snow melts on its hot hood.

My eyes trace the route of a second set of tire tracks. They just keep going past the driveway. Not unusual. People cut through the driveway to get to the section lines. It's legal to drive section lines in North Dakota. Some folks take that to mean they can trespass. And others just don't give a shit.

"Gus," Red says.

"What?" I say.

I kill the headlights. Leave the truck running.

"That's Gus's truck," Red says.

"Who's Gus?" Sam says.

"My deputy. Former deputy," Red says. Rubs his hands together. Even I can feel him clam up. It's not from the cold outside. "Guys, this is not good."

"Great. We can say hi," Sam says. Motions the revolver toward the house.

Red frowns as I turn off the truck. I keep my eyes on his.

"How many rounds you got in that revolver?" I say. Need a reminder. The counting is comforting. Might just be a replacement for pulling out my eyelashes, though.

Sam pops open the Anaconda's cylinder. "Five of six," she says.

I think to the shotgun behind the seat. It's empty.

"Red, you keep any ammo in here I don't know about?" I say.

"In the glove box," Red says.

Sam clicks the glove box open. Finds one stray .45 shell mixed in with moldy cigars and paperwork.

"Some sheriff you are," she says. "You run around with one spare in the glove box?"

"It's all I got," Red says.

Sam picks the lone empty casing from the cylinder with her fingernail. Loads in the replacement.

"Ready?" she says.

"Let's go," I say.

I exit through the passenger side behind Red and Sam. The wind's too strong on my door.

It only takes a second for the snow to coat our faces. Have to hide them under our arms. Wish I could look around a bit before going inside. No use.

We shuffle up to the wide deck that skirts the front door. I let Red take the first fall on the narrow stairs. Snow coats the first crooked step. I should know. My bad measuring made it that way.

I open the door. Step aside. Sam shoves Red through first. Good thinking. Because the scene inside makes me wish I had that shotgun.

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