themselves. With the other men pitching in, the job could be done in a day, as Archibald had commanded.
As the day went on, a sneaking suspicion began to lurk in the back of Bo’s mind. It seemed to him like Archibald and the other men had shown up awfully conveniently. Maybe Peeler had sent him and Scratch out by themselves as bait of a sort, to find out if Ridley was keeping an eye on the valley. Archibald could have followed them, with orders to step in if Ridley showed up at the fence line. Forcing Ridley to back down was just the sort of slap in the face that Big John would enjoy dealing out to his rival.
By late afternoon, the fence was finished. Archibald told a couple of the men to stay there and patrol the length of it until he got back to headquarters and sent some relief out to them. Then he said, “Creel, you and Morton load up the wire that’s left and take the wagon back.”
Bo looked up at the
Archibald frowned at him. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“I thought Big John and Ridley had agreed about putting up a fence and where it was supposed to be.”
“It’s supposed to be right here where it is. If you got a problem with that, Creel, maybe you better draw your time and ride on.”
“Now, hold on,” Scratch said. “We don’t want to go jumpin’ to no conclusions such as that. I reckon Bo was just a mite curious, that’s all.”
“It don’t pay to be curious when you ain’t in charge of anything.” Archibald wheeled his horse. “Get that wagon back to the ranch before dark!”
He and the others rode away, including the two men who would ride along the fence line to guard it, leaving Bo and Scratch to finish loading the wagon.
“Who put a burr under your saddle?” Scratch asked as he shrugged into his shirt and started to button it. “I’m usually the hotheaded one who goes off half-cocked and gets us into trouble.”
“I don’t know,” Bo replied with a shake of his head. “I’ve just got a feeling that something’s not right here. Like maybe Big John’s just using us.”
“Well, of course he’s usin’ us. He’s payin’ our wages, ain’t he?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“When you figure out what you
Bo managed a grin. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that.”
They threw a partially used roll of wire into the back of the wagon, along with a small stack of fence posts they’d wound up not needing. Then they climbed onto the seat and Bo took up the reins, slapping them against the backs of the two horses hitched to the wagon. The team started toward Circle JP headquarters in a plodding walk.
The sun was almost down when the wagon rolled up to the largest of the three barns scattered around the ranch. An elderly cowhand who was too stove up to ride the range anymore came out and took charge of the team. Bo and Scratch climbed down from the seat, and Scratch started toward the bunkhouse, going several yards before he realized that Bo wasn’t with him.
Frowning, Scratch turned and saw that Bo was striding resolutely toward the sprawling, two-story, whitewashed house where Big John Peeler lived. Scratch hurried after him and caught up.
“Bo, what are you thinkin’ about doin’ now?”
“I want to ask the boss a question, that’s all.”
“About that blasted fence? Let it go, Bo. It ain’t like you to stir up a hornets’ nest.”
“If I’m going to risk getting killed, I want to know what for.”
“Nobody got killed,” Scratch pointed out. “Wasn’t even any gunshots.”
“What about the next time some Circle JP riders wind up facing Snake Track men across that barbed wire? What do you think is going to happen then?”
“I don’t know,” Scratch replied honestly. “Could be trouble.”
“That’s right.”
They had reached the steps leading up to the wide verandah that ran along the front of the house. Peeler must have seen them coming from inside, because the door opened and he stepped out to meet them.
“Howdy, Creel. Morton. Joe tells me you got that fence put up, with a little help.”
Big John Peeler lived up to his name. He stood a couple of inches over six feet, and with his barrel chest and his thick gut, weighed well over two hundred pounds. He was about fifty years old and had been in this part of the country for almost thirty years. His squarish head and rugged face looked like they had been chiseled out of a chunk of granite.
“Did Joe tell you we almost got in a shootout with Case Ridley and three of his men?” Bo asked.
Peeler nodded. “He mentioned it.” A grin spread across his face. “I sure would’ve liked to have been there when Ridley had to take water and run.” Big John slapped a hamlike hand against his thigh in amusement. “Mighty funny, and the joke’s all on him!”
“Because that fence really is in the wrong place, isn’t it?”
Peeler sobered and frowned at Bo. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’re trying to put one over on Ridley by taking more range than you agreed to. You figure once the fence is there and you have men patrolling it, there won’t be anything Ridley can do about it.”
