Marshal Todd spoke up. “If you’ve done what we think you did, I just might not come the next time you have Apache trouble. I
Jason just sat that damned palomino of his, staring down toward the barn and ignoring him completely.
Dad-blast it, anyway! For the millionth time, Matt asked himself why the hell he’d stayed on in Fury, why he hadn’t just crossed over into California where there were some civilized people, at least, and decent food and even an ocean! Why in God’s name had he stayed here?
Megan. His sister was why he’d stayed. And Jenny Fury. He’d been quite taken with her. He wasn’t anymore. He hadn’t even spoken to her—outside of an emergency situation, that was—in, what was it now? Two years? No, that little dalliance, even though they’d never got around to any actual dallying, was over.
It was hard to keep on liking the sister of a man who hated your guts.
And whose guts you hated even more.
Matt wouldn’t be outdone on anything, even detestation.
“You listenin’, MacDonald?” asked the marshal.
Matt came out of his stupor long enough to say, “Help yourself, Marshal Todd. Looks like you’re already doin’ it, anyway.”
“Good. Keep me from filin’ obstruction charges, anyhow.” He turned to Jason. “Rafe look about ready?”
Jason nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ll be back, MacDonald,” said Marshal Todd before he signaled to Jason and they both rode off toward the barn.
22
They rode out from the Double M with not five or six but seven hands, all of whom seemed eager to go—once they were out of sight of the ranch house, anyway. Marshal Todd led the way in stony, assured silence, and Rafe gabbed and joked with the hands, but Jason was lost in thought.
What would they do if they found what he suspected? Rafe had the ranch hands equip themselves with shovels as well as a couple of axes, but still, what would keep Matt from pulling the same jackass stunt again, with nobody to keep an eye on him twenty-four hours a day?
Marshal Todd, Jason suspected, but he was only one man, and this part of the territory went west to the Colorado River and south to Yuma, if not the Mexican border. Lord only knew where the other boundaries lay, and frankly, Jason didn’t want to think about it. He figured that the less he knew about the business of the U.S. Marshal’s office, the better.
He was more than likely right.
The farther they followed the stream, the deeper, wider, and muddier it grew. The water, formerly so sparkling and clear, was filled with storm debris: Chunks of cactus floated in the water, along with partially submerged tree limbs and smaller branches. Jason spotted a few items that proved civilization was moving in—a piece of paper, floating limply near the bank, its ink washed away and illegible; an empty tin that had once contained peaches; and a ripped and battered lady’s bonnet.
Near the location of the bonnet, they also found some frayed ropes and a silver concho, the kind Jason had seen Apache either wear themselves, or use to decorate their bridles. Or, at least, what he supposed they would call a bridle. Most of them used contraptions made out of rope or leather thongs, and some used no bridles at all, relying on breast bands or simply their hands and legs to signal and control the horse.
Soon they entered a canyon—narrow at first, then widening out into a broad space which was mostly filled with water. Abe gestured to Jason to follow, then cantered around the water to what had been the creek bed.
“Damn that Matthew!” Jason breathed when he saw the contraption that Megan’s brother had built—or caused to have built. He sure couldn’t see Matt out here, shoving some of these logs around with his own dainty hands.
Abe set the men to work, marshaling teams according to who had which tool, shovel, or axe, and within two hours, they had taken apart the most of it and the sky was growing dark.
Jason said, “Abe? I think the water’s already got down to the Apache camp.”
“Why?”
Jason gestured up toward the western rim of the canyon. There, silhouetted by the setting sun, stood a lone brave, just watching them. His bow was in his hand, but it wasn’t strung.
Abe raised his hand in a greeting and shouted something in guttural Apache that Jason didn’t understand.
Showing no expression, the brave responded by raising his unstrung bow, and then walking back out of sight.
“We’d best be goin’,” Abe said, once the brave had disappeared.
It was past dark when they got back up to the Double M, and the hands cut out right away, heading for the barn or the bunkhouse. Jason wasn’t looking forward to meeting up with Matt again, but found he was disappointed when Abe decided not to stop at the house.
“I thought you were gonna talk to him!” he complained.
Abe turned in his saddle and said, simply, “Better to let him sit and stew for a spell.”
Rafe, riding behind him, said, “Makes him more tender to the tooth that’a’way,” and laughed.
Abe snorted out a laugh, and that was the end of the subject. At least, as far as everybody else was concerned. Jason wasn’t of the same mind, but decided to let it rest for the time being, reminding himself that Abe was in charge out here, not him.
