He climbed back in the Saddle and continued along the trail. It turned south at a cleft in the valley wall. Like the valley through which Longarm had ridden earlier, the opening was wide enough for only a single horseman. When Longarm entered the steep fissure, he saw unmistakable signs on both of its bare dirt sides that bushes and saplings had been uprooted from it in the recent past. The small amount of new growth that struggled to survive on the Steep walls was thin and spindly. Nowhere was there enough vegetation to give a man Protective cover. It Was planned, all right, Longarm assured himself, noting the barren walls of the defile as he rode deeper into it.
Three or four men Posted with rifles UP there on the crests could stand off a good-sized army. I don’t wonder that Gower’s been shying away from bringing in a posse to clean this place up, if it’s the place I’m looking for. It’s sure beginning to look like it is.
The narrow defile ended abruptly. Longarm reined in at its mouth and studied the scene that now lay revealed. A clearing stretched in front of him. It was roughly oval-shape and something more than a half-mile across at its widest point, which was several hundred yards from the cleft through which Longarm had just passed; the ravine Split the low, steep hills that concealed this stretch of level ground. The rise swept in an arc behind him, to both left and right. Somewhere ahead, the level land ended abruptly. Longarm couldn’t see the actual ending, but it looked to him as though the flat clear area stopped at the rim of a sheer cliff, and he guessed that cliff must drop down to the Canadian River.
Trees dotted the clearing; they were widely spaced at its center and more distant edges, thicker as the ground began to rise in the slope that enclosed the place. Among the trees were stumps that had been left when the land was cleared. Centered in the level area, a house stood in the middle of about an acre of ground that had been completely cleared of stumps and trees. The house was neither large nor fancy. It stood on a low fieldstone foundation, and was built from squared timbers chinked with clay. If it had any windows, they were on the other side of the house. The side facing Longarm was unbroken by windows or a door. A fieldstone chimney rose at one end, and at the other, a pole barn—no more than a roof with widely spaced boards nailed to the supporting posts —nestled close to the house.
Longarm nodded when he saw the arrangement. He told himself, Old son, you hit the right place. Farmers and ranchers always put their animals away from the house, where the flies won’t bother folks inside. Outlaws want their barn close, so they can get to their horses in a hurry in case of trouble.
Between the house and the slope behind it, stripped saplings had been driven into the ground between the living trees to form two irregular enclosures. One was sizable, and Longarm judged it to be a corral, though it was big enough to pen up a small herd of cattle. The second enclosure, much smaller, held half a dozen hogs. Here and there chickens wandered, scratching the dirt.
Behind one corner of the house he could see the low rise of a well curb. Still farther away stood an outhouse, and at an even greater distance, between the house and the edge where the land dropped away, there were three small cabins. Like the house, they were built from squared timbers and chinked with clay, and, like the house, they appeared to be windowless. All the wood of all the buildings—house, cabins, outhouse, barn—was raw; none of it had ever been painted. All the structures had weathered to a uniform gray, and irregular streaks of red clay chinking glowed in narrow swatches against the gray wood.
There was no one in sight in the clearing though a plume Of gray smoke rose from the chimney of the house, Smaller threads of gray came from the tin stovepipes that Protruded from the sides of two of the cabins and dog-legged up above their cedar-shake roofs. As Longarm studied the clearing, his sharp eyes picked up still another line of smoke rising from an area deep in the trees, beyond the staked enclosures, toward the hills. Whatever the source of that smoke might be, it was hidden from Longarm by the trees, which had not been thinned like the stands around the house.
Having fixed locations and directions in his mind, Longarm toed the bay into motion and headed for the house. The horse had taken only a few slow steps when a man Came through the trees. He was bent over with the weight of his load; in each hand he carried a large wooden bucket by its bail. He did not see Longarm, but moved at an angle away from him, toward the hogpen. Longarm Changed course and started for the same destination. He’d Covered half the distance between them before the other looked up and noticed him.
Longarm was close enough now to get a clear view of the stranger. He was an old man, wearing a fringe of white beard, and now it was obvious that age as much as his load was causing his forward-bending posture. He set the buckets down and waited for Longarm to rein in. Even before Longarm got close enough to Pull the bay to a halt, his nose twitched at the sour smell of corn mash coming from the buckets.
Pulling up a Yard from the oldster, Longarm said, “I guess I’ve found the right place. Is this Younger’s Bend?”
“Yep.” The old man was squinting through bloodshot blue eyes, trying to make out Longarm’s features. He swayed as he lifted his head, leaned back, and threw out his arms to keep from falling. It was obvious that he was more than a little bit drunk. He asked, “Looking for somebody, are you?”
“If this is YOUNGER’s Bend, I am.”
“Told you it is. Now, who You looking for?”
“Depends on who’s at home.”
“I’m here, for one. You can see that. Ain’t expecting callers, though. Mind telling me who you come to see?”
“Yes.” When Longarm said no more, the Oldtimer continued, “Yes, meaning you mind?”
Again Longarm made no reply.
“Well, then,” the man suggested, “tell me who in hell you are and if anybody’s expecting you.”
“Not now.”
Shaking his head as though to clear it, the oldster took a step toward Longarm. One Of his feet hit the bucket closest to him and he almost fell down. Only reaching to grab at Longarm’s leg saved him. He swayed uncertainly for a moment, then looked up at Longarm. “Damned if I don’t recall your face from someplace,” he said, frowning. “Black Hills Country, maybe?”
Longarm shook his head.
“Alder Gulch, then.”
Again Longarm shook his head.
“Prascosa?” This time the old fellow didn’t wait for a negative headshake before asking, “Mariposa?”
