actually putting it in so many words. He said offhandedly, 'Happened I was in New Boston the day of the funeral. Miss Esther didn't come.'
'Pretty broke up, I guess,' Yorty said, helping himself to more coffee.
'I guess.' After several weeks of riding line by himself, it was clear that the cowhand was eager for human company. Still, it occurred to Gault that Yorty had talked a good deal without saying much of anything. Yorty had made no secret of his admiration for Esther Garnett, but he was no wet-nosed pup to dance a fandango—or hoe an acre of corn—just because a pretty woman smiled at him. Yorty was well into his fifties. An old man, considering the business he was in.
Gault sat for a moment, lost in his own dark memories.
Suddenly he asked, 'Was you well acquainted with Wolf Garnett when he was livin' in these parts?'
'Well acquainted?' Yorty rubbed his bristling chin. 'I wouldn't say that. I knowed him, like most folks did.'
'Tell me about him.' Gault was surprised at his own question. Until this moment his only thought had been to find Wolf Garnett and kill him.
Yorty methodically built and lit another smoke. 'Not a whole lot to tell. Wolf was a bad apple from the very beginnin'. In trouble of some kind nearly all the time. Hot temper. Fist fights. A cuttin' scrape or two. But folks in Standard County figgered he was just young and a little wild. Course, it begin to look some different when we got the reports from Kansas, when he killed his first man.'
'Did he ever come back to his homeplace after that?'
'Folks said he did, but I never seen him.'
'Can you tell me somethin' about the county sheriff, Olsen? And the young deputy that works for him?'
Elbert Yorty finished his smoke in silence. He snapped the dead butt into the fire and said, 'Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to get somebody to talk to. But it does seem like you ask some queer questions, Gault.'
Gault realized that he had been pushing too hard; it was a bad habit of his. 'I've got an interest in Wolf Garnett,' he said slowly.
'What kind of interest?'
'Not quite a year ago he killed my wife.'
Gault had not meant to put it so bluntly and coldly. But there it was, where even the dullest kind of intelligence could understand it. Now he would see just where Yorty stood.
The cowhand rocked back on his heels like an Indian and stared at him for several minutes. 'I'm sorry about your wife. But I can't help you about Wolf; I already told you ever'thing I know.'
'What about the sheriff?'
The cowhand spread his hands. 'Nothin' there to tell. He's a good hand far's I know, and he's been on the job a long time. As for Dub Finley, he's just a young pup that likes pony hide vests and nickel-plated badges, but he'll grow out of it in time.'
'Is he in love with Esther Garnett?'
The oldtimer blinked his surprise. 'Maybe.' Then he stretched his arms and yawned extravagantly. 'It's been a long day. I think I'll throw my bed.'
'Just one more thing. Deputy Finley's got two possemen riding with him. Colly Fay and Shorty Pike. Can you tell me about them?'
'Like I say,' Yorty said with a humorless smile, 'it's been a long day.' He got to his feet and walked off toward the shack.
Gault sat for some moments in silence. Finally he got his own bed and threw it beside the fire, and for a long while he lay gazing up at the gunsteel sky while, in his mind, a driverless stagecoach went off a mountain road.
Yorty was up before first light, but Gault already had the fire built and coffee water in the pot. The two men ate what was left of the venison tenderloin while the coffee boiled.
'Gault,' the cowhand said in an idle tone, 'I meant what I said last night, about your wife. I'm sorry. If I could help you I would, but…'
'But,' Gault continued, 'you've got your own reasons for keeping quiet. And besides, Wolf Garnett is dead.'
'Well,' Yorty conceded, 'there's that, too. He is dead now. Is the rest of it so important?'
'To me it is.'
The cowhand sighed. 'It don't make any sense, but I guess I can understand it. But there's another reason I didn't say anything last night. Did you know we was being watched?'
'You saw him?' Gault asked in surprise.
'Heard him. Kind of scoochin' up the draw in back of the shack. Wouldn't no wild critter come up on a firelight that way. It had to be a man.'
Gault smiled wearily. 'One of the deputy's pals makin' sure I behave myself and leave Finley and Olsen to run the county the way they want to run it.'
'I don't know about that,' Yorty said, obviously puzzled. 'But like I said, I guess I can understand the way you feel. About losin' your wife. So, if you feel like you just got to find out all about Wolf Garnett, there's two men you ought to talk to. First one is Harry Wompler, that used to be Olsen's deputy. Him and Esther Garnett was keepin' company till about a year ago. Some folks figgered they was aimin' to get hitched, but nothin' ever come of it.'
'What happened?'
Yorty smiled crookedly. 'Folks claim that Miss Esther measures her men friends against her brother and can't find one that comes up to the mark.' He started to say something else, then changed his mind and gazed into the distance.
'This Wompler that used to be Olsen's deputy. How did he come to lose his job?'
Yorty's eyes became remote. 'I'd rather leave that up to Wompler hisself.'
'Two men, you said. Who's the other one?'
'Stock detective for the Standard County Cattlemen's Association. Name of Del Torgason.'
'What makes you think Torgason would know anything about Wolf Garnett.'
'It's a stock detective's business to know things. Most likely you'll find him in the Association office in New Boston.'
'You still don't want to tell me how Wompler lost his badge?'
The old cowhand rubbed his jaw and considered. 'Well, there was a story about Wompler gettin' hisself mixed up with a gang of rustlers. I never got all the particulars. And I guess nobody else did.'
'Was Wompler arrested?'
Yorty looked as if this question had occurred to him before. 'No, the sheriff just hauled him off the job and fired him.'
'Is he still in New Boston?'
'Last I heard.' Yorty built himself another smoke and began kicking out the fire. 'You're welcome to stay around the shack, Gault, but I've got to get back on the job.' He lit his smoke and asked with studied unconcern, 'You aimin' to go back to New Boston and talk to Torgason and Wompler?'
'Not now. Some of the sheriff's pals are expectin' me to head back to the Territory. I wouldn't want to disappoint them.'
The Red was swollen with spring rains. Gault rode west, along the south bank of the river, looking for a crossing. In places the reddish water sprawled over a quarter of a mile of sandy bottomland. In the main channel, where the water was deepest, fallen cottonwoods bumped from sandbar to sandbar as they made their tortuous way downstream.
He selected a place where he knew a solid bottom of limestone existed. It was not his personal discovery, it had been discovered by the Comanches and Kiowas and Southern Cheyennes many years ago, when they were still raiding through Texas into the heart of Chihuahua.
Gault drew his Winchester from the saddle boot and put the nervous buckskin into the river. Ripples of fear passed along the animal's withers as the cold water washed his belly. The water crept higher along the stirrup
