probably still do that and not miss dinner.”
“I should be going, too,” said Fielding. “In spite of my leisure, I’ve got things to do as well.” He glanced at Lodge and reinforced his impression that the man looked solid.
“Come again when you can stay longer. I’ll boil a spud and we can split it in two.”
“Sounds good.” Fielding unwrapped the reins from the hitching rail and led the horse out. He checked the cinch and mounted up, then touched the brim of his hat and rode away.
Halfway between Lodge’s place and town, Fielding reined the dark horse to a stop. Ahead of him in the rolling waves of grass, two riders had gone out of sight behind a hill. This was the part of the range where most of Roe’s and Selby’s cattle grazed, but Fielding did not think Roe and Selby were the ones he had seen. If the horsemen were two of Cronin’s hired hands, it would be a good thing to know.
Fielding dropped back behind the hill he had almost crested. If he kept to low ground and followed this line of hills north, he might come closer and get a better glimpse of the two riders. The dark horse had slowed down as the day had warmed up. Fielding gave him a nudge and got him to move out at a trot. The horse was rough at that gait, so Fielding put him into a lope for three-quarters of a mile until he found a broad rise of land on his right.
Twenty yards short of the top, he dismounted and led the horse up the slope. Once behind the prominence, he took off his hat and angled to the left, still moving uphill. As his eyesight cleared the low ridge, he first saw the rim and bluffs on the other side of the valley. He was facing northeast. He inched forward, and more of the valley came into view. After a couple of small steps more, he could see the next line of hills below.
As he waited, the vast rangeland was still and quiet. A faint ripple of air moved across the grass. Then he saw movement, color in the sea of pale green. A bay horse and a sorrel came out from behind a hill. The riders were closer than before, maybe a quarter of a mile off. They both looked straight ahead, and the horses moved at a fast walk.
Fielding recognized Henry Steelyard first, sitting straight up and easy on the bay. On the other side of Steelyard, the second rider showed above the haunches of the bay. Fielding recognized the hat with the turned-up brim, the reddish brown hair, and the black vest. It was the kid Mahoney.
From the distance, Fielding could not read the brands on the horses, but he could see they each carried one on the left hip. Some outfits branded horses on the front shoulder, but the hip was where the Argyle Ranch put its brand—one interlocking diamond above another. It looked as if Mahoney had found new work.
Chapter Four
Fielding saw the Argyle brand up close when he was in town a week later. A white horse and a dark one stood at the hitching rail in front of the general store, and each had the interlocking diamond pattern on its left hip. As Fielding had some purchases to make in the same store, he reined the sorrel to the next hitching rail to the left and swung down.
As he was tying the horse, two men came out of the store, boot heels sounding on the board sidewalk and spurs jingling. He saw at a glance that they were Pence and Adler.
Pence was dressed as usual, with his high-crowned dark hat, blue wool shirt with chest pockets, denim trousers, smooth-worn gun belt, and scuffed boots with spurs. In his left hand he carried two small white sacks of tobacco with yellow drawstrings—Bull Durham, from the looks of it. His face was clean-shaven except for his side whiskers, which grew an inch below his ear. From beneath the shade of his hat brim, his dull brown eyes looked out with a vacant expression.
Adler, as tall as Pence except for the peak of the hat, wore a white work shirt as before, and today Fielding noticed his gun belt. It was dark brown, blending in color with his low-crowned hat, clean wool vest, leather gloves, wool pants, and dark boots. Like Pence, he kept his right hand free and carried something in his left—rather than smoking materials, however, he held a stick of licorice.
As Fielding stepped onto the sidewalk, Pence gave him a blank stare while Adler nodded and recognized him by his last name. The two Argyle men paused at the edge of the sidewalk, and as Fielding walked behind them, he noticed that the dark horse carried a saddle gun in a leather scabbard. Once inside the store, Fielding glanced out the window to see Pence untying the white horse as Adler untied the dark one.
Fielding bought his supplies and took them out to his saddlebags. He put two cans of tomatoes and a pound of bacon in one side and two cans of peaches and a pound of beans in the other. With roundup a few days away, he didn’t want to buy any more than necessary, so he hadn’t spent much. As he untied the horse and led him from the rail, he pictured the inside of a cafe and a meal he would not have to cook for himself.
His thought was interrupted by the sight of a blonde head of hair and a full-length, pale blue dress. Susan Buchanan had moved out of the shade of an overhang and into the sunlight. As she was headed down the sidewalk in his direction, he turned and waited for her.
Her face showed recognition, but she did not waver. She walked on to the shade of the next canopy, where she stopped and said, “Hello, Tom.”
“Good afternoon, Susan.” He had the sense of standing in the street in the heat of the sun, looking up at the Lady Rowena, but he did not feel diminished.
Her voice had a courteous tone. “And how have you been since I saw you last?”
“Just fine.”
“I suppose you’ve been busy.”
“I’ve had to be. I’ve been out lining up new work. There’s a couple of outfits I’ve packed for before, but I’ve had to get to know a couple more. It all takes time, half a day’s ride here, a day’s ride there. Get things in order, times and places.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Her face did not move as she spoke.
“Of course, it’ll be a little while till they take their cattle up to summer range.”
“Oh, yes.”
He hesitated, then asked, “And yourself?”
“About the same,” she said. She held her hands together as she nodded and said again, “About the same.”
“Glad to know you’re all right,” he said. “I’ll let you go now.” He lifted his hat and set it back down.
“Good-bye, Tom.”
“Good-bye.” As he turned to lead the horse, he saw her profile as she continued walking along the sidewalk.
Fielding mounted up and rode the three blocks to the cafe, which was located on the second street over from the railroad tracks. There he dismounted and tied his horse at the end of a row of others. There was no sidewalk here, just a worn path with fringes of grass, and he followed it to the door.
Inside, he looked around at the tables, which were mostly occupied, and he saw Richard Lodge seated across from a young man Fielding had not seen before. Lodge, who was not wearing his hat, raised his head and then waved for Fielding to come over.
As he made his way, Fielding saw a chair on one of the two vacant sides of the table, so he headed towards it. Lodge took his hat from the seat of the chair, put it on his head, and motioned for Fielding to sit down. As Fielding scooted the chair under himself, Lodge made introductions.
“Tom, this is Ed. Did I get your last name?”
“Bracken,” said the young fellow.
“Ed Bracken, then. Ed, meet Tom Fielding.”
They shook hands, and Fielding settled into his seat. He noticed that the other two were both having beef stew.
“Ed’s lookin’ for work,” said Lodge.
“Oh.” Fielding looked at the young man, and beneath the dusty black hat with its round crown and wide, curling brim, he saw a kid of about eighteen. Bracken had short dark hair, eyebrows to match, and a light growth of mustache and beard. His brown eyes did not look up, and he had an air about him as if he had come in the back door and had asked to work for his meal.
