Pence wagged his head. “The Argyle runs cattle up here, too, you know. Or maybe you didn’t know that.”
Fielding shrugged. “What do you want here, then?”
Mahoney spoke up. “Who’s that tramp you’ve got with you?”
Fielding felt a spark of anger jump inside. “What’s it to you?”
“Maybe you don’t know who he is.”
“He’s my wrangler. Or maybe you didn’t know that.”
Mahoney gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “You ought to know more about a fella before you hire him.”
“I hired you.”
“Not for long. But maybe you found your own kind here.”
Fielding narrowed his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mahoney lifted his chin and flared his nostrils. “Ask him.”
Fielding turned his head halfway and could tell that Bracken was worked up. The kid was biting his lip and rubbing his left hand on his pants leg. Fielding came back to Mahoney and said, “You come a long ways to start trouble with someone who’s doin’ an honest piece of work.”
“Listen to you.” Mahoney sneered. “You don’t even know what you’ve got.”
“I don’t need to.”
Pence’s gravelly voice came out. “Maybe you should tell him.”
“He’s a jailbird,” said Mahoney, “in case you couldn’t tell. Spent the winter in jail in Cheyenne. Tell him, kid.”
“Go to hell,” said Bracken.
“It was in the papers, so it’s not anything made up.” Mahoney’s blue-green eyes moved sideways and back to Fielding. “Your wrangler here had him a little trollop down in Julesburg, but she ran off with a section hand. Didn’t she, kid?”
“Shut your filthy mouth.”
“I don’t think you can make me.” Mahoney’s eyes moved back and forth as he spoke. “So your wrangler here followed her up to Cheyenne, and one night he gets liquored up, goes to their shack, and all but kills this section hand with a length of firewood. Didn’t you, kid?”
Bracken was trembling and didn’t say anything.
Mahoney went on in the same taunting tone. “And then when this jailbird was spending the winter in the coop, his little trollop has the other fella’s baby. Didn’t she, kid?”
“Ah, you son of a—” Bracken did not finish his sentence as he grabbed at his six-gun.
It must have been all Mahoney was waiting for. He pulled his gun and fired two shots at Bracken, which caused the kid to double over and drop his revolver. Then he pitched forward and fell on his right side.
As Mahoney put his pistol away, Pence raised his head in challenge. “How about you, packer?” called the big man. “Would you like to try it?”
Fielding’s mouth was dry and his hand was shaking, but more than that, he could see how the whole thing had been set up. Mahoney and Pence, working together. Fielding swallowed hard and said, “I’ve got more sense than to be drawn in at this point.”
Pence’s voice came in short syllables. “Suit yourself.”
Fielding turned away from the other two and walked a few steps to kneel by Bracken. All of the color had drained out of the kid’s face.
His lips moved, and words came out. “I didn’t even know him.”
The realization came to Fielding that not only had Bracken not gone to the Argyle camp that day, but the others had not made much mention of the actual trouble after that. Chances were that the kid didn’t have an idea that a feud had been in the making. Everyone else had, even Henry Steelyard. Maybe that was why Henry had gone to Rock River, and stopping in to tell Fielding about it was the most warning he would give. All of this came to Fielding in a couple of seconds.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he said in a low voice.
He heard footsteps, and from the corner of his vision he saw the other two walking away. He put his hand beneath the kid’s head, and the dark hat rolled aside.
“It’s my fault,” said Bracken.
“No, it’s not. It’s mine. I got you into this without thinking, and then I got pulled into the argument and didn’t think straight enough to warn you.”
“It’s my fault. I got het up, and—” The kid didn’t finish his sentence.
Fielding knew the kid had acted on his own impulses, but he didn’t see it as the only source of blame. “No, Ed. It’s not all your fault, and I’m sorry.”
“Yes, it is,” said Bracken. “All mine. She never did anything wrong.”
Fielding could see the kid was going and he had things crossed up. Before Fielding could speak again, Bracken fell limp and was gone.
Fielding laid the head down and stayed kneeling for a long moment, with nine horses tied to trees and a kid who had died for the wrong reasons—a kid who had been grateful for getting a new start and now would never be able to give someone else a break.
Chapter Eight
Afternoon shadows were reaching into the street as Fielding stepped out of the deputy’s office in Chugwater. It had been a ragged day and a half since he started down the mountain with Bracken’s body, and the worst of it was over. It galled him to have to concede that Fred Mahoney had killed Ed Bracken in self-defense, but that was what it came to. The deputy had taken down the report and said he would look into it. He also had telegraphed Julesburg and had gotten an answer, so the body was going home. If there was one thing not to feel wretched about, it was the knowledge that the kid was going in his good clothes. They had been in his duffel bag at the time of the shooting.
Feeling empty and dragged out and edgy, Fielding stepped into the street where he had left the bay horse and the brown. As he checked the cinch on the bay, a voice came from behind him, saying his last name. Chugwater was not his home, but it was close enough that he was not surprised to hear someone call his name in greeting.
Turning, he saw Al Adler on a dark horse and Cedric Tholes on the cream-colored horse he had ridden to Buchanan’s one day.
Fielding wondered why the Argyle foreman would take the trouble to greet him, but he returned the courtesy by saying, “Good afternoon.”
Adler, dressed in brown with his white shirt visible, reined his horse so that he could look down on the right side. At the same time, he gave Fielding a view of his free right hand, gloved as always, and his smooth holster and dark-handled gun. “I thought you were in the mountains,” he said.
“I was, but I had to come down here on an errand.”
Adler frowned and cast a glance at the hitching rail. “Where’s your pack string?”
“I had to leave it at the first line camp where I was to deliver goods. Belongs to Dillon. Maybe you know of it.”
“I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know all the places yet.”
“It doesn’t matter much. Your men know where it is.”
“I’m sure.” Adler looked at the two horses again. “Have any trouble with the weather?” he asked.
“Not yet, but it can come up at any time.”
“I’d say. We just got caught in a hailstorm a couple of miles north, and it gave Cedric a good stinging. Isn’t that right, Cedric?”
The man turned his head but did not lower his gooseberry-colored eyes to acknowledge Fielding. “Rah-ther,” he said.
