“Don’t act stupid on me. Get up out of there, and keep your hand away from your gun.”
“Who do you think you are, giving me orders?”
“You know damn well who I am, or you wouldn’t be hiding here. Now get up.”
The sluggard rose to his feet.
“Now climb down onto the trail here.”
“What for?”
“For a while. Now move.”
The other man looked at the gun and did as he was told. With pistol in hand, Fielding scooted and jumped down to face him.
The big man tipped his head back and to one side. “What are you goin’ to do now?”
Fielding holstered his gun. “I’m going to tell you something. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t like someone spying on me. Last trip I went on, I had a man get killed.”
“Then you ought to be careful.”
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten the drop on you. This time’s a warning. I hope there isn’t a next time, but if there is—”
Foote raised his head again and looked past Fielding. The sound of horse hooves caused Fielding to turn around, and again he saw something that didn’t match at first. Coming down the trail on one horse and leading another was George Pence, his high-crowned hat and blocky form in full sun.
Fielding kept his eye on the rider. As long as the man kept his hand on the reins of the horse he was leading, he wasn’t likely to draw his gun.
No one spoke until the horses came forward and stopped, at which time Pence called out in a loud voice, “Well, if it ain’t the packer, out here on foot. What’s gotcha down?”
Fielding watched the man’s hand as he answered, “Does this lunk ride with your outfit now?”
“Might be. Why should you care?”
“I caught him hiding here, waitin’ for me to come up the trail.”
Pence gave a hollow laugh. “Oh, go on. His horse got away from him, and I told him to wait here in the shade while I went and got it.”
“Did you tell him that people get shot when things go wrong?”
Pence’s face tightened. “What do you mean by that?”
Fielding had a good hunch that Pence thought he was referring to Mahoney, but he decided to leave that part unsaid. “I told him one of my men got killed on the trail. I didn’t tell him you were there, but now that it looks like he rides with you, maybe he should know. The next time, it might be the other way around.”
“This man’s new at this work,” said Pence. “That’s how his horse got away. But if someone pulls a gun on him, he’s got a right to shoot back.”
“Anyone does.” Fielding tossed a casual glance at the man in question. “He’d do better to keep his gun in his holster, though, and work on the cow-punchin’ part.”
Now Foote spoke. “I’ll take you on any time, mister horseman, and fists is my favorite way.”
“Hope for the best,” said Fielding. “If I was to wish something for you, it would be that you found another outfit to ride for. Unless you like to look for trouble, which maybe you do.”
“I don’t need your advice.”
“But you’d do well to take it. This outfit shoots and gets shot at, and I don’t know how much of that you’ve got in you.” The other man did not answer, so Fielding turned to Pence. “Be careful about what you say or do around this one,” he said. “Sooner or later, he might turn stool pigeon on you.”
Pence tipped his head, with a slow motion of his chin. “Worry about your own problems, and I’ll worry about mine.”
Fielding went back to his horses. Seeing nothing out of order, he put on his spurs, took the hobbles off the first packhorse, and got the string moving uphill again. He did not see the other two men on his way to the top, and once he was out on the flats, he saw only grass and sagebrush for miles around.
The valley lay before him as he paused before taking the pack string down. Everything looked in place, from Lodge to Roe to Selby, down to the railroad line and the town, and off to the north across undulating grassland to the Argyle headquarters, where punchers came and went. Fielding turned in the saddle, saw the horses and packs in order, and touched a heel to the buckskin. The horse shifted and sidestepped his way down the gash in the rim, coming out at the bottom where the choke-cherries on the left were turning red.
As usual, the horses seemed to know they were on the last stretch. The buckskin picked up his feet, and the rest fell in at the same fast walk. Fielding pulled down the brim of his hat to shade out the midafternoon sun. One stop at the livery stable, and he would be on his way to camp.
As he turned into the main street of town, Fielding saw two horses tied in front of the post office. They looked like the horses he had seen Adler and Cedric riding when they came down the street in Chugwater. The dark horse carried a scabbard with a rifle. Fielding took a closer look in the shade of the overhang, and there sat Cedric on the bench, opening a letter with what looked like a paper knife. His yellowish white hair was conspicuous in the subdued light. At that moment, Adler walked out of the post office empty-handed and made a small wave of greeting. Fielding waved in return.
The two men were still there when Fielding came back from the livery with the two fresh horses tied to the end of the string. Adler in his white shirt and brown hat and vest stood close to the street and seemed to be taking stock of Fielding’s horses. Cedric was perusing the letter.
Fielding thought it might be an opportune moment to call Adler’s hand in front of Cedric. He reined the horse toward the sidewalk and dismounted before he had a chance to talk himself out of it.
Adler’s voice came from the edge of the shaded sidewalk. “Afternoon, Fielding.”
“Good afternoon. If you’ve got a moment, there’s something I’d like to mention.”
“Go ahead.” Adler took out his silver watch and began to wind it. When he looked up, Fielding spoke.
“Well, not to beat around the bush, I need to say that I don’t care for your men harassing me.”
Adler paused in his winding and fixed a stare on Fielding. “I understand that the kid went for his gun first. You even told the deputy that, if I’m not mistaken.”
“He did, but it wouldn’t have happened at all if Mahoney and Pence hadn’t shown up at my camp to begin with.”
Adler waved his eyebrows. “They were on open range as much as you were.”
“A man’s camp is his camp. But that’s not the only incident anyway.”
“What other was there?” The man’s voice had a dead-level tone to it.
Fielding thought Adler was waiting to counter him about the shoot-out when the roan horse got killed, but he skipped to the more recent flare-up. “In addition to the time I got jumped and couldn’t see for sure who it was, I had another run-in. Someone was lurkin’ in the rocks when I was comin’ back from Cogman’s Hole earlier in the day, and when I surprised him, your man Pence came along to get him off the hook.”
“What do you mean, lurking?” Adler put the watch away and pulled his right glove onto his hand.
“He was lyin’ in wait for me, right off the side of that narrow trail. So one time I’m off in the west, and the other time I’m over east, and wherever I go, I run into your men watchin’ my trail.”
Adler gave a slight turn so that his gun and holster came into view. His voice was steady as he spoke. “They say you’re a good hand, Fielding, and you do your work. Even if you’re thick with people like the junk collector. But watch what you say. If my men are out on the range in one place or another, they’re lookin’ after Argyle cattle.”
Cedric was folding up his letter.
Adler went on. “Tell me, then. Who was it you caught lurking, as you put it?”
“A new hand of yours, name of Ray Foote.”
Adler laughed. “A hand named Foote. A galoot who’s still learning not to fall off a horse. Do you think you have anything to fear from him?”
“To tell you the truth, sir—no, I don’t. But he gets his orders from somewhere.”
“He didn’t get that one from me.” Adler paused. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.” Fielding led the buckskin away, mounted up, and lined out his string. As he looked back, he caught a glance of the two men on the sidewalk. Cedric seemed to be watching the white horse on the end, while Adler seemed to be taking them all in, one by one.
