Fielding spoke again. “Bad thing that happened.”
“They happen too often.”
“Lodge was a good friend of mine.”
“I know.” Dunvil’s hand rose as if he was going to lean against the doorjamb, and then it lowered.
Fielding, in no hurry, took a couple of seconds before going on. “Another friend, named Selby, was the one who found him. Said the deputy’s been out here.”
“Might have been.”
“Said the deputy is askin’ around whether anyone knows anything or saw anything.”
“Might be.”
Fielding paused. Dunvil was being more reserved than he expected, and he did not move from the doorframe. Fielding decided to go ahead. “You didn’t happen to see anyone out this way on the day of the shooting, did you?”
“I keep to myself.”
“Sometimes those are the people who see things.”
“Well, I didn’t.” The beady eyes held steady.
Fielding thought of another approach. “Have you been in the house?”
“Not my place.” The beard made a strange movement as Dunvil wrinkled his nose. Then he went on. “Maybe you think none of it is. But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not trying to take it.”
“I wouldn’t think you were.”
“Call me the guardian of the dispossessed if you want.”
The wording gave Fielding pause. “I’m not questioning your motives,” he said.
“I didn’t think you would, but make no mistake. This is bigger than the case at hand.”
Fielding was not sure how to take the last statement, but he thought it was the anarchist’s idea of making an example out of an isolated incident. Hoping to bring the conversation into comprehensible terms, he said, “This outfit called the Argyle seems determined to push out the smaller stockmen, and they don’t seem to be holding back now.”
Dunvil wagged his head. “Let the overlords come. If they get near me, they’ll wish they’d thought twice.”
Fielding nodded.
“If they have time to think about it,” Dunvil added.
Seeing that he had gotten as much knowledge as he was likely to, Fielding said, “Well, I suppose I’ll move along.”
“I might, too,” said Dunvil. “But not quite so soon.”
Fielding mounted up and rode away without looking back. For his own interest, he would have liked to see what Dunvil had inside the stable door, but he was pretty sure it had a stock and a barrel, maybe two.
Fielding rode around and came into the Roe yard from his usual direction. A melange of noises came from the backyard, and a horse was grazing between two piles of salvage in front. Roe himself was leaning with both forearms against the side of his wagon, which was standing empty beyond the front step of the house. With slow movement, the man stood up from his leaning position and faced his visitor.
He was dressed in his usual fashion, with his worn hat, loose clothes, and cloth vest. Two or three days had passed since his last shave, and the knotted kerchief hung limp at his neck. With thumb and forefinger he lifted the stub of a cigarette to his lips.
Fielding dismounted and held the reins.
Roe’s eyes wandered over Fielding and the horse as he lowered the cigarette and said, “How’d’ya do?”
“All right, and yourself?”
“A day older than yesterday, and still a dollar short.”
“Isn’t that it?” said Fielding.
Roe twisted his mouth and did not offer another comment.
Fielding picked up the conversation. “Things go on. I was over and saw Selby earlier. Just talkin’ about things in general. I’ve got another trip to go on in a couple of days, and I thought I’d check with you others before I take off.”
Roe rubbed his face and said, “Not much goin’ on right now. I think everyone’s sittin’ tight after what’s happened.”
“Seems like. You know, when I talked to Selby a couple of days ago, he was all for stickin’ together, but now it looks like he’s hunkerin’ down.”
“Suppose so.” Roe lifted the cigarette and smoked it down to the last pinch.
“It’s all right with me. I just like to know how things stand.”
“Hard to know.” The old hat lowered as Roe dropped the cigarette butt and stepped on it. He had his tongue between his lips as he looked up.
Fielding felt as if he was still missing a piece. “Has something else happened, or has this thing with Lodge got everyone down?”
Roe moved his mouth and then spoke. “Maybe either or both.”
“Something new, then?”
The pale brown eyes held on him for a few seconds. “That kid Mahoney died yesterday. You know he got shot.”
“I heard that, but I also heard no one was sayin’ how or where.”
“All the same, you don’t know whether it’s goin’ to give them reason to do something more.”
Fielding saw it all in a moment. Not only did Selby and Roe not want anything to come back on them, but if they sat tight enough, it might come only to the man who was assumed to have fired the shots at Mahoney. Selby and Roe were all for sticking together when they needed Fielding’s help, but now when it looked as if he might be marked, he was on his own. Not only was Lodge’s prediction true, but so was another comment that Fielding had not forgotten. Susan Buchanan herself had told him in her polite way that it was not worth it to stick up for people who probably wouldn’t do the same for him. And that was the way things stood now.
“Maybe they will try something,” Fielding said. “At least I know more than I did before.”
“I thought Bill might have told you.”
“No, we didn’t get around to that.”
“Well, I didn’t like the little snot myself. The way he started that fight.”
“It wasn’t the only one. But I guess he’s done now.”
“A lot of good it did him.” Roe twisted his head in an odd kind of exercise, and then with a quickened tone he said, “Oh, here’s Bel.”
Fielding turned to see Isabel. She was wearing a dark blue dress and dark shoes, and her hair hung loose as it often did. Her eyes sparkled and her clean teeth showed as she spoke.
“Hello, Tom. I thought I heard voices.”
“We were just talkin’,” said her father.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Nothin’ to it.”
“That’s right,” said Fielding. “And I think we were just about done, weren’t we?”
“I guess,” said Roe. He had taken out his pocketknife and opened it, and now he clicked it shut and put it away.
“It’s good you came out,” said Fielding. “I was getting ready to leave.”
“Well, I can walk along with you as far as the road.”
“I won’t complain.” Fielding looked at Roe, who had taken out his tobacco sack and was opening the drawstring. “Thanks for the talk,” said Fielding.
“You bet. Be careful, now.”
“I will.” Fielding turned the horse and fell in beside Isabel.
After they had walked a few yards, she said, “I’m glad you stopped in today.”
He made a smile. “I’m sorry if I’m not in a cheery mood.”
“I heard some of it. Papa doesn’t want to have much to do with anything, does he?”
“He and Bill Selby both. I guess I can’t blame them much.”
