gear put away, Fielding stood back and looked over the whole layout.
“I think that’s pretty good,” he said, turning to Mahoney. “If you want, we can call it a day.” He brought out a ten-dollar gold piece and handed it to the young man. “Here’s this. We can call it square for the six days.”
Mahoney’s eyebrows went up. “Thanks,” he said.
Fielding waved toward the corral. “Go ahead and take the horse you’ve been riding. You can leave him at the livery stable in town, and I’ll pick him up when I go in. Probably tomorrow.”
Mahoney nodded, turned to walk toward the brown horse, and stopped. Someone was riding into the camp from the main trail.
As the horse came to a stop about twenty-five yards out, Fielding recognized the features of the young range rider. “Come on in, Henry,” he called.
Steelyard rode his horse another fifteen yards and then dismounted. Leading the animal by the reins, he walked forward with his usual easy air about him. His round hat with the ranger’s peak was set back on his head, and his trimmed, wavy brown hair combined with his clean-shaven face to give him a look of innocence.
“Evenin’, Henry. What brings you to this side of the valley?”
“Oh, I just thought I’d drop by to see if everything was all right.”
“I hope so.”
“That’s good. You know, I felt kinda awkward, bein’ in the middle of that scrape earlier in the afternoon.”
Fielding waved his hand. “Ah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t think you had anything to do with it.”
Steelyard shrugged. “Well, I was there, and I wouldn’t want to have any hard feelin’s.”
“None on this side, not towards you. As for Pence—well, I’ll just have to wait and see if he wants to start somethin’ again. You know as well as I do that some of these things go away on their own, and some don’t.”
Steelyard pushed out his lower lip. “I don’t blame you for steppin’ in,” he said. His words hung on the air until he added, “But I don’t know how good an idea it would be to take sides.”
Fielding’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean, take sides?”
“I didn’t say you did.” Steelyard laid his hand out, palm up. “I meant something you might or might not do later on.”
“Such as . . .”
“Better not to burn bridges.” Steelyard gave a tip of the head.
“Ah, as far as that goes, I figure I already lost any work I thought I might have with Cronin.”
“Well, that, or anything else. Just thought I’d mention it.” The young man’s brown eyes were steady.
“I’m glad you did. Good of you to drop by.”
Steelyard gave a backward wave. “Think nothin’ of it.” He glanced at the sun, which was about to set. “Huh,” he said, “looks like I’d better be headin’ back.”
“Are you goin’ by way of town?”
“I could. Do you need somethin’ done?”
Fielding motioned toward Mahoney, who had been standing by and taking things in. “I don’t, but Mahoney here was about to leave. He could ride along if it was no bother to you.”
Steelyard looked at Mahoney and smiled. “Not at all. Glad for the company. Was your name Pat?”
“Fred.”
“Good enough. Well, I’m ready to go when you are.”
Mahoney untied the brown horse, led it out a few yards, tightened the cinch, and mounted up. Steelyard swung aboard also, and the two young men waved good-bye and rode away.
As the hoofbeats faded on the trail, Fielding unsaddled the sorrel and put him in the corral. He gave the animal a bait of grain and went to look for a canvas bucket. When he came out of the gear tent holding the bucket by its rope handle, he paused to appreciate the sunset over the skyline. Shades of orange and scarlet shot through a layer of lowlying clouds, and the rangeland was falling into shadow.
The bells of the grazing horses tinkled in the still air, and the creek made a light, rippling sound as Fielding walked toward it. He washed his hands and face in the stream, then dipped the bucket and brought it up swelled and dripping.
Night was falling as he walked to his camp. It was a good feeling to have the day’s work done, a night horse close at hand, a bucket of water to hang in camp, and no one to mar the pleasure of being alone on the plain.
Chapter Two
The buzzing of a fly woke him. As he opened his eyes, he realized the sun was up and warming the tent. The light music of the horse bells floated on the air, and he thought of the old saying. Bell your horses and sleep good.
He rolled out of bed, got dressed, and went out in the morning. The sorrel snuffled in the corral. Fielding put a lead rope on him, led him out, and went to untie the two picket horses. The sun was warm on his face as he led the three horses to water. The young cottonwoods on the opposite bank cast the stream in shadow, and the cool smell of morning lingered. The horses touched their muzzles to the surface and made their small sucking sounds as they drank their water upward. A magpie chattered from the big cottonwood near camp.
Fielding turned the sorrel loose and moved the pickets for the dun and the gray. By habit he counted the loose horses, as he had done earlier, and went back to camp.
He had dipped fresh water for coffee and had the fire going when he heard the footfalls of a horse on dry ground. Looking north toward the trail, he saw Richard Lodge riding in on one of the two matched sorrels that the man kept. Fielding waved him in. Lodge came closer, then swung down and walked the last few yards.
“You can tie him to the corral or turn him in. Coffee should be ready in a few minutes.”
“You’re a good boy.” Lodge tipped back his hat and smiled. The sunlight fell on his dark hair and graying beard. He wore a clean work shirt, drab but not wrinkled or sweat-stained, and his charcoal-colored vest was closed by one button. After a pause in his step, he walked on to the corral.
A minute later, he took a seat on one of the two lengths of old tree trunk that did for camp furniture. Fielding sat on the other, holding the rod of green willow that he used for a poker.
After a few seconds, Lodge raised his eyes from gazing at the campfire. “How’s business?” he asked.
“Oh, all right. I packed some grub and a few other things up to the flats. Got back yesterday.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Things don’t really pick up until later on, you know. Then I’ll have more work than I can handle, packin’ supplies to cow and sheep camps.”
“Who’s your helper?”
“Kid named Mahoney. Says he’s from Cheyenne. I’m just tryin’ him out. Maybe he’s doin’ the same.” Fielding thought for a second. “Have you talked to Selby?”
In the shade of the camp, Lodge’s deep brown eyes were darker than usual. “He said you dropped by. Raised a little dust.”
“Not much.”
Lodge sniffed. “Don’t know if they’d’ve done much, but it was just as well that you showed up. Maybe saved some trouble.” He tipped his head back and forth. “Then again, maybe it caused some.”
“Either way, I didn’t like it. Someone’s better off than the rest, and he thinks he can ride roughshod over the ones that don’t have much. I just don’t like it.”
“I don’t, either, of course, bein’ one of those that has less.”
Fielding gave a light shake of the head. “Then their young puncher named Steelyard, nice enough fellow, comes by and tells me I ought not to take sides.”
“He told you that?”
“I think he meant it well. He’s the type that just by nature stays out of trouble. But if I did what he said, looked the other way, I’d be doing what he is, which is more or less goin’ along with what Cronin does.”
“I’m surprised he took the trouble to tell you.”
