him, but I felt bad nevertheless. In the years since that time I’ve often wondered if a smarter man would have handled things differently.
At the time nobody questioned my innocence, but, although I rode out of town without looking back, I knew that I’d lost something there in the street. What was left of my youth died with that drunken cowpoke.
The fire burned low and an owl hooted nearby, returning me to the present. Francisco and Miguel were already snoring, so I pulled my blanket up over my neck and rolled over. It wasn’t the first time I’d fall asleep reliving that shoot-out, but, as always, I hoped it would be the last.
Chapter Three
The next morning the three of us rose early and, after a quick breakfast, rode on south. We made good time over the next few days, and, when we finally crested the hills overlooking the
Nestled deep in a small valley was a stretch of lush grass pasture spreading out in all directions, and a river that curved along the eastern and northern borders of the ranch. That type of situation is rare for a country that tends more toward mesquite, chaparral, and dry barren stretches.
Once through the
When we tied up our horses in front of the nearest corral, I noticed an
Some believe in taming a mustang by repeatedly throwing it down with their rope until it’s dazed, and then riding it hard with spurs and quirts until it’s exhausted. It’s a quick but hard technique, one my pa never favored. Although this particular
The other
A
This outfit was run by a
Chavez sat astride a large sorrel gelding and stared down at me. He looked me over like someone being sold a lame mule, and not particularly happy about it to boot. He was not a very tall man, was dark-complected, and sported an oversize moustache. His left hand carried a long bullwhip, and the obvious size of his forearms suggested that he would be very proficient with it.
He also wore a utility knife sheathed in a garter strap tied halfway up his leather leggings. Almost all the men did, but I suspected the difference would be in his ability to use it for things other than cutting rope. Chavez had a large scar running straight down the left side of his face, which he tried to conceal by wearing a wide flat sombrero with the brim cocked down at a slant.
Before we arrived, Miguel had mentioned that his
After looking me over, Chavez turned to Francisco and rattled off something in Spanish a little too fast for me to catch. Most of the nearby hands began to chuckle.
“He says pretty men with fancy guns belong in carnivals, not on working ranches,” Francisco explained.
It was fairly obvious that his taunting me was some sort of test, a way to size me up.
I’ll be the first to admit that my sandy-colored hair highlighted what some considered rather boyish features, even for my size. The fact that, before riding into the
I knew it wasn’t smart to fly off at an outfit’s ramrod, but I could tolerate some things only up to a point. I stared straight back at Chavez.
“Miguel, tell the
Francisco stood quietly off to the side, looking at us in total disbelief.
Miguel looked even more uncomfortable at having been chosen to translate what I’d just said, but it was nothing compared to the look I got from Chavez. I continued on anyway, trying to remain expressionless.
“Miguel, tell him I know most all the routes north and west from here by heart, and I know where you’re headed. At this time of the year, if he doesn’t know where exactly the water is, he’ll need someone like me along. One last thing…tell him that, if a brand treats its men fair enough, I’ll give it as much or more as the next man.”
The
“We shall see,
Some Americans are always riding the
I always figured deep down most of us were pretty much alike, but while it’s a cinch I don’t descend from