Idly, as if he intended feeding his horse, he strolled over and caught the pitchfork, scooped it full of hay, then moved inside. Some of the stalls were empty, others contained horses and apparently nothing more. Danner's mount moved about in the fourth stall to his left. Danner dumped the hay on the ground in front of the animal and leaned the pitchfork against the side of the stall. From under his lowered hatbrim his glance swept the length of the stable, finding nothing. Yet the uneasy feeling persisted.
The well-fed horse showed no interest in the hay. Danner saddled him swiftly. He pulled the cinch tight, then stiffened with a premonition born of years along troubled trails. Slowly he turned, to find Tuso grinning at him from fifteen feet away. A pair of tall, thin strangers flanked Tuso, one on each side. Low-slung holsters showed plainly the profession of the unkempt pair, just as a blankness in their narrowed eyes left little doubt about the men's depravity. Tuso leaned forward slightly on the balls of his feet, still grinning broadly.
'You're in a wee bit of a spot, big man,' Tuso gloated. 'I never dreamed it'd be so easy, especially finding you without your six-gun.'
Danner fixed an impassive stare on the swarthy face. 'Your companions get worse all the time, Tuso.'
'You mean the Grell brothers here?' He inclined his head with a sly grin. 'They ain't much, for sure. But they're a right handy pair to have around in times like this—do just what they're told and never a question. Say hello to Mr. Danner, boys. He's a
'I had you figured wrong, Tuso.' Danner leaned back against the stall, groping for the pitchfork with his left hand.
'How's that, big man?'
'I always figured that when you and I finally got around to tangling, it'd just be the two of us.'
'That's the way it'll be when killing time rolls around.' Relish shined from the small black eyes on each side of the broad flat nose. 'But right now the boss says no killing. You're too good a patsy for what he's got planned. All he wants us to do is crack a few ribs for you, and maybe a jawbone and leg. Nothing serious. Just enough to keep you layed up until after those sodbusters finish their wheat harvest. I'd even handle this alone, except that I bunged up my hand a couple of days ago on a sodbuster's iron jaw.' He held up his left hand to reveal a dirty bandage and splint. Danner waited silently, resisting the temptation to bring out the pitchfork.
Tuso nodded to the Grell on his right and the wraithlike creature stepped back into one of the stalls. He returned carrying three singletrees and handed one to his brother, one to Tuso. Holding up his club, Tuso glanced from it to Danner, grinning.
'A right nice rib-breaker, don't you think, big man?'
Danner moved the pitchfork over to his right hand. The trio began moving toward him slowly, clubs ready. With a swift motion Danner stepped away from the stall and raised the pitchfork to waist level, prongs aimed at Tuso's great chest. The three stopped, hardly twice the length of the pitchfork away from Danner. Tuso continued to grin with anticipation, but he held his distance.
'Aw, come on, big man,' Tuso chided. 'You know that pronged broomstick ain't no defense against six- guns.'
'What type of six-gun, Tuso?' Danner asked softly. 'A pin-fire, maybe?'
The grin vanished, replaced first by a puzzled look, then a wariness. 'What about a pin-fire?'
Jubilation touched Danner briefly. A long shot had hit paydirt. 'You do own a pin-fire, don't you?'
Slowly Tuso shook his head, still wary, still puzzled. 'What's it going to be, big man? If you don't get rid of that sticker, we'll just have to stand off and shoot you, instead of breaking you up a little.'
'The Grells, maybe,' Danner conceded, staring directly into the small, round eyes of Tuso, 'but not you. If I'm to take the big ride, you'll be just ahead of me on a runaway horse.'
Tuso leaned forward a little while his animal instincts sought a solution to the stand-off. Danner could see his mind working, casting about, considering, rejecting. And behind it all a puzzlement lurked, nagging at him as he tried to figure out what Danner had meant by the remark about a pin-fire. Danner realized he shouldn't have mentioned the gun, for eventually Tuso would figure out that the weapon would tie him in with the Spaulding robbery. Then he would get rid of it and Danner could go whistle for evidence to clear his name.
Tuso rocked slightly now, from his toes to his heels and back again. The only sound came from huge flies buzzing around the animal waste covering the floor of the stable. A moistness formed under Danner's hatbrim. His arm grew tired from the unnatural position of holding the pitchfork. Finally, Tuso tossed his singletree to the littered floor and nodded to the Grell brothers, who followed suit.
'Another time, big man,' Tuso said, grinning. Then he turned and led his sidekicks out through the rear of the livery stable.
Danner exhaled deeply as the tenseness went out of him. He felt weak as he stepped into the saddle and rode out into the bright sunlight.
Dust from a pair of thrashers clouded the air in the south field. Danner sat in the shade by the barn, watching. The sun's position in the sky told him it was about nine o'clock when he spotted a lone wagon depart from the near thrasher. Soon he recognized McDaniel driving the four-mule span. The heavily loaded wagon creaked into the yard and McDaniel dropped to the ground.
'Should be some more wagons here pretty soon,' Billy grunted.
Danner nodded. McDaniel moved over to the well, hauled up a fresh bucket of water and drank noisily. Sighting another wagon coming from the southwest, Danner strode into the corral and saddled his horse. He led the animal to the shade of the barn and resumed his wait. Four wagons were in sight now. The first to arrive at the barn was handled by the old stringbean, Gustafson.
'Olie Swensen said we're to meet here and go to Richfield in groups,' Gustafson explained, scowling. Danner nodded in agreement and invited the old granger to get down. But Gustafson remained on the seat of his wagon.
Half an hour slipped by before the sixth wagon arrived. Then they began the trip to Richfield. McDaniel held lead wagon position behind Danner, the only horseman, leading the way.
The river was hardly a trickle this time of year and fording it was no problem. Able to see several miles in each direction, Danner rode well in front of the string of wagons without bothering to swing away from the road. On each side of the road, yellowish-brown wheat bent with a gentle breeze and gave off a crackling sound.
When they drew near the dry wash known as Wilson's Crossing, Danner spurred on ahead of the wagons. The wash was nothing more than a ten-foot gully slashed out of the soft earth, with the ground leveling off on each side. The crossing dipped down to the bottom of the wash and came out the far side in the same manner. The bed of the wash couldn't be seen from the right or left of the crossing, only from the center where the road crossed. This made it a prime site for an ambush.
Before starting down the slope, Danner dismounted and drew his Colts. He glanced around at the wagons a hundred yards back, then led his horse downward. Nerves taut, he kept his back to the near sidewall and faced the west arm of the wash. Only emptiness greeted him. He whirled to his right. Again he saw nothing but the empty bed of the gully. He mounted and rode up the north bank.
The wagons made the crossing without incident, though each driver cast a furtive glance at Danner in passing. Danner knew they were wondering if they should fear Tuso or him and the knowledge brought a stiffness to his back muscles. He resumed his place in front of the column.
Danner rode far ahead of the wagons and by the time he reached the forested area the wagons had fallen behind a good quarter of a mile. He reined his horse down to a walk as he entered the grove, scanning both sides as he moved along. The far end of the area was perhaps two hundred yards away. He cocked his head to catch any fugitive sound. A rustling to his right reached him. In a single motion he drew, cocked and aimed his Colts. A rabbit broke across the trail and vanished into the trees at his left. Danner kicked his mount into motion again.
At the north end of the passage through the trees, Danner reined around and returned to the south entrance, moving faster this trip. Still he detected nothing. He sat idly in the saddle, awaiting the arrival of the wagons. He guided the column through the trees, half expecting horsemen to appear from some hidden spot within the wooded
