through his nostrils, a hoof clicked on a stone, someone shifted in his saddle and sighed. These were the onl y sounds. Tom Kedrick rode an Appaloosa gelding, fifteen hands even, with iron-gray forequarters and starkly white hindquarters splashed with tear-shaped spots of solid black-a clean-limbed horse, strong and fast, with quick intelligent eyes and interested ears.
When they bunched to start their ride, Laredo Shad stopper to stare at the horse, walking around it admiringly. "You're lucky, friend. That's a horse! Where'd you find him?"
"Navajo remuda. He's a Nez Perce war horse, a long ways off his reservation."
Kedrick noticed the men as they gathered and how they all sized him up carefully, noting his western garb and especially the low-hung, tied-down guns. They had seen Mir yesterday in the store clothes he had worn from New Orleans, but now they could size him up better, judge him with their own kind.
He was tall and straight, and of his yesterday's clothing only the black, flat-crowned hat remained, the hat and the high-heeled rider's boots.
He wore a gray wool shirt now and a black silk kerchief around his neck. His jeans were black, and the two guns rode easily in position, ready for the swing of his hand.
Kedrick saw them bunch, and when they all were there, he said simply, "All right, let's go!"
They mounted up. Kedrick noted slender, wiry Dornie Shaw; the great bulk of Si Fessenden; lean, bitter Poinsett; the square, blond Lee Goff; sour-faced Clauson, the oldest of the lot; and the lean Texan, Laredo Shad. Moving out, he glanced at them. Whatever else they might be, they were fighting men. Several times Shaw glanced at his gun.
"You ain't wearin" Colts?"
"No. Forty-four Russians. They are a good gun, one of the most accurate ever built."
He indicated the trail ahead with a nod. "You've been out this way before?"
"Yeah. We got quite a ride. We'll noon at a spring I know just over the North Fork. There's some deep canyons to cross and then a big peak.
The Indians an' Spanish called it the Orphan. All wild country. Right beyond there we'll begin strikin' a few of "em." He grinned a little, showing his white, even teeth. "They are scattered all over hell's half acre."
"Dornie," Goff asked suddenly, "you figure on ridin" over to the malpais this trip ?"
Clauson chuckled. "Sure, he will! He should've give up long ago, but he's sure hard to whip! That girl has set her sights higher than any west-country gunslinger."
"She's shapely, at that!" Goff was openly admiring. "Right Shapely, but playin' no favorites."
"Maybe they're playin' each other for what they can get," Poinsett said, wryly. "Maybe that's where he gets all the news he's tellin' Keith.
He sure seems to know a sight of what's goin' around."
Dornie Shaw turned in his saddle, and his thin features had sharpened. "Shut up!" he said coldly.
The older man tightened, and his eyes blazed back with genuine hate. Yet he held his peace.
It was educational to see how quickly he quieted down; for Poinsett, a hard, vicious man with no love for anybody or anything, obviously wanted no part of what Shaw could give him.
As the day drew on, Kedrick studied the men and noticed they all avoided giving offense to Shaw, even the burly Fessenden, who had killed twenty men, and was the only one of the group Kedrick had ever seen before. He wondered if Fessenden remembered him and decided he would know before the day was out.
Around the noon camp, there was less friendly banter than in a cow camp. These men were surly and touchy.
Only Shad seemed to relax much, but everything came easily for him. Clauson seemed to take over the cooking job by tacit consent, and the reason was soon obvious. He was really an excellent cook.
As he ate, Tom Kedrick studied his situation with care. He had taken this job in New Orleans, for at the time he had needed money badly.
Gunter had put up the cash to get him out here, and if he did back out, he would have to find a way
When they bunched to start their ride, Laredo Shad stopper to stare at the horse, walking around it admiringly. "You're lucky, friend. That's a horse! Where'd you find him?"
"Navajo remuda. He's a Nez Perce war horse, a long ways off his reservation."
Kedrick noticed the men as they gathered and how they all sized him up carefully, noting his western garb and especially the low-hung, tied-down guns. They had seen Mir yesterday in the store clothes he had worn from New Orleans, but now they could size him up better, judge him with their own kind.
He was tall and straight, and of his yesterday's clothing only the black, flat-crowned hat remained, the hat and the high-heeled rider's boots.
He wore a gray wool shirt now and a black silk kerchief around his neck. His jeans were black, and the two guns rode easily in position, ready for the swing of his hand.
Kedrick saw them bunch, and when they all were there, he said simply, "All right, let's go!"
They mounted up. Kedrick noted slender, wiry Dornie Shaw; the great bulk of Si Fessenden; lean, bitter Poinsett; the square, blond Lee Goff; sour-faced Clauson, the oldest of the lot; and the lean Texan, Laredo Shad. Moving out, he glanced at them. Whatever else they might be, they were fighting men. Several times Shaw glanced at his gun.
"You ain't wearin" Colts?"
"No. Forty-four Russians. They are a good gun, one of the most accurate ever built."
He indicated the trail ahead with a nod. "You've been out this way before?"
"Yeah. We got quite a ride. We'll noon at a spring I know just over the North Fork. There's some deep canyons to cross and then a big peak.
The Indians an' Spanish called it the Orphan. All wild country. Right beyond there we'll begin strikin' a few of "em." He grinned a little, showing his white, even teeth. "They are scattered all over hell's half acre."
"Dornie," Goff asked suddenly, "you figure on ridin" over to the malpais this trip ?"
Clauson chuckled. "Sure, he will! He should've give up long ago, but he's sure hard to whip! That girl has set her sights higher than any west-country gunslinger."
"She's shapely, at that!" Goff was openly admiring. "Right Shapely, but playin' no favorites."
"Maybe they're playin' each other for what they can get," Poinsett said, wryly. "Maybe that's where he gets all the news he's tellin' Keith.
He sure seems to know a sight of what's goin' around."
Dornie Shaw turned in his saddle, and his thin features had sharpened. "Shut up!" he said coldly.
The older man tightened, and his eyes blazed back with genuine hate. Yet he held his peace.
It was educational to see how quickly he quieted down; for Poinsett, a hard, vicious man with no love for anybody or anything, obviously wanted no part of what Shaw could give him.
As the day drew on, Kedrick studied the men and noticed they all avoided giving offense to Shaw, even the burly Fessenden, who had killed twenty men, and was the only one of the group Kedrick had ever seen before. He wondered if Fessenden remembered him and decided he would know before the day was out.
Around the noon camp, there was less friendly banter than in a cow camp. These men were surly and touchy.
Only Shad seemed to relax much, but everything came easily for him. Clauson seemed to take over the cooking job by tacit consent, and the reason was soon obvious. He was really an excellent cook.
As he ate, Tom Kedrick studied his situation with care. He had taken this job in New Orleans, for at the time he had needed money badly.
Gunter had put up the cash to get him out here, and if he did back out, he would have to find a way
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