seemed familiar. H e walked toward the door, saying conversationally, "W e had better talk this over in the light, amigo.
There was a time when I knew, Turkeytrac k mighty well."
"Hold up there!"
No stranger to the tone of a voice behind a gun , Mike Shevlin stopped.
"Who'd you ever know at Turkeytrack?" c ame the question from the darkness.
"Rawhide Jenkins was foreman then, and they ha d a sourdough cook named Lemmon." Then th e remembrance of the voice came to him suddenly , by association. "And they had a cantankerous ol d devil of a wolfer named Winkler."
The door opened wider. "Come on careful, wit h your hands empty."
"That wolf-hunter," Shevlin continued, "too k over as cook one time when Lemmon was laid up.
He made the best coffee and the lousies t biscuits a man ever ate."
He walked up the ramp and into the darkness of a room that had once been the main part of th e sawmill. A fire glowed redly on a heart h across the room, and the firelight gleamed from th e blade of the saw.
Shevlin paused just inside the door, hi s senses alert and waiting, his hands grippin g lightly the edges of his slicker.
"Light it, Eve."
A match flared, revealing the face of a girl , strangely lovely in the soft light. She touche d the flame to the wick of a coal-oil lantern, the n lowered the globe and hung the lantern so the ligh t fell upon Shevlin's face.
He knew what they saw: a big man wit h wide shoulders and a lean body that bulked eve n larger now with the wet slicker and the black leathe r chaps. A man over six feet tall who di d not look the two hundred pounds he weighed, a man with a wedge-shaped face turned to leather by win d and sun.
Using his left hand, Shevlin tilted his ha t back so they could see his face, wondering if th e years had left enough for Winkler to recognize.
"Shevlin!" the man exclaimed. "Mik e Shevlin! Well, I'll be dogged! Heard you wa s killed down on the Nueces."
"It was a close thing."
Winkler did not lower the rifle, and Shevli n held his peace, knowing why it covered him.
"What happened out there just now?"
"You had an eavesdropper. He tried a shot at me."
The huge room was almost empty. Here where th e great saw blade had screamed through logs, cuttin g out planks to build the town, all was silent bu t for the subdued crackle of the fire and the rain on th e walls and windows. The firelight and the lanter n shed their glow even to the corners; he saw only th e girl and the old wolfer, yet there had been fou r horses out there.
There were no chairs and no table, but there was a sixteen-foot pine log from which the top had bee n cut for planks, leaving a flat surface that wa s at once a bench and a table. Near the fireplac e there was a stack of wood, and at the fire's edg e an ancient, smoke-blackened coffeepot.
The girl was young, not much over twenty, but he r manner was cool and carried authority. Sh e regarded him with direct attention. "Do you alway s shoot that quick?"
"I take notions."
Winkler was still suspicious. "What did you com e back for? Who sent for you?"
Removing his slicker, Shevlin walked to th e fire and stretched his hands toward th e coals. What was going on here? He ha d returned, it seemed, to a town crawling wit h suspicion and fear. How could mining do that to a town? Or was it the mining?
"What did you come back for?" Winkle r repeated.
"Eli's dead."
"Eli?"
"Eli Patterson."
"That's been a while. Anyway, what's tha t to do with you, I never heard of you going out of your wa y for anybody. What did you have to do with that ol d coot?"
"I liked him." Shevlin rubbed his hands abov e the coals. "I've been down Sonora way.
Only heard a few weeks ago that he wa s dead."
"So you came runnin', hey? Take m y advice and light a shuck out of here. Everything' s changed, and we've trouble enough without you."
"I want to know what happened to Eli."
Winkler snorted. "As I recall, h e wasn't the man to do business with a cow thief."
Mike Shevlin had expected
There was a time when I knew, Turkeytrac k mighty well."
"Hold up there!"
No stranger to the tone of a voice behind a gun , Mike Shevlin stopped.
"Who'd you ever know at Turkeytrack?" c ame the question from the darkness.
"Rawhide Jenkins was foreman then, and they ha d a sourdough cook named Lemmon." Then th e remembrance of the voice came to him suddenly , by association. "And they had a cantankerous ol d devil of a wolfer named Winkler."
The door opened wider. "Come on careful, wit h your hands empty."
"That wolf-hunter," Shevlin continued, "too k over as cook one time when Lemmon was laid up.
He made the best coffee and the lousies t biscuits a man ever ate."
He walked up the ramp and into the darkness of a room that had once been the main part of th e sawmill. A fire glowed redly on a heart h across the room, and the firelight gleamed from th e blade of the saw.
Shevlin paused just inside the door, hi s senses alert and waiting, his hands grippin g lightly the edges of his slicker.
"Light it, Eve."
A match flared, revealing the face of a girl , strangely lovely in the soft light. She touche d the flame to the wick of a coal-oil lantern, the n lowered the globe and hung the lantern so the ligh t fell upon Shevlin's face.
He knew what they saw: a big man wit h wide shoulders and a lean body that bulked eve n larger now with the wet slicker and the black leathe r chaps. A man over six feet tall who di d not look the two hundred pounds he weighed, a man with a wedge-shaped face turned to leather by win d and sun.
Using his left hand, Shevlin tilted his ha t back so they could see his face, wondering if th e years had left enough for Winkler to recognize.
"Shevlin!" the man exclaimed. "Mik e Shevlin! Well, I'll be dogged! Heard you wa s killed down on the Nueces."
"It was a close thing."
Winkler did not lower the rifle, and Shevli n held his peace, knowing why it covered him.
"What happened out there just now?"
"You had an eavesdropper. He tried a shot at me."
The huge room was almost empty. Here where th e great saw blade had screamed through logs, cuttin g out planks to build the town, all was silent bu t for the subdued crackle of the fire and the rain on th e walls and windows. The firelight and the lanter n shed their glow even to the corners; he saw only th e girl and the old wolfer, yet there had been fou r horses out there.
There were no chairs and no table, but there was a sixteen-foot pine log from which the top had bee n cut for planks, leaving a flat surface that wa s at once a bench and a table. Near the fireplac e there was a stack of wood, and at the fire's edg e an ancient, smoke-blackened coffeepot.
The girl was young, not much over twenty, but he r manner was cool and carried authority. Sh e regarded him with direct attention. "Do you alway s shoot that quick?"
"I take notions."
Winkler was still suspicious. "What did you com e back for? Who sent for you?"
Removing his slicker, Shevlin walked to th e fire and stretched his hands toward th e coals. What was going on here? He ha d returned, it seemed, to a town crawling wit h suspicion and fear. How could mining do that to a town? Or was it the mining?
"What did you come back for?" Winkle r repeated.
"Eli's dead."
"Eli?"
"Eli Patterson."
"That's been a while. Anyway, what's tha t to do with you, I never heard of you going out of your wa y for anybody. What did you have to do with that ol d coot?"
"I liked him." Shevlin rubbed his hands abov e the coals. "I've been down Sonora way.
Only heard a few weeks ago that he wa s dead."
"So you came runnin', hey? Take m y advice and light a shuck out of here. Everything' s changed, and we've trouble enough without you."
"I want to know what happened to Eli."
Winkler snorted. "As I recall, h e wasn't the man to do business with a cow thief."
Mike Shevlin had expected
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