of beans, some crabapple jelly and slices of thick white bread looking fresh from the oven.
She was even thinner than I'd thought, and her eyes were bluer. "I am Barby Ann." She gestured to the head of the table. "And this is my father, Henry Rossiter."
He had the frame of a once-big man, and the hands and wrists of one who must have been powerful. Now he was grizzled and old, with a walrus mustache and white hair that was too long. There was no sight to his eyes now, but I'd have known him anywhere.
"Howdy," I said at the introduction, and his head came up. He looked down the table at me, his eyes a blank stare, yet with an intentness that made me uneasy.
"Who said that?" His voice was harsh. "Who spoke?"
"It's a new hand, Father. He just rode in with the boys."
"We had us some words with Balch and Saddler," Hinge explained. "He stood with us."
Oh, he knew, all right! He knew, but he was shrewd enough to ask no more questions ... not of me, at least.
"We can use a hand. You ready for war, son?"
"I was born ready," I said, "but I ride peaceful unless crossed."
"You can ride out if you're of a mind to," Rossiter said, "and if you ride west or north you'll ride safe. You ride south or east in this country and your chances of getting through are mighty poor ... mighty poor."
Hinge explained what had happened with Balch and Saddler in a slow, casual tone that made enough of it but no more, leaving nobody in doubt.
Barby Ann ate in silence. Twice she looked at me, worried-like, but that was all. Nobody talked much, as it was not the way of ranch folk to talk much at supper. Eating was a serious business and we held to it. Yet at my home there'd been talk. Pa had been a man given to speaking, an educated man with much to say, and all of us had the gift of gab. We talked, but amongst ourselves.
When we were down to coffee and had the pie behind our belts, Rossiter turned his dead eyes toward Hinge. "There will be trouble?"
"Reckon so. I just figure he aims to keep us this side of the cap-rock, no matter whose cattle run up yonder. Unless we're ready to fight, we just ain't a-goin' to get 'em."
Rossiter turned his eyes in my direction, and he wasn't off-center one whit. "Did you see any Stirrup-Iron cattle?"
"I wasn't keeping count. I'd guess fifteen, maybe twenty head along where I rode. Probably twice that many Spur."
"There will be trouble then. How many hands does he have?"
Hinge was careful. He thought a minute, then shrugged. "No tellin'. He had eight, but I hear he's been hirin', and there was a man with him I'd never seen before."
The boys finished off and headed for the bunkhouse but Danny lingered, sort of waiting for me. I held on, then gave it up and stood.
"You," Rossiter said. "You set back down. You're a new hand and we'd better talk." He turned his head. "Good night, Danny."
"Good night," Danny said grudgingly, and went out.
Barby Ann went to the kitchen, and he said, "What did you say your name was?"
"You know what it is," I said.
"Are you hunting me?"
"No, I was just drifting."
"Seven years ... seven years of blindness," Rossiter said. "Barby Ann sees for me. Her an' Hinge. He's a good man, Hinge is."
"I think so."
"I've got nothing. When we've made our gather and drive, there won't be much. Just what I owe the hands, and supplies for a new year ... if we can round up what we have and get to the railhead with the herd."
He put his hand to the table, fumbling for his pipe and tobacco. Just when I was about to push it to him, his hand found it. He began loading his pipe.
"I never had anything. It all turned sour on me. This here is my last stand ... something for Barby Ann, if I can keep it."
"She'd be better off in some good-sized town. There's nothing here for a girl."
"You think there is in them towns? You know an' I know what's in them towns, and her with nothin' put by. This here is all I got, an' it's little enough. You could take it all away from me right now, but you'd still have
She was even thinner than I'd thought, and her eyes were bluer. "I am Barby Ann." She gestured to the head of the table. "And this is my father, Henry Rossiter."
He had the frame of a once-big man, and the hands and wrists of one who must have been powerful. Now he was grizzled and old, with a walrus mustache and white hair that was too long. There was no sight to his eyes now, but I'd have known him anywhere.
"Howdy," I said at the introduction, and his head came up. He looked down the table at me, his eyes a blank stare, yet with an intentness that made me uneasy.
"Who said that?" His voice was harsh. "Who spoke?"
"It's a new hand, Father. He just rode in with the boys."
"We had us some words with Balch and Saddler," Hinge explained. "He stood with us."
Oh, he knew, all right! He knew, but he was shrewd enough to ask no more questions ... not of me, at least.
"We can use a hand. You ready for war, son?"
"I was born ready," I said, "but I ride peaceful unless crossed."
"You can ride out if you're of a mind to," Rossiter said, "and if you ride west or north you'll ride safe. You ride south or east in this country and your chances of getting through are mighty poor ... mighty poor."
Hinge explained what had happened with Balch and Saddler in a slow, casual tone that made enough of it but no more, leaving nobody in doubt.
Barby Ann ate in silence. Twice she looked at me, worried-like, but that was all. Nobody talked much, as it was not the way of ranch folk to talk much at supper. Eating was a serious business and we held to it. Yet at my home there'd been talk. Pa had been a man given to speaking, an educated man with much to say, and all of us had the gift of gab. We talked, but amongst ourselves.
When we were down to coffee and had the pie behind our belts, Rossiter turned his dead eyes toward Hinge. "There will be trouble?"
"Reckon so. I just figure he aims to keep us this side of the cap-rock, no matter whose cattle run up yonder. Unless we're ready to fight, we just ain't a-goin' to get 'em."
Rossiter turned his eyes in my direction, and he wasn't off-center one whit. "Did you see any Stirrup-Iron cattle?"
"I wasn't keeping count. I'd guess fifteen, maybe twenty head along where I rode. Probably twice that many Spur."
"There will be trouble then. How many hands does he have?"
Hinge was careful. He thought a minute, then shrugged. "No tellin'. He had eight, but I hear he's been hirin', and there was a man with him I'd never seen before."
The boys finished off and headed for the bunkhouse but Danny lingered, sort of waiting for me. I held on, then gave it up and stood.
"You," Rossiter said. "You set back down. You're a new hand and we'd better talk." He turned his head. "Good night, Danny."
"Good night," Danny said grudgingly, and went out.
Barby Ann went to the kitchen, and he said, "What did you say your name was?"
"You know what it is," I said.
"Are you hunting me?"
"No, I was just drifting."
"Seven years ... seven years of blindness," Rossiter said. "Barby Ann sees for me. Her an' Hinge. He's a good man, Hinge is."
"I think so."
"I've got nothing. When we've made our gather and drive, there won't be much. Just what I owe the hands, and supplies for a new year ... if we can round up what we have and get to the railhead with the herd."
He put his hand to the table, fumbling for his pipe and tobacco. Just when I was about to push it to him, his hand found it. He began loading his pipe.
"I never had anything. It all turned sour on me. This here is my last stand ... something for Barby Ann, if I can keep it."
"She'd be better off in some good-sized town. There's nothing here for a girl."
"You think there is in them towns? You know an' I know what's in them towns, and her with nothin' put by. This here is all I got, an' it's little enough. You could take it all away from me right now, but you'd still have
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