Fielding narrowed his eyes for a second. “You think Buchanan is thick with him?”
Lodge stroked his beard. “I don’t think he’s in on it, at least in the business aspect. But when it comes right down to it, these fellows stick together. Even when one of ’em doesn’t believe in what the other’s doin’, he stands behind him, maybe a ways back, but it’s part of the code. If you’re in the club, you don’t renege unless the other man has done somethin’ that everyone can see is rotten. Otherwise, you can’t count on someone else when you need it. Like we said a little while ago.”
Now it was Fielding’s turn to take a deep breath. “So you think Buchanan is hangin’ back.”
“I’d guess.”
Two thoughts crossed in Fielding’s mind. “Say,” he began, “who’s this snooty blond fellow I saw at Buchanan’s yesterday? He came bouncin’ in on a light-colored horse, no hat, all red in the face.”
“Eyes that look like gooseberries?”
Fielding laughed. “That’s him.”
Lodge smiled, to appearances not displeased with his own humor. “The gentleman is named Cedric. I call him Cedric the Saxon, come to court the Lady Rowena.”
Fielding’s brows came together. “Who’s that?”
“Oh, those are characters from Sir Walter Scott. Actually, he doesn’t court her in the story. The resemblance is in name only. The young blade you met is one Cedric Tholes, as I’ve heard it.”
“I didn’t actually meet him. He snubbed me rather well, as they say.”
“I can imagine. Anyway, he’s British, which shouldn’t surprise you, and he’s stayin’ at the Argyle. He’s the son of one of Cronin’s business associates. Plays polo when he’s not among the uncivilized.”
“Good for him. We won’t miss him when he goes back.” After a second, Fielding added, “I was wondering where he came from. Now it makes sense. She’s probably the closest thing to his idea of class that he’s going to find around here. Wonder what her father thinks of him.”
“No tellin’. But Joe Buchanan’s no fool.” Lodge smiled as he wagged his head. “Just a mucky-muck.”
“Well,” said Fielding, “if there is any trouble, I hope Buchanan doesn’t get caught up in it. I’d think less of him, and I’d feel sorry for her.”
“Let him take care of himself. He’s not going to waste any sympathy on you.”
“Oh, no. He’s shown that.” Fielding’s thought came back around to a point that had been skipped over earlier. “How about you?”
“How about me?” Lodge widened his eyes.
“What I mean is, how do you play into this bigger plan as you see it? Do you think they’ll try to push you out, too?”
Lodge gave a backward wave. “I don’t count for much. I’ve got twenty-three cows and seventeen calves, if I get ’em all branded. If they ran me out, they could use this place for a line camp, but there’s better ones to be had before they get to me.”
“That’s good.”
The deep brown eyes had a playful cast to them as Lodge said, “One of the many advantages of having so little.”
Fielding glanced at the two sorrels in the corral. “You’ve got something, and you’ve worked for it,” he said.
“Oh, yeah,” Lodge answered, getting serious like before. “It’s not much to someone else, but it is to me. I make light of it because it’s mine, but I won’t let someone walk all over me. I know what these sons of bitches are like, and I’ll call ’em on it.”
Fielding nodded in agreement.
Lodge went on. “That’s the problem with Selby. I don’t mean to say anything against him, but I think he might bend too easy. ’Course, maybe he knows how to stay out of trouble better than I do.”
“He seemed to be stickin’ up for himself the other day.”
“That’s true. We’ll see how far it goes.” Lodge stood up, moved out of the shade, and looked up at the sun. “It’s early yet,” he said.
Fielding rose from the bench. “I suppose you have work to do.”
Lodge shook his head. “Not much at the moment. I was goin’ down to bring in the horses when you showed up. I got that done.” He squared his shoulders. “I was plannin’ to take a little ride and check on my stock. I can probably still do that and not miss dinner.”
“I should be going, too,” said Fielding. “In spite of my leisure, I’ve got things to do as well.” He glanced at Lodge and reinforced his impression that the man looked solid.
“Come again when you can stay longer. I’ll boil a spud and we can split it in two.”
“Sounds good.” Fielding unwrapped the reins from the hitching rail and led the horse out. He checked the cinch and mounted up, then touched the brim of his hat and rode away.
Halfway between Lodge’s place and town, Fielding reined the dark horse to a stop. Ahead of him in the rolling waves of grass, two riders had gone out of sight behind a hill. This was the part of the range where most of Roe’s and Selby’s cattle grazed, but Fielding did not think Roe and Selby were the ones he had seen. If the horsemen were two of Cronin’s hired hands, it would be a good thing to know.
Fielding dropped back behind the hill he had almost crested. If he kept to low ground and followed this line of hills north, he might come closer and get a better glimpse of the two riders. The dark horse had slowed down as the day had warmed up. Fielding gave him a nudge and got him to move out at a trot. The horse was rough at that gait, so Fielding put him into a lope for three-quarters of a mile until he found a broad rise of land on his right.
Twenty yards short of the top, he dismounted and led the horse up the slope. Once behind the prominence, he took off his hat and angled to the left, still moving uphill. As his eyesight cleared the low ridge, he first saw the rim and bluffs on the other side of the valley. He was facing northeast. He inched forward, and more of the valley came into view. After a couple of small steps more, he could see the next line of hills below.
As he waited, the vast rangeland was still and quiet. A faint ripple of air moved across the grass. Then he saw movement, color in the sea of pale green. A bay horse and a sorrel came out from behind a hill. The riders were closer than before, maybe a quarter of a mile off. They both looked straight ahead, and the horses moved at a fast walk.
Fielding recognized Henry Steelyard first, sitting straight up and easy on the bay. On the other side of Steelyard, the second rider showed above the haunches of the bay. Fielding recognized the hat with the turned-up brim, the reddish brown hair, and the black vest. It was the kid Mahoney.
From the distance, Fielding could not read the brands on the horses, but he could see they each carried one on the left hip. Some outfits branded horses on the front shoulder, but the hip was where the Argyle Ranch put its brand—one interlocking diamond above another. It looked as if Mahoney had found new work.
Chapter Four
Fielding saw the Argyle brand up close when he was in town a week later. A white horse and a dark one stood at the hitching rail in front of the general store, and each had the interlocking diamond pattern on its left hip. As Fielding had some purchases to make in the same store, he reined the sorrel to the next hitching rail to the left and swung down.
As he was tying the horse, two men came out of the store, boot heels sounding on the board sidewalk and spurs jingling. He saw at a glance that they were Pence and Adler.
Pence was dressed as usual, with his high-crowned dark hat, blue wool shirt with chest pockets, denim trousers, smooth-worn gun belt, and scuffed boots with spurs. In his left hand he carried two small white sacks of tobacco with yellow drawstrings—Bull Durham, from the looks of it. His face was clean-shaven except for his side whiskers, which grew an inch below his ear. From beneath the shade of his hat brim, his dull brown eyes looked out with a vacant expression.
Adler, as tall as Pence except for the peak of the hat, wore a white work shirt as before, and today Fielding noticed his gun belt. It was dark brown, blending in color with his low-crowned ha
t, clean wool vest, leather gloves, wool pants, and dark boots. Like Pence, he kept his right hand free and carried something in his left—rather than smoking materials, however, he held a stick of licorice.
As Fielding stepped onto the sidewalk, Pence gave him a blank stare while Adler nodded and recognized him by his last name. The two Argyle men paused at the edge of the sidewalk, and as Fielding walked behind them, he noticed that the dark horse carried a saddle gun in a leather scabbard. Once inside the store, Fielding glanced out the window to see Pence untying the white horse as Adler untied the dark one.
Fielding bought his supplies and took them out to his saddlebags. He put two cans of tomatoes and a pound of bacon in one side and two cans of peaches and a pound of beans in the other. With roundup a few days away, he didn’t want to buy any more than necessary, so he hadn’t spent much. As he untied the horse and led him from the rail, he pictured the inside of a café and a meal he would not have to cook for himself.
His thought was interrupted by the sight of a blonde head of hair and a full-length, pale blue dress. Susan Buchanan had moved out of the shade of an overhang and into the sunlight. As she was headed down the sidewalk in his direction, he turned and waited for her.
Her face showed recognition, but she did not waver. She walked on to the shade of the next canopy, where she stopped and said, “Hello, Tom.”
“Good afternoon, Susan.” He had the sense of standing in the street in the heat of the sun, looking up at the Lady Rowena, but he did not feel diminished.
Her voice had a courteous tone. “And how have you been since I saw you last?”
“Just fine.”
“I suppose you’ve been busy.”
“I’ve had to be. I’ve been out lining up new work. There’s a couple of outfits I’ve packed for before, but I’ve had to get to know a couple more. It all takes time, half a day’s ride here, a day’s ride there. Get things in order, times and places.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Her face did not move as she spoke.
“Of course, it’ll be a little while till they take their cattle up to summer range.”
“Oh, yes.”
He hesitated, then asked, “And yourself?”
“About the same,” she said. She held her hands together as she nodded and said again, “About the same.”
“Glad to know you’re all right,” he said. “I’ll let you go now.” He lifted his hat and set it back down.
“Good-bye, Tom.”
“Good-bye.” As he turned to lead the horse, he saw her profile as she continued walking along the sidewalk.
Fielding mounted up and rode the three blocks to the café, which was located on the second street over from the railroad tracks. There he dismounted and tied his horse at the end of a row of others. There was no sidewalk here, just a worn path with fringes of grass, and he followed it to the door.
Inside, he looked around at the tables, which were mostly occupied, and he saw Richard Lodge seated across from a young man Fielding had not seen before. Lodge, who was not wearing his hat, raised his head and then waved for Fielding to come over.
As he made his way, Fielding saw a chair on one of the two vacant sides of the table, so he headed towards it. Lodge took his hat from the seat of the chair, put it on his head, and motioned for Fielding to sit down. As Fielding scooted the chair under himself, Lodge made introductions.
“Tom, this is Ed. Did I get your last name?”
“Bracken,” said the young fellow.
“Ed Bracken, then. Ed, meet Tom Fielding.”
They shook hands, and Fielding settled into his seat. He noticed that the other two were both having beef stew.
“Ed’s lookin’ for work,” said Lodge.
“Oh.” Fielding looked at the young man, and beneath the dusty black hat with its round crown and wide, curling brim, he saw a kid of about eighteen. Bracken had short dark hair, eyebrows to match, and a light growth of mustache and beard. His brown eyes did not look up, and he had an air about him as if he had come in the back door and had asked to work for his meal.
The waitress appeared at the corner of the table, on Lodge’s right and Fielding’s left. “One for you, too?” she asked.
Fielding saw again the two bowls of stew. “Sure,” he said.
“Comin’ up.”
As she turned, Lodge spoke. “Leonora, this goes with the other two.”
“Sure,” she said in a pleasant tone, and she walked away.
Fielding recalled having seen her before, but he had not taken notice of her until now. In Lodge’s presence he saw her as more than just a biscuit-shooter. She was about forty years old, with a well-kept figure. Her brown hair was tied in back, and it swayed with the rest of her as she walked to the kitchen.
A minute later, she set down a large bowl of stew along with a spoon. Lodge glanced up at her without speaking, and she seemed poised for a second before she turned and left.
“Thanks, Richard,” said Fielding as he took up his spoon.
“Plea sure’s mine.”
“Thanks again,” said the kid.
“Don’t mention it. And we’re not done yet.” Lodge gave the kid a friendly nod.
Fielding had to blow several times on the first spoonful, so he decided to let his stew cool down. He looked at the kid and asked, “What kind of work do you do?”
The kid’s eyes came around. “Oh, whatever I can find.”
“You work around horses?”
“I’ve done a little.”
“Where did you work last?”
The kid’s eyes went back to his food, and he gave a light shrug. “It was in Julesburg. Last year. I unloaded rail cars and loaded wagons.”
Fielding noticed the kid’s pale complexion and put it together with his wounded look and what he had just said. It looked as if this kid had been in jail, and his hair was just starting to grow out.
“There’s work,” said Fielding, “if you can keep from fallin’ off a horse.”
The kid turned and smiled, showing a set of filmy, uneven teeth. “If I do, I’ll climb right back on.”
“That’s the thing to do.” Fielding spooned a chunk of meat from the top of the bowlful. It was still hot.
“That’s right,” said Lodge. “Do your work and not complain, and you’ll do just fine. You don’t look like a complainer to me.”
“I don’t think I am.” The kid’s bowl was clean, and he set down his spoon.
“Here’s the deal,” said Fielding. “I think I can get you on with a couple of fellas we know. Small roundup, not much.” He pointed side to side. “Lodge and I are both goin’ along, and they can use another hand.”
“Do I have to ride wild horses?”
“Not with this bunch, I don’t think. Just a lot of dust and flies.”
“That don’t bother me.”
“I hope not. And if you work out all right at that, I’ve got some work comin’ up. Packin’ supplies to cow and sheep camps.”
“With mules?”
“I use horses. Nothin’ against mules. I just don’t care for ’em.”
“I could try that, too.”
“Eat your grub,” said Lodge. “We’re ready for pie, just waitin’ on you.”
As Fielding ate his stew, the waitress came and picked up the two empty bowls.
Lodge’s brown eyes sparkled as he spoke to her in a gallant tone. “Leonora, my dear, have the sheepherders and cowpunchers cleaned you out of all your pie today?”
“Not at all. I’ve got one I made this morning, with only one slice taken out.” She had transferred the bowls to her right hand and stood with her left hand on her hip.
“Apple, I hope.”
“That’s right,” she said. She did not sound impatient at all.
“I think we’d like three slices, then.”
“With coffee?”
Lodge gave a questioning look at Bracken, who nodded. “Three cups,” said Lodge.
Leonora tipped her head toward Fi
elding. “Did he say he wanted coffee?”
Lodge raised his lively eyes to meet hers. “He’s my nephew. I speak for him.”
Leonora gave Fielding a dubious look and walked away.
Out on the street, when Fielding saw that Bracken wasn’t carrying a bag or anything, he asked the kid if he’d like to go pick up a few things he would need for work.
“I don’t know,” said Bracken. “I haven’t got hardly any money.”
“I’ll stake you,” said Fielding. “If you don’t make enough on this cattle work, we can carry it over when you work for me.”
“That’s a ways off, isn’t it?”
“A ways, maybe. But you’ll need at least a pair of riding boots and a change of clothes. I can fix you up with a bedroll out of my gear.”
Fielding looked the kid over. He was a tallish young fellow, not filled out yet. He was wearing a drab cotton work shirt, wrinkled and too short in the sleeves, as if it had belonged to someone else at one time. His brown canvas pants were holding up but needed a wash, and his scuffed clodhopper boots were breaking out at the toes.
The kid didn’t say anything, so Fielding spoke again. “Come on, don’t feel bad about it. We’ll get you fitted out.” He turned to Lodge, who stood by with reins in hand. “Thanks again for dinner,” he said.
“Glad to.” Lodge turned on his heel. “I’ll see you fellas later.”
Fielding untied his horse, and Bracken fell in alongside as Fielding and the sorrel walked toward the main street.
“Is he really your uncle?” asked the kid.
“No, he’s just a good man. Knows a lot, too.” Fielding recalled the shine in Lodge’s eyes as the older man exchanged pleasantries with Leonora. “I’m beginning to get an idea, though, of where he gets some of his information.”
Gather My Horses Page 5