Cowboy PI by Jean Barrett Page B

responsible for the stampede, there was the possibility he had already moved on. Or, for that matter, that he’d never been here at all.
    They might have wandered forever through the pine forest without finding their man if it hadn’t been for his horse. Sensing the presence of other horses, the animal nickered softly, betraying his position less than a hundred yards away. They came to a standstill, with Roark praying thatnone of their own mounts answered him. Thankfully, they didn’t.
    Shep raised his arm and pointed in the direction from which the whinny had originated. Roark nodded, and the three of them quietly dismounted. Not wanting to leave Samantha on her own, which could leave her vulnerable to an ambush from behind, he motioned for Shep to stay with her while he checked out their objective.
    His gun is his hand, Roark stole silently through the trees. The light from an opening in the pines drew him to the edge of a small, grassy clearing where a chestnut was staked out to graze. Satisfied by what else occupied the clearing, Roark retreated to the place where he’d left Samantha and the trail boss.
    “He’s there,” he whispered to them. “Fast asleep on the ground. Samantha, stay with the horses and do what you can to keep them quiet. Shep?”
    The trail boss nodded, drew his own gun and accompanied Roark back to the clearing. The chestnut lifted his head as they came through the trees, noted their arrival in the clearing, then lowered his muzzle again to the grass. On the other side of a dead campfire, wrapped in a blanket and with his back to them, lay a motionless figure.
    Neither Roark nor Shep nor the chestnut made a sound. But the man on the ground must have somehow realized he was no longer alone. Jerking awake, he twisted around to face them, a startled expression on his blunt features. For a second he gazed at them, then his hand started to reach for a rifle nearby.
    “I wouldn’t,” Roark warned him.
    Thinking better of his action, he withdrew his hand.
    “Get up,” Roark instructed him. “Carefully.”
    Eyeing the guns in their hands, he stumbled to his feet, the folds of the blanket twisted around his legs hindering him. When he was finally free of the blanket and standing, Roark could see he was short and stocky. There was something else he observed. The guy was young, probably inhis early twenties. The surprised expression on his broad face had become a surly one.
    “What the hell is this?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
    “Oh, I think you know who we are,” Roark said. “The thing is, we don’t know who you are or why you’ve been shadowing us.”
    “Or why you stampeded our cattle last night,” Shep said.
    “That’s bull, man. I never came anywhere near your herd.”
    “By firing that rifle there over their heads,” the trail boss added.
    “I never fired a shot from my gun. Check it if you don’t believe me.”
    “Rifles can be cleaned,” Roark said. “And you still haven’t told us who you are.”
    “Why should I? This isn’t private land. I got a right to be here when I ain’t botherin’ you or nobody else. Which means I don’t have to answer your questions.”
    Roark and Shep communicated with quick glances that told Roark the trail boss was thinking the same thing—that it was time this young man and Ramona were confronted with each other.
    “Maybe,” Roark said, “you’ll be in a friendlier mood about those questions back at our camp.”
    “I don’t have to go with you.”
    “This says you do.” Roark wagged the gun in his hand. “Now, get your things together.”
    The young man eyed first the pistol trained on him, then the gun in Shep’s hand. “And who made you cops?” he muttered. But he obeyed the order and began to collect his gear while Shep saddled the chestnut for him. When he started to reach for his rifle, Roark stopped him.
    “Uh-uh, that goes with me.” Taking possession of the rifle, he gestured in the direction of the chestnut