my gun, and walked over to the fire.
What I had believed to be trees and brush along the line of the Pecos was actually the shadow east by the high bank. The river at this point was destitute of anything like trees or shrubs. The only growth along it was a thin line of rushes. It lay at the bottom of a trough that was from six to ten feet deep. The river itself was about a hundred feet wide and no more than four feet deep at the deepest point. The plain above was of thin, sandy soil, and there was only a sparse growth of greasewood, dwarf mesquite, and occasional clumps of bear grass.
Zebony came up to the fire and sat his horse while drinking a cup of coffee. It was quiet.., mighty quiet.
The cattle, still exhausted, were bedded down and content to rest, although occasionally one of them would start for the river and had to be headed back.
"You going to lay up here?"
"No."
Tim Foley looked around at me. Tim was a good man, but sometimes he thought I was too young for my job. Me, I've never seen that years made a man smart, for simply getting older doesn't mean much unless a man learns something meanwhile.
"We're going to finish crossing, and then go upstream a few miles." I gestured around me at the row of skulls marking the crossing, and at the crossing itself. "We don't want to run into Comanches."
Zeb started to turn his horse and stopped. "Dan . . . I" Something in his voice spun me around. A party of riders were coming toward us. Near as I could make out, there were six or seven.
"You wearing a gun, Tim?"
"I'm holdin' one." That would be Zeno Yearly.
Behind me there was a stirring in the camp. I glanced across the river where the herd was lying. Four men would be over there . . . but what about the fifth man who was staked out? Had he seen these riders? Or had they found him first?
Conchita was suddenly close by, standing half concealed by a wagon wheel.
My eyes fastened on the man in the lead. He rode a powerful bay horse, and he was a huge man. This, I knew at once, was Felipe Soto.
He rode up to the edge of camp and I saw him look carefully around. I do not know how much he saw, for we looked like a sleeping camp, except for the three of us standing there. Foley was across the fire from them, and Zeb on his horse some twenty feet off to one side. I was in the middle, and intended it that way.
My Patterson lay on the rolled-up blankets of my bed about a dozen feet off.
L "I look for Miguel Sandoval," the big man said. "Turn him over to me, and you will have no trouble."
Taking an easy step forward, I took the play away from him. "What do you mean, no trouble? Mister, if you want anybody from this outfit you've got to take them. As for trouble, we're asking for all you've got."
He looked at me with careful attention, and I knew he was trying to figure how much was loud talk and how much was real trouble.
"Look, senior , I think you do not understand." He gestured behind him. "I have many men . . . these are but a few. You have women here, and do not want trouble."
"You keep mentioning that," I said quietly, "but we're as ready as you are. We've had a mean drive, and we're all feeling pretty sore, so if you want to buy yourself a package of grief you just dig in your spurs and hang on."
His men started to fan out and Zebony spoke up. "Stand! You boys stand where you are or I'll open the ball," he said coolly. "If there's to be shooting we want you all bunched up."
Soto had not taken his eyes from me, and I do not know if he had intended to kill me, but I know I was ready. Whatever notion he had, he changed his mind in a hurry, and it was Zeno Yearly who changed it for him.
"You take the big one, Dan," Zeno said conversationally. "I want the man on his right."
Soto's eyes did not leave mine, but I saw his lips tighten under the black mustache.
They had not seen Zeno, and even I was not sure exactly where he was. They could see three of us . . . how many more were there?
There was no use losing a
What I had believed to be trees and brush along the line of the Pecos was actually the shadow east by the high bank. The river at this point was destitute of anything like trees or shrubs. The only growth along it was a thin line of rushes. It lay at the bottom of a trough that was from six to ten feet deep. The river itself was about a hundred feet wide and no more than four feet deep at the deepest point. The plain above was of thin, sandy soil, and there was only a sparse growth of greasewood, dwarf mesquite, and occasional clumps of bear grass.
Zebony came up to the fire and sat his horse while drinking a cup of coffee. It was quiet.., mighty quiet.
The cattle, still exhausted, were bedded down and content to rest, although occasionally one of them would start for the river and had to be headed back.
"You going to lay up here?"
"No."
Tim Foley looked around at me. Tim was a good man, but sometimes he thought I was too young for my job. Me, I've never seen that years made a man smart, for simply getting older doesn't mean much unless a man learns something meanwhile.
"We're going to finish crossing, and then go upstream a few miles." I gestured around me at the row of skulls marking the crossing, and at the crossing itself. "We don't want to run into Comanches."
Zeb started to turn his horse and stopped. "Dan . . . I" Something in his voice spun me around. A party of riders were coming toward us. Near as I could make out, there were six or seven.
"You wearing a gun, Tim?"
"I'm holdin' one." That would be Zeno Yearly.
Behind me there was a stirring in the camp. I glanced across the river where the herd was lying. Four men would be over there . . . but what about the fifth man who was staked out? Had he seen these riders? Or had they found him first?
Conchita was suddenly close by, standing half concealed by a wagon wheel.
My eyes fastened on the man in the lead. He rode a powerful bay horse, and he was a huge man. This, I knew at once, was Felipe Soto.
He rode up to the edge of camp and I saw him look carefully around. I do not know how much he saw, for we looked like a sleeping camp, except for the three of us standing there. Foley was across the fire from them, and Zeb on his horse some twenty feet off to one side. I was in the middle, and intended it that way.
My Patterson lay on the rolled-up blankets of my bed about a dozen feet off.
L "I look for Miguel Sandoval," the big man said. "Turn him over to me, and you will have no trouble."
Taking an easy step forward, I took the play away from him. "What do you mean, no trouble? Mister, if you want anybody from this outfit you've got to take them. As for trouble, we're asking for all you've got."
He looked at me with careful attention, and I knew he was trying to figure how much was loud talk and how much was real trouble.
"Look, senior , I think you do not understand." He gestured behind him. "I have many men . . . these are but a few. You have women here, and do not want trouble."
"You keep mentioning that," I said quietly, "but we're as ready as you are. We've had a mean drive, and we're all feeling pretty sore, so if you want to buy yourself a package of grief you just dig in your spurs and hang on."
His men started to fan out and Zebony spoke up. "Stand! You boys stand where you are or I'll open the ball," he said coolly. "If there's to be shooting we want you all bunched up."
Soto had not taken his eyes from me, and I do not know if he had intended to kill me, but I know I was ready. Whatever notion he had, he changed his mind in a hurry, and it was Zeno Yearly who changed it for him.
"You take the big one, Dan," Zeno said conversationally. "I want the man on his right."
Soto's eyes did not leave mine, but I saw his lips tighten under the black mustache.
They had not seen Zeno, and even I was not sure exactly where he was. They could see three of us . . . how many more were there?
There was no use losing a
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