always said about Yankees and their greed.”
“No offense taken. I wish money wasn’t so important to my family.”
“Not to you?”
“Me? No, money’s just the score. A way to keep track of who’s winning and who’s losing … and I like to win.”
“There’s ways to win that ain’t scored with money.”
I wanted to change the subject. “Why are you in this line of work?”
“Pride in workin’ for a top-notch outfit. Work’s interestin’, an’ we do more good than bad.”
“You do bad?”
Sam shrugged. “Men sometimes lie when they hire us.”
“Did you ever quit a job when you found out the truth?”
Another shrug. “Not my call.”
“You hold with the captain’s decision?”
“If I want to ride with Pinkerton, that’s just the way it is.”
“Suppose so.” I stood in my stirrups a minute to relieve my sore buttocks. “Are you comfortable with this engagement?”
Sam looked at me. “Washburn’s a bad man. I don’t like the trail ya picked much, but I’ll stick with it.”
I settled back in my saddle. “What would you do differently?”
Sam rode in silence for a long moment. “I’m a direct man who likes simple solutions. Your path meanders, an’ I can’t see the end point. But … that said, other than just walkin’ up an’ shootin’ the man, I don’t know what else ya can do.”
“Neither do I. I’m trying to figure things out as I go.” I pulled my hat brim down against the setting sun. “Also, I’m not eager to be hanged for murder.”
“Nope. Seen men hanged. Looks mighty uncomfortable.”
When I laughed, Captain McAllen wheeled his horse around and trotted up beside us. “Sam, you keep a good lookout, hear?”
Sam answered in a brisk, no-nonsense tone, “Yes, sir,” and directed his eyes across the horizon. I looked around but saw only flat, empty country. I guessed that the captain did not consider levity an admirable trait.
Chapter 21
Two shotgun blasts made me reach for my rifle.
“No alarm,” McAllen said. “I sent Sam after dinner. Best birder I ever saw. We’ll be eating fresh meat shortly.”
We had set up camp in a dry gulch and had just finished brushing down the horses, when the loud reports startled me. Captain McAllen had at least allowed me to groom Chestnut, but I wondered where Sam had run off to when I saw another Pinkerton taking care of the horse I had ridden.
McAllen told his three men to arrange their sleeping gear about fifty yards out from us in different directions, but we kept the horses together and close to where we would bed down. I had left New York to experience the West, but I had soon discovered that I preferred a mattress to the hard ground. These seasoned hands had taught me something: a dry, sandy streambed is more comfortable than the hard pack I normally chose. I just needed to remember to climb out quick if it started to rain.
When I saw one of the men stacking sticks to build a fire, I asked, “Won’t a fire draw attention for miles?”
“That’s why we stopped before dark,” McAllen explained. “Dry wood doesn’t smoke much, and we’ll put it out at dark. When we’re in winter pursuit, we stop even earlier to build up a good supply of embers before nightfall.”
After I had left Denver and couldn’t find a town for the night, my life outdoors was a haphazard affair. I had the right horse and gear for the range, but I was a raw tenderfoot when it came to living in the open. I did, however, know how to hunt birds. My father’s love of shotguns and game birds had rubbed off on me. I would have enjoyed beating the brush with Sam, but I doubted that McAllen would let me out of his sight.
In a few minutes, Sam entered our camp with a smile and two large sage hens. I walked over and held out a hand for one of the birds. “I’ll clean ’em,” he said, throwing a sideways glance toward McAllen.
“We can each take one,” I suggested.
“I can handle
“No offense taken. I wish money wasn’t so important to my family.”
“Not to you?”
“Me? No, money’s just the score. A way to keep track of who’s winning and who’s losing … and I like to win.”
“There’s ways to win that ain’t scored with money.”
I wanted to change the subject. “Why are you in this line of work?”
“Pride in workin’ for a top-notch outfit. Work’s interestin’, an’ we do more good than bad.”
“You do bad?”
Sam shrugged. “Men sometimes lie when they hire us.”
“Did you ever quit a job when you found out the truth?”
Another shrug. “Not my call.”
“You hold with the captain’s decision?”
“If I want to ride with Pinkerton, that’s just the way it is.”
“Suppose so.” I stood in my stirrups a minute to relieve my sore buttocks. “Are you comfortable with this engagement?”
Sam looked at me. “Washburn’s a bad man. I don’t like the trail ya picked much, but I’ll stick with it.”
I settled back in my saddle. “What would you do differently?”
Sam rode in silence for a long moment. “I’m a direct man who likes simple solutions. Your path meanders, an’ I can’t see the end point. But … that said, other than just walkin’ up an’ shootin’ the man, I don’t know what else ya can do.”
“Neither do I. I’m trying to figure things out as I go.” I pulled my hat brim down against the setting sun. “Also, I’m not eager to be hanged for murder.”
“Nope. Seen men hanged. Looks mighty uncomfortable.”
When I laughed, Captain McAllen wheeled his horse around and trotted up beside us. “Sam, you keep a good lookout, hear?”
Sam answered in a brisk, no-nonsense tone, “Yes, sir,” and directed his eyes across the horizon. I looked around but saw only flat, empty country. I guessed that the captain did not consider levity an admirable trait.
Chapter 21
Two shotgun blasts made me reach for my rifle.
“No alarm,” McAllen said. “I sent Sam after dinner. Best birder I ever saw. We’ll be eating fresh meat shortly.”
We had set up camp in a dry gulch and had just finished brushing down the horses, when the loud reports startled me. Captain McAllen had at least allowed me to groom Chestnut, but I wondered where Sam had run off to when I saw another Pinkerton taking care of the horse I had ridden.
McAllen told his three men to arrange their sleeping gear about fifty yards out from us in different directions, but we kept the horses together and close to where we would bed down. I had left New York to experience the West, but I had soon discovered that I preferred a mattress to the hard ground. These seasoned hands had taught me something: a dry, sandy streambed is more comfortable than the hard pack I normally chose. I just needed to remember to climb out quick if it started to rain.
When I saw one of the men stacking sticks to build a fire, I asked, “Won’t a fire draw attention for miles?”
“That’s why we stopped before dark,” McAllen explained. “Dry wood doesn’t smoke much, and we’ll put it out at dark. When we’re in winter pursuit, we stop even earlier to build up a good supply of embers before nightfall.”
After I had left Denver and couldn’t find a town for the night, my life outdoors was a haphazard affair. I had the right horse and gear for the range, but I was a raw tenderfoot when it came to living in the open. I did, however, know how to hunt birds. My father’s love of shotguns and game birds had rubbed off on me. I would have enjoyed beating the brush with Sam, but I doubted that McAllen would let me out of his sight.
In a few minutes, Sam entered our camp with a smile and two large sage hens. I walked over and held out a hand for one of the birds. “I’ll clean ’em,” he said, throwing a sideways glance toward McAllen.
“We can each take one,” I suggested.
“I can handle
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