Gather My Horses (6 page)

“But he's got to keep his fences mended, so to speak. Too bad.”

The trill of a songbird sounded, and Fielding looked over to see a small black bird with white wing patches sitting on the edge of the horse trough.

“That's a pretty bird,” said Lodge. “Lark bunting. Pretty song, too.” After a couple of seconds he said, “Now, where were we?”

“Buchanan. I think we finished with him.”

“Oh, uh-huh.”

“So, after talkin' to him, I stopped in to see Roe. I told him I could probably help out on this roundup they're planning.”

Lodge gave him an appraising look and said, “That's good.”

“Work's work, and it'll be a while till some of these other jobs come in. And without Buchanan and Cronin, I'm going to have to scrape up a few more. But there's work. I'm not worried about that. It's just a little later.”

“Sure. And you're young. You've got plenty of time to catch up. This trouble won't last long.”

Fielding held his gaze on the older man. “You think it's trouble, then?”

“Maybe I shouldn't have put it so certain. I don't know how much trouble there'll be. Maybe part of it depends on the resistance.”

“You mean, whether Selby lets 'em run all over him.”

Lodge pursed his lips and nodded. “Him, and others. Like Roe, just to look close by. But there's others farther out, and up on the flats, too.”

“You think Cronin wants it all, then?”

As he took a slow look around, Lodge set his hat cockeyed for ventilation. Then he said, “Here's how I read it. The range and the whole cattle business in this part of the country has made a slow comeback since the big die-up of 'eighty-six, 'eighty-seven. But the numbers are up, and you told me yourself it looked like a good calf crop this year.”

“From what I've seen.”

“Well, we can figure on the basis of what we've seen and what we know close at hand. Selby's got
about eighty head of cows, and most of them calved out. Roe's got half that much or more. Now, let's say there's half a dozen others on that same scale. Add it all up, and what's it come to?”

Fielding looked up at the underside of his hat brim. “Almost five hundred cows, plus calves.”

“That's right. And from what I've heard, which may or may not be the straight truth, this fella that Dunvil would call a mucky-muck would like to bring in about that many more himself.”

Fielding cocked his head. “Really?”

“That's just what I heard. Thinkin' to bring 'em down from the Powder River Basin. One of his English investor friends has got that many to sell.”

“That sounds like a big move for this bit of range.”

“It does to me, too. But as long as the grass is free, a man could make himself a pile while the gittin's good.”

“So in order to do that, he pushes out some of the small operators.”

Lodge set his hat back on straight. “That's what it seems like. Push out one or two, make examples of 'em, and hope the others get the idea.”

“It does make sense if you add it up,” Fielding said. “He brings in a new foreman, and they go to work on someone who would be a good example.”

“That was my tip-off. Like we said the other day, he's just a bit slick for your average foreman. And nobody knows him from around here. Chances are, he'll stick around long enough to do what he was brought in for, and then he'll be gone.”

Fielding sorted out what he had just heard. “Seems to me like a big idea for someone.”

“That doesn't mean he's a big thinker,” said Lodge. “Most of these ideas have already been proven.”

“I guess so.”

“Especially the idea that a man can get away with what he wants if he's in a good position. You take the case of that woman they hung over on the Sweetwater. The ones that did it got off scot-free, and a couple of 'em ended up with some nice pieces of land to boot. That's no news. But you see, they had connections. Same with those over on Powder River, in Johnson County. They get a hired gun and a foreman both, and when they don't get everyone that way, they bring in a small army. Everyone knows that, too. The ones behind it had money and political influence, and they never had to answer for a bit of it.” Lodge took a deep breath and settled down. “I'd better not get started on that. Makes me mad every time I think of it. But the point is, when the big operators pull stunts like that and get away with it, someone else figures he can do it, too. Bad part is, he probably can.”

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.

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 hat, 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.”