accept her man’s truth, or he isn’t her man.
She said gently, “Now what? He’s across.”
“We’ll shove him back.”
“But how, Tate? He’s got as many men as you have, and he’ll fight.”
Riling snapped off a weed stem and chewed thoughtfully on it, looking out at the blue fall distances of the alkali flats.
“I want to know first,” he began doggedly, “if you’ve made your choice, Carol. I’ve got to know that. Is it me or is it your father?”
“It’s you, Tate!” Carol said swiftly. “It’s you!”
“I won’t ask you to risk your father’s life,” Tate said stubbornly. “You’d hate me for that. But I’m asking you to help. I need you.”
Carol nodded, misery threaded through the happiness she felt at his words.
Tate said bluntly, “Then ride back and find out where the herd he crossed is being held. Ask him where. When he tells you, pretend you’re worried. Then confess to him; tell him you circled back and watched us this morning, and we lined out to find his cattle, like we meant to drive them back.”
Carol was following his words with close attention. “And did you?”
“No. But he’ll fear a raid and draw the reservation crew over to help him.”
“But I don’t understand,” Carol said slowly.
“That’ll leave his other two herds under light guard. We’ll stampede them from hell to breakfast, and he’ll have to call every available man back to round them up again. That’s when we’ll drive the Basin herd back across the Massacre.”
Carol considered this slowly, with a kind of breathless attention. She could see no fighting here, no threat to her father’s safety. And when she couldn’t she felt a vast and rising relief.
“I can do that, Tate! It won’t harm him.”
Tate rose, and she rose with him, and he foldedher to him. He kissed her then, and he had his moment of doubt again. She was beautiful and she was his and she was desirable. She put a spell on a man that was a drug and made him want to forget everything but her. But that distant coolness in his mind, a kind of gray-andiron knowledge that he wanted more than this, checked him, and he moved her gently away from him.
“I’ll want to see you soon, Carol.”
“Shall I come to the rock tomorrow?”
“There, or if I’m not there come to my place. Good-by, darling.”
She watched him ride out, and she was utterly and completely happy.
Chapter Four
After skirting the dunes they dropped down into the Basin level, and inside of an hour Jim Garry knew enough about the two men with him. He knew about Joe Shotten when they jumped a band of antelope. They didn’t see the antelope, but the dust funneling up beyond the low ridge to the south and the faint rataplan of quick hoofs were the giveaway.
Joe Shotten touched spurs to his horse and galloped toward the ridge. He was riding a bay with four white stockings, and it was a pleasant sight to watch the horse run. Shotten had drawn his rifle from its scabbard on the way over. On the back of the ridge he slipped from his saddle, bellied down and presently fired. He shot once and came back, smiling a little.
“Can still do it,” he bragged with pleasure.
He was a plain hard case, Jim thought. His hands were rope calloused, and he chewed tobacco with a patient violence. It bulged the left cheek of his concave face and seemed to draw his small eyes even closer together by widening his face. He stank of horse sweat, and its sweet, acrid smell, mixed with the even sweeter smell of the chew, clung to him like a sickening aura. A man of average height, he had narrow slanting shoulders that set his big head in bold and ugly dominance.
They crossed the ridge, and far ahead on the amberflats Jim saw the downed antelope blending almost imperceptibly with the grass. It was three hundred yards, he calculated, and he knew that Joe Shotten knew he was calculating it and he said nothing.
Tom Riordan didn’t even look up. A decade of hard living had frozen
She said gently, “Now what? He’s across.”
“We’ll shove him back.”
“But how, Tate? He’s got as many men as you have, and he’ll fight.”
Riling snapped off a weed stem and chewed thoughtfully on it, looking out at the blue fall distances of the alkali flats.
“I want to know first,” he began doggedly, “if you’ve made your choice, Carol. I’ve got to know that. Is it me or is it your father?”
“It’s you, Tate!” Carol said swiftly. “It’s you!”
“I won’t ask you to risk your father’s life,” Tate said stubbornly. “You’d hate me for that. But I’m asking you to help. I need you.”
Carol nodded, misery threaded through the happiness she felt at his words.
Tate said bluntly, “Then ride back and find out where the herd he crossed is being held. Ask him where. When he tells you, pretend you’re worried. Then confess to him; tell him you circled back and watched us this morning, and we lined out to find his cattle, like we meant to drive them back.”
Carol was following his words with close attention. “And did you?”
“No. But he’ll fear a raid and draw the reservation crew over to help him.”
“But I don’t understand,” Carol said slowly.
“That’ll leave his other two herds under light guard. We’ll stampede them from hell to breakfast, and he’ll have to call every available man back to round them up again. That’s when we’ll drive the Basin herd back across the Massacre.”
Carol considered this slowly, with a kind of breathless attention. She could see no fighting here, no threat to her father’s safety. And when she couldn’t she felt a vast and rising relief.
“I can do that, Tate! It won’t harm him.”
Tate rose, and she rose with him, and he foldedher to him. He kissed her then, and he had his moment of doubt again. She was beautiful and she was his and she was desirable. She put a spell on a man that was a drug and made him want to forget everything but her. But that distant coolness in his mind, a kind of gray-andiron knowledge that he wanted more than this, checked him, and he moved her gently away from him.
“I’ll want to see you soon, Carol.”
“Shall I come to the rock tomorrow?”
“There, or if I’m not there come to my place. Good-by, darling.”
She watched him ride out, and she was utterly and completely happy.
Chapter Four
After skirting the dunes they dropped down into the Basin level, and inside of an hour Jim Garry knew enough about the two men with him. He knew about Joe Shotten when they jumped a band of antelope. They didn’t see the antelope, but the dust funneling up beyond the low ridge to the south and the faint rataplan of quick hoofs were the giveaway.
Joe Shotten touched spurs to his horse and galloped toward the ridge. He was riding a bay with four white stockings, and it was a pleasant sight to watch the horse run. Shotten had drawn his rifle from its scabbard on the way over. On the back of the ridge he slipped from his saddle, bellied down and presently fired. He shot once and came back, smiling a little.
“Can still do it,” he bragged with pleasure.
He was a plain hard case, Jim thought. His hands were rope calloused, and he chewed tobacco with a patient violence. It bulged the left cheek of his concave face and seemed to draw his small eyes even closer together by widening his face. He stank of horse sweat, and its sweet, acrid smell, mixed with the even sweeter smell of the chew, clung to him like a sickening aura. A man of average height, he had narrow slanting shoulders that set his big head in bold and ugly dominance.
They crossed the ridge, and far ahead on the amberflats Jim saw the downed antelope blending almost imperceptibly with the grass. It was three hundred yards, he calculated, and he knew that Joe Shotten knew he was calculating it and he said nothing.
Tom Riordan didn’t even look up. A decade of hard living had frozen
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