He came back from the corral leading a paint horse with one blue eye and one brown eye. Tom Galway was sitting on the porch waiting for him, with a gourd dipper in his hand.
“There’s a jug inside,” Piute Bill said. “My own make.”
Piute Bill threw his saddle on the paint “Ain’t bad whiskey, at that. I’m beginning to think that alkali adds a little bite to her.”
“Could be.” Galway hefted the jug, then threw it over his bent arm and drank. “Could be,” he repeated. “You know, Bill, I’m beginning to think that what you need is a woman. Somebody to sort of cook things up and keep things revved up a mite. Then you could give more time to making whiskey and herding cattle.”
Piute Bill glanced at him sourly. “I’m doin’ all right. You ready?”
Galway put the jug down inside the door and pulled the door shut. Then he swung into the saddle, and they started off at a walk across the flower-blanketed meadow.
“Cassidy will be there,” Piute Bill said, “and Gorman, too.” He glanced sidewise at Galway. “You better watch Cassidy. He’s a fair hand.”
“No man’s goin’ to run off my stock. I rounded up those horses out on the range. Wild stock. I broke ’em myself and gentled them down. Cassidy’s got his business and I have mine. As long as he stays on the other side of the creek, I won’t bother him but when he runs off my stock he’d better hunt himself a hole.”
The trail led up a shallow gulch bordered by juniper and brush. “You know, Bill,” Galway said, “the more I think of you having a woman around, the better I like the idea.” He squinted against the sun as they topped out on the rise and looked the country over with care. “Be a sort of a civilizing influence. You ain’t getting no younger, and you’ve been living alone in that shack for some time now. I figure a woman could sort of rev things up around and keep you washed behind the ears.”
“You mean,” Piute commented sourly, “you figure to drop over time to time for homecooked meals. I know you. I ain’t been ridin’ the range with you these past four or five years without cuttin’ your sign.”
“I’m only thinking of you,” Galway said, keeping his face straight. “You just think of that schoolmarm over to Summit,” Galway continued,. ignoring the interruption. “That’s a right solid bit of woman, and I hear she’s a good cook.”
“You’d better be thinkin’ of Digger Cassidy. He’s no soft touch, and if he stole your horses he wanted them bad. He put lead into Dean Russell over to Battle Mountain, two or three months ago. If you recall, he was one of the roughest of that Charleston outfit.”
“Gorman’s just as good with a gun.”
“There’s a slick-ear kid, too. Named Robbins. He shot up a saloon over to Ten Mile last week.”
“Heard about him. He files notches on his gun.”
“One of them, huh? I never knowed of any real bad man who done that. He’s a tinhorn.”
The gulch down which they had been riding opened upon a wide, white salt flat and they cut across on an angle, walking their horses to raise no more of the white, smothering dust than necessary. The sky was clear and hot. Their lips became parched and white, their eyes smarted from sweat. Heat waves danced over the flats. They rode in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. The lurking devil in the paint’s blue eye went dull with the heat and the slogging pace.
It was two hours before they topped a small rise and left the desert behind them. The sagebrush smelled good after the parched stillness of the salt flats.
Cottonwoods showed some distance off and they pointed their horses, ignoring the trail of the stolen stock, knowing the men they pursued would also need water, and the tracks would begin again when they found it. The horses, smelling water, quickened their pace.
It was a small but cold stream. Men and horses drank. Tom Galway sat down on a rotting tree trunk and scanned the area. Horses had been held here only a few hours before. Their tracks were in the mud and in the grass.
“About two miles, isn’t it? The cabin sets out in the open.”
“You got any ideas?”
“I want to talk to Cassidy.”
“You want to talk to him? Do you reckon he will set around and talk when he knows you’re huntin’ him?”
Tom Galway was running this show and Piute Bill figured he knew what he was about, but talking to Cassidy at such a time? It didn’t make much sense. There had been a good deal of talk about Tom Galway since he had ridden into the Ruby Creek country, and a lot of wondering about him.
“He’ll talk,” Galway said.
Cassidy and Gorman were known men, both of them had been involved in shootings. With them would be at least six others, all used to fighting for whatever they got. Until now they had confined their raids to the big outfits where weeks might go by before a tally showed that stock was missing. Apparently Tom Galway’s stock had been too much of a temptation, and Galway was new in the Ruby Creek country. In the three or four years he had lived there he had kept out of trouble. He had been a hard worker, and obviously a top hand with horses.
Walking to his horse Galway took two strips of rawhide from his saddlebags and tied his gun down to his thigh. Then he took out another gun belt and holster and, after strapping it on, tied it down also. It was the first time Piute had ever seen a man wear two guns, although he had heard of such things.
Piute studied Galway. He was a lean, brown man, tanned by sun and wind. There was a scar over one eye and another along the jawbone. Piute turned his horse and started upstream. Galway cantered until beside him.
“There’s timber along the stream,” he said, “fifty yards from the cabin. If they open fire we’ll take cover there.”
Piute couldn’t quite make up ‘his mind about Galway. He glanced at the younger man but saw no signs of nervousness or excitement. No more than if he was going after a bunch of cows.
His mind turned to other things. Maybe Galway was right. Maybe he did need a woman. It was lonely there in the cabin in the creek. He was a healthy man, forty years old now, and he had a nice bunch of cattle and a few head of horses. The ranch was doing well, if they didn’t start rustling this side of the creek. He figured he could make a wife comfortable, and he wasn’t a cantankerous sort.
The creek turned west and they entered the canyon. There was a narrow opening lined with aspen and a few spruce. The trees fell back and the two men cantered over the meadow toward the cabin. It was a squat, stone cabin with a corral almost directly behind it in which Galway could see his horses. Near the stone cabin were three other horses, ground-hitched.
Pulling up about a dozen yards from the door, two men came out, followed by a third and a fourth. The first was Gorman, the second Robbins. The other two Galway did not know. The squat, bull-like figure of Digger Cassidy was nowhere to be seen.
“Howdy,” Galway said casually. His eyes scanned their faces and settled on Gorman. “Where’s Digger?”
“What d’ you want with him?” Robbins demanded belligerently.
“Shut up, Robbins!” Gorman spoke sharply. “I’ll do the talking.”
He looked at Galway, then at Piute Bill, whose paint had been stopped about ten feet behind and well to the right of Galway. “What do you want?”
“I think Digger made a mistake.” Galway spoke gently. “He drove off twenty head of horses for me. Nice meadow here, but I’d rather have them close to home. Thought I’d just ride over and drive them back.”
“You thought what?” Robbins’ face flushed red. “Just who — !”
“Shut up!” Gorman said impatiently.
There was something here he did not like, and Gorman had pursued a long outlaw career by being cautious. Only two men, and they looked like fighters. Piute Bill he knew about, and he was no man to trifle with.
The other man, a stranger, seemed to be taking the lead, and his quiet, confident manner disturbed Gorman.
“You’ll have to talk to Cassidy,” Gorman suggested. “He’s the boss.”
“I know,” Galway replied, “but I can’t wait. You tell Cassidy that Tom Galway came for his horses. He’ll understand.”
“You know Cassidy?”
“I do. What’s more, Digger knows me. You tell him I came for my horses. If he wants me for anything, I’ll be at my cabin. Tell him to come whenever he’s ready … day or night.”