Bracken carried the sacks out one by one, and Fielding centered each one on top of a load and tied it down. As he was finishing the fourth one, he became aware of someone watching him from the shade of an overhang next door. Fielding threw his last half hitch, stowed the slack, and looked across the hips of the gray horse. It took him a second to identify the man in the short-billed cap, dusty work clothes, and brogan shoes. The face looked wider than it did beneath the new black hat, but it had the same heavy-lidded eyes and dull complexion of Ray Foote.
Fielding ignored the man and moved to the front quarters of the horse, where he patted the gray on the neck and untied him. Leading the animal into the street, he said to Bracken, “Bring that dun horse around in back of this one.”
Bracken did as he was told, and Fielding began the next task.
“Here’s the way I do it,” he began. “Even in easy country, I don’t like to pull a string of more than seven by myself, though I’ve done it. When there’s two of us and we use all seven pack animals, I take four and the other man takes three. Today, I take three and you take two. That’ll be these two.” He pulled a length of quarter-inch rope from the pannier, tied it to the dun’s headstall, and tied the other end to a ring on the back of the gray horse’s packsaddle. “See how I do it?” he went on. “You leave a little space between ’em, but you don’t leave the rope long enough for this horse to put his front foot over it. Also, I use lightweight rope so that if they get into trouble, the rope gives.”
The kid nodded.
“We’ll go through this, time and again. Now you hold that front horse, and I’ll get us another one.” As Fielding turned away, he shot a glance at the shaded overhand and was glad to see that Foote had gone.
Bracken held the white horse as Fielding tied the dark horse on behind. “That sorrel does fine by himself,” said Fielding. “Runs loose and tags along like a dog. Sometimes, like in fallen timber, you let all or most of ’em loose until the trail gets better, and you line ’em up again. Most of the time, though, you string ’em out. We’ll let him go on his own today.” He gave the horses a once-over and said, “That’s good enough, I think. It’s a short, easy ride to camp.”
The sorrel trotted along behind and sometimes alongside. All the others moved in orderly fashion, raising a thin cloud of dust about stirrup high. The sun had reached the midday mark, and the air was still and dry as well as warm. Every few minutes, Fielding looked back to see how the kid was doing.
They followed the trail as it wound through the hills. When Fielding came to the lane that led into the Roe place, he stopped and signaled for Bracken to come ahead.
“You can get down and stretch your legs for a minute,” he said. “Hold these horses. I’ll be right back.” He handed the kid the lead rope and turned the bay horse toward the yard.
The young nanny goat came out first to meet him as the cackling rose from the backyard. The front door opened, and Isabel stepped out onto the front step. She was wearing the dark gray dress and black shoes, and her hair hung loose at her shoulders. She smiled as she raised her hand in a wave, and then her gaze traveled past him.
“Looks like you’re leaving,” she said as he stopped the horse.
“On my way.” He swung down from the saddle and held the reins. “I thought I should stop in and say good-bye for a little while.”
She winced. “How long is that?”
“About ten days. We’re taking these goods to camp, and we’ll leave from there in the morning.”
“That seems like quite a while.”
He shrugged. “We don’t get into the mountains until the second day, and we’ve got two outfits to deliver to. Comin’ back empty, we go faster.” With a wink he added, “Wouldn’t want to waste any time.”
Her face relaxed as she smiled again. “Well, I’m glad you stopped in.”
He held out his hand, and she came down from the doorstep and gave him hers. “Did you think I could leave without seeing you again?”
“I would hope not.”
He gave a quick glance at the door. “I suppose your father’s here.”
“He just sat down to eat.”
Fielding moved toward her, and they met in a quick kiss. As he drew back, he said, “Give him my best, then.”
Her dark eyes roved across his face. “I’ll be sure to.”
He squeezed her hand and let it go. “Well, I’d best not linger.” He motioned with his head toward the road. “They’re waitin’ for me.”
“I won’t keep you,” she said. “That is, I won’t make you tarry.”
“I knew what you meant.” He moved his hand along the reins in a preliminary motion for leaving.
Her face brightened. “Just a minute,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
He watched her as she rushed into the house. A few seconds later she returned, carrying a small cloth sack.
“Here’s something for you,” she said.
“What is it?” He opened the sack, and seeing the dark contents, he said, “Jerky. Thanks a lot.”
She stood with her hands together in front of her. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” Seeing no other pretext for staying, he said, “Well, I’m off. I’ll see you again soon.”
“Be careful, Tom.”
“I sure will.” He tucked the cloth sack into his saddlebag. He put his foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn, and paused. “Thanks again, Isabel. I’ll be thinking of you.” Then he swung aboard and rode away, looking back once to wave.
In camp, Fielding showed Bracken the process of double-bagging all the supplies and tying every parcel. He rolled the canned goods five at a time in a burlap sack and tied each one.
“Always have a few extra grain sacks,” he said. “They come in handy for storin’ rope, makin’ hobbles, rubbin’ down your horse. And you save all the strings as well, just as you saw Mullins do. Carry a few of them, and some leather lace, in your saddlebags.”
After the supplies were wrapped, Fielding showed the kid the axe, with its head in a leather scabbard, and the shovel and the log saw, each in its canvas sheath. “You pack these on the front horse,” he said. “You never know when you need them. Same with the hatchet and the shoein’ outfit.”
“What’s the little sledgehammer for?”
“Drivin’ picket stakes. There’s another old saying for you—drive ’em deep, or walk.”
“You don’t have all yours staked out.”
“I know which ones need it. And besides, this is home to these boys. It’s not like up there.” He pointed to the west, where a pink-and-orange sunset lit the sky between the dark skyline and a layer of hovering gray clouds.
The first hint of daylight was showing when Fielding gathered the horses and put them in the pole corral. Bracken in his hat and boots and old work clothes was feeding the fire.
After breakfast, Fielding began the routine of loading each horse. Starting with the gray horse, he reviewed how to put on the pad and crossbuck, tighten the britching, and cinch the rigging. Next he hung the panniers and loaded them, stressing as always the need to keep the weight even. The top pack he wrapped in canvas, then began a diamond hitch to tighten the whole load together.
“This is a one-man diamond,” he said as he twisted the two strands of rope on top. “A lot of this work goes easier if you’ve got two men, but you’ve got to know how to do it all by yourself.” He pulled a loop of the loose strand up between the two he had twisted. “It’s like cow-punchin’ in a way, because at some point you’re all on your own. You and your pal can play cards in the evenin’ to see who wrangles the horses the next morning, or you can draw straws to see who rides the wild one. If you draw the short straw, maybe you snub the outlaw to your partner’s saddle horn, but when the dally comes loose, you’re on your own.” With the second loop around the load on the other side, he pulled on it, and the diamond began to open up. “Now here’s a rule for throwin’ the diamond hitch: once you start, never give slack. See how it tightens in every direction as you pull this end. None of this is worth much, though, if you don’t have your riggin’ cinched good and tight to begin with.”