With that speculation in his mind, Longarm said his goodbyes to Aurora and swung up onto the roan, which thankfully hadn't jerked its reins loose from the hitching rack and run off when the boom crashed into the cabin. He took the trail on which Flint had led him up to the camp earlier in the afternoon, and when he got to the guard shack, the man who had accosted him on his arrival stepped out of the shack and nodded to him. "Heading back to town, Marshal?" he asked.
"Not just yet," Longarm told the man, recalling that his name was Andy. "Can you tell me how to get to Matt Kinsman's ranch?"
Andy frowned darkly at that question, and Longarm went on. "Your boss and Mr. Flint know I'm headed there. I'm trying to get to the bottom of the trouble around here."
"Then you're headed for the right place," said Andy. "Kinsman and his damned cowboys are to blame for everything that's gone wrong around here lately."
And Andy didn't even know about the latest incident, Longarm thought. If he did, he would have been ready to go to the Diamond K too. Only his goal would have been the exact opposite of Longarm's. Andy and the other loggers wanted a shooting war.
Unless he was able to come up with some answers pretty quick, Longarm told himself grimly, that was probably just what they were all going to get.
Matt Kinsman's spread wasn't hard to find. Longarm would have been able to locate it even without the directions furnished by Andy. Once he reached the main trail, he continued north for another half mile, then veered to the west on a narrower path.
Kinsman's range was fenced, and Longarm had to pass through a gate in the barbed wire. He latched it behind him and rode on, but he hadn't gone far when he heard a horse coming from the other direction.
He reined in and waited. There was a straight stretch of trail in front of him and whoever was coming, Longarm preferred to get a good look at them, rather than running head-on into them at a bend in the trail. The rider came into view a moment later, mounted on an Appaloosa. Longarm thought for a second it was a young man. Then he saw the long red hair falling free underneath the flat-crowned hat. He saw as well the way smallish breasts bobbed enticingly under a rather tight man's shirt.
That was Matt Kinsman's daughter riding toward him, Longarm realized, the young woman he had seen being met at the train station in Timber City by some of Kinsman's cowhands. The pace of the Appaloosa faltered a little as she noticed him sitting there waiting for her, but she came on steadily after that, startled perhaps by his unexpected presence but obviously unafraid to confront him.
He saw why she wasn't afraid of him when she drew rein some thirty feet away and slipped a Winchester carbine from a saddle sheath. With a smooth, crisp movement, she worked the carbine's lever action and pointed the barrel at him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" she called.
"It's not very hospitable to point a gun at a fella when he hasn't given you any reason for doing it," Longarm pointed out, keeping his hands in plain sight as he rested them on the saddle horn.
"You're on Diamond K range," said the young woman, "and we've had more than our share of troubles lately. If you're a rustler or an outlaw, the only thing waiting for you around here is a slug."
Her voice was taut, angry. Longarm recalled the ticket agent in Timber City mentioning that Kinsman had had some problems of his own recently, such as rustlers and possibly poisoned wells. Must've been something to that, Longarm reflected, because the young woman was clearly on edge. At this moment, she would have just as soon shot him as looked at him.
Longarm didn't want that, of course--but he didn't want to reveal his true identity either. Aurora Mcentire, Jared Flint, and some of the other members of the lumber crew knew that he was a lawman, but no one here on the Diamond K did. Might be best to keep it that way for a spell.
"I'm no outlaw," he said, "and I've never rustled a steer in my life. I'm just a chuck-line rider, looking for a riding job."
"Who told you to come out here?"
"Fella in town said the Diamond K was the best spread in these parts," Longarm replied honestly. "Thought I'd come out and talk to the boss, see if maybe there was a job to be had." He added dryly, "You ain't him, are you?"
The carbine's barrel lowered slightly. "You already know a man named Matt Kinsman owns this ranch. He's my father. I'm Molly Kinsman."
"Name's Custis," Longarm introduced himself.
She nodded and walked her horse a few steps closer. "Not a very common name."
"It's the one my mama gave me, back in West-by-God-Virginia."
"So you hail from West Virginia. I've never been there. But I spent the last two years in a school in Massachusetts."
Longarm grinned. "Should I offer you my condolences?"
Unexpectedly, she laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Might be appropriate," she said. "After growing up out here in the West, I like to have stifled back East. The teachers at Miss Hallowell's Academy for Young Ladies taught me a lot of things, but they don't know jack shit about ropin' or brandin'."
Longarm's grin widened into a laugh of his own. Now that she wasn't so suspicious of him, Molly Kinsman was turning into a downright likable young woman. He said, "You mind taking me on to the ranch headquarters?"
"Sure. You didn't think I was going to let you wander around our range by yourself, did you? Just because you say you're not a rustler doesn't mean it's necessarily true."
She had a point there, but at least she wasn't aiming that Winchester at him anymore. He heeled the roan into a walk that carried him alongside her as she sheathed the carbine and turned her own horse around.
"Are you just out for a ride, Miss Kinsman," he asked, "or were you looking for strays like me?"
"I like to ride," she said, not really answering his question but coming close enough. "And I pick up strays wherever I find them."
Longarm chuckled. Young Molly had a bold glint in her eye as she looked at him, he thought. Under other circumstances, he might've been tempted to find out just how bold she could be, but right now, he had a job to do.
Still, that didn't stop him from appreciating the way that red hair blew out behind her as she rode, or the intriguing movements of her breasts under her shirt, or the fine curve of her slender hips in a pair of denim trousers. He was willing to bet she was a ring-tailed terror when her Irish was up, but if a man was strong enough to hang on and keep up with her, it would be a hell of a ride.
They had cantered a mile or so up the trail when more riders appeared, trotting on horseback toward them. Molly slowed her horse and muttered something under her breath, but Longarm couldn't make it out. She turned to him and said, "let me handle this."
"Yes, ma'am," Longarm said mildly. "This is your daddy's ranch, after all, and I expect those are some of his riders."
"They are."
Molly brought her horse to a halt, and Longarm followed suit. The cowboys riding toward them actually picked up the pace at the sight of them, so that their horses kicked up a little dust when they brought them to skidding stops about ten feet from Longarm and Molly.
The man in the lead, who looked to be in his early twenties, thumbed back his hat on a thatch of shaggy blond hair and demanded, "Molly, what the hell are you doin' ridin' around out here by yourself? And who's this long drink of water?"
"I can ride wherever I want, whenever I want, Seth Thomas," responded Molly, her voice sharp with annoyance. "And this gentleman is named Custis. He's come here looking for work."
The young cowboy called Seth snorted. "Ain't no work around here for saddle tramps. You might as well turn around and go back where you came from, mister."
"You stay right there, Custis," snapped Molly. To Seth she said, "It's not up to you who gets hired around here. That's a decision my father and Joe Traywick make. Last time I looked, Joe was still the foreman of the Diamond K, not you."