Ferman nodded, rolling a cigarette. "Enough fer one more shot, Clay. We had a hell of a time keepin' them cows away from the seeps long enough to shoot."
"Blew one ol' brindle steer clean t' hell n' gone," Osgood said, licking his cigarette and placing it between his lips. He and Ferman lighted from the same match.
"Keep on and we won't have no cows to tend," Ferman said.
Osgood looked askance at Clay. "Reckon we'll be outta jobs purt' soon, Clay?"
It was obvious Ferman and Osgood had been discussing the condition of Flag. For some reason Bassett felt outraged.
"You will you don't get that last shot off," he said. "We gonna make a drive. All the cattle goes up high where there's a little grass left what ain't burnt up."
"Where's that?" Ferman asked, shaking his head. "Up in Canady?"
"No grass in Canada," Clay said shortly. "Them farmers been cuttin' it some's up there." He waved his hand toward the mountains. "Sam said do it and it's gotta be done. Hurry now and get movin', you two."
"Just about the time we get 'em up there we'll get a hell-bustin' snow storm," Osgood said thoughtfully. "That'll take care o' Flag cows, shorely to goodness."
"Sam wants 'em moved an' that's that," Clay said flatly. "Hurry now an' let's get out o' here."
He followed Ferman and Osgood back to the cutbank. Osgood picked up six sticks of dynamite tied together in a tan bundle. He tucked it under his arm and hauled a length of fuse from his hip pocket and walked upstream until he found a damp spot. He squatted over the seep and worked the end of the fuse into a blasting cap, crimping it with his teeth. He took a nail from his pocket and made
a
hole in the dynamite and inserted the cap in the hole, working it in. He glanced up at Ferman. "Got a match?"
Ferman silently handed him a match.
Osgood frayed the end of the fuse and then shielded it with his body from the wind. He struck the match and held it to the frayed end of the fuse. It ignited and began sputtering.
He placed the bundle of dynamite in the middle of the seep. The three of them hurriedly left the creek bed and ran to the big rock where Bassett had first seen the two men. They squatted there and Osgood began counting slowly.
"It'll go in about a minnit," Ferman said with satisfaction.
They squatted behind the huge rock, waiting.
Suddenly, Clay stiffened. He pointed. "Riders. Comin' up the crick."
Osgood and Ferman looked at each other in dismay.
Clay leaped out and began running down the creek bank, waving his hat and shouting.
The riders stopped, looking at him. One of them drew
a
Winchester from a saddle boot and levered in a shell.
"Get down, get down, take cover!" Bassett yelled, motioning with his hands.
The men sat their horses, staring. Then the blast went off and dirt and rock geysered into the air. The horses reared and began bucking away. The riders had their hands full for a moment. The man with the rifle dropped it.
When Bassett reached them they had the horses gentled. It was Jesse Kenton, Marv Teller, and an Indian. Marv Teller dismounted and retrieved his saddle gun. The Indian, on a paint, looked stolidly ahead.
Kenton snapped, "What the hell's goin' on up here, Clay?" Bassett grinned. "Tryin' to raise a little water outta the creek, Mr. Kenton."
Kenton's stony face didn't soften at Clay's smile. He turned his head and spat. "Lot of damn foolishness. Sam's idea, I reckon?"
"Well, yes," Clay said reluctantly, feeling disloyal. "He's willin' to try anythin'."
"Little good it'll do him." He surveyed Clay in a friendlier manner. "Don't
see
how a hard-workin', sensible fella like you stays with Flag."
Clay's friendly grin disappeared. He said softly, "It's just like home, Mr. Kenton."
Kenton gave an impatient wave of his hand. "Yeah. Home can be hell sometimes, Clay. Well, it won't hurt to make one last try. Tell Sam I got suthin' to discuss with him."
"I'll tell him, Mr. Kenton," Clay said doubtfully.
Kenton bent a hard gaze on Clay. "But you don't think he'll pay any attention?"
Clay shook his head and said hastily, "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. Well, I reckon I owe old man Harden one more try at straightenin' out his idiot sons." He tipped his head toward the silent Crow Indian. "The Crow gonna make a rain dance for us, Clay. I'm payin' them a sight o' money to make big medicine for this burnup range."
"I heard the merchants in town made up a purse," Clay said.
"Yeah, well they gettin' some o' them Pawnee to make a rain dance. What the hell does a Pawnee know about makin' rain? The Crows do."
"Well, we've tried everything else," Clay said.
"You tell Sam, by God, I want to see him and Dick," Kenton snapped.
"I'll tell him," Clay promised and watched the three ride away. Osgood and Ferman came to stand beside him and all three of them watched in moody silence until a fold of hills hid the riders from sight.
"Osgood seen a rain dance once," Ferman said. "Brought rain, too."
Clay had heard the story before. He said, "Come on, let's get on down and help the boys."
"Ain't you gonna tell Sam what Jesse Kenton said?" Ferman asked.
Clay nodded. "I'm gonna get them cows movin' first. Let's ride."
VI
OUTSIDE THE hotel the wind was still blowing and a brown pall lay on the land dimming the mountains. Sam angled across the street and to Ketterman's Livery. Ketterman came out brushing wisps of hay off his shoulder. He nodded to Sam, glanced at his bandaged head and looked at the sky in vain quest of rain clouds.
"Sam. When's it gonna rain?"
"My horse here?" Sam asked, not wanting to answer the question on everybody's mind and tongue.
"Yeah. McGee put him up here last night. I heard you nearly got it?"
"Saddle my horse, Ira. I'm going to The Mint and get something to hold me up on the way home."
"I'll do that," Ketterman said, adding, "I'll tie him to Leo's rail, Sam. You don't look much like walkin' even a little piece."
Sam turned away and again crossed the street to The Mint. There was only one horse at the rail, a gaunt, spavined
gelding with collar marks on its shoulder. He nudged the batwings aside and went into the saloon. The man called McWharter leaned against the cherrywood nursing a drink. He looked woodenly at Sam.
Leo Maury stopped polishing glasses and came down to stand before Sam. "Y' feelin' better, Sam?"
"Some. Give me a drink, Leo. A double."
Leo brought the private bottle and a glass and tipped the bottle, expertly pouring until the amber liquid topped
the rim. He leaned across the bar and, giving his head a slight tilt toward McWharter, said in a low voice, "He's been talkin' about Reno and it ain't good, Sam."
Sam could sense more coming and he wondered if this was fulfillment of his premonition of trouble. He waited, holding the glass in place on the counter as Leo went on, "Seems Reno's let a family from the grove move onto his place."
"That's his business," Sam said.
"Just wait'll you hear the rest of it," Leo warned. "That family's got a little gal, maybe thirteen, fourteen. Reno's gonna marry her. She's just a kid, Sam, and the rest of these people are gettin' pretty ugly about it."
Sam tasted his drink without moving his head and placed the glass on the bar, a hopeless feeling deepening. "I'd think that would concern Reno and the girl and her family."
"Well, maybe, but they're kind of foolish, Sam, the girl's family. The way I hear it, the rest of them farmers claim they're not lettin' an old, old man marry a young gal. Not even if they have to do away with that old man. Meanin' Reno."
Sam tossed off his drink, flinching from the sharp pain that hit him as he tilted his head. He frowned and put the glass on the bar and laid the flat of his hands on each side of it. He was not aware that McWharter had moved beside him until the man spoke.