Mustang (A John Cutler Western Book 5)

Chase shook his head again. “Well, it looks like Dave’s with him, so that must be the great man the boss figures we can’t do without around here.”

“Well, where would you be?” Chase asked him. “Sittin’ on that wagon or ridin’ the horse?”

“Okay, then. There you are.” He turned and yelled toward the corral. “Hey, boss!”

“What?” Harmon came up to Chase and looked where his foreman was pointing. “Can’t be Cutler,” he said.

“Funny thing nobody ever told you Cutler rode a spring wagon like a settler. What’s that settin’ up there aside him?”

The man braiding the rope said, “I seen a picture of one like that once. They called it an Air hill or something.”

“That was it. Fella said it was good for huntin’. Said it could lick any other dog alive.”

“Well, I’ll tell you a thing or two,” Chase said. “That Airedale don’t look like it fits the description you give, any more’n that man on the wagon looks like what John Cutler’s supposed to be. I think Dave’s gone loco on the trail and brought us back a nester who wants to plant his butt in our brand new state.”

“One thing for sure,” Harmon said. “That’s Dave with him. Loco or not, that’s Dave Baker, all right.”

From his seat on the wagon Cutler could see the men waiting for him. He could tell by the way they stood just about what they were saying. It did not surprise him a bit. He was used to being gawked at by strangers. When he rode into a town for the first time his rig got him a lot of attention, like he was a circus parade. When he rode out, most folks looked at him differently. Cowboys were especially arrogant towards anyone who was not riding a horse. And he imagined he was a strange sight to people with limited experience.

A cowboy who only knew horses might not recognize that Kate and Emma were the best pair of matched mules they might ever see. Sleek, black and strong, they had pulled the wagon over terrain where many a horse would have lost its footing. They might not have the speed of a horse but they were indispensable in rough country. Once Emma had carried Cutler up a cliff picking her way over narrow footholds that a man might not see, and helping Cutler escape from a band of renegades who were out to kill him. Kate had done the same for a man he was riding with at the time. When the horse was winded, a man could always depend on Emma or Kate. The mules looked the same, and they pulled the wagon like a good team, but their personalities were different. Emma was serious and hard-working. Kate had a sense of humor, so you had to let her know who was boss. She knew Cutler was boss, but if a tenderfoot tried to tie a pack on her, she would swell out her sides, and later watch the tenderfoot try to figure out how a tight pack got loose. But a cowboy, like a tenderfoot, would look at Kate and Emma and only see two mules who were not horses.

The Airedale was named Red, sometimes called Big Red. He looked gentle. But a cowboy would be foolish to try climbing up on Cutler’s rig when Red was set to guard it. Then he would see the strong white teeth and the rippling muscles that made this seemingly gentle dog so formidable. He was a good tracker and had the spirit that would keep him on a trail long after he had worn the pads off his feet and they were bleeding. In many tight situations, with Red along, Cutler never had to draw his gun. After a while, an hombre would know that once Red came after a man, there was only one thing that would keep those teeth from ripping out a man’s throat, and that was Cutler’s command to stop him.

Even a cowboy, or especially a cowboy, could appreciate the quality of the bay gelding in the rear, the horse called Apache. Cutler had never known a fresh horse Apache could not outrun, even after Apache had run several miles. If catching Mesteño was going to mean chasing him, Apache was the only horse Cutler knew of who had a chance of catching the mustang. But this the cowboys could see, even from a distance. They had no arguments about the horse, only the idea of such a horse following a wagon. Running with lesser horses in a remuda, sure. But following a wagon pulled by mules with a funny looking dog on the seat? No, that was demeaning to the horse.

A cowboy might not understand about the wagon, either. Maybe the wagon most of all. He associated such a vehicle with settlers who came across the prairie in long trains of wagons like Cutler’s. Cutler’s was smaller, of course, but a covered wagon was a covered wagon. It could mean nesters, which could result in Indians getting nervous and causing trouble for everybody including the ranchers who had already made peace with them. It could mean Mormons bringing their strange ways into the West. At the very best, it could be a chuck wagon, and although the cook was indispensable on a cattle drive, he tended to be near the bottom of the social scale in the cowboy’s mind, not quite as important as the wrangler, and a little bit above the hand who drove the chip wagon picking up dried cow dung in areas where firewood was scarce, or the hand who drove the blatting cart for the calves born on the trail and who was known as Little Mary or Nursey.

The cowboy would not have any appreciation for the fact that the wagon was Cutler’s home, that it carried everything Cutler needed to exist and survive on the trail, everything he needed in his line of work. Maybe as the wagon rolled along with its jingling sound, a cowboy would think of a country peddler, the man who rode through selling pots and pans, or another who sharpened knives. But the sound came from objects more lethal than cookware. Hanging along the hoops that supported the wagon canvas, but hidden from view to the observer, were the traps. An arsenal of steel jaws whose clankings and jinglings sounded a little like cowbells. A lot of Newhouses and a few Oneidas. Some single-springs for mink and otter. Double-springed number twos for foxes, fours for bobcats, coyotes and wolves, fives for cougars and black bear. And the largest of all, the great toothed bear traps that Cutler had designed and had custom made, the ones that were waiting for the day when he would find his grizzly.

The traps did not have the meaning to Cutler that they did to the old-time trappers who helped settle the West. Cutler never used them to get hides for profit. They were carried for only two reasons, for food when he needed it and for capturing rogue animals who were a threat to other life, the animals who had abandoned the rules of their kind and who killed out of madness.

The same could be said for the guns. The Colt .44 Cutler always carried in his holster, the .30-.30 Winchester saddle carbine and the Krag .30 caliber high-powered repeating rifle that traveled in a special rack behind the wagon seat. They were never used for amusement, never for the sake of killing or capturing trophies, only for protection and bagging rogues. Except sometimes the rogue happened to be a man. Sometimes the track of a rogue animal would lead to a man, and Cutler’s guns had been turned on men more times than he cared to remember. He did not count. There were no notches carved in the guns. You did not keep score about things like that.

The rest of Cutler’s gear included a bedroll on a woolen mattress, a bin for provisions for himself and Red, another for the horse and mules, a water barrel, and the battered leather suitcase that always held a change of clothes for whenever he reached the end of the trail.

No one would be able to recognize what a perfect team the man and the animals were. No one would know that they had become so used to one another that a slight movement in the reins would bring Kate and Emma to a standstill or start them going again, that the dog sensed every feeling his master had, that the horse was the other half of the man and Cutler rode Apache so that from a distance man and animal looked like one, double-headed machine.

Cutler knew that it was in the nature of others not to sense what lay beneath the surface. It did not bother him that the men were staring at him and not understanding. Cutler knew. And that was all that mattered.

As David Baker rode beside the wagon, he felt a part of the team that was Cutler, animals and rig. He knew what the cowboys were thinking as they watched the procession approaching the ranch house. And he was used to it, too. In his case, he had experienced similar reactions from them at times when he rode up alone. Some of them reacted to the color of his skin in the same way they were reacting to the look of Cutler’s outfit. In the old days it had rankled Baker, but as time went by he became hardened to it and finally felt pride about it. He no longer wanted to be totally accepted by his white neighbors. Now he was glad to be different. He could rope and ride with the best of them and, if it came to that, he knew he could best any man around in a fight, but he no longer fought for acceptance. Instead, he accepted attitudes toward him, and he wore his difference like a badge of honor. Now he took extra pride in sharing his difference with a man like Cutler, knowing from their days on the trail together that he had come to understand what made the trapper special and knowing that the people who were watching them approach might never find it in them to understand. For the first time, Baker did not feel alone.

“I can see the welcomin’ committee.” Cutler grinned at Baker. “You want to go on to your ranch from here, guess I can handle what’s ahead.”

The welcoming committee was getting bigger. A bunch of the hands started joining the group, staring, shaking their heads. One of them looked like a boy to Cutler, but a little more looking and he recognized a woman’s curves hidden beneath the man’s clothing and an excess of bay-colored hair tucked up inside her sombrero. Her attitude did not seem to be any different from the others. Something about it made Cutler smile.

It was the smile that bothered them most of all as the wagon pulled to a stop near them. Any greenhorn could see they were not feeling friendly. And to pull up in a rig like that, the least the man could do is look a little more humble, if not ashamed. But this man was smiling like there wasn’t anything out of whack at all.

Chase felt obliged to correct the situation. “If you come to squat,” he said, “all this land’s taken up.”

Cutler grinned at Baker who smiled back. Then Cutler stared back at Chase, rested his arms on his knees, waited and said nothing.

Cutler nodded to indicate he knew the difference between a question and some other kind of greeting.

Ellen was finding this all very interesting. She was wondering if this would lead to some kind of showdown. She looked to her father who was hanging back among his men and watching the little scene, and it reminded her of the night at the party when he did the same thing and Chase was trying to kiss her. Sometimes Harmon acted like other people were put on this earth exclusively for his amusement. Ellen hated that, and it was no wonder she did not have much respect for men. That included Cutler. But if this was going to turn into a contest for men, she would like to see Chase faced down so badly it would wipe that smile off her father’s face. If Cutler’s smile got wiped away instead, well, that was only the second best thing.

Red crouched on the wagon seat, his head down and pointed to Chase, his teeth beginning to show, a low growl rumbled in his throat. Cutler recognized it as the dog’s request for permission to attack. When Red did not like a man on sight, it was a good sign that the man was going to be a problem as long as he was alive. Men might fool other men, but never Red.

Chase was saying something to Cutler, but Cutler was not listening. Cutler was sizing up the situation and figured it was exactly what he thought when he saw it from a distance. A group of people had gathered to feel superior about not being Cutler. It had happened too many times before for Cutler to get angry about it. But he figured he had two choices. He could challenge Chase in some way to earn the respect of the others and get the nonsense over with. Or he could just turn the wagon and ride out.

He sent a message from his fingers along the reins, and the mules moved forward, forcing the men in their path to move out of the way. The mules did a wide arc and started to pull the wagon back the way it had come.

Cutler looked at Harmon as if to ask him why he had not said that in the first place. “Howdy. John Cutler.”

“Second thing, if you are the boss here like you claim, you better do something about that loudmouth hand of yours before I have to myself.”

Cutler smiled. “Might fool himself into an early grave. Next time I won’t make it so easy for him by riding away.”

“Don’t you worry none about Tom. He’s the best ranch foreman around these parts.”

“Well, you take care of your animals. And then you come have supper at the house with us, so’s we can talk things over.”

“But we got a job, and if you’re gonna do it, we ought to sit down and see about it.”

“If I sit down with you, Harmon, Dave’s gonna be sittin’ next to me, because I know he knows what’s goin’ on around here, and I don’t know that you do.”

Cutler asked Baker, “I’d take it as a kindness, Dave, if you’d accept Mr. Harmon’s invitation.”

While Baker rode back to his own ranch to see that things were all right there and Cutler tended to his animals, Harmon tried to figure how he could get control of the situation again. He would have stepped in right at the beginning if he had known that Cutler’s reaction to Chase was going to be to leave. Now Harmon felt at a great disadvantage. He did not like that. He especially did not like it on his own ranch where he was boss.

“Never mind. You have supper with us at the house tonight. Maybe you and me can keep each other cooled down long enough to see if this Cutler’s worth all the trouble.”

Ellen did not like cooking. It was something she did for her father because her mother always did when she was alive. Since her mother was gone, it was the natural order of things for Ellen to take her place. But she did not like it. She liked it even less tonight because she had to provide for three men besides her father. She did not like Tom Chase. She had no reason to like Cutler. She did not hold it against Dave Baker that he was a different color. He was just another man to cook for.

As far as she was concerned, she did a man’s work all day. Then when the other men went to be fed outside the bunkhouse, there was a cook to cook for them. But Ellen was expected to take over her mother’s role at the house on top of a full day’s work. It was unfair, and she did not know what to do about it, except put a lot of hate into the cooking. When Harmon heard pots and pans being battered down hard on the cast iron stove in the kitchen, he knew food was being prepared and that it was not going to taste very good. But like Ellen, he accepted her taking over for his wife and did not know what else could be done about it anymore than Ellen did.

Tonight the quality of the food was the last thing he was concerned about.

They ate in the kitchen. It was a large room and plenty big enough to serve an army of eaters. It was not as though Cutler was a visiting governor, and his reputation was not enough reason to open up the dining room that had not been used since Mrs. Harmon died.

The men ate in silence. Ellen joined them at the table. Her mother would never have done that. Mrs. Harmon always served the men, then ate by herself later. Ellen was not going to go that far in replacing her mother, and Harmon accepted the new regime stoically. Things could be worse.

Nobody said the food was bad. Nobody said it was good. The silence grew heavy. If it was going to be broken, it had to be by the head of the house. So everyone, even Ellen, was waiting for that event.

“Anybody still hungry?” Harmon asked finally.

No one admitted he was.

“Okay then,” Harmon said. “Now that we’ve taken care of our bellies, maybe we can ease our minds. Reckon Dave here has filled you in on the problem, Cutler. That so?”

Cutler nodded.

“Now I understood you to be the same John Cutler that took care of the Boone gang and the Thomas boys, that so?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Just tryin’ to be certain you’re the Cutler we’ve been hearin’ about.”

“That important to you, Harmon?”

“Well, the kind of money we’re talkin’ about, I guess it is.”

“You’re payin’ for a man who can get that mustang, aren’t you? That’s what Dave told me. Ain’t that what you told me, Dave?”

Baker nodded. “Yes, John.”

Harmon fumed. “Well, of course that’s what we want you for.”

“Excuse me,” Cutler said. “Your startin’ to run down my history got me confused. Got me started thinkin’ you were lookin’ for a celebrity instead of a hunter.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect to hand over a thousand dollars to no ordinary hunter.”

“Are you sayin’ the whole thing’s comin’ out of your pocket?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Wait a minute, Ben,” Baker said. “You ain’t the only rancher that’s got a stake in this.”

“Well,” Harmon said, “let’s just say I want to do something nice for my neighbors.”

“Ben,” Baker said, “I think all of us who’s got horses in that herd’d like to share John’s fee.”

“What difference does it make who pays?”

Baker knew how to be diplomatic. “I just think the rest of the ranchers would feel better about takin’ their own horses back if they had a part in gettin’ ’em. You pay the whole thing yourself and they’d be embarrassed about takin’ their horses back. I know I would be.”

“Now, Dave, there’s no call to be feelin’ that way.”

“Sorry. Can’t help the way I feel, Ben. Sure the others are gonna feel the same way, too.”

“You ain’t worried about gettin’ your horses back, are you, Dave? You’re not sayin’ you don’t trust me, are you?”

“No, I’m not sayin’ that. Think I already said what I meant to say. Don’t think I have to say it again. Now, I’m the one who told you about John, and I’m the one that went and got him. So I figure I got at least an equal say in this.”

“’Course you do, Dave.”

“And that means an equal share in any horses in the herd that never belonged to anyone else around here.”

“Well, okay, suppose you and me go partners on this and not bother the others about it.”

“Think we got to give them a choice about it since they got horses in the herd. Ben, they’d all appreciate your wantin’ to pay the whole thing yourself, but they wouldn’t want you to do it.”

“Dave, if that’s the way they feel about it, okay. It ain’t my real concern who pays. It’s how many men Cutler’s gonna have to answer to. Suppose I say we do it one way, and you say another, and somebody else’s got a third idea and so on? Who’s Cutler supposed to listen to?”

“Don’t know that he has to listen to anyone.”

“Let’s come to an understandin’ about it, Dave, between you and me, and we’ll let the others go along if they want to.” Harmon took a knife and made marks on the tablecloth to check off the points he thought they agreed on. “First of all, we want to get all those horses back alive.” He glanced toward Ellen. “Includin’ Mesteño. If we can. Second, if killin’ Mesteño means we can get the other horses back, we’ll have to do that. And third, if we can’t do either of those things, we’ll have to kill the whole lot to keep Mesteño from stealin’ any other mares. Now, I can’t see why we’d have to do that, but if we have to, then we have to. Now, I don’t think you can argue with them things, Dave.”

“No, you got ’em in the right order.”

“And you know that I want that horse alive. It would just be a waste to kill him.”

“I know that. Question is, when Mesteño’s captured alive, whose horse is he?”

“Well, whoever gets him is gonna have a problem on his hands. Tell you what. Since Ellen wants him alive so much, I’ll take the responsibility for Mesteño, and the rest of you can split up the other horses as you see fit.”

“Ben,” Baker said, “I know Ellen wants the horse alive. I know you do, too, maybe for different reasons. But there’s somebody else sittin’ at this table who wants him dead, and he works for you.”

“Oh, I think Tom’s not gonna do anything against my orders, are you, Tom?”

“You’re the boss, Ben,” Chase said. “What you say, goes.”

“You see, Dave? I’m the boss. That’s the way I like it. Tom and me may have some different ideas about things, like what ought to happen with Mesteño, but when it comes down to it, Tom lets me be in charge.” He smiled broadly and turned to Ellen. “There any more coffee?”

“It’s on the stove,” Ellen said.

Harmon’s smile disappeared, but it popped up on Cutler. Cutler got up and got the coffee pot from the stove. He brought it to the table and poured for everybody.

“Thanks, Cutler,” Harmon said, feeling more now like Cutler was working for him. “That’s why Tom’s my foreman,” Harmon continued to Baker. “He never questions my authority, and he’s a good foreman because he always knows where the orders come from. Now that’s what I’m thinkin’ about Cutler here. There’s got to be just one person he answers to and, since the mustang herd tromps my range more’n anyone else’s, it’d be easier if it was me who was in charge.”

“That’s between you and him,” Baker said.

“Then that’s settled,” Harmon decided. “Maybe we ought to drink on it.” He turned to Cutler who had sat back down and was drinking his coffee. “How about it, Cutler, you care for something stronger than that coffee?”

Cutler smiled at Ellen. “Coffee couldn’t get any stronger.”

“I keep a jug or two around here,” Harmon said. “It’ll curl the hair on your chest. Want some?”

“Well now,” Cutler said, “that all depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not I’m workin’. I like a stiff drink as much as the next man, but I don’t drink when I’m workin’.”

“Hell, you don’t have to worry none about that. We already decided.”

“Know you did. I’ve done nothin’ but sit here listenin’ to you decide. Thought it was very interestin’, too.”

“Then we’re all settled. You’ll get started tomorrow. I’ll . . .”

Cutler interrupted. “It was interestin’, but I’m gettin’ tired of it now. And I’m not sure I want to take a job from a man who’s hard of hearin’.”

“Who’s hard of hearin’?”

“Guess you are, Harmon. Either that or plumb forgetful. One’s as bad as the other.”

Chase stood. “See here, Cutler! Nobody talks to Ben like that.”

“Maybe nobody did up ’til now.”

“Think you better apologize.”

Cutler turned to Harmon. “I’m sorry you’re so deaf or forgetful,” he said.

Chase lunged across the table, grabbing for Cutler’s shirt with his left hand, his right cocked in a fist. Cutler shifted in his seat, and pushed the hand down into his hot coffee. Now Chase was coming forward and off balance. Cutler hit his jaw hard, and the cowboy went sprawling several feet from his empty chair. For a moment, no one moved. It happened too quickly for anyone to believe it, and Chase was dazed. When Chase recovered, he got to his feet slowly and stalked toward the table. Cutler had not moved from his chair. He did not move now.

“Hold it, Tom!” Harmon said.

“This is between him and me,” Chase said, wiping a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Not in my house it ain’t. You two got something to settle between you, you can do it after the job’s done. Now cool down, you hear me?”

Chase hesitated, then looked at Cutler, his eyes blazing. His anger grew because there was no outlet for it. The last thing he expected was for the boss to interfere.

Ellen was wondering about that, too. Her father had stood by and watched when Chase was manhandling her at the party. Her father had watched when Chase was baiting Cutler out by the corral earlier. Why did he step in now? Harmon answered her question. “There’s only one thing that’s important right now, and that’s gettin’ Mesteño. Ain’t no room for anything else ’til that’s over. You hear me, Tom?”

Chase was still glaring at Cutler. “When the job’s done,” he said, “so are you, Cutler.”

“You don’t make it sound too appealin’,” Cutler said.

“Damn you!” Chase clenched his fists.

“Tom!” Harmon yelled. “I mean it. And Cutler, lay off him, you hear?”

“I hear real good,” Cutler said.

Chase stood there a moment longer, then stomped out of the room.

“Seems like he should’ve thanked you for the meal,” Cutler said.

“Now, never mind that,” Harmon said. “At least everything’s settled for now.”

“No,” Cutler said. “Everything ain’t settled.”

“Well, I want you to put off any showdown with Tom until you finish the job.”

“Oh that part’s settled, all right. Least, if it is for him, it is for me. But the rest of it ain’t.”

“What rest of it?”

“The part you seem so forgetful about, Harmon. The part I told you about when I first got here. Now, I don’t give a damn who pays me when the job’s finished. And I think I know the real reason you wanted to do that all by yourself.”

“You’ll get paid if you do the job, don’t worry about that.”

“There you’re right. I’ll get paid if I do the job. I don’t accept pay if I don’t finish what I’m supposed to do. Now there’s a little difference there. You figure you’ll pay me only if I do the job. I’m tellin’ you not gettin’ paid for not doin’ the job is my condition, not yours.”

“Well, it all amounts to the same thing, don’t it?”

“No, it don’t, because there’s more to it than that. But I figure when a man insists on bein’ the only payer, maybe he wants more than to do a good turn for his neighbors. Maybe he just wants to be in charge.”

“’Course I do. I already said that.”

“Well, I’m tellin’ you for the last time you better unsay it. Nobody’s in charge of gettin’ that mustang but me. If I want help, I won’t ask for it, I’ll tell you. If I decide to go it alone, that’s the way it’s gonna be. Now, you’ve had your chance to get that horse and you couldn’t do it. That’s when they call me in. When they can’t do something themselves. That’s why I’m worth a thousand dollars to get the job done. Because I get the job done. And that’s because I’m the only one who knows how to do it. So I’m not about to take orders from you or anybody else. Now, you tell me if that don’t sound familiar to you.”

“I say what happens on my range, Cutler.”

“If that’s the way it’s gonna be, you might as well get out that whiskey because I’m not workin’ here.”

“You mean to tell me, you come all the way down here to do a job and you’ll go all the way back without bein’ paid just because you don’t want to take orders?”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ you. You said something about my lookin’ like I needed the money. Like I say, I hear real good. But I don’t need the money, and I don’t need the job. I charge a big price because I’m worth it. When most folks dig deep into their wallets to pay me, they got to believe I’m worth it and not interfere. Maybe for some men, the money has a hold on ’em, and they’ll do anything to get it. I ain’t one of ’em. You call in an expert, then you step aside and let the expert do his job, and you don’t go meddlin’ into the way he does it. I’ll get that mustang without killin’ it, and I’ll get the rest of the herd too. But, Harmon, if I’m gonna do that, you’re gonna stay out of it unless I tell you to do something. Then you’ll do exactly what I say and no more. Now have we got a deal or don’t we?”

Harmon twirled his coffee cup around on its saucer. Then he said, “You got a deal.”

“So I can figure you heard everything I just told you.”

“I said you got a deal.”

“And you won’t go and forget about it after I get started.”

“I don’t go bade on my word.”

“Okay. Then leave the whiskey right where it is. When the job’s done, I’ll have some of it, and some of Chase, too, probably. But until then, I’m workin’.”

They shook hands on it.

“I guess you’re the right man for the job,” Harmon said. “You need anything to get started?”

“Just someone to show me around. Someone who knows the lay of the land and the habits of the herd.”

“Don’t figure you want that to be Tom.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I can do that,” Baker said.

“No, Dave,” Harmon said. “Most of the time, they’re on my range somewhere. It oughta be one of my boys.”

“I’ll do it,” Ellen said.

Cutler looked at her hard for a moment. Then he said, “Good.”

Ellen looked down from her bedroom window at Cutler’s wagon in the moonlight. She was angry with herself for the way she was feeling. But she had never seen another man get the better of her father or Chase. And there had been something about the way Cutler had accepted her as his guide for the next day, almost like he considered she was probably as good as any man would be for the job. She was not used to that and, because of it, she felt less in control of the situation than she did at other times.

He would be sleeping in that wagon now. She wondered what he was like when he was asleep, or when he was just waking up. She wondered if anything made him mad. Even when he hit Chase with all that power, there did not seem to be a lot of anger in it.

Then there was the way he had just gotten up to get the coffee pot himself. A lot of little things about the man intrigued her. They intrigued her because they were not like any other man she had ever known before. And she could not figure them out.

She began to wonder what it would be like to ride with him tomorrow. What kind of a horseman he would be. Would he be equal to that wonderful horse of his? What would they talk about? Would they talk at all about anything except Mesteño?

She stomped her foot in exasperation. What the hell difference did any of it make? There was just a job to be done, and nothing else mattered. Not one damned thing. She hurled herself into bed, then got even more angry with herself because she could not get to sleep.

The mule Emma paced around the corral. Something about Kate was making her restless. She went over and nudged her partner with her muzzle. Kate walked away to the other side of the corral, her nostrils flaring and looked toward the hill.

On the hill, once more silhouetted in the moonlight, was the mustang stallion, still as a statue and watching.

Chapter Three