They prepared to ride out shortly after breakfast that next morning, Tom Ashburn, Jordan, and Sally. Ben was surprised and secretly pleased the girl was coming with them. He was finding himself more and more interested in her and had been hoping for a chance to talk to her. There had been little opportunity during the two meals they had shared. He watched her stuff a lunch into saddlebags and swing lightly onto her pony. She rode astride, and used one of the heavy stock saddles, just as did any of the Lazy A ranch hands. She was wearing a corduroy skirt split up the center, a white shirt with a bright yellow scarf gathered about her neck. Soft, high-heeled boots and a broad-brimmed, flat-crowned hat completed her attire. As she settled herself on her pinto, Ben felt a tightness fill his throat; she made a picture he knew would never fade from his mind.
Ashburn came from the house grumbling at the stiffness of his joints, and mounted up. He cocked his head at Ben. “Getting old sure as hell. There was a time when I enjoyed crawling out early and piling onto a horse. Now it’s a right smart chore.”
Jordan grinned his understanding and the three of them wheeled out of the yard, the rancher and his daughter waving to Ellie Ashburn as they passed the kitchen door. They rode abreast and in silence, the men flanking the girl until they were out of the hollow in which the ranch buildings lay and had gained the plateau above it.
“Told the boys to drift the lower herd on west,” Ashburn said as they broke out onto the flats. “Lots of new grass over there. Been no grazing on it since spring.”
“How many head you running?” Ben asked, his eyes drifting lazily over the vast expanse of gray-green ground cover. It was like a monstrous field with only a few trees scattered here and there to break the horizon.
“Pretty close to four thousand.”
Jordan whistled softly. Sally turned and gave him her smile.
Ashburn said: “Most I’ve ever had. Been holding back on selling. Market’s climbing. I figure next year will be the time to turn ’em loose.”
“What’s the price now?”
“Fifteen, sixteen dollars, thereabouts. Ought to go to eighteen, maybe twenty by spring.”
Ben considered that for a time. On his and his father’s place they had never owned as many as four hundred head of stock, much less four thousand, and the highest price he could recall having received for a steer was $9. “Big difference in ranching up here,” he said. “How much of a herd do you figure to sell off?”
“Only the three- and four-year-old stuff. They’ll be prime, and just right for the market.”
“Wonderful country,” Ben murmured. “Should be no problem raising cattle up here.”
“You like what you see?” Sally asked.
His eyes settled on her. “Everything,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Everything.”
Sally blushed slightly and turned away.
Ashburn said: “Swing north. Expect we ought to have a look at the line shacks up there. Recollect somebody saying there was some fixing up needed before winter sets in.”
“It gets pretty bad around here?” Ben wondered.
Ashburn nodded. “One of the drawbacks. Big snows. And plenty of wind. Have to watch the herds mighty close. Seen them drift thirty, forty miles, if we don’t keep on them. Sure makes it mean when we round up.”
“How much acreage have you got, anyway?” Ben asked, surprised by what Ashburn had said.
“I own a hundred sections. Got another fifty thousand acres of free range I’m using.”
“Nobody on it?”
“Not now. Been two or three families try it.”
“You have to move them off?”
“Didn’t need to. Land itself took care of them. This is good cow country, and nothing else. Too much heat in the summer, too much bad weather in the winter. And it’s a long way to water when the rain don’t come. I tried to tell them they can’t make a go of farming out here, but nobody ever listens. Got to find out for themselves. Worst thing is they break the ground, try to seed it. All they raise is a crop of dust, and that’s bad for everybody. But I won’t fight ’em. I figure every man’s got a right to a piece of this country, same as I had. Only thing, if they’d listen to some of us that’s been around for a spell, we could spare them a lot of sweat and heartbreak.”
Ben nodded. “My pa always said the only kind of advice a man will listen to is the kind he wants to hear.”
“Sure the gospel truth,” Tom Ashburn agreed.
At noon they ate lunch in a small grove of trees where a spring trickled from a ledge of rock in a clear, cold stream. They had bacon and sliced beef sandwiches, prepared for them earlier by the cook, and topped them off with slices of layer cake made by Sally. Ashburn brewed the coffee himself, maintaining no woman alive could boil up a cup strong enough to suit him.
Three hours later they caught up with the herd that was being moved to the western side of the range and paused there to have a few words with the riders who were handling the chore. It was Ben’s first close look at Lazy A cattle and he could not help mentally comparing these fat, sleek animals to the lean, rangy brutes he had labored so hard to raise in the wilds of Mexico.
“Boys sure have took to you,” Tom Ashburn observed, when they were again moving on. He gave a sly look. “It have anything to do with that swelling on your lip and that bruise on your jaw?”
“Just a bit of a misunderstanding,” Jordan said, skirting the subject.
“A misunderstanding with Oran Bishop is at the bottom of it, I’ll bet!” Ashburn snorted. “Well, he’s going to be one of your problems, you can bank on it. A good boy but he just ain’t ever growed up.”
“We’ll get along,” Ben said. “You have a winter range?”
The rancher shrugged. “Not much difference in the land. Usually let cold weather catch the stock wherever it happens to be. You got some kind of a scheme?”
“I was wondering why it wouldn’t be smart to put everything as far north as we can. Then when the snow hit, they’d just naturally drift south. Grass there would be in good shape then, and it might cut down on a lot of work when spring roundup comes.”
Ashburn wheeled to Sally. “See what I was talking about? Man’s either a natural cowman, or he ain’t.” He swung back to Ben. “That’s smart thinking. You start doing it … moving all the stock north…soon as you’re ready.”
“Maybe a little late now to do any good this year.”
“No, don’t figure it is. Snow won’t hit until late November, maybe even December. You can expect a couple months yet of good weather.”
“Then we’ll get at it tomorrow. The sooner we move that beef off the lower range, the faster the grass will come back.”
Ashburn murmured in satisfaction. Ben was aware of Sally’s glance on him, of the smile on her lips, and the pleasure in her eyes. She seemed as proud of his suggestion as her father had been—a suggestion that appeared no more than common sense to him. And the north range, as far as they rode into it, was in excellent condition; indeed, it seemed hardly to have been worked. Ben doubted if there had been a steer on it for months.
“Settles it for sure,” Ashburn said. “It happens when a man don’t look after things himself. Crew gets lazy. Want to stay close to the bunkhouse so’s they can ride in every night at dark. You change all that, Ben. Keep ’em living in the line shacks, if you’ve a mind to. I’ll back you all the way.” The rancher paused, swept the land with a fond, remembering gaze. “Place has been good to me,” he said. “And I’ve been worrying some about its going to hell. Reckon I can forget that now and start sleeping easy.” He shifted on his saddle, turned to Jordan and the girl. His face was calm, settled, reflecting the ease he felt. “I’ll be leaving you here. Had enough of this blasted horse for one day. Sally, you take Ben on over to the brakes. I want him to see the bad part as well as the good. So long.”
Ashburn rode off abruptly, hunched forward on his horse, a man turned weary by the years.
Sally and Ben continued on, making a wide circuit of the land, traveling along the edge of the wild, brushy area Ashburn had mentioned. Cattle were never permitted to graze in that section, Sally told him. Too many were lost in the brakes and it was always a temptation to rustlers. When he had taken his look, they swung back to the south for the ranch. The afternoon sun was warm and they rode slowly, easily. After a time the girl spoke.
“You’ve seen it all, or most of it,” she said. “Do you still think it’s so fine?”
“The best,” he answered. “A man can be proud of a spread like this.”
“It can also be a prison,” Sally said quietly. “It has held my father here for thirty years. And I guess it will keep him until he dies.”
“Not much reason to leave it,” Jordan said. A rider silhouetting the horizon claimed his attention momentarily. “Or do you think there is?” he finished.
The girl shrugged, her face turned from him as she looked toward the smoky hills far to the east. “Sometimes I think so. Sometimes I wish I could go away, leave and never see this ranch again. I guess if I had been born a son instead of a daughter, it would be different.” She hesitated, added: “Do you plan ever to return to Mexico?”
The rider had disappeared. Ben was silent for several moments. “Maybe. I don’t know. My parents are buried there and the land, for what it is worth, is still mine. The way I feel now I want no more part of the Barranca Negra.”
“I’ve never seen my father like this before,” Sally said quietly. “I think he’s found the son he’s always wanted at last. He’ll want you to stay here.”
Jordan glanced at her. “And you?”
She moved her slim shoulders. Her face, profiled to him, was delicately molded, soft-looking. “I would like it, too,” she replied in complete honesty.
“I was told last night to keep my eyes off you.”
“That Oran Bishop!” she cried angrily. “That sounds like him. He has no right …”
“I don’t intend to pay any attention to him,” Ben said, and checked his words suddenly. The lone horseman had appeared again. He was still too distant to recognize but there was no doubt now in Ben Jordan’s mind that he was deliberately maintaining his position and pace to coincide with theirs. It was as though he were keeping a close watch over them. It could mean nothing, or it could mean a great deal. Jordan decided there was no point in taking any chances.
“I think we’d better be getting back to the ranch,” he said, touching his horse with spurs.
Sally looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
He grinned at her. “Be suppertime,” he said as they broke into a gallop.
It was full dark when they reached the lip of the swale and started down the long, gentle slope to the ranch. Lamplight glowed in the windows of the houses, warm and friendly. There had been no more sign of the mysterious, distant rider and the thought of that had faded from his mind. Ben was thinking of how fine a line a man could make on a spread such as the Lazy A—with a wife like Sally—and wondered if he dared hope. It was possible, he decided, but before he could do anything, he still had his promise to Woodward to fulfill. That could easily be discharged now.
“How far is it to Langford?” he asked.
She glanced at him curiously. “Langford? About a day’s ride northeast. Why?”
“Some business there I’ve got to attend to.”
“That’s fine!” Sally exclaimed, pleased. “I’ve been meaning to make the trip myself. There are some things I need to buy. We can go together. When?”
“Soon as I can get the crew to working at what I want done.”
“Let’s make it this week,” she said as they rode into the yard. “I would have gone today, but changed my mind.”
Jordan reached out, caught the pinto’s bridle, and halted him. Sally looked at him questioningly.
“Thanks for that,” Ben said.
She smiled at him. “I enjoyed it, too,” she said, and dropped from her saddle. She started across the yard but paused. “Come on up to the house when you’re ready. I’ll have Mattie set out supper for you.”
“Sure thing,” Jordan replied, and turned the horses over to the hostler.
He swung toward his cabin, whistling softly under his breath. As he rounded the feed barn, he pulled up sharply. A dark figure emerged from the rear window of his quarters, leaped to the ground, and raced for the deeper shadows alongside.
“You!” Ben shouted, breaking into a run. “Stop … or I’ll shoot!”
But when he reached the corner of the structure, the intruder had disappeared into the night. Jordan’s face hardened. He had been right. The rider he had seen in the hills had not been there by accident but for a reason. Someone had wanted close tabs kept on him—someone who was interested in something inside the cabin. Sudden fear lifted within Ben Jordan as realization came to him. He spun, ran swiftly to the door.