Chapter 1

WHEN SUSANNA STEPPED down from the wagon Duncan had the fire going, but he sat staring into the flames, forearms resting on his knees, hands hanging loose.

"Duncan?" She was a slender, graceful and unusually pretty woman. "Duncan? What is it?"

"It's this…all of it." His gesture took in their surroundings. "I had no right to bring you and Tom into this, no right at all."

"We discussed it, Duncan. We all took part in the decision. We all decided it was the best thing."

"I know, Susanna, but that was back east. It was one thing to sit in a comfortable living room and talk about the west, but it's something else when you are face to face with it." He looked westward, toward the open plains. "What's out there, Susanna? What are we getting into?"

"Somebody's coming, Pa." Tom was twelve. If his father had doubts, he had none.

They looked where he pointed. A rider was coming through the scattered trees toward them. He was a tall, rough-looking man on a roan horse, and he carried his rifle as if born with it.

He pulled up some fifty yards off. His eyes swept the camp. "Howdy. All right if I come in?"

There was nothing about his looks to inspire confidence but Duncan McKaskel said, "Come on in. It's all right."

He rode up, stopping across the fire from their wagon, dismounting with his horse between himself and the fire.

"Seen your smoke. Figured you might have coffee."

Rifle in hand he walked to the fire, seeing Susanna he removed his hat. "Sorry, ma'am. Don't like to butt in like this but I been ridin' all night, an' no coffee for three, four days."

"Be seated. Breakfast will soon be ready."

"I am Duncan McKaskel. My wife, Susanna, my son, Tom."

"Howdy."

He added a stick to the fire, glancing at the wagon and the deep-cut tracks. "You got quite a load there. Ain't goin' far, I guess."

"We're going west," Duncan said.

"You ain't goin' far with that load." He accepted the cup Susanna poured for him and squatted on his heels. "You got four head of mules out there…good mules. But that's too much load."

"We will manage," Duncan's tone was cool.

The stranger was, Susanna decided, very good-looking in a rough way. He wore a mustache, was unshaved, and his boots were down at the heel. All his clothes were shabby, yet there was an animal strength about him and an almost feline grace.

"Good coffee." He reached for the pot and refilled his cup. "Ever driven on the prairie? I mean where there's no road?"

"No, I haven't."

"Had a sign of rain lately. The grass is good for the stock, but it makes the pullin' mighty hard. You ain't goin' far with just four mules an' a load that heavy. An' s'posin' your mules wander off? How'll you find 'em?"

"We have riding horses."

The stranger sipped his coffee. "Not no more, you don't. They've been took."

"What's that?"

"You had you a pair of sorrels? Big, handsome horses?"

"Yes."

"Then you don't have them no longer. They been stole."

"What's that?" McKaskel came to his feet. "What do you mean?"

"A couple of fellers drove them off just before full light. Fellers from the settlement, yonder."

"I don't believe—" McKaskel started to move off, then glanced from the stranger to Susanna. He stopped. "Tom, you run and check on the horses."

Susanna was slicing bacon into the frying-pan, her face flushed from the heat. "You're a mighty handsome woman, ma'am."

"Thank you."

"When you crossed the river, yonder? You come right up through the settlement?"

"We stopped there." McKaskel decided he did not like this man.

"Figured you had. They seen your stock, and they seen your woman."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That's a mean outfit. Small caliber, but mean. They seen that heavy-loaded wagon, your wife, an' your stock. They mean to have them."

Tom came running, his face white. "Pa! The horses are gone! There's tracks…right across that sandy place toward those shacks."

McKaskel felt sick. He had known there might be trouble in coming west, but felt sure that if he minded his own business he could stay out of it. He got up slowly, then went to the wagon for his rifle.

"Duncan…?" Susanna was frightened.

"I must have those horses. I'll just walk over and see if I can find them."

The stranger picked two slices of bacon from the skillet. Without looking up he said, "You ever kill a man, McKaskel?"

"Kill a man?" McKaskel was startled. "Why, no. I haven't."

"You walk into that settlement with that gun an' you better figure on it."

"I don't think—"

"Mister, folks say this country is hell on horses an' women. Well, it's hell on tenderfeet, too. You walk into that place without bein' ready to kill an' your wife'll be a widow before the hour's gone."

"That's nonsense. I'll go to the law."

"Ain't none. Folks out here generally make their own."

"I can use this rifle. I've killed a dozen deer—"

"Was the deer shootin' back at you? Mister, that outfit figure on you comin' in. They want you to. Why do you s'pose they left all them tracks? They figure to kill you, Mister."

"What?"

"They seen your woman. That gang figures your stock and your wagonload are worth somethin'. They took your horses so you'll come lookin'. They want you to come armed. Nobody will ever ask questions, but if they do they'll just say you came in there a-frettin' and a-steamin' and made a fight, so they just had to kill you."

"So what am I to do? Let them steal my horses?"

"Uh-uh. You just go in there with your eyes open, figurin' you're goin' to have to kill somebody. You spot you a big fat man, an' when you start talkin' you just sort of careless-like get your rifle pointed at him. Then you tell them to trot out your horses."

"Duncan? Don't do it. It isn't worth it. Not for two horses."

"We raised those horses, Susanna, and they belong to us. I shall go after them."

"He's got to try, ma'am. If he don't go in they'll foller after an' steal your mules."

"How do you know so much about it?" Susanna demanded. "How do we know you are not one of them?"

His grin was sly, amused. "You don't, ma'am."

"I'm going in," McKaskel said, again.

"You better…while the notion's on you. You just go right on in, an' don't you worry none about your woman, here. Anything happens to you an' I'll take care of her. I'll do just that."

"Now, see here!"

"You got it to do, McKaskel. You better have at it."

McKaskel hesitated, glancing from one to the other.

"Duncan," Susanna said quietly, "if it must be done, do it, and do not worry about me. I will be all right."

"Pa? Can I go with you? I can shoot!"

"You stay with your mother."

He took up his rifle and strode out of camp. His mouth was dry and he was frightened. Only three hundred yards to the shacks, and he did not know whether he wished it were nearer or farther. He had seen the men sitting on the saloon porch as he and his family came through and he had been glad to leave them behind.

He thought of his rifle. It was a good one, and he could shoot straight, but he had never shot at a man. Could he do it now? And that stranger back there? He had left his wife and son with him, and how did he know that the stranger was not worse than any of those in the settlement?

The shacks were there, right in front of him. The horses were there, too, tied right to the rail in front of the saloon. No attempt had been made to conceal them. They were a challenge, an affront.

He remembered how they had looked at Susanna. He had planned to drive right out on the prairie, but he had hesitated, for once they left the river and its rim of trees they had left all behind, they were committed to something he now began to see as sheer folly.

Back east, with the west far, far away, it had been a topic of conversation, but the talk had continued until they actually packed up and moved west.

Those men were waiting. He could see two men seated on a rough bench, another standing in the door, and they had seen him coming. He could not turn back now. They would know he was afraid.

The stranger was right. They planned to kill him.

How? It was all so obvious. The horses were there, he had only to walk in, state his ownership and bring them away.

That was all…or was it?

Copyright © 1973 by Louis & Katherine L'Amour Trust