they would be desperately in need of help. Moreover, they would need a place to hole up for a while. And the canyons near the ranch offered plenty of places to hide out, and fifty ways in and out of the country-it was one reason he had fastened upon the Sweet Alice Hills.
Larsen droned on, talking of cattle, prices, and forage conditions. Suddenly he glanced sharply at Riley. "You buy some flower seed today, yah? At the store?"
"Yes." .
"Goot. It is goot to have flower. I haff roses. You come by some day, I show you. I t'ink a man wh o plants tree and flower, he come to stay." Larsen got slowly to his feet, and thrust out his hand. "Some flower do well in dis country, some do not. We haff to give dens the chance."
As he walked away, Riley wondered if there was more in that last comment than met the ear? Was Larsen giving him a subtle hint? A hint that he was to have his chance here? Or was that his imagination working overtime?
Of one thing he was sure: the further he could stay away from Larsen, the better.
The following morning he bought three pack horses, all mares. He was packing them with the last of his purchased supplies when he saw a tall, gray-haired man ride into the street. His bay horse wore a Running S brand. This had to be Dan Shattuck. Gaylord. Riley walked into the street to stop him, and Shattuck drew up. "I'm in the market for some white-face cattle," Riley said, "and I understand you have some."
Shattuck nodded. "I have some, but none for sale." His cool blue eyes surveyed Riley. "You're new around here. At present mine are the only white-face cattle around, so if you do acquire some I would suggest you run them far from mine. We would not want to have any trouble."
Riley felt anger rise within him, but he said simply, "I shall buy white-face cattle, and I shall run them on the range I have chosen, and if we have any trouble you may be sure I'll know how to handle it."
Abruptly, he turned and strode back to the mares he was packing. Cruz glanced at his face, then at the horseman in the street, who had not moved. "Do not make an enemy of him, amigo," Cruz said quietly. "He is a good man, but a strong-minded one."
"To hell with him!"
Martin Hardcastle emerged from his saloon. H e nodded to Cruz, then spoke to Riley. "When you gel through with that, come in and have a drink."
It was warm and pleasant in the street. Riley ignored Shattuck until the cattleman rode on down, to draw up before the Bon-Ton Saloon, where he dismounted. He stood there on the walk,' talking with Doc Beaman, and then they went into the Bon-Ton together.
When he had finished the packing, Riley indicated the saloon. "Let's go in and see what he has to offer."
Cruz did not like Hardcastle, so he shook his head. "There is a cantina," he said, "and a girl to whom I must say goodbye. If the senor will permit-?"
"Of course."
Hardcastle placed a bottle on the bar when Riley came in. "Help yourself," he said. "This is on me. Glad to welcome a newcomer into the country." Spooner was nowhere about, but another man, a square, untidy man, lounged alone at a rear table. Nick Valenti stared at Riley, then looked away. Now where had he seen him before?
Hardcastle poured drinks. "Shattuck's a difficult man," he said. "Big-headed, too."
Riley lifted his glass. "Here's howl" he said, and downed the drink. Hardcastle had something on his mind, and Riley intended to learn what it was.
"I know where you can get some white-face cattle," Hardcastle said. "Not many, but enough to start a herd."
Riley was surprised. "Herefords?"
"Yes. You'd have to drive them down from Moab -there's only about thirty head."
"Bull among them?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
Martin Hardcastle took a cigar from his ves t pocket and clipped the end with strong white teeth, then studied the cigar for a moment while he framed his answer. He put the cigar between his teeth and struck a match. Looking past the cigar as he lifted the match, he said, "Five dollars a head if
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley