Nat Horan laughed. “From ambush?”
“Whatever suits your fancy,” said Markwardt. “I think after we rim-rock another two or three flocks of sheep, Sam Levan and his bunch will come looking for us.”
During the second day of the storm, the snow ceased. With nothing to do but eat and sleep, Danielle was fed up with the inactivity. But the snow was deep, and travel would be all but impossible. Danielle went to the livery and requested a measure of grain every day for the chestnut mare. She would need it, because of the intense cold. The temperature was already well below zero. The day after the snow ceased, the sun came out, but had little effect, for the snow was at least two feet and frozen solid. Danielle waited another two days before deciding to resume her journey. She had not asked directions to either camp, for she had heard the sheriff say that the feud was taking place in his county. There was little doubt the bleating of sheep would lead her to Sam Levan’s spread. If he refused to hire her, she must then seek out the cattlemen. During the cold months, even wanted men looked for a place to hole up, and the chance to draw gun wages might be tempting to the men on her death list. Within less than an hour, she could see the fair-sized herd of sheep. Two shepherds and two sheep dogs were with the flock, which looked to number a thousand or more. Danielle reined up, and one of the shepherds raised his eyebrows in question.
“Where might I find Mr. Levan, the owner of these sheep?” Danielle asked.
“At the rancho, señor,” said the Mexican, pointing.
Well before Danielle reached the Levan house, a pack of dogs came yelping to greet her.
“Here, you dogs,” a bull voice bellowed. “Get the hell back to the house.”
The pack turned and trotted back the way they had come, allowing Danielle to ride to within a few feet of the porch. Sam Levan looked her over thoroughly before he spoke, and there was no friendliness in his voice.
“Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I’m Daniel Strange, and I’m looking for work.”
“You should know there’s a range war goin’ on here,” Levan said. “I pay gun wages of a hundred a month, plus ammunition.”
“I can live with that,” said Danielle.
“You don’t look like no gunman to me,” Levan said. “Hell, you ain’t even old enough to shave.”
“That has nothing to do with drawing and firing a gun,” said Danielle.
Sam Levan didn’t see her hand move, yet he found himself looking into the muzzle of a Colt. Danielle slipped the weapon back into its holster.
“Not bad,” Levan said, “but a fast draw don’t mean you can hit what you shoot at.”
“True enough,” said Danielle. “Choose me a target.”
Wordlessly, Levan took a silver dollar from his pocket and flung it into the air. As it started its descent, Danielle drew and fired once. When Sam Levan recovered the coin, there was a dent in the center of it. He eyed Danielle with grudging respect, and then he spoke.
“You’ll do, kid. The missus will feed you breakfast and supper in the kitchen. There’s five other men, and plenty of room in the bunkhouse.”
“Thanks,” Danielle said. “Am I allowed to keep my horse in your barn?”
“Yes,” said Levan. “There’s a couple of sacks of grain in the tack room.”
Danielle led the chestnut mare to the barn, found an empty stall, and took the time to rub the animal down. She was in no hurry to meet the five strangers in the bunkhouse. The five were seated around the stove in various stages of undress. One of the men took a look at her youthful face and laughed. Gus Haddock suddenly found himself face-to-face with a cocked, rock-steady Colt.
“What is it about me that you find so funny?” Danielle demanded.
“Not a thing, kid,” said Haddock, now serious. “Not a damn thing.”
“I’m Daniel Strange,” Danielle said, holstering the Colt. “Are any of you segundo?”
“No,” said Dud Menges. “Sam Levan gives all the orders.”
Starting with himself, Menges introduced the small outfit to Danielle.
“Why are all of you hanging around in the bunkhouse?” Danielle asked. “Enough of the snow’s melted for you to be riding.” “We ride when Levan says,” said Warnell Prinz, “and he ain’t said.”
Danielle said no more. In the snow on the ground, and in the mud which would follow, it would be impossible for riders not to leave abundant horse tracks. At suppertime the outfit trooped into the kitchen, lining up to use the washbasin and towel. A thin woman was carrying dishes of food from the big stove to a long, X-frame table. Along each side of the table was a backless bench.
“Eppie,” said Levan, “this is Daniel Strange, a new rider I just hired.”
Eppie barely nodded, saying nothing. She looked exactly like the harried woman who might have written the pathetic letter Danielle had taken from Henry Levan’s saddlebag. It was an uncomfortable meal for Danielle, for the dark eyes of Eppie Levan seemed to have been stricken with a thousand years of heart-break and despair. Danielle was much younger than the other riders and suspected Eppie Levan was seeing in her the faces of her own sons who seemed lost to her. Suppose Brice Levan gave up his outlaw ways and, in coming home, found himself face-to-face with Danielle? Could she kill him for his part in murdering her father? After supper, the outfit returned to the bunkhouse. There were enough bunks for a dozen men, and Danielle chose an empty one farthest from the stove. It would be reason enough to sleep fully dressed.
Levan’s Sheep Ranch. October 10, 1870.
When the snow had melted and most of the mud had dried up, Sam Levan came looking for his riders.
“I want all of you to spend the next few days riding from one sheep camp to another,” said Levan. “I know what Markwardt’s trying to do. He reckons if he costs me enough, I’ll come after him and his bunch. Then he’ll call in the law.”
“You reckon they aim to rim-rock more sheep, then,” Warnell Prinz said.
“I do,” said Levan. “They know I can’t go on taking losses like the last one, and that I can’t call in the law without proof. Our only chance, short of attacking the Markwardt outfit, is to catch them stampeding our sheep. Then I figure we’re justified in shooting the varmints without answering to the law.”
It was sound thinking, and Danielle admired the old sheepman for seeking a way out of what seemed an impossible situation without breaking the law. Danielle followed the rest of the outfit along the Rio to the first sheep camp, and seeing no danger there, they rode on to the second and third camps. Still, there was no sign of trouble.
“Instead of three separate camps,” said Danielle, “why not combine all the shepherds and all the sheep into one bunch? They’d be easier to protect, wouldn’t they?”
“Kid, you don’t know much about sheep, do you?” Gus Haddock said. “Get all them woolies into one pile, and they’d eat the grass down to the roots and beyond. Scatterin’ them into three camps, they still got to be moved every other day. That’s why we need the range the damn cattlemen don’t aim for us to have.”
“I can understand why they feel that way,” said Danielle. “Does it bother you, forcing sheep onto range where they’re not wanted, where you might be shot?”
“Kid, there ain’t nothin’ sacred about cows,” Haddock said, “and I don’t like or dislike sheep. I’m here because it pays a hundred a month an’ found. I been shot at for a hell of a lot less.”