"I'll not be arguing with you the now," Rudi Mackenzie said.
The younger Mackenzie was smiling as he grumbled, and his pride was obvious. They'd come through a crisis-not an earth shaking one, but they could have died if they hadn't acted swiftly, and it had been a hard slog afterwards.
"Still, it was interesting," Rudi went on.
Ingolf groaned: "Too much like nearly freezing to death again for my taste, and to hell with interesting."
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Rudi asked with a snort.
"It died with a Sioux arrow through the gut about seven years ago," Ingolf said, genially enough to take most of the sting out of it.
"It wasn't that cold," Rudi said aloud.
To himself: And I'm not that much younger than you, my friend. And I'm in charge. Then: And there was that dream… I don't know Who sent it or what it meant, but I do know it frightened the squeezings out of me.
"Cold enough to get you and your friend out of your kilts," the easterner went on. "For a while."
Rudi and Edain were back in the pleated skirtlike garments, and had their plaids pinned at their shoulders.
It isn't that I really mind wearing pants, Rudi thought. It's just that I'd rather not unless there's a good reason.
Garbh plodded at her master's heels with her tongue hanging out, occasionally raising her shaggy barrel-shaped head to sniff with interest.
About the way I feel, Rudi thought.
Not near the end of his tether, but it was good to be down out of the high country, and next time he went that way he intended to wait until June.
They walked on southeast down a gentle slope, through open forest of ponderosa and lodgepole and jack pine, tall straight trees but more slender and less close packed than the fir woodland on the western slope. It was inter spersed with grassy meadows bright with golden-orange blanket flowers and nodding lilac-colored mariposa lilies; pine and strong-scented sage filled the cool thin high-desert air, stronger than the scents of leather and sweat. The snow was gone, but at better than four thou sand feet May wasn't what you'd call warm; it got a little less chilly as the sun cleared the horizon and sent long fingers of light through the trees.
"At least our packs are a lot lighter," Rudi said cheerfully.
"That's because we're about out of food," Edain teased.
"Where's your sense of direction?" Ingolf asked Rudi. "Not as dead as my sense of adventure, I hope."
"It's been years since Mom and I visited out here, and we came over Highway 20 through the Santiam Pass and then down the railway from Bend," Rudi said. "But…"
He closed his eyes for an instant and called up the terrain, half maps he'd seen, partly his teenage memories of the visit, partly a picture those made in his head. They'd crossed the old Burlington Northern tracks yesterday evening, so…
"… that was Bedpan Burn back there, I'm pretty sure. Silver Lake Road should be a little east of here. That'll take us right south to the ranch."
They pushed on. Then Garbh stiffened, pointing her nose south and making a small muffled sound just as they reached the cracked and frost heaved pavement of the old road; the breeze was from that direction too. Rudi flung up a hand. Something was crashing through the brush ahead of them. They all melted behind trees and reached over their shoulders for arrows. Then they relaxed when they saw it was a red and white steer, gaunt with winter, all legs and horns. It faced them and snorted, then went back to grazing on the fresh new growth; the beast was a little thin, but too well conditioned and too used to humans to be feral stock.
"We're close," Rudi said, and the others nodded.
You couldn't leave stock wandering on their own for long, not with wolf and coyote, bear and tiger and mountain lion around, not to mention rustlers and horse thieves. This was the time of year ranchers started moving herds up towards the higher country, as the snow pulled back into the mountains. They passed more cattle and sheep as they walked, and saw riders pacing them on the edge of sight. Probably one had dashed on ahead to alert the camp, which was all to the good. You didn't want to surprise people, especially not people with bows and protective attitudes towards their livestock.
A little farther and they smelled woodsmoke, with an overtone of frying bacon and brewing chicory. Rudi cupped his hands around his mouth as they walked on through brush and onto the edge of a wide opening with only scattered trees.
"Hello! Hello, the camp!" he called.
Calling out like that was considered good manners hereabouts. He did it again:
"Hello! Hello, the camp!"
Dogs barked and voices rose; Garbh started to growl back, then quieted at Edain's whistle and stayed close to his heel, apprehensive and aggressive at the same time with the stress of being in a strange pack's terri tory-her kind weren't so different from human beings, in many ways.
There were a fair number of folk around the fires there, tending gear or getting ready for the day or striking tents; three covered buckboard wagons were parked nearby, and plenty of hobbled horses nosed at the ground. The humans included both sexes and all ages down to infants, all dressed in drab sensible leather and linsey-woolsey and sheepskin. A woman spun wool with a spindle and distaff as she watched a half dozen toddlers; that was less efficient than a spinning wheel, but you could do it on the move and do something else that didn't need hands at the same time.
Three men already in the saddle cantered over and pulled up with casual ease, leaving the reins lying loose on their mounts' necks. One wore a mail shirt, and the other two had breastplates of cowhide boiled in vine gar and strengthened with chevrons of thin steel splints painted brown; they all had curved swords at their belts, full quivers over their backs and round shields at their saddlebows marked with the intermingled S/R of their ranch. The man in the mail shirt had a horse tail mounted on the top of his helmet as a crest as well.
None of the three men had drawn swords, but they all had their short, powerful horn-and sinew recurve bows in their hands and a shaft on the string. They drew up a fair distance away, and kept their eyes moving to make sure there weren't more strangers hidden in the trees.
"Howdy," their leader-the one with the mail shirt and the horse-tail crest-said. "You folks know you're on Seffridge Ranch land? Mind tellin' where you're from, and where and what your business might be?"
Rudi nodded. "Hello. We two are Mackenzies from over the Cascades," he said. "And our friend here is from out east-far east, from beyond the mountains, not from Pendleton," he added. CORA and Pendleton don't mix well. "We're here to see Mr. Brown."
The cowboy's brows went up; he was a leathery man of about thirty, with sandy colored stubble on a sun-tanned face and blue eyes already cradled in a network of wrinkles.
" You want to see the Rancher his own self?" he said, sounding dubious. "I'm line boss here in this section. You got something to say, say it to me."
Behind him, one of the men muttered: "Not even saddle tramps."
Rudi nodded, concealing his amusement. People on this side of the mountains attached a lot of importance to your horses, and they looked down on men who traveled far afoot. He liked horses well enough himself and considered Epona one of his best friends, but he thought the attitude ridiculous.
"Mr. Brown is expecting us," he said. "Who we are is between him and us, sure, and our business likewise. No offense, but he wouldn't be thanking you for asking too many questions. If he thinks we're wasting his time… well, in his own house he'd be able to deal with that the way he thought best, wouldn't he?"