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Updated: May 12, 2025
After a few hours' rest and the prospects of a full night's sleep ahead the hands snatched an hour for play. They sat cross-legged round the fire kindled from the cedar and raised their voices in song. Waddles drew forth a guitar and picked a few chords. Bentley, the man who repped for Slade, carried the air and the rest joined in.
As they reached the head of the first draw that led back down into the valley Harris waved an arm. "Carp," he called, and a middle-aged man named Carpenter, abbreviated to Carp, wheeled his horse from the group and headed down the draw. A half-mile farther on they reached the head of another gulch. "Hanson!" the new foreman called, and the man who repped for the Halfmoon D dropped out.
Bentley greeted her cheerily. Carp nodded without a word. "What are you two doing up here?" she demanded without parley. "I repped with the Three Bar wagon and Carp worked with you for a spell so we sort of know the range," Bentley explained. "Slade sent us up to drift any strays back south." "Those you were driving are Three Bar stuff every hoof," she said. "All two-year-old she-stock."
A pair of eyes that gazed back at him drew his own and he found himself looking at Bentley, the man who repped with the Three Bar for Slade. The albino's suspicions were as fluid and easily roused as those of a beast of prey in a dangerous neighborhood.
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