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it with whiskey. Then he returned to his horse, swung into the saddle, and
rode away.
His knuckles were raw and bleeding. When out of sight of the herd he turned
toward the Canadian, and at a small branch that flowed down to the river he
dismounted to wash the blood from his hands. Suddenly he looked up and saw an
Indian in a black hat standing on the other bank, watching him. His rifle was
still in its scabbard, a dozen yards away. In his confusion after the fight
and in his desire to bathe his knuckles, he had not remembered to keep the
rifle with him. The Indian, had he wanted to, could have killed him by now.
Tom got slowly to his feet, and the Indian said, Me Pawnee.Friend.
Chantry jerked his head to indicate the cattle, out of sight and some
distance away. I ride with the cattle.
You have fight?
Yes, and with satisfaction he added, I won.
The Pawnee sat down on a rock and took out the makings. When Chantry refused
them, he began to build a cigarette. He gestured with the cigarette. That is
French Williams?
Yes.
His herd?
Mine ... if I get to the railroad on time. If I don t stay with him all the
way, it becomes his.
The Pawnee looked at him. Hedo this?
No. A man named Koch. I brought it on myself.
Maybe. The Indian lit his cigarette.
Koch a bad man.I know.
Tom Chantry was trying to remember what he knew of the Pawnees. Great
fighting men, among the best trackers, and they worked with white men as
allies. He studied the Indian but his decision was already formed, and he
liked what he saw.
You gamble big, the Pawnee said, and added, You do not go to Dodge?
Williams wanted to, but I ve heard the railroad was coming on west. I did
not tell him that and I do not believe he knows they have started building
again. I think if we drive north, then east, we will meet it.
The Pawnee considered. But they are his men?
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I think he will leave you. He will take his men.
What you do with cattle then?
I ll drive the herd alone. He was talking nonsense, and knew it. Or find
some other riders.
He got to his feet. Are you riding towardClifton s?
Yes.
Ride with me. Tell me about the country.
And he added, My father used to tell me the Pawnees were the bravest of
warriors. He told me of the fight at Pawnee Rock.
It was a fight.
I am Tom Chantry.
Sun Chief.
They rode for over an hour in silence, and whenClifton s was in sight
Chantry said, You want to work for me?
To herd cattle with French Williams?No.
To scout for me. He drew up. Find the railroad and tell me where it is.
Check the water holes and tell me where there is water. I would not want you
to come into camp at all. Report to me when you can, but where no one will
see. He smiled. Sun Chief, I want you to be my ace in the hole.
All right.I do.
Tom Chantry reached in his pocket and withdrew a gold piece. You ride for me
and you will get another like this.
I do. You keep. You pay all when finish.
He pulled off. I ride now.
Clifton House loomed ahead, and Tom Chantry trotted his horse toward it. The
stage had just stopped and some people were getting down. One of them was a
girl.
Chapter Seven
TOM CHANTRY rode up to Clifton House and left his roan at the hitching rail.
He glanced at the other horses ... six saddled horses, and a buckboard. He had
not yet acquired the westerners habit of noting brands.
He went up the steps to the first-floor porch, and entered the door. Several
men standing at the bar turned to glance at him, but none offered a greeting
or comment. What his business was remained his business, no matter how curious
they might be.
Chantry ordered a beer,then turned to the man beside him. Join me?
Thanks.
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He was a long-geared man in shotgun chaps and denim jacket, a faded blue
shirt, and a tied-down gun. It s a dry country, the man added.
I m heading north. Do you know the country along thePicketwire ?
Some. I just come over it.
Water up there?
Enough.But no more than enough. The range isdryin up. He lifted the
beer. Salud.
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