"This is Laurel cabin, first one this side of 'Charity'." Smoke told him as they drew up before a meager-looking shack.

They'd been riding all day, and it was after dark now, but they'd been close enough to reach the cabin and Smoke had pushed on.

"How many more before we get back to the ranch?" Rin asked, stepping slowly from the leather. His body was sore and aching.

"Four. That's this side of the Mountains, and Rivers End range stops up there about two days day in, at Buckhead Creek. That's where the second shack is. Our range follows south aways to Hills Lake, then you have to swing east again. Our next line cabin is about a day an' a half from Buckhead, right up in those slopes. Once you hit that, you swing south for a day an' a half then curve in east to Diamond Peak. About halfway south you'll reach Dry Rock cabin, then once you get goin' east, it's 'bout another day to the last cabin, nooked up in the hills. Hard to spot less you know it's there. From there it's a fairly easy ride back to the ranch.

"Eastern edge of the RE heads out straight from 'Charity' Peak and Broken Top then slopes south shy of Bend. You run into the river, and that's our border, the western bank of the eastern branch that is, all the way down to the end. There are three cabins on that route too."

Rin had been building a map of the range in his mind, and the border description now completed it. The line cabins marked the edges of the range, for the hands who worked it and outsiders, whether passerby or neighbor.

They stripped the gear from their horses and rubbed them down with handfuls of grass before picketing them and heading for the cabin. It was clean inside, with firewood laid up for the next men through and soon Rin had a fire burning and coffee on. Smoke pulled out the makings for boiled steak and beans and before too long the two hands were eating quietly and drinking coffee strong enough to float horseshoes.

Rin was spent, his body aching, his eyes burning from no sleep and the bright sun. As soon as dinner was eaten he rolled up in his blankets and was out. He knew Smoke would clean up, and he would be responsible next time. It was not lost on the ranch hand that Temple had laid down facing the door and window, his gun within easy reach of his hand.

When Rin opened his eyes the next morning it was to the dim gray light of dawn and the aroma of fresh coffee. He sat up stiffly and reached for his hat, then tugged on his boots as he stood, rolling his blankets.

"You look a sight," Jones told him dryly.

"You should be me, it's worse to feel it," Temple assured him.

His face was puffy and swollen, and his chest and ribs felt like one massive bruise. Stiffly he walked outside and filled his canteen at the trickling creek a short distance from the cabin. He glanced at his reflection in the water and chuckled softly to himself. Purple, black, and a few knots of swelling. What a sight! Canteen full Rin strolled over to the horses, softly speaking to them, moving the picket line to fresh grass close to the water before going back to the cabin.

Smoke already had breakfast going and Rin gratefully dropped into a chair and helped himself. He was always starving after a stiff brawl, and those RE boys were no easy fight. It was only Temple's fury that kept him on his feet and fighting. He had a deep and terrible temper, and once brought to the surface, it was hard to push back down and lock away. Most times he avoided conflicts, gun or fist, but when he was finally roused and on the prod men scattered or died.

There was one terrible day some years ago, a day when he'd lost his temper and let loose some vengeance that would haunt him all his living days. Five men had been involved, five mean, cruel, lawless men, and one beautiful, frightened girl. He'd caught up with them in the unsettled regions of Wyoming, and what he'd done there- Rin didn't like to dwell on it. Without self-control even good men became monsters.

"Seems like you look a little familiar, now that I get a close look at you," Smoke commented, breaking the silence.

"That right?" Rin deliberately took a long swallow of the black coffee.

"Ever been to Colorado?" the older hand looked at him, his sharp olive-green eyes intense.

Temple sat back holding the cup of coffee in his hands. He took another swallow before answering.

"A time or two, some years back."

"Maybe it was Wyoming," Smoke suggested mildly, but Rin cut him off.

"I been all over this country hombre, so any place you name will have some memories for me. What about it?"

"I get the feeling I've seen you before, that's all, but can't place you." Smoke's voice was gentle, he was not hunting trouble.

"Sometimes men don't want to be remembered Jones, think on that before you try and corner me."

Smoke knew a warning when he heard one and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Forget I said anything Temple, we've got enough troubles without digging up skeletons."

There was a stony silence from Temple as they finished their early meal and Rin set about cleaning their dishes and washing out the coffee pot. He made sure there was plenty of firewood stacked inside as Smoke went out to ready the horses. He was feeling a little on the defensive, a little too guarded and Rin didn't like it. Once someone headed down the road of deception, it wasn't too long before old ghosts came out of nowhere to remind a man of where he'd been, or who he was.

That darkened his mood, so when Rin stepped out into the early sun to face the task of saddling the blue roan, he was feeling the need for a good fight. The stallion seemed to sense his tension, and tossed his head, continually stomping the ground. He barely waited for Temple to get his feet in the stirrups before his hooves left the ground. It was a wild and violent ride, though brief by the roan's standards, and soon the two were ready to head out.

"I figure we'll head off toward Buckhead Creek, but along the way we'll start what stock we find a little deeper into RE land. They've been a little too scarce these days." Smoke said.

"You ever trail them cows that seem to vanish? Got any idea on where they've got to?"

"No trail to follow," Smoke answered "We've got a rough idea of how much stock should be on the range, and what we've seen is a sight less than what there should be. Mind you, those critters get the notion to wander occasionally, but we've always managed to find them and head 'em back home."

"Beef can't up and walk off without some trace left behind," Temple responded practically.

"That's what Ted used to say," Smoke referred to Gates' son "He was on the trail of somethin' when he got killed."

"I'd like to scout around some, if that's alright with you," Rin offered.

He was aware their assignment was to circle the RE and end back at the house, but he was curious and a man who liked to follow a line of thought until he reached an answer.

"I reckon if Top takes issue with it I'll take blame, go ahead, but mind your head. Bar J is next door, and those boy's owe you a hangin'." Smoke warned.

"I'll ride loose," Rin promised.

Smoke kept on a semi-straight line toward the next cabin, but Rin angled the roan south and started scouting for cattle. Disappearing stock made him curious. It spoke of rustlers, but men always left a trail, and cattle could not be moved without leaving some trace. He rode along the base of a ridge for a while, then cut through an arroyo and followed it to the lush grass of a wide open flatland, brimming with good grazing and a large shallow lake.

This would be an ideal location for cattle to be, but there were none. Rin stopped the roan in the shade for a moment and took off his hat, wiping the sweatband, letting his eyes rove the area. He worked the land in a grid search, his mind checking each grid with careful attention, gradually closing in to his current location. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, except the stark lack of large herds of cattle.

The roan shifted under him, not liking to simply stand about and Rin tweaked one of the stallion's ears.

"Alright amigo, let's keep looking. Cattle don't just up and leave good grazing 'less they have to." Rin had long since picked up the common habit drifting men have of talking to their horses.

He started the stallion and they kept moving, Rin's eyes sweeping the good country about him. Gates had indeed settled onto a green gold mine. Rivers End was the best piece of range Temple had seen in a long while, almost a perfect setting. Sloping hills, lush green grass, year round watering holes, streams, plenty of solid shade trees, an ideal range for running cattle. So, where were they?

It was over an hour later when the roan stopped on his own, his keen ears pricked with interest toward the south. Rin sat quiet and listened for a moment then he heard it too, the soft lowing of cattle.

Moving slowly Rin let the stallion head toward the sound, keeping off the ridgeline, rounding the base of the slope and came upon a large herd. Some sixty individuals, all contentedly grazing, occasionally were voicing their happiness. Rin gave the herd a quick once over, his keen eyes picking out the RE brand on most of the stock. Some of them were young stuff, unbranded 'til the roundup. He shook out his riata, making sure it was ready should he need it. The roan trembled slightly under him and Temple chuckled softly.

The stallion was no tenderfoot when it came to riding herd and facing down irritable cattle, and he was eager to get going. Rin patted his shoulder and spoke softly to him, moving toward the herd. The cattle on the edge of the group noticed the man and horse first, their heads coming up, nostrils extended, curious but unworried. Rin smiled, at least part of the herd had been rounded up before, which would make inspecting them a little easier.

He circled the stallion around the herd, committing individual members to memory, scouting the terrain, looking for more tracks. The meadow was large, and would easily support twice the cattle on it now, so Rin thought he'd check to make sure sixty was the original number that drifted in here. He came upon tracks, but pulled up short, looking closely at them, frowning. He glanced at the cattle, then back down and the trail and sat up, rubbing his jaw.

It occurred to him that he'd seen something like this once before, but the memory was slipping just beyond his grasp. It left Rin feeling irritable, and slightly worried. He didn't like surprises, especially those he should have seen coming. The pattern in the grass was simply wrong, it looked arranged with thought and care, and wild grass just didn't look that way. There seemed to be more cattle tracks than cattle present, and it bothered Rin. Where had he seen that before?

"I reckon old boy, this will bear further looking into," he told the roan.

He turned the horse and began backtracking the trail, following it out from the meadow into a wide-bottomed canyon that cut through the base of manzanita-covered slopes. There were no tracks here, but a subtle wrong look of the grass, the way it stood, the angle it came off the ground. It was wrong, and Temple couldn't place how or why, but he knew he'd seen it somewhere before. Rin studied the ground carefully, frowning. Cattle did not move so steadily without stopping if left to themselves, they preferred to find good grazing somewhat nearby freshwater. That meant...

His eyes caught glimpse of something in the grass and he swung from the saddle to pick it up. A soft whiff blew past his ear and something tugged at the edge of his hat. Instantly Rin was running, and before the echo of the gunfire died away he had taken a long dive behind scattered rocks and thick brush. He drew his pistol and briefly checked the chamber before letting his eyes roam the area.

From the way the bullet had come at him, the shooter had to be tucked into cover somewhere up the northern slope. It had not been the sharp crack of a rifle, so Rin figured it was a pistol. He was well within range for one, and he wondered who was after him already. A RE hand looking for revenge, or had the Bar J outfit returned already and were out to find him?

Ω Ω Ω

"What's the meaning of this?" the rancher was angry, fire burning in his dark green eyes.

"He snuck in on us Boss, and he left us a-foot and got away. From the tracks, it looks like they've headed back for the RE." the puncher stood quiet and somber in the face of Jude Reynolds' anger.

"You mean to tell me that nine of you, nine, were unsuccessful at apprehending a single man with a girl on one horse?" Reynolds pounded his heavy fist against the wood of his desk. "How did he sneak into your camp? Why wasn't a guard posted?" he demanded.

"I reckon, we figured a man on the run wouldn't turn 'round and come back. We aimed to catch him on the trail, not have him double back and take us."

"Get out!" Reynolds snarled "Get out and ride into town for Bill Franks. I'm going to end this, one way or the other!"

"Can't I get Greer to ride? My feet-"

"NOW!" the rancher roared, his face red with fury.

After the man left Reynolds paced his office, angry and frustrated. Shelby Gates held the best grazing land he'd ever seen, and the old man wouldn't sell. Reynolds own grazing was good, but nothing like he'd had in Arizona, and he wanted the best, felt he deserved the best. Things in Tuscan had heated up too much for him, with the unexplained and purely 'accidental' deaths of some men opposed to him.

After the opportune killing of gunfighter Red Rivers some years back, there had been Nelse Jordan, a rancher and a smart businessman. Jordan was a known gunman, fast and deadly, but he'd settled quietly into ranching. He was running a small herd, not even a thousand head, but he had year-round water and an ideal location. The offer was made for the land and Jordan refused, firmly.

Reynolds never took no for an answer, not when he was used to getting what he wanted, so he discreetly arranged for an accident, and within a month Nelse Jordan was thrown from his horse. When his body was found authorities said his skull was caved in, from a rock or a frightened horse's hooves, it was impossible to say. Either way it was ruled accidental so Reynolds bought the rights from the bank and moved his cattle over.

People began to look oddly at him after that, and whispers of conversation died whenever he walked into a room. His luck had been running too closely behind other's tragedy, and there had been more than a few others who had died recently. Reynolds' knew it was time to move on, there were other towns, other places, and he had enough money to start over anywhere. He'd sent word that he was looking for a new ranch, and Oregon was offered up as the place. So he'd sold out and made the long trip northwest, hiring hands to drive his cattle.

Reynolds took a thick cigar from an elegant wooden case and bit the end off, spitting it outside the open window. He struck a match and puffed gently, a scowl on his face. He meant to have the RE, Gates an old man and not up for a drawn-out battle, not the kind Reynolds waged. Amy Leigh Gates was a lovely girl, and marrying her had seemed ideal when Gates had turned down his generous offer. She had refused him though, and that left one course open to Reynolds and he meant to have that range. If it could be done, he'd have Miss Amy Leigh Gates as well.

Sitting down in his chair, Reynolds leaned back and puffed contentedly on his cigar. Franks would be here soon, and with the local law in his pocket, Reynolds' would have his way, with a rope or a wedding. He chuckled softly, feeling victory was near. It was a beautiful day outside.

Ω Ω Ω

Quietly Rin lifted his head and immediately jerked back down when a second bullet spattered rock fragments and debris into his face. Cursing softly Temple hugged the ground, shifting back deeper into the cover of brush. The man up there knew right about where he'd holed up and was waiting for Temple to stick his head out. Rin had been shot at too often to make it easy for the shooter, so he let his mind turn to alternatives.

The roan was out in the open, grazing, occasionally lifting his head to look up slope, flicking his tail. There was no way Rin would make it to him without getting cut down, so he discarded the thought. If he wanted out, he'd have to circle the man lying in wait and try to catch him by surprise.

Holstering his gun, Temple slipped the thong in place and began to Injun up the slope, moving very slowly through the sharp manzanita, brush, and dry grass. He knew that a target that didn't move was not readily seen, so his progress was tediously slow, but inch by inch, Rin moved. He'd ridden for a while with a part Apache man, travelling rough country full of wild Indians and outlaws. That Apach' breed was wily and knew all the tricks, and he'd taken a liking to Rin, showing the young man many ways to move unseen and unheard.

Rin continued his approach and came to a shallow wash, not more that eleven or twelve inches deep, but that was enough to conceal a body laid out flat. Silently he rolled into it, and then crept noiselessly through the sand toward his goal. The sun was up high and sweat trickled down his cheek, cutting a path through the layer of dust on his face. Occasionally bees buzzed by him on their way to or from their hive, on business of their own. There was no other sound. Temple studied the slope before him with care, deciding where a shooter would most likely be concealed.

There was a natural sod ledge just down from his position, the shaded part of the ledge rimmed with the sturdy manzanita and mountain laurel. A man could be placed there in relative comfort and remain unseen. Rin considered it, and then let his eyes move on. Farther, slightly higher than he was an outcropping of rocks stood out bold against the slope, springing right up from the brush. There were nooks and crevasses among the large boulders big enough to conceal a man, and that might be the place. Which to try first?

Rin hesitated only a moment before inching quietly toward the rocks. If he was wrong, at least he'd be above the shelter of the sod ledge, and could work his way down unseen. As he reached the rocks he heard the sudden sound of a horse and a rush of hoof beats fading in the distance. The shooter had probably become wary of a trap and had decided to retreat while he could, or perhaps he had been seen but presented no easy target. Temple thought the latter highly unlikely, but every man made mistakes. Scowling, Rin continued his approach, his careful mind telling him there could likely be more than one man in place. It would be foolish to stick his head out and get it shot off now.

He struck gold at the rocks, for he found the impression of a body where it had lain in wait, perfectly set up in the shade of the boulders. It was a clear view down to the canyon floor and Rin could see the roan plainly from where he now lay. He glanced around, noting the size of the man, and studying with care the boot prints left by the shooter. He didn't recognize them now, but he would know them immediately if he ever saw them again.

Boots were as distinctive as fingerprints, and no man wore their boots the same way, nor had the same tread and gait. There was a bit of something that caught his eye, and gently Rin picked it up, studying it carefully before tucking it into his vest pocket. There had been no other sound, no other movement, so Temple got to his feet, cautious but confident he was now alone.

He followed the boot tracks up slope behind the outcropping, the retreating man shielded from his eyes by the boulders, and found where the horse had been hitched. Temple also studied those tracks with care, committing them to memory. Though ranch hands often had several horses, there was usually only one horse that they rode most often, and this horse was likely it. As matter of course he looked off after where the shooter had gone, but by now there was nothing to see.

Another track, faint and set apart, caught his eye. Rin studied it, a feeling of uneasiness in the back of his mind. The print was familiar, but he couldn't place it and after being shot at, that worried him. He headed back to the blue roan. The stallion eyed him interestedly as Temple walked up, and reached out a soft nose as Temple stroked his muzzle gently.

"Seems like someone doesn't like us too well, and us practically strangers in the country, though," he added, "that Miss Gates sure didn't help the situation any."

The roan only watched him quietly, holding his own opinions on the matter. Temple picked up what he'd originally seen in the grass and tucked that into his vest pocket as well before swinging into the saddle.

"We started off after this trail, let's see where it goes," he told the stallion.