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R
HODES FOUND THE RANCH at Blue Nose Creek, where the cottonwood trees were turning yellow, and the grass had gone pale and dry. At a bend in the stream, three white canvas tents shimmered beneath a blue sky. Up the slope a hundred yards, the ranch yard sat silent as smoke threaded from a stovepipe in the bunkhouse roof. Rhodes nudged his horse that way. The bunkhouse door opened, and a man in a drab hat and work clothes stepped outside. “What do you want?” Rhodes dismounted. “I’d like to talk to the person in charge.” “That’s me. I’m the foreman.” “Pleased to meet you. My name’s Bob Rhodes. I was wondering if I could put up for a day or two. My horse could use a rest. I’d be glad to work for my keep.” The foreman’s eyes traveled over Rhodes and his horse. “I suppose so. We’ve got other company that takes supper with us. Group of surveyors. They’re camped down there.” “I saw the tents.” “The cook could use the help. I’ll tell him. You can put your horse in the corral.”
— AFTER SUPPER, WITH THE dishes cleaned and put away, Rhodes looked for a seat. Two ranch hands were playing cribbage at the middle of the long table. At the end close to the sheet-iron stove, three of the surveyors and their camp tender were playing a game of pinochle. The fourth surveyor, whose name Rhodes had caught as Chambers, sat apart facing the stove. The man was above average height and sat straight in his chair. He had brown hair, beginning to grey at the temples, and a trimmed mustache. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles as he read a newspaper and smoked a straight-stem pipe. His corduroy trousers were tucked into his long brown boots, and his dust-colored canvas field coat was closed above the waist with rounded leather buttons. Rhodes said, “You fellas must get to see a lot of good country.” One of the pinochle players said, “Some of it.” “Where-all have you been?” “Various places in Colorado before we came here.” Chambers gave a sideways glance. “Why do you care?”
