He wanted Ben Vickers' contract, and he'd get it--any way he could.
I
Jack Tesno had been riding into the timbered Cascade Mountains since
dawn. Now, consulting a biscuit-thick Raymond watch, he reined off the
writhing new supply road and followed a creek through the pines till
he found a sun-freckled ellipse of grass that would make a suitable
nooning place.
Knowing that his blue roan wouldn't stray from this spot of pasture,
he unsaddled the animal and turned it loose, reins dragging. He dug
cold biscuits and a wedge of cheese from his saddlebags and lunched
stoically; a lean, catlike man with eyes the color of blue agate and
a splash of gray in his black hair that made him look older than his
thirty-two years. He lay on his belly to drink of the flashing mountain
water. Then, impulsively, he peeled off his clothing and plunged into
the stream. He bathed himself, splashing and rolling like a boy, lying
still in the icy current till he began to feel numb. Teeth chattering,
he found a sunny place on the bank and stretched out in faintly warm
grass. After a while he felt a part of something big and good, and the
affairs of man seemed of little consequence.
It didn't really matter much of a hoot, if the railroad got pushed
across these mountains on schedule, he decided. Not when you lay with
the earth against your skin and the sun drying you from a pine-fringed
patch of sky. What mattered was that you made up your mind to see the
job through--to lay your life on the line, if necessary, to do your
part in pushing it through. That was the difference between you and
weaker men.
_When you come right down to it_, he thought, _that's all I get paid
for--making up my mind._
Troublebuster, the contractors called him. The job embraced a score of
delicate and dangerous tasks, but on the whole he thought of himself as
a peace officer without legal status. He found himself forever laying
down the law to tough and often influential men: usually when there was
no law to lay down except what he made up to fit the circumstances. He
had long since ceased to be surprised that he could get away with this.
Yet he knew he could not get away with it forever.
_Making up my mind_, he thought. A strange process. He knew what he
would decide, he guessed, but it took a little time and a little
solitude to do it.
He was on his way to see old Ben Vickers about a job. It was a
top-paying job. That meant it would be a tough one. Yet he didn't need
the money badly. He had stashed away enough for the start in the cattle
business he had always wanted. _I ought to quit_, he thought. _Now,
before I get a bullet in the guts or a pick-point between the shoulder
blades, or maybe just crack under the strain and wind up in the foolish
house...._
The sound of hoofs, muffled on the soft forest floor, brought him to
his feet. He reached for his clothes as a rider wove through the trees
and reined to a halt. The man was young, round-faced, and freckled. He
wore boots, jeans, and a faded checked shirt. He was plainly startled
by Tesno's nudity. He pushed his Stetson to the back of his head to
reveal a shock of dark red hair.
"You t-taking a bath or s-something?"
Tesno picked up the gunbelt that lay on top of his clothes. Feeling
ridiculous, he swung it aside and began to struggle into his underwear.
"What if I am?" he said irritably.
"D-didn't mean to intrude on your p-privacy."
Tesno continued to get dressed. The young man eased down from his
saddle and dropped the reins. He produced a pint flask from a hip
pocket and took a drink. He offered the flask to Tesno, who shook his
head.
"T-too early in the d-day," the young man admitted. "I only take the
stuff account of this d-damn stuttering. Like medicine."