The Desperate Deputy of Cougar Hill by Louis Trimble Page B

they’re nobody to fool with. And remember that Rafe lives down that way.” She thrust a package of bread and cold beef toward him. “Even if it means being late to work tonight, you come here as soon as you get back!”
    “Roy taught me how to track,” Tod said. “I won’t get in no trouble.” He slid off the stool. “But I won’t be coming back. I fixed it with McTigue so I can start working for Obed tomorrow. Unless I find out something Roy ought to know right away, I’ll ride on west.”
    Taking the food, he hurried out. Larabee would be well down the valley now, but Tod wasn’t concerned. He was sure he knew where the man was heading and that he could find him quickly enough. At the livery, he saddled his paint pony, stored the food in his saddle bags, added a canteen of water, and slipped his varmint rifle into the boot.
    He took his time on the trail, letting the paint warm up well before he let it run. He slowed the horse before topping each rise, not wanting to warn Larabee by running onto him. But he was almost to Cameron’s spread before he had a glimpse of the bay and its rider. And that, he thought, was pure luck. The valley floor was empty ahead of him except for a few grazing cattle. But when Tod looked east from a high spot, he saw Larabee working his way along the ridge that ran behind the timber sweeping up from the valley floor.
    Tod frowned, wondering why Larabee would ride a hard trail when he could take an easy one. It was a lot shorter way from town onto the bench, but because of the deadfalls and the washed-out bridges over the creeks, it made for hard riding. It could save time, all right, if a man was in a hurry. But from what Tod could see, Larabee was picking his way along like he was out for a Sunday ride.
    Riding the ridge trail was one way to cut down the risk of being seen, of course. But who would Larabee be hiding from? The very fact of the man taking so many pains increased Tod’s suspicion. And now to protect himself, he rode closer to the edge of the timber, out of Larabee’s sight.
    Larabee could only be riding for Arker’s place or the Dondees’ mine, Tod was sure. And so after a short ride south, he angled eastward into the timber, following a short cut that would bring him onto the wagonroad before Larabee reached it. When he reached the south edge of the trees, he stopped, looking carefully up the road. The rutted trail leading to Arker’s place was almost directly across from him. The side trail that led into the Dondees’ box canyon was visible at the top of a curve in the road well upslope. It was here that Tod fixed his attention.
    He heard Larabee coming and then, shortly, saw him ride into view. But instead of reining the bay toward the Dondees’ place, he came on down the road and swung toward Rafe Arker’s. Tod waited until he was swallowed by the cut and then he spurred the paint forward. Pulling up in the pine thicket, he turned the horse off the trail and tied it. Then he moved forward on foot, following a narrow track that went over the east side of the hill through which the cut ran. He dropped down on the far side where the hill tapered into Arker’s yard, a little distance behind the blank rear wall of his cabin.
    Tod moved quietly now, easing along the way Cameron had taught him until he was pressed against the cabin wall. He located a spot where the mud chinking had dropped from between the logs and tried to see inside. The narrow space between the two logs wasn’t enough for him to see anything but by listening closely he could hear most of what was being said inside.
    He was in time to hear Arker’s rumble: “I don’t know who whipped Cameron, but it wasn’t me and Joe. I ain’t in shape yet to fight a rabbit. But I’ll be ready in a couple days and then that lawman better watch out.”
    “Don’t be a fool,” Larabee’s cold voice snapped. “I told you most people in town think you beat up Cameron last night. If anything happens to