awakened.
Samâs chin lifted as she waited.
âNo one came to wake me for the four oâclock shift,â Slocum said. He sized her up, then looked Ace over. âI think you were out looking for trouble.â
âSorry, sir.â Sam shrugged. âI wasnât looking for anything but the way back to camp.â
Slocum shook his head. âYou expect me to believe that?â
Why was Slocum so suspicious? Sam wondered. Unless he was stalking the stallion by night, he couldnât know the Phantom had come to her. She wouldnât give Slocum any reason to think such a thing.
âIâm a lousy liar. Ask my dad.â Sam looked away from Slocum as another rider came toward them at an easy lope. âOr ask Jake.â
Sam watched Jake approach. Her friend rode with a fluid grace she could only admire. If she rodefor another fifty years, she wouldnât look that natural on a horse.
Jakeâs mount slowed, stopped. Jake flashed her a look that said she had some explaining to do.
âMorning, Sam,â he said. His voice was lazy.
âShe says she was just out for a ride,â Slocum sounded like a tattletale.
âThatâs pretty much what I figured,â Jake said.
âThe way she was speaking up for mustangs the other night, I figured she went looking for some,â Slocum said.
Samâs heart hammered so hard, she could feel it in her throat.
Slocum winked at Jake. âBetter bait than hay with sweet molasses, thatâs how young girls work on horses.â
âYou sure thatâs not with unicorns?â Jake asked without cracking a smile.
âI hope Gram wasnât worried,â Sam blurted.
âNo problem. Grace put some biscuits aside for your breakfast. I told Wyatt Iâd get you a fresh horse and help you catch up with the herd.â
Jakeâs expression didnât change. His high cheekbones and hard jaw might have been carved of redwood, but the heat in his eyes told Sam that Dad had taken lots of convincing.
Slocum looked between the two as if he expected an argument. Sam knew that might come later, inprivate, but not in front of Slocum, who seemed to yearn for division between then.
When nothing happened, Slocum gave a disgusted grunt.
âIâm headed back. You two can ride in together.â Slocum jabbed ornate spurs at the palominoâs sides and galloped away.
âNo reason to run,â Jake yelled after Slocum, then mused to himself. âHeâs just the sort whoâll cuss his horse if it steps in a ground squirrel hole.â
Sam and Jake sat in silence, broken only by the creak of saddle leather.
âEver hear your dad call me a good tracker?â Jake asked, finally.
He stared off at the horizon. Sam knew Jake wasnât bragging, just hinting he knew the truth, and giving her a chance to confess.
âHe says youâre a world-class tracker,â Sam admitted.
âI was ten when I trailed Smoke to a wild bunch.â
âI know,â Sam said.
âAnd you remember Buck Henry.â
âSure.â Sam swallowed hard.
Buck Henry was a hermit whoâd broken into Jakeâs dadâs meat house and made it look like the work of a bear. Only Jake hadnât been fooled. Heâd trailed Henry to his mountain cabin and knocked on the door before the man could fry a single stolen steak.
âI donât suppose you know about the cattle thieves.â This time Jake gave her a quick, sideways glance.
âDad told me you were in Darton, after school one day,â Sam said, âand identified tire prints from a truck that had driven off with some of our stock. You got them arrested.â Sam urged Ace toward camp. âSo, whatâs your point, Jake?â
She wouldnât lie to him, but she wouldnât give away the Phantomâs hiding place, either.
âYou think I donât know what happened?â Jake asked.
âI think that if you bothered to
Samâs chin lifted as she waited.
âNo one came to wake me for the four oâclock shift,â Slocum said. He sized her up, then looked Ace over. âI think you were out looking for trouble.â
âSorry, sir.â Sam shrugged. âI wasnât looking for anything but the way back to camp.â
Slocum shook his head. âYou expect me to believe that?â
Why was Slocum so suspicious? Sam wondered. Unless he was stalking the stallion by night, he couldnât know the Phantom had come to her. She wouldnât give Slocum any reason to think such a thing.
âIâm a lousy liar. Ask my dad.â Sam looked away from Slocum as another rider came toward them at an easy lope. âOr ask Jake.â
Sam watched Jake approach. Her friend rode with a fluid grace she could only admire. If she rodefor another fifty years, she wouldnât look that natural on a horse.
Jakeâs mount slowed, stopped. Jake flashed her a look that said she had some explaining to do.
âMorning, Sam,â he said. His voice was lazy.
âShe says she was just out for a ride,â Slocum sounded like a tattletale.
âThatâs pretty much what I figured,â Jake said.
âThe way she was speaking up for mustangs the other night, I figured she went looking for some,â Slocum said.
Samâs heart hammered so hard, she could feel it in her throat.
Slocum winked at Jake. âBetter bait than hay with sweet molasses, thatâs how young girls work on horses.â
âYou sure thatâs not with unicorns?â Jake asked without cracking a smile.
âI hope Gram wasnât worried,â Sam blurted.
âNo problem. Grace put some biscuits aside for your breakfast. I told Wyatt Iâd get you a fresh horse and help you catch up with the herd.â
Jakeâs expression didnât change. His high cheekbones and hard jaw might have been carved of redwood, but the heat in his eyes told Sam that Dad had taken lots of convincing.
Slocum looked between the two as if he expected an argument. Sam knew that might come later, inprivate, but not in front of Slocum, who seemed to yearn for division between then.
When nothing happened, Slocum gave a disgusted grunt.
âIâm headed back. You two can ride in together.â Slocum jabbed ornate spurs at the palominoâs sides and galloped away.
âNo reason to run,â Jake yelled after Slocum, then mused to himself. âHeâs just the sort whoâll cuss his horse if it steps in a ground squirrel hole.â
Sam and Jake sat in silence, broken only by the creak of saddle leather.
âEver hear your dad call me a good tracker?â Jake asked, finally.
He stared off at the horizon. Sam knew Jake wasnât bragging, just hinting he knew the truth, and giving her a chance to confess.
âHe says youâre a world-class tracker,â Sam admitted.
âI was ten when I trailed Smoke to a wild bunch.â
âI know,â Sam said.
âAnd you remember Buck Henry.â
âSure.â Sam swallowed hard.
Buck Henry was a hermit whoâd broken into Jakeâs dadâs meat house and made it look like the work of a bear. Only Jake hadnât been fooled. Heâd trailed Henry to his mountain cabin and knocked on the door before the man could fry a single stolen steak.
âI donât suppose you know about the cattle thieves.â This time Jake gave her a quick, sideways glance.
âDad told me you were in Darton, after school one day,â Sam said, âand identified tire prints from a truck that had driven off with some of our stock. You got them arrested.â Sam urged Ace toward camp. âSo, whatâs your point, Jake?â
She wouldnât lie to him, but she wouldnât give away the Phantomâs hiding place, either.
âYou think I donât know what happened?â Jake asked.
âI think that if you bothered to
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