Gather My Horses by John D. Nesbitt Page B

efficiency of having four workers in camp and only four men to make the gather, but Selby seemed satisfied with the progress they were making.
    The men rode two abreast, with Selby and Roe in front and Fielding with Lodge a few paces back. Unlike Roe, who slouched in the saddle and listed to one side or another, Selby rode straight up, with his chin lifted. He kept a cheerful air about him, which struck Fielding as being maintained for effect. Although Selby had shown resistance in the set-to with Cronin’s men a couple of weeks earlier, he now seemed willing to go out of his way to get along with men from the other camp. Fielding had noticed also that Selby did not join in on the casual remarks about Cronin, Cedric, and the others. If he was hoping to avoid confrontation, he was giving it a good try.
    The four riders made it to the other roundup camp in less than an hour. Fielding had seen it from a mile away, as it sat on high ground and had a thin cloud of dust hovering over it. Selby brought his horse to a stop at the edge of the camp, and theother three did likewise, as it was common courtesy to let the horses relieve themselves before going in as well as to stir up less dust.
    At present, the Argyle and Buchanan crew was having dinner and taking noontime rest. Fielding counted fourteen punchers either sitting cross-legged or stretched out on the grass. To the left of them, under a canopy that came off the big tent, four men sat on folding chairs. Fielding identified them as Cronin, Cedric, Buchanan, and Adler. To the right, the chuck wagon cook and his helper moved between the fire pit and the tail end of the wagon. Farther back, to the right, an empty wagon that would serve as the bed wagon for hauling bedrolls between camps now stood as the base for the rope corral that held the horse herd. Fielding estimated over a hundred head in the bunch, plus the day wrangler’s horse, tied to a wagon wheel, another horse tied to the chuck wagon, and four or five that were ground-hitched beyond the tent and canopy. Farther back yet, two day herders on horseback rode around the cattle herd, which looked as if it held from three to four hundred head. The mooing and bawling of the cattle rose in the constant din a man got used to on roundup grounds.
    Fielding was thinking that he and Lodge could stand back and hold the horses, but Selby turned and said over his shoulder, “Don’t lag behind, boys. Come right in behind me.” So Fielding and Lodge followed the other two up to the edge of the shade, and Fielding moved to one side so he could see the men seated.
    Closest to him, sitting upright with his hands onhis knees, was J. P. Cronin. Fielding guessed him to be somewhere in his fifties, as he had blond hair running to silver, eyes bulging in a florid face, and a waistline spreading beneath his waistcoat. He was clean-shaven, and he showed a mouth full of teeth as he smiled. He wore a cream-colored hat, furrowed on top with a dent along each side, then a tan, frock-style coat with matching pants and vest, a gold watch chain, and an ivory-colored shirt with pearly buttons all the way down. His dark gun belt and dark-handled revolver matched his stovepipe boots, which rested flat on the ground and were trimmed with small silver spurs. Still smiling, Cronin rotated his head to take in the four visitors, and with his left hand he raised a dark cigar to his mouth.
    He took a puff, and as the cloud drifted up, he said, “Hello, boys.”
    Cedric used the moment to take out his cigarette case, open it, and offer it to Buchanan and Adler. Buchanan accepted a cigarette, while Adler declined with a shake of the head. The foreman tugged on a watch chain, pulled out a silver watch, and began to wind it.
    Selby answered, “Good afternoon, sir.”
    â€œCome for your stock, did you?”
    â€œThat’s right, sir.”
    Cronin smiled as he rested his cigar hand on his knee. “I’m glad you did.”