Hank Collins topped the rise and reined in the buckskin. For a long moment, he just sat there enjoying the view. There was just nothing like the satisfaction a man felt at the end of a job. The fence ran back along the property line, every rail in place, just like the boss wanted. It crossed the rolling hills beneath the Sandias and headed for the ranch house. Hank was well aware the fence was an oddity—who ran a fence along the open range, anyway? But if the boss wanted a fence, then a fence was what he got. And it was a fine fence, even if the T-Lazy-A riders said so themselves. It would certainly keep those M-L Connected skunks from running their scrawny cattle across T-Lazy-A land.
The stocky redhead swiped at the back of his neck with his already damp bandana. He was happy to be done with the unaccustomed chore. The only thing better than finishing a job well done was relaxing after that job. He’d headed this way with only one thing in mind: the waterhole at the end of the draw. A cold natural spring fed the pond, keeping it full even in the dry season. The ranch hands were all in the habit of sluicing off a day’s sweat in the deep hole. He was lucky the rest of the crew was working at the other end of the fence, or he’d have had to fight to find a place in the water.
Hank’s gaze shifted downslope, to the pond below. Damn it all! Looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d thought the waterhole was the perfect end to a long, hot day’s work. He didn’t recognize the pinto cropping the grass beneath the cottonwoods, at the water’s edge. Then, the animal turned a shoulder his way and he spotted the brand. M-L Connected. What were those low-down coyotes up to now?
The buckskin pricked up his ears as he caught sight of the pinto, and snuffled at the breeze blowing from that direction. Hank clapped heels to the animal’s side and they started down the hillside. Not much grew on the hills but sagebrush and the tough grass their cattle thrived on, but the cottonwoods had grown up in the moist soil to shade the waterhole from the still-blistering afternoon sun. Hank had been looking forward to that cool water since lunch, but now it looked like he’d have to clean out the pond before taking a dip.
Hank reached down to loosen the Henry in the scabbard, and slipped the thong off his Colt Navy revolver. The big galoot floating in the middle of the pond didn’t look to have any weapons on him, but he might just have some friends who needed to be reminded of the property line.
The galoot wasn’t as dumb as he looked: he honed in on Hank’s progress as soon as the buckskin started down the trail from the top of the hill. He could swim, too. Before Hank was halfway to the waterhole, the M-L rider had reached the bank and made a dash for the pinto’s side. Hank prodded the buckskin into a trot, and they reached the waterhole just as the man pulled his old Henry out of the scabbard and whirled.
The tall rider froze when he spotted Hank’s Colt, already aimed at his middle. Hank had to chuckle at the sight of the cowboy, naked as the day he was born.. His height and muscle might have been intimidating if he’d been dressed in the usual workingman’s gear. As it was, he looked more like a half-drowned bull calf than a dangerous foe. His black hair was plastered to his head, and he kept blinking at the water dripping into his brown eyes.
“Go ahead and shoot,” the cowboy called, lowering his rifle. “Be just like you T-Lazy-A coyotes. You want I should turn around so you can shoot me in the back?”
“You’re the coyotes,” Hank retorted, nudging the buckskin closer. He kept the Colt on the man’s midsection. “I ain’t the one trespassing on private property.”
The cowboy snorted. “That waterhole’s smack dab on the property line, and you know it. I got as much right to be here as you do.”
Hank plucked the rifle from the man’s hand and waved him away from his pinto. “You was over the line. Why, you was nearly across to our pasture.”
The man’s big hands fisted at his side. His brows lowered. He looked like he might try to rush Hank, even if there was a pistol pointed at his belly. “So what if I was? Ain’t no harm in a man taking a swim.”
“Maybe I don’t want my waterhole polluted by no filthy M-L skunk. Might have to drain the pond anyhow, just so the cows ain’t poisoned.”
“Why you…” The big man started forward, and Hank had to shove the pistol in his face to remind him who was boss.