An uneasy silence settled over them. Climes remained behind the fence, quietly smoking his pipe, watching Windrush out in the open, some three paces away, his eyes darting this way and that.
“So, tell me what they said, son.”
“Huh?” Windrush snapped his head towards the marshal. “Said? About what?”
“I saw the fellow in the rich-looking getup talking to you.”
“That"s Reece Scrimshaw. He"s head of the family ranch now that his pa is dead.”
“Is he now?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Well, you seemed a tad friendly, after him grabbing you by the collar an" all.”
“Ah no, that was nothin" – nothin" at all.”
“Then he sends you over here, after his men have got their rifles ready. What did he ask you to do, boy, to save your scrawny neck?”
“Jesus, that is unfair and uncalled-for! I never gave you no ca
