Only 05 - Autumn Lover

got into the reservoir and drowned.”
    Hunter’s eyes narrowed to slits.
    “When?” he demanded.
    “It was before the snow melted. By the time wecleaned up everything and got it working again, we were late for roundup.”
    “Any problems since then?”
    “With the reservoir? No. The water has been clean.”
    For a few minutes there was silence.
    It didn’t bother Elyssa. She had learned quickly that Hunter was a man of long silences and few words.
    Besides, the soft song of the wind through the grass, the rhythmic beat of the horses’ hooves, and the calling of blackbirds from the marsh pleased Elyssa much more than pointless social chatter would have.
    Vixen trotted up to within fifty feet and looked expectantly at the riders.
    “Cattle?” Hunter asked.
    “No. If there were, she would drive them toward us.”
    Elyssa whistled a single, brief note. Vixen spun and raced toward a new ravine farther ahead of the riders.
    “Quite a dog,” Hunter said.
    “Mac and Mother trained all of them. Mac swore they were worth five men each when it came to combing cattle out of the draws and willow thickets and marsh.”
    As Elyssa thought of her mother and Mac, sadness replaced the pleasure of the ride.
    Hunter saw, and wished he hadn’t asked about the dogs. Then he became irritated at himself for caring.
    It’s not like she’s a kid in pigtails , he reminded himself impatiently. Anyway, I’m here to deal with Culpeppers, not sad-eyed orphans .
    I’d better start acting like the ramrod of the Ladder S and stop thinking about its owner .
    “How many cattle did you find at spring roundup?” Hunter asked abruptly.
    “Less than a hundred. The men started getting ambushed. Within a week, the Ladder S was down to Mac, Mickey, Lefty, and Gimp. Then Mac was killed.”
    “Has anyone tried to cut the water line leading to the ranch house?”
    Elyssa looked startled. She began worrying her lower lip with her teeth.
    “It broke several times before Mac died,” she said slowly.
    “Any sign of tracks?”
    “He didn’t say anything about finding tracks. He just fixed the breaks.”
    “Was Mac a good tracker?”
    “The best. That’s why he came west with Dad. He was a scout and a meat hunter. Then he lost an arm in a fight with Indians and took up ranching.”
    Hunter looked sideways at Elyssa.
    “Mac,” he said. “Is that his full name?”
    “Macauley Johnstone.”
    “Macauley.” Hunter smiled slightly. “My daddy mentioned a mountain man by that name. Opened up a few trails between here and Oregon.”
    “That’s Mac. Oddly, he was good at ranching, much better than my father. Mac knew animals. He preferred them to people. Certainly to women.”
    “Understandable.”
    Elyssa shot Hunter a look.
    He ignored it.
    “Mac is the one who believed cattle could winter over anywhere buffalo or elk did,” Elyssa said.
    Hunter’s black eyebrows rose beneath the dark brim of his hat.
    “There was some talk of that down Texas way,” he said. “Men wanted to drive cattle north not just for slaughter, but to turn loose in Montana and Wyoming, even the Dakotas.”
    “What happened?”
    “Don’t know. They were making up herds to drive to Kansas when I left after the war.”
    Hunter straightened in the saddle and looked around with slow, probing glances. The only thing he saw moving was an occasional flash of black and white as the dogs worked through the grass and into the piñons.
    “If the longhorns could survive a Montana winter,” Hunter said, “they sure wouldn’t have any problem getting fat there in the summer. Be good cattle country.”
    “Our longhorns have done just fine.”
    “You don’t have Montana winters.”
    “Not down in the valley where the house is. But up in some of those high canyons, it gets plenty cold and the snow is deep.”
    “Do you winter over cows in the high country?” Hunter asked, surprised.
    “Not on purpose.”
    Discreetly Elyssa tugged at the neckline to her heavy riding habit, trying to get some air beneath the stifling cloth.
    Hunter looked once, then looked away with a whispered curse. Her skin was as pale and perfect as an oriental pearl.
    “But some of the wildest longhorns stay up there year-round,” Elyssa said. “One of them is a mean old brindle bull whose horns are six feet wide between the tips.”
    “Year-round, huh?” Hunter asked, looking thoughtful.
    Elyssa nodded.
    “Be damned,” he muttered.
    She laughed, drawing a look from