In the livery stable, where we had put our horses, I found Milk River saddling them, and we rode out of town together.
Half a mile out, we split. He turned to the left, down a trail that led into the canyon, calling over his shoulder to me:
“If you get through out there sooner than you think, you can maybe pick me up by following the draw the ranch-house is in down to the canyon. Don’t be too hard on the boys!”
I turned into the draw that led toward the Circle H.A.R. , the long-legged, long-bodied horse Milk River had sold me carrying me along easily and swiftly. It was too soon after midday for riding to be pleasant. Heat waves boiled out of the draw-bottom, the sun hurt my eyes, dust caked my throat. That same dust rose behind me in a cloud that advertised me to half the state, notwithstanding that I was riding below the landscape.
Crossing from this draw into the larger one the Circle H.A.R. occupied, I found Peery waiting for me.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t move a hand. He just sat his horse and watched me approach. Two .45s were holstered on his legs.
I came alongside and held out the lariat I had taken from the rear of the Border Palace. As I held it out I noticed that no rope decorated his saddle.
“Know anything about this?” I asked.
He looked at the rope, but made no move to take it.