The Collected Short Stories of Louis L’Amour, Volume 3: Frontier Stories - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 Pardner from the Rio Tandy Thayer rode up the river trail in the late afternoon, a tall young man with sand-colored hair, astride a gray horse. He drew rein before he reached the water hole, and looked carefully around as though searching for something missing from the terrain. Tandy Thayer was slightly stooped as a man often becomes after long hours and years in the saddle, and his eyes had that steady, slow look of a man who knows his own mind and his own strength. Turning in the saddle he studied the bare, burned red rock with a little frown gathering between his eyes.

Here was where old man Drew's ranch should be, right on this spot. There was the water hole, and to the right, and not far distant, was the roar of the river. High upon the mountain to his left was that jagged streak of white rock pointing like an arrow to this place. All the signs were right. The painstaking description had accounted for every foot of the trail until now. It had even accounted for every natural landmark here. Only there was no barn, no corral, no ranch house, and no Jim Drew. Nor was there any evidence that any of those things had existed upon this spot.

Tandy swung down from the saddle and trailed the bridle reins. The gray started purposefully but not too anxiously toward the water hole and sank his muzzle into the limpid pool. Thayer was thirsty himself, but his mind was occupied now with a puzzle. He shoved his hat back from his homely, weather-worn face with a quick, characteristic gesture and began to look around. He heard the horse approaching before it arrived, so he faced about, turning himself squarely toward the trail up which he had just ridden. Another rider. From where?

The man was burly, a big man astride a powerful sorrel with a blazed face and three white stockings. His face was flat and swarthy, his eyes blue steel. He rode lopsided in the saddle with a careless cockiness that showed itself as well in the slant of his narrow-brimmed, flat-crowned hat. "Howdy," he said, and inspected Tandy with a wary, casual interest. "Ridin' through?" "I reckon. Huntin' an hombre name of Jim Drew. Know him?" "Guess not. Was he comin' through here?" "He lived here.

Right on this spot if I figure right." "Here?" The rider's voice was incredulous, but then he chuckled with a dry sound and his eyes glinted with what might have been malice. "Nobody ever lived here. You can see for yourself. Anyways, this here is Block T range, and they are mighty touchy folks. Me, I'd not ride it myself, only they know me." He dug into his shirt pocket for the makings. "How'd you happen to pick this spot?" "Drew gave me directions, and mighty near drew me a map.