Chapter Seven No Lies After Dark
For two days after Red Mesa, Hank did not touch him.
The absence became a presence of its own.
Drew felt it whenever their horses passed. He felt it when Hank accepted a canteen from his hand without allowing their fingers to meet. At night the trail boss slept apart, his body turned toward the herd, as if responsibility offered safer company.
Drew understood the distance.
He hated it anyway.
The missing map had made the danger immediate. Calvin now possessed the route through Black Tooth Canyon, the location of every water stop, and Hank’s estimated timetable. Warren could place men wherever the trail narrowed.
Drew considered confessing each morning and lost courage by noon.
He had begun the drive believing knowledge would give him control. Instead, every secret removed another choice. If he spoke too soon, Hank would send him away and walk blindly into Warren’s trap. If he remained silent, he became part of the trap.
On the third afternoon, Hank rode up beside him.
“Come with me.”
Drew glanced toward the herd. “Where?”
“North.”
“That is generally the direction.”
Hank gave him a flat look. “Sam has the drive. There is a crossing seven miles ahead. We scout it before bringing the cattle.”
They left the main column and followed a dry creek through low red hills. The country had changed since Red Mesa. Grass thinned. Mesquite and juniper claimed the slopes. In the distance, broken stone rose against the sky.
Black Tooth country.
For the first mile, Hank said nothing.
Drew allowed the silence until it began to feel like cowardice.
“You found the railroad crest,” he said.
“Yes.”
“It belongs to Calvin Morse.”
“The man in the alley.”
“Yes.”
“Did he put it in your bag?”
“I do not know.”
Hank looked toward him. “You do not know whether a man entered your belongings?”
“I know someone did. I did not see who.”
“What did he take?”
Drew’s mouth went dry. “A route map.”
Hank reined in so abruptly that his mare tossed her head.
Drew stopped Ghost several yards ahead.
“You told me money,” Hank said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth would have sounded worse.”
“It is worse.”
“I know.”
Hank dismounted. He walked to the creek bed and stood with both hands on his hips, facing away.
Drew got down slowly.
“The map showed Black Tooth,” Hank said.
“Yes.”
“Water beyond the canyon.”
“Yes.”
“Every alternate route.”
“Most of them.”
Hank turned. “Who are you?”
The question had lost its anger. That made it more dangerous.
Drew approached until several feet remained between them. “My family has business with the Whitaker Railroad.”
“What business?”
“Land. Finance. Transportation.”
“Your father works for them.”
Drew chose each word carefully. “He has influence.”
“How much?”
“Enough that Calvin answers when he calls.”
Hank’s expression hardened. “And he sent you north.”
“Yes.”
“To do what?”
Drew looked at the red earth between their boots. “Evaluate routes.”
“For the railroad.”
“Yes.”
The word opened a visible wound.
Hank stepped closer. “Have you been reporting on my drive?”
Drew did not answer quickly enough.
Hank caught his shirt and dragged him forward. “Have you?”
“Yes.”
The fist in Drew’s shirt tightened.
“What did you send?”
“Herd numbers. Pace. General condition.”
“Water?”
“One location.”
“The poisoned spring.”
Drew closed his eyes.
Hank shoved him away.
He did not strike him. The restraint hurt more.
“Four cattle,” Hank said. “Sam could have drunk from that pool. Carter. Any of them.”
“I did not know.”
“You knew enough to hide the survey stake.”
Drew looked up sharply.
“I saw the mud beneath your coat,” Hank said. “I hoped I was wrong.”
“I found the railroad mark after the cattle were sick.”
“And said nothing.”
“Yes.”
Hank walked toward his mare.
Drew followed. “The report was sent before I understood what Warren intended.”
Hank stopped at the name.
“Warren,” he repeated.
Drew’s heart pounded. “My father.”
“Warren what?”
The last barrier stood between them.
Drew could not cross it. Not yet. The name would end everything before he had proof sufficient to save the ranchers.
“I cannot tell you.”
Hank laughed once without humor. “You confess to guiding the men attacking us and expect your surname to be the line you protect.”
“I am trying to stop them.”
“How?”
“By remaining close enough to learn the plan.”
“Close to them or close to me?”
“Both.”
Hank’s hand closed around the saddle horn. “Get on your horse.”
“Hank.”
“Scout the crossing. Then you ride apart from me.”
Drew looked at the rigid set of his shoulders. “Does this end after dark too?”
Hank mounted without answering.
The crossing lay where the dry creek met a narrow river moving between red banks. Water reached the horses’ chests at the deepest point. The bottom was stone rather than mud, passable if the cattle entered calmly.
Hank tested both approaches.
Drew rode downstream searching for wire, disturbed ground, or tracks. He found boot marks near a cottonwood and a cold fire hidden beneath the bank. Someone had watched the crossing within the last two days.
He called Hank over.
Three cigarette ends lay beside the ashes. Beside them, pressed into damp soil, was the square heel mark of a railroad issue boot.
Hank crouched.
“They know this crossing too,” Drew said.
“Because of your map.”
“Yes.”
“Is there another?”
“Black Tooth Canyon.”
“That is not a crossing. It is a grave with a trail through it.”
“It is narrow enough that a small crew could defend the herd.”
“And narrow enough for men above us to bury it.”
Drew looked toward the northern ridge. “Calvin expects us to use this river. That may be the reason to choose the canyon.”
Hank stood. “You are asking me to rely on advice from the man who gave them the route.”
“I am asking you to understand that I know how they think.”
“Because you are one of them.”
The sentence struck with surgical accuracy.
Drew did not defend himself.
They returned to the herd near sunset.
Hank reported the scouts’ fire to Sam and ordered the drive held south of the river. Then he assigned double watch and moved Drew’s bedroll to the far edge of camp.
No one asked why.
The crew had learned that questions around Hank and Drew often came with consequences.
After supper, Drew sat alone beside his cold fire. He did not expect Hank to come.
Hank arrived when the camp was nearly quiet.
He carried the railroad crest in one hand.
Drew rose.
Hank stopped beyond the firelight. “After sunset.”
Drew understood.
“No lies,” Hank said.
The rule sounded simple enough to destroy them.
Drew looked toward the sleeping camp. “For both of us?”
“Yes.”
“Ask something you are prepared to hear.”
Hank entered the circle and sat across from him. “Is Drew your name?”
“Yes.”
“Is White?”
“No.”
The fire cracked.
“Did you join the drive because your father ordered you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stay for the same reason?”
Drew looked at him. “No.”
“Why did you stay?”
“Because of you.”
Hank’s face remained still, but desire moved through his body with visible force, tightening beneath his trousers. Drew’s response was equally immediate. Even after anger, perhaps because of it, their bodies recognized the truth faster than their minds.
Hank set the crest between them. “Did you know the spring would be poisoned?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the stampede?”
“No.”
“The remuda?”
“No.”
“Do you know who led the riders?”
“Yes.”
Hank’s gaze sharpened.
“Luther Briggs,” Drew said. “He works for my father.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“Because if you hunted him, you might have been killed. Because I needed proof of who gave the order. Because I was afraid you would send me away before I could stop the rest.”
“And because you wanted to keep coming to my bed.”
Drew held his gaze. “Yes.”
The honesty made Hank look away.
Drew fed a stick into the fire. “My turn.”
Hank nodded.
“Did you bring me scouting because you needed my knowledge or because you wanted me alone?”
“Both.”
“Did you intend to send me away before we found the railroad camp?”
“Yes.”
“Do you now?”
“I do not know.”
“Do you believe any part of what happened between us was real?”
Hank answered without hesitation. “All of it.”
Drew’s chest tightened.
“Then why do you look at me as if I have already become Daniel?”
Hank’s face changed.
The rule held. No lies after dark.
“Because I trusted him without seeing the knife,” Hank said. “With you, I see it. I keep offering you my back anyway.”
Drew moved around the fire.
Hank watched him approach but did not rise.
Drew sat beside him, close enough that their knees touched. “What did Daniel take besides money?”
“Men’s wages. Deeds I had signed for winter pasture. A list of cattle buyers.”
“That is what he stole. What did he take from you?”
Hank’s mouth flattened.
Drew waited.
“The belief that wanting a man and trusting him could be the same decision,” Hank said.
The words carried years of solitude.
Drew reached for him, then stopped before contact. “May I?”
Hank looked at the offered hand.
“Yes.”
Drew touched his face.
The trail boss closed his eyes.
Drew stroked the dust from his cheek with his thumb, feeling stubble and heat.
“My father decided every acceptable version of me before I knew there could be another. He approved my clothes, my friends, even the expression I wore in company. When I wanted men, he called it an appetite that could be managed as long as it remained invisible.”
Hank opened his eyes.
“He knew?”
“He knows everything that might be used against me.”
“Has he?”
“Every day.”
Hank’s hand covered Drew’s wrist. “And the trail?”
“The first place I have ever woken and known that the day belonged partly to me. The first place my body has felt like mine.”
Hank looked toward their joined hands. “Even working drag?”
“Especially then.”
A smile threatened at the corner of Hank’s mouth.
Drew leaned closer. “Your turn.”
“What do you want to ask?”
“Nothing.”
“You made the rule.”
“I have my answer.”
Hank’s eyes moved to his mouth. “Which answer?”
Drew kissed him.