be there,” Jim assured him. “I’ll bet you a new saddle we’ll find him with the wild-horse herd.” He placed his arm around Joey’s shoulder. “Okay son? Satisfied?”
Joey sighed. “I guess so, Jim.”
“Good boy. Now let’s all try to catch a few hours of shut-eye.”
“Smart idee,” Pete said. An’ when we git up, I’ll build us a breakfast of pork chops an’ flapjacks. That’ll give our stummicks a little somethin’ to work on durin’ the ride.”
Dejectedly, Joey returned to his room and closed the door.
“You know somethin’, Jim?” Pete whispered. “Durned if I don’t think that boy’s jest plain, downright jealous.”
Jim nodded. “I think you’re right, but it’s understandable. Jealousy’s a natural instinct, too.”
It was breaking light as the search party rode through the gate of the Broken Wheel and turned into the trail across the meadow that led westward to the high country. Jim took the lead on his bald-faced sorrel; Joey rode second on a calico pony; and Pete brought up the rear on Cactus, his favorite gelding.
At the breakfast table they had discussed their search plans.
“Last week,” Jim began, “when I rode up to check the wild herds, the largest one was wintering on Blazing Ridge.”
“How many head you figger’s in that partic’lar herd?” Pete asked.
“I’d say close to fifty.”
“It’s been a hard winter. How’d they look?”
“They seemed in pretty good condition. There was one mare among them that I hadn’t seen before. She’s snow white and a real beauty.”
Joey looked up from his plate, frowning. “Do you think that’s where Fury went?”
Jim shrugged. “It’s a possibility. Anyway, since that herd’s on Blazing Ridge, it’s the one we’ll check first.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Well, this is one morning we can leave the dishes in the sink. Let’s put on our cold-weather gear, saddle up, and get going.”
Twenty minutes later they started out. Two-thirds of the way across the meadow trail, they took the left fork and headed for Blazing Ridge. After an hour of riding, as they entered the edge of the forest, Jim raised his hand and turned in his saddle.
“What’s up?” Pete called.
Jim pointed as his companions pulled even with him. The timbered bridge that had carried the trail across a wide mountain stream had been washed away. “It must’ve been that sudden thaw we had last week,” Jim said. “Between the ice and the rushing water, the bridge didn’t stand a chance.”
Gosh, there’s always something,” Joey complained. “Here we are, in a hurry to find Fury, and we can’t get across the stream.”
“That’s the way it always is,” Pete grumbled. “Nothin’ ever comes easy.”
Joey brought his mount to the bank of the icy stream, looked down, and called over his shoulder. “Can’t we ease our horses down the bank and ride across?”
“We can’t ask horses to do that,” Jim answered sharply. “That water’s below freezing.”
“But, Jim, we’ve got to get up to the ridge.”
“That’s right, Joey, and we will.”
“But how?”
“By using our brains.” Jim pointed off to the right. “We’ll have to make a long detour in that direction. That way we’ll get to the herd without having to cross the stream.”
Pete made a wry face. “That means we’ll hafta cross Mark Yancey’s property.”
“That’s right. But Mr. Yancey won’t mind, once we explain our problem.”
“I bet he’ll be plenty mad, though,” Joey said. “He’s a pretty disagreeable character.”
Pete nodded. “You kin say that agin. He’s the most unfriendly cuss I ever heerd of. A real pain in the collar button.”
“Why?” Jim asked. “What did Yancey ever do to you fellows?”
“Well, I don’t know about Pete,” Joey said, “but last summer, when Packy and I went camping in the hills, Mr. Yancey chased us away. He was real mean about it, too.”
“Were you on his property by any chance?”
“Well, yes,” Joey admitted. “But just over the edge.”
“In that case he was within his rights.” Jim turned to Pete. “Now what did Yancey ever do to you?”
Pete’s eyes wavered. “Wal, nothin’ that you could rightly put yer finger on. But all the ranchers in the valley tell me he’s as mean as a wet polecat.”
Jim pushed his hat back with his thumb. “You’re certainly a fine pair of character assassins. You’ve blackened a man’s reputation on no evidence at all.” He brought his horse around. “Come on. Let’s ride up and find out what kind of a man Mr. Yancey really is.”
Mark Yancey was a lumberman who had moved from the Northwest several years earlier and bought a large tract of woodland adjacent to Blazing Ridge. Since his arrival, he had carried out logging operations in all seasons of the year. Although a small part of his acreage contained vigorous, productive stands of timber, the greater portion was poorly stocked; and he had made no attempt to put the land back to work by planting new seedlings.
Several well-meaning lumbermen had advised Yancey to replant trees for a future yield, but he had paid no attention to them. In addition, he cut his timber carelessly, with little advance planning. Jim pointed out this obvious fact as the riders skirted the edge of Yancey’s timber tract, seeking the road into the property. Hundreds of stumps could be seen among damaged trees.
“Look at those trees with their bark scraped off,” Jim said. “That makes them an easy prey to rot.”
Pete clucked his tongue. “You kin see Yancey ain’t very careful when he’s cuttin’ his trees.”
“Careless falling and tractor operation can ruin a fine, growing forest,” Jim added. “A little care would’ve saved damage to those trees left standing.”
“An’ lookit them high stumps,” Pete said. “Cuttin’ trees so high up off the ground is a waste of money an’ timber.”
From deep in the woods came the shrill screech of a power saw.
“They’re working in there,” Joey said in surprise. “I didn’t know they cut trees in the wintertime.”
“Logging can be done all year around,” Jim explained. “Of course, it’s cheaper in summer than in winter because of the snow problem, but winter logging has a few advantages, too. Machines and man power are easier to get at this time of year, and the rate of pay is lower.”
Pete grunted. “I bet Yancey’s a skinflint, too—as well as a pain in the collar button.”
Jim shot the rambunctious old man a look of disgust, but made no comment.
“Anyway,” Joey said, “I just hope Mr. Yancey’s seen Fury, that’s all I care about.”
“If we should bump into Mr. Yancey or any of his men,” Jim advised, “you’d better let me do most of the talking.”
After another fifteen minutes of silent riding, they came to a rutted skid trail. Yancey’s property on their right was studded with stumps, while the trees on the left were uncut.
“I wonder why Yancey ain’t logged that other side,” Pete said. “Sech healthy-lookin’ trees’d fetch a mighty