Free Rivers West by Louis L’Amour Page B

graceful as a cat, which came from living in the woods and mountains. I’d done more than a bit of that myself. Jobs for a man with tools were often far apart, and I’d traveled by boat, canoe, and foot through much of eastern Canada, building boats, bridges, and barns.
    I liked him. He was a wary, careful man who gave nothing in the way of advantage. When he sat down it was with his back to the wall, where he could watch doors and windows. From the way he did it, it was easily seen as a matter of habit, not a sometime thing.
    Abigail Higgs who had been expected to join us in Haverhill, had gone upstairs to Miss Majoribanks’ room. When they came down to join us at the table, Miss Majoribanks knew about Butlin. Nor did she waste time.
    â€œMr. Butlin,” she held out a hand, “I am Miss Majoribanks. You come from the western lands?”
    â€œIt has been two months,” he said. “My brother was sick, and I came to speak with him, but his body was buried before I could come to his side.”
    â€œI am sorry. Will you join our party?”
    â€œI reckon I have, Miss. John Daniel here, he asked me.”
    She turned her eyes on me. “You presume too much! This is my party! I shall suggest who will join us!”
    â€œSorry,” I said briefly, “I was not aware that I was of your party. We are traveling in the same way, toward an identical destination. I feel free to invite whom I wish.”
    She turned her shoulder to me. “You
will
join us?” she said to Butlin.
    â€œI reckon I will, Miss,” he replied gently. “But if there’s to be a split, I joined him first.”
    Abruptly, she turned away and went to the table. Whatever she had planned to ask him remained unasked, and I had an idea what the questions would be. Surely, in a country of so few white men, a man named Majoribanks would not have gone unnoticed.
    We took to the road with the sun barely over the tops of the trees, but on this morning it was I who led the way—and with my own reasons. There had been a brief shower in the night, and I wanted to look at the road. My uneasiness was still upon me, and, though there seemed no reason for it, I am not a man easily disturbed, and felt a warning in the air.
    Twice I drew up and studied the dust in the road. Calgary Butlin came up beside me. “Early travelers,” he commented, and I thought there was a somewhat ironic note in his voice.
    â€œBefore daylight, wouldn’t you say?” I asked.
    He walked his horse on a bit, studying the tracks. “Rained about an hour after midnight,” he said. “This was after the rain. Maybe two, three o’clock. You were first down. You hear anything?”
    Had I? I thought about that. Maybe a sound was the reason for that uncomfortable feeling I had.
    â€œI don’t think so,” I said. “It was a mite after four when I rolled out, and day was breaking. There was light but no sun when I came down.”
    He nodded. “Something woke me. Might have been horses.” He looked at the dust. “Two riders. Unlikely they would camp out so close to the inn, and unlikely they’d ride all night.”
    â€œYou think somebody was scouting us?”
    â€œCould be. There’s thieves aplenty in the woods.”
    We rode on for a few miles and then he suggested, “Can you get Macaire up here?”
    I called him. “Macaire?”
    When he reached us, Butlin explained about the tracks, and then he said, “I spent a summer hereabouts as a boy. There’s a trail leads across country…old Indian trail to Albany.”
    Macaire thought a moment. “Is it closer that way?”
    â€œCloser by miles.”
    â€œAll right.”
    The tracks went on along at a good pace, but Butlin suddenly turned and dipped into the trees at a point where I’d not have guessed there’d be a trail. Then he pointed it out to us, a dim narrow track leading off