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trouble. That’s the wildest kind of country down there, and the Injuns have been cutting up something fierce. Anyway, Rody Brennan never had no mine that I know of.”
    “Where could he get that kind of money?”
    Pat shrugged. “Now, there’s a question,” he said. “I don’t know any way he could have done it honest. Rody drove spikes on the UP out of Omaha. By the time they were halfway across Nebraska he was a boss track-layer. When they drove the Golden Spike here at Promontory he was there with a bottle in his hand, and Rody was a fair-to-middlin’ drinker when he set his mind to it.
    “Rody drove stage to Salt Lake for a while, then he went off prospectin’ into the hills, but he always came back to Promontory and Corinne. They’ve got a gun-shootin’ marshal at Corinne. Daniel Ryan’s his name, and he was an officer in the army durin’ the late war. Rody was his friend.
    “Come to think of it,” Pat went on, “Ryan’s the man the lady should talk to. He knew a sight more about Rody Brennan than the rest of us. But I never saw Rody with no money, not more’n he could be rid of in a day or two of drinking or gambling.”
    Brionne took out a cigar and lighted it. From where he stood, he could see Mat standing beside their supplies in front of the store. Actually, he had been there only a few minutes, and Brionne had been watching to be sure he was all right.
    It was a busy street. Men crowded by, men of every stamp and kind: Scandinavian or German farmers looking for a place to locate, teamsters from the freight wagons, cowboys, railroad men, and drifters. A stage was loading to carry passengers south. The railroad had not yet put the stage out of business, although the tracks ran parallel to the road in places…but to the south there were no tracks as yet.
    Brionne walked up the street to where Mat was waiting and picked up the heavy sacks. He placed the first one easily on his shoulder and took the other by the top. With Mat beside him, he walked back to the livery stable.
    Pat spoke to them as they came up. “Come over to the house,” he said. “You can eat with us.”
    Brionne hesitated, then agreed. Mat seemed pleased, for some reason. Did he fear his father’s cooking that much? Or was it because he was tired?
    “All right, Pat. We’ll come.” He paused. “By the way, what became of Dutton Mowry?”
    “Him? He drifted off somewhere.” Pat’s manner was vague.
    “Known him long?”
    “A while. He comes and he goes, like all of these drifters.”
    Which told him exactly nothing, Brionne decided. Nor, judging by Pat’s attitude, was he going to learn anything more from him.
    Where had Mowry been when that shot was fired at him?
    Chapter 5
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    I T WAS CHARACTERISTIC of James Brionne that he made his decision instantly, saying nothing of it to anyone.
    Miranda Loften was there, with Pat’s small family and two members of the train crew who boarded with them when in Promontory. One of the trainmen casually mentioned that they were going east with a lot of empties.
    When supper was over, Brionne followed the trainman to the door to get a breath of air, and offered him a cigar.
    “Those empty cars you mentioned…”
    “Yeah?”
    “How much would it cost to carry my son, myself, and four horses to Corinne, or some point east of there? And say nothing to anyone?”
    “If you’re a friend of Pat’s it will cost you nothing.”
    “One thing…I want to load up in the dark.” He could see doubt in the man’s eyes, and he explained. “Somebody took a shot at me in Cheyenne. I don’t know why, but I think they’ve followed me here. I do not want trouble, with my boy along.”
    The details completed, they went inside again. Just inside the door Brionne said, “You must have known Rody Brennan—did he have any money?”
    “Rody?” The brakeman chuckled. “Any time Rody had any money the bartenders got it…or his friends. That mick was the greatest guy you ever saw. He’d do