Breakfast was eaten in silence. When he returned to the job he grew aware of Jake Harmer’s continued scrutiny. Just before noon dinner break, the foreman found some work to do nearby. “Never did ask what side ya was on durin’ the war,” he said. “Mebbe ya was too young.” “Part of my family fought with Sibley,” Clayt replied. “I didn’t ask for it but they put me in the Quartermaster Corps.” Harmer snorted. “An eatin’ outfit, not a fightin’ outfit! By the time I was the age I figger you t’be now, I was ridin’ with Quantrill. There wasn’t no tougher, harder ridin’, straighter shootin’ outfit on two legs or four.” Clayt clamped his jaws to keep from responding. The double-bitted ax he was using to trim the corral poles burned in his hand. Harmer was about to launch into a detailed description of his infamous career when Buck Tanner called from across the yard. “Hey, Jake! T.K. wants t’see ya, pronto!” Clayt’s lips were compressed in a thin, hard line as he watched the foreman hurry over to the house.
