The rider who brought his horse to a stop at the edge of a pine-covered bluff so he could look out over the verdant Tonto Basin country was young, with clean-cut features and dark hair under a thumbed-back Stetson. He sat his saddle with the easy grace of a born horseman, but a certain tenseness gripped him as well, a readiness for trouble.

Lord knew he had ridden into plenty of it here in this corner of Arizona Territory.

The basin rolled away to the northeast. On the far side of it was a dark line marking the Mogollon Rim. The country below the rim was good rangeland for the most part, although in some areas the grass was a little sparse. There were a number of successful ranches in the basin, including the Box D, the spread Dan Hartford rode for.

He was on Box D range now and was supposed to be looking for some cattle that might have strayed in this direction. The herd was bunched in the higher pastures, but for some reason a few cows always got it into their heads to drift back down to the lower reaches of the basin where they had spent the winter.

Dan's eyes searched the landscape below him but didn't spot any of the stock he was looking for. He stiffened in his saddle and turned his horse as he heard hoofbeats approaching from behind him.

A rider emerged from the pines and headed for the edge of the rocky bluff. Dan recognized her instantly. She sat a saddle with the ease and grace of a Western gal, born and bred. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail that hung down her back. She wore a soft flannel shirt, a split riding skirt, and a flat-crowned black hat with a cord pulled snug under her chin.

A sheath strapped to the young woman's saddle carried a short-barreled Winchester carbine. It had been a good while since there had been any Indian trouble around here, but there were always four-legged varmints to think about — and plenty of two-legged ones as well.

The young woman rode up to Dan and reined in. He gave her a curt nod and said, "Mrs. Dempsey."

"Hello, Mr. Hartford," the wife of his employer said, her voice cool but not unfriendly. "What are you doing up here this morning?"

"Looking for stray stock, as usual."

"Have you found any?"

"Not yet. The day's young, though."

Dan heard other horses moving through the trees. Three men rode into view and came straight toward Dan and Mrs. Dempsey.

The rider in the lead had a crisp, military bearing, an impression that his neatly trimmed gray mustache reinforced. His clothes weren't fancy, but they were functional and of high quality, from the boots to the gray Stetson that matched his hair and mustache.

The other two men were clearly ranch hands, one of them lean and middle-aged, the other younger and burlier, with a thatch of blond hair under his sweat-stained hat. His face was either flushed or had a permanent sunburn.

The leader of the group said to the young woman in an annoyed voice, "You shouldn't have galloped off from us like that, Laura. You know there's no telling what you might run into out here."

"I didn't run into anything except Mr. Hartford," Laura Dempsey said. "I don't think he represents any sort of threat, Abel."

Dempsey grunted and seemed unconvinced of that. He said, "What are you doing over here, Hartford?"

Dan was getting a little tired of people asking him that question, but he said, "Just looking for some cows that might have strayed down from the higher pastures."

"I told Dan to do that, Mr. Dempsey," the older of the two cowhands said. "Figured I could spare him from any other chores this mornin'."

Dempsey nodded and said, "All right, then, that's fine. You know I trust your judgment, Lew. That's why you're my foreman." The rancher looked at Dan and made a brusque motion with his head. "Get on with your work, Hartford."

"Sure, boss," Dan said, even though the words tasted a little bitter in his mouth. He lifted his reins and nudged his horse into motion toward the head of the trail that led down into the basin.

He heard Dempsey say behind him, "Come along, Laura, and don't run off like that again. I know you're young and impulsive, but you're too reckless. You're going to ride right into trouble one of these days."

"I'm sure I won't as long as I have you around to look after me, Abel," Laura said.

Dan looked back to see her turning her horse and falling in alongside her husband as Dempsey rode away. Lew Martin, who ramrodded the Box D for Dempsey, and the stocky cowboy, Jube Connolly, followed them back into the trees.

They had been quick to ask him what he was doing, thought Dan, but none of them had offered any explanations for their presence here. Of course, that wasn't surprising. This was Dempsey's range, and he had a right to go wherever he wanted. And as a rich man, he wasn't in the habit of explaining himself to any of the hombres who worked for him.

As a rich man's wife, Laura was the same way, Dan supposed. Martin and Connolly were employees, and it wasn't their place to speak up.

Dan told himself to concentrate on the chore that had brought him to this part of the ranch and not waste time brooding over situations he couldn't do anything about.

He had been riding through the basin for another fifteen minutes or so, still without spotting any strays, when he heard hoofbeats drumming rapidly behind him. He reined in and turned his horse, moving his hand to the well-worn butt of the gun on his hip as he did so.

Even though this was a basin, the elevation was still high enough that the air didn't get as hot as it did farther south, closer to the border, but the day was still warm enough that no Westerner worth his salt would run a horse that hard unless there was a good reason.

Dan spotted the rider and recognized him, but that didn't make him relax. If anything, the tension inside him increased. He didn't particularly like Jube Connolly, and since Jube had been with Dempsey, Laura, and Lew Martin just a short time earlier, his presence here made Dan think something might have happened to one of those three.

"Something wrong, Jube?" Dan called to the florid-faced puncher as Connolly reined in.

"The boss sent me to talk to you," Connolly replied. He swung down from the saddle and added, "Light down from that horse."

A puzzled frown creased Dan's face, but he did as Connolly said. As he stood there holding his mount's reins, he asked, "When you say the boss, do you mean Lew or Mr. Dempsey?"

"Mr. Dempsey," Connolly replied. He moved closer. "He's got a message he wants me to give you."

Dan was more confused than ever. He said, "What sort of message?"

"This," Connolly said.

He uncorked a sudden punch that took Dan by surprise. Connolly's blocky fist crashed into Dan's jaw and sent him reeling back as his hat flew off his head. He lost his balance and sat down hard, thankfully not landing on any of the cactus plants that were scattered around here.

He was stunned, and pain from the blow filled his head, but he was able to exclaim, "What the hell!"

Instinctively, his hand went to his gun again. Connolly rushed him, and just as Dan cleared leather, the toe of Connolly's boot smacked into the wrist of his gun hand. The revolver went flying from Dan's fingers and landed in the dirt several yards away.

"Damn it! Jube, what — "

Connolly reached down, grabbed hold of Dan's shirt, and hauled him to his feet. Connolly's...