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 fancy price at the sawmill.”
“He wouldn’t dare touch this forest on the left,” Jim explained. “It’s public-domain land. The trees belong to the United States government.”
“What would happen if he did cut them down?” Joey asked.
“He’d be fined and imprisoned. Government timber, such as this, is under the protection of the Bureau of Land Management. Anyone who cut it would be charged with timber trespass.”
“That’s right,” Pete said. “They call it ‘timber rustlin’.’ Instead of stealin’ horses, they’d be stealin’ trees. The Federal foresters an’ the FBI’d clap ’em behind bars the minute they found out about it.” He turned to Jim. “Matter of fact, I never knowed this here was gov’ment timber. Must be a big temptation to Yancey, havin’ all them fine trees right next to his own property.”
“There you go again,” said Jim, annoyed. “Believing the worst of a man before you’ve even met him.”
The screech of the power saw became louder as they rode forward. In a moment they rounded a bend and came upon the logging operation in full swing. A small donkey engine added to the din. As the riders came into view, the logging crew of four men looked up in surprise. At a hand signal from one of them, the noise ceased. The man who had given the signal threaded his way over the fallen logs and approached the visitors with a stern expression on his face. His chin and cheeks were darkened by a three-day growth of whiskers, and his boots and mackinaw were covered with sawdust.
“Good morning,” said Jim pleasantly. “Is Mr. Yancey here?”
“I’m Mark Yancey,” the man snapped. “Who’re you?”
“We’re from the Broken Wheel, a horse ranch down in the valley. My name’s Jim Newton.” Jim thrust his hand down for a shake, but Yancey paid no attention to it. Jim smiled. “This is Pete Wilkie, my foreman; and the boy is my son, Joey.”
Yancey peered at Joey through a pair of bushy eyebrows. “Joey, huh? I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”
“Yes sir,” Joey answered shyly. “Last summer, when I came up with a friend to camp out. We made a mistake and camped on your property. You chased us off.”
Yancey scowled. “Oh yes, now I remember. You were ridin’ a black horse.”
“That’s right,” Joey said eagerly. “Fury. That’s why we rode up here today, Mr. Yancey, to look . . .”
“We’re sorry to interrupt your work, Mr. Yancey,” Jim cut in, “but we’re trying to get to Blazing Ridge.”
“Then why the devil didn’t you follow the trail? You’re way off base.”
“We know that, sir, but the bridge was out. The only way we could get to the ridge was across this property. Would you be kind enough to give us permission?”
“Why? What’s so important on the Ridge?”
“A herd of mustangs is wintering up there,” Jim explained. “Early this morning Joey’s horse, Fury, broke away from the ranch and we think he might’ve gone to join the herd.”
Yancey’s eyes showed a flicker of interest. Turning, he addressed one of his men who was shambling toward the group. “Hey, Bud, you hear that?”
“Hear what?” the man asked blankly.
Yancey disregarded the question and spoke to Jim. “This is Bud Snape, my loggin’ boss.”
Jim gave Snape a polite greeting. Snape, a hulking man dressed in dirty work clothes, flicked the edge of his woolen cap with his middle finger.
“These riders are from a horse ranch down below,” Yancey told Snape. “I bet you can’t guess what they’re lookin’ for.”
Snape frowned. “Nah, how could I? I’m no mind reader.”
“They’re lookin’ for a black horse that ran off last night.”
Snape, who seemed a little slow at understanding, thrust a grimy finger under his cap and scratched his head. A few seconds later his broad, flat face lighted up, and he flashed a broken-toothed grin. “No kiddin’,” he said. “I’ll be doggoned.” He looked up at Jim. “So that black critter belonged to you, huh?”
Joey leaned forward eagerly. “You mean you saw Fury?”
Snape wrinkled his forehead. “Saw what?”
“Fury. My horse.”
Yancey broke in angrily. “Yes. We saw Fury. He raced through these woods like an express train. Knocked over a stack of empty oil drums and woke everybody up.”
Pete guffawed. “That’s Fury, all right.”
Yancey glared at Pete. “It’s no laughin’ matter. He might’ve done a lot of damage.”
Joey was anxious to get going. “Come on, Jim, let’s look for him.”
“Easy, Joey, we will,” said Jim. He turned to Yancey. “We’re sorry that our horse caused you so much trouble. If any damage was done, I’ll gladly pay for it.”
Snape spoke up. “Don’t worry, mister, yer horse didn’t bust anythin’. Just made a heck of a racket, that’s all. ’Specially when he ran back through here with a white mare.”
“A white mare?” said Jim. “Are you sure?”
“An’ how. That
