“Upriver,” Luffsey acknowledged. “We was cutting the Markee’s fence. I cut two more today.” He watched to see how Roosevelt would take that.

Roosevelt said, “You’re the chap who gave that Lunatic a race. The fastest runner in Dakota, they were saying.”

It seemed to please Luffsey. “There’s not even an Indian can outrun me, sir.”

After an exchange of pleasantries about the weather, the condition of the trail from Medora and two sightings of game, Luffsey turned to Dutch Reuter. “I don’t know if you heard—some boys with rifles punched some holes in the château the other night.”

There followed Roosevelt’s interested “Great Scott!”

“Shot the house up?” Dutch seemed delighted.

Roosevelt said, “Anyone hurt?”

“Naw. Only the Markee’s pride. And his wife busted her bustle.” Luffsey snickered.

Roosevelt said, “I’m not sure I find that amusing.”

Dutch said in a careful voice, “Who did it? They know?”

“Johnny Goodall hired some Indian and they found some tracks but they got lost in the river. Could’ve been anybody. Nobody knows a thing.” Wil Dow saw the private-seeming glance that the visitor traded with Dutch. There was an undercurrent here that he had trouble tracing.

Luffsey said, “The Markee’s posted guards all around the place now. Forted up like you wouldn’t believe. Says he’s just protecting his wife and babies—but they got enough guns for a middlin’ war.”

Shrewd old Uncle Bill Sewall said, “You rode thirty miles down here to tell us about that?”

Luffsey showed his palms in a gesture of candor. “They are saying Jerry Paddock told the Markee that old Dutch here was one of the shooters.” He said to Dutch, “Paddock’s had it in for you. He told the Markee how you were in the Prussian army—how you fought in the Franco-Prussian War against France.”

Dutch Reuter was indignant. “Me? Me? Hell, I never in any army been. Never in no war fought. Me? Hell.”

Luffsey was astonished. “Dutch, I was in Bob Roberts’s place—I heard you boast about your soldiering.”

Dutch blandly said, “Such a thing I not possibly could have said. Because it is not true.”

Luffsey said, “You were drunk.”

Dutch said, “Ah, well then,” and blessed them with a big beaming smile.

Uncle Bill Sewall uttered a disgusted sigh.

Young Riley Luffsey said to Dutch, “I thought you’d want to know. They think you had a hand in it and they could be waiting next time you go into town. And by the way—any man hires you ought to know it’s asking for trouble with the Markee.”

That last was addressed to Dutch Reuter but it was meant for Roosevelt. Wil Dow watched his employer with close interest.

Roosevelt studied Luffsey’s callow face. There was a certain gloom in his face when he said, “I’m not worried about whether or not I may place myself in Mr. De Morès’s bad graces. Several days ago I had a word with him about a matter of possible contention and I believe I have made my neutrality clear to him and headed off any possible differences between us. There’s plenty of room for everyone in this vast country.”

Dutch Reuter said, “About that you not can be sure. If you wish me to be on my way—”

“Nonsense. You have a job here as long as you want it. I won’t be intimidated by rumors.”

Riley Luffsey flashed a quick nervous smile. “Well it’s nice to see you gents.” He got on his horse and rode back the way he had come, leaving Wil Dow a bit mystified and a bit uneasy.

An hour later Roosevelt came down into the meadow where the three men were putting the last corral rails into their posts. The boss was leading a pack animal on which sizable bundles depended. His own saddle was double-scabbarded—rifle and shotgun. He rode a big blaze-faced sorrel gelding he’d bought from A.C. Huidekoper; the horse was called Manitou and seemed to have taken a liking to Roosevelt—it had learned to follow the boss around and nibble at his elbow until the boss gave up the crust of bread he kept ready.

“We need meat for the camp,” he said. “I leave you men to continue construction.”

Wil Dow said, “If you need help—”

“Thank you. I don’t care for company.” Roosevelt rode away.

The log house went up quickly. Indoors it had the shine and scent of new lumber. By the time the boss returned from his solitary hunt there was a roof for his head and he expressed satisfaction.

There always seemed to be sick cattle to be nurtured and bogged cattle to be freed. Wil Dow took his lessons from Dutch Reuter and there was time enough in each day for playfulness as well: he learned to spin his riata loop and ride backwards and wrestle calves.

When the water was at all high, they found it was not possible to ford the river. Roosevelt had ordered a Mackinaw boat. It was shipped in by rail from St. Paul. They had rented a wagon from Jerry Paddock to haul the boat out to the ranch. The flat-bowed scow was no more than a skiff but it was big enough to take three or four men across the river and stout enough to withstand the severe currents.

The boss had been in the Bad Lands a couple months by now and had spent much of the time out on his own, living off the land. He seemed to be gathering strength bit by bit; he seemed to Wil Dow a little less dispirited as the weeks went by. But he still preferred his own company and he remained subdued by comparison with his old self.

Finally one day the three of them—Roosevelt and Dow and Sewall—left Dutch behind to tend the ranch while they rode up on the escarpment to bring down outlying strays and to stop by Mrs. Reuter’s place so that Roosevelt could collect his new buckskin suit.

They found the woman in the vegetable garden sitting on a stool with a churn secured between her knees. It contained cream from the cow; she swung the handle sturdily, conserving strength for the long patient work of making the butter and then kneading and bricking it.

Three Indians on tangle-maned ponies were rushing away from the shack.

“Sioux,” Mrs. Reuter said. “They were hungry so I fed them. They get an average of one good meal a week. But they heard you coming.”

“Why,” Roosevelt said, “what are they afraid of?”

“Axelby tried to steal their horses. They caught him and got their horses back.”

Bill Sewall said, “Who’s Axelby?”

“Neighbor of yours. Twelve, fifteen miles upriver. And I guess you could say he was a horse thief.”

Wil Dow perked up. “They scalp him?”

“No,” Mrs. Reuter said, “they just disarmed him and turned him loose. Now they’re making a run for the tribe before anyone can come after them. I think they were afraid you might be Axelby with a posse. There’s a big party of them camped six or seven miles north of here. I think they’ve been hunting in the Killdeers.”

Roosevelt said to Sewall, “Stealing horses seems to be an Indian game. One steals another’s horse, the other steals it back.”

Mrs. Reuter said, “It used to be more serious than that but we have got them scared half to death. It’s not fair at all. I told them I didn’t see why they should have let that man go. What makes it right for Axelby to steal an Indian’s horse if it’s a crime to steal a white man’s? I told them if they ever see Axelby again, they ought to take his horse—and if he objects, kill him. I’d never tell on them!” She set the churn aside and stood up. She looked heavy, as if she felt full with the weight of herself. “Come inside, then.”

When Dutch Reuter had heard their destination he had told Wil this much: he used to live in the soddy with that woman but she had sassed him and he had set out to beat her and she had damn near broke his face with a stove-lid lifter and called in a couple of passing Indians to haul him away.

Since then Dutch had left her peacefully in full possession of the house. He advised Wil to give that woman wide berth.

Now Wil Dow heard Mrs. Reuter’s version. She had ejected her husband, she said, after “such profanity as I never expect to hear again.”