The captain of the rangers met him eye to eye. He did not like this fellow. His reputation was bad. In the old days he had been a rustler, rumor said. Since the affair of the Tolliver girl he had been very sulky and morose. This had culminated in the killing of the Ute. What the facts were about this Harshaw did not know. The man might be enlisting to satisfy a grudge or to make himself safe against counter-attack by helping to drive the Indians back to the reservation. The point that stood out was that Houck was a first-class fighting man. That was enough.
“We mean business, Houck. Glad to have you join us. But get this straight. I’ll not have you startin’ trouble in camp. If you’ve got a private quarrel against any of the boys it will have to wait.”
“I ain’t aimin’ to start anything,” growled Houck. “Not till this job’s finished.”
“Good enough. Hear or see anything of the Utes as you came?”
“No.”
“Which way you come?”
Houck told him. Presently the two men walked back toward the chuck-wagon.
“Meet Mr. Houck, boys, any of you that ain’t already met him,” said Harshaw by way of introduction. “He’s going to trail along with us for a while.”
The situation was awkward. Several of those present had met Houck only as the victim of their rude justice the night that June Tolliver had swum the river to escape him. Fortunately the cook at that moment bawled out that supper was ready.
Afterward Blister had a word with Bob and Dud while he was arranging sentry duty with them.