"Damn right. Jim Palma. Cultus no good son-of-a-gun."
"You know 'em?"
"Know one," Charley said with stubborn serenity. "Jim Palma. Stomp Umatilla boy down to Selah, one-two year ago. Boy die. Don't know other one."
Rejack came trotting through the trees and demanded to know what was going on. "Maybe we ought to back the thing down, lash it to that cedar," he said when Tesno had explained.
Tesno considered this, then shook his head. "Go ahead with the haul. Let them make their try. Just be sure those boys with the wheel block are on their toes. If—"
A rifle shot rang out from the butte, not much louder than a finger snap, and a ricochet screamed its weird song above them.
"Damn fool," Rejack muttered. "He's giving us a warning. I don't get it."
The rifle cracked again, and now a horse whinnied, plunged in his harness, went down.
"My god," Rejack gasped. "He's shooting at the horses!" He dashed out of the woods, waving his arms and yelling to get the team to cover. As he did so, another shot sounded, and another horse plunged and went down.
Tesno studied the butte, estimating that its top was at least six hundred yards away. Even at that range, it didn't take an expert to hit a twenty-horse team. As he watched, a man stepped into sight at the very brink of the cliff, fired a quick shot which hit nothing, and disappeared into brush and scrub timber.