Clay took the reins of their riding mounts and led the horses to a scrub pine where he could tether them. Roen began to remove his instrument case and tripod from the packhorse.
“Did you hear what I said?” asked Roen when Clay came back to get the pack animal.
“You asked about Ma. I was thinking on how to answer.”
“You have to think about it? Is she all right now or isn’t she?”
“In between, I’d have to say. Not exactly one or the other.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s what I was figuring, so I didn’t answer right away.” Clay removed the canteens but left their provisions on the horse. He led the animal over to the others. “I wasn’t being rude,” he called over his shoulder.
“I realize that.” Roen handed Clay the tripod. “You think you can set that up?”
“Sure. Show me where you want it.”
Roen walked about twenty paces ahead and drew an X in the damp soil with the toe of his boot. “Right here.” When Clay had the tripod in place, Roen set the wye level on it and removed the telescope. He peered through it, locating a pointin the distance to be his marker in the crosshairs. He handed the telescope to Clay. “Have a look. You might have to make an adjustment for your eye. Just turn this dial until everything’s in focus. That’s a wye level on the tripod. It measures elevation.”
While Clay was doing that, Roen took out his compass and turned it in the direction of the line he wanted to survey. True north was to his left. He was facing northeast. According to his map, he was close to the Double H’s boundary line. He returned the compass to the case. “Has Dr. Madison been to the house?”
“No.” He continued to look through the telescope, moving it across the tree line. “I can see the needles on the loblollies. Ain’t that something?”
“Indeed. Do you think the doctor should visit her?”
“Don’t see the point. She’s not sickening for anything. She’s just not herself, or rather she is, but not in a good way.”
As an explanation, it left a lot to be desired. Roen wondered if he should offer to call on her. He hardly had the thought before he rejected it.
“Hannah says she’s grieving.” He handed the telescope back to Roen. “I don’t know about that. My sister has peculiar notions sometimes. I have to remember she’s only ten.”
It didn’t sound all that peculiar to Roen. “Perhaps she’s grieving for your father.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Aren’t you coming up on the time of year he died?”
“That’s still a few months away.” He looked around. “So what do we do now?”
Roen recognized that the subject of Lily Salt was closed. “I need my notebook. It’s in the case. I have a pencil here.” He produced it from his coat pocket. When Clay came back with it, he set the telescope in the level again and then showed Clay how to record the elevation. He exchanged the level for a transit to measure horizontal and vertical angles, explaining the process to Clay as he went. When the information was recorded, Roen told Clay to get the chains from the packhorse.
“For measuring distance,” he said. “This is an engineer’s chain. One hundred feet long with one hundred links. Thereare tally tags every ten feet. Careful. It’s a little heavy. Hold this end while I walk it out.”
The process of measuring, recording, walking, and comparing calculations to the map was repeated throughout the morning. They packed up once to find shelter under an overhang of rock while they waited for another round of rain to move on. It was as good a time as any to open the leather bag of foodstuffs Ellie Butterworth had packed for them. Clay ate with gusto. Roen, only a little less so.
“I guess the only person who makes better fried chicken than Ma is Mrs. Vandergrift,” said Clay.
“Your mother makes fine chili and cornbread.”
“She does. She’s good at a lot of things. You know she works for Mrs. Fish, sewing new things and mending others.”
Roen had removed his coat to sit on and now Clay was giving his garments a critical eye. “What is it?”
Clay shrugged. “I was thinking that Ma could do something about your workin’-outside-of-town clothes. Take them in maybe or just start over. That shirt doesn’t fit you proper and your vest gaps. Your trousers hang kinda funny.”
Roen pointed to his head. “Do you want to say something about my hat?”
“No. A felt derby’s fine, but I like the kind of hat ranchers wear better. Sheriff Ben wears a Stetson.”
