Maybe the races weren’t the place to ask around if anyone had seen horses with the Collins’ brand. It had seemed the best place to talk with the most people, but they weregathered so thick, it was impossible to start a conversation without being jostled too close or too far away to speak easily.
Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he should just hold out the paper with the marking drawn and start calling out like a street vendor. It might get him further than trying to squeeze through narrow openings and look for people he knew. And he had to start now, or he’d never make progress before the chaos of the race began.
He lifted the sketch. “Hey, fellas, looking for a horse with a marking like this branded on its shoulder. Have you seen anything?”
A few men looked his way and glanced at the paper in his hand. One only gave it a quick look, but the other two peered closer. All three shook their heads.
“Don’t look familiar.”
“That’s different enough that I’d know if I’d seen it.”
He nodded his thanks, then moved past them and raised his voice so another group could hear him. Mostly the same reaction there. One man thought he might’ve seen it a year or so back on a horse another trapper rode. He didn’t know the man’s name, though, and could only mark the place as “a couple weeks north o’ here in the mountains.”
Five more times Riley asked all within hearing distance as he lifted his voice over the rumble of the crowd.
Then a shout broke through his questioning. “Line them up, boys! Not a move till you hear the gunshot.”
All eyes turned to the racetrack in front of them, including those of the men Riley had just been speaking to. He lowered the paper. He wouldn’t get their attention again until after this heat had finished and all wagers were satisfied.
He was several rows back, but he could still see the horses in the distance that would be running. Four mounts in this race. Would Slim be riding one? Dragoon really should look into having the man run his little mare if he planned to race her again at this rendezvous. She might actually have a chance with a smaller rider.
The gun fired, and the horses sprinted forward. The crowd surged, shouts roaring all around him. The track wasn’t long, just far enough to let the animals really stretch their legs for about a half minute. One animal fell behind near the end, but the other three finished close. There might be some arguing over who placed where.
After a few minutes of conversation, the murmuring among the onlookers rose. The talk sounded like friendly rivalry now, but if a winner wasn’t announced soon, those who’d wagered the higher stakes might get impatient.
At last, a man led one of the horses from the group, its rider still sitting atop. The fellow on the ground waved his hat to the crowd. “She won, boys. My Liliana won.”
A roar swept them up as trappers surged forward. The chaos would make it impossible for Riley to show the sketch to anyone else for a while, not until the men cleared the racetrack as they prepared for another round of races.
He ambled toward the starting line, where another set of mounts were being saddled. If he could talk with some of those who were paid jockeys, he might make some progress in the search. They saw quite a bit of horseflesh and were up close enough to notice a marking branded on the animal’s shoulder.
A handful of men worked to ready the three horses that must be running in the next race. Only one fellow appearedshort and lean enough to be one of the hired riders. He stood at the head of a paint mare, stroking it as someone else strapped on the saddle.
Riley walked toward him, and when the fellow glanced his way, recognition slipped in. Slim, the man who’d ridden the horse that beat Dragoon’s mare. He would be a good one to ask.
Riley stopped a few steps back to allow the men room to work, but close enough to speak.
Slim shifted to look at Riley more fully. “You need something?”
Riley eyed him. “You’re Slim, right? The one who’s been riding so many of the winners?”
The man dipped his chin in a single nod. A hint of pride stretched in the set of his shoulders, but not as much as most men’s would have after such a remark. He was watching Riley with a shrewd look. Maybe he thought Riley had come to hire him, but he didn’t ask.
Riley pulled out the paper. “I have a question. For all of you, really.” He glanced at the two other men working on the horse, then back at Slim. “I figure you’ve seen a lot of horseflesh. I’m looking for the owner of a horse who has a brand on its shoulder like this one. Two horses, actually, a chestnut mare and a paint stallion. Does this look familiar to you?”
The man studied the paper. His gaze flicked up to Riley for a single heartbeat before dropping to the page again. His expression seemed casual, maybe too casual, as he shook his head. “Horses in these parts don’t usually have markings burned into their hide. A lot of what I ride are Indian ponies the trappers have traded for.”
Was that a no? He hadn’t actually said the word, though his statements had implied it. “So you haven’t seen a horse marked with this symbol?”
Slim lifted his focus to Riley, and his mouth curved in a sympathetic smile. “Can’t help you. Sorry.”
A ripple of frustration pressed through him. He’d known this was a long shot to find the two horses. He turned to the other two. “Do either of you recognize this?”
The burly man studied it, then looked at Riley, much as Slim had done. But this time his eyes roamed down Riley’s form and back up again, as though taking his measure. “The horse been stolen?”
It was a likely question, especially with so many animals going missing at this rendezvous. But something about the way the man asked it tightened his gut. He shook his head. “No, just trying to locate the owner. Have something to give back to them.”
The fellow nodded. “Haven’t seen the animal. Titus, that marking look familiar?”
