The brim of his hat shadowed his face, large spectacles shielded his eyes, and a dusty layer of charcoal coated his skin. Was he trying to hide himself, make himself appear older and more manly?

If so, he’d done a terrible job. There was no concealing the youthful, delicate lines of his face. How old was he? Sixteen? Maybe seventeen? No doubt the kid had been teased for looking so feminine.

“Where’s this Buster Bliss from?” Jericho asked.

“Denver.” Custer stuffed his hands into his pockets and jangled the silver dollars he’d already collected. “A schoolteacher. Been comin’ up here on the weekends to compete.”

Jericho nodded and kept his expression from revealing anything—something he’d always been good at, just like his dad. The kid wasn’t a schoolteacher. That was obvious. He was too young to have gone to teacher’s training. And he wasn’t from Denver. That was obvious too. A fellow like him wouldn’t have the means to ride up into the high country every weekend.

“So what brings you back to the area?” Custer eyed him warily, almost as if he feared Jericho might demand his job as foreman back.

He’d anticipated the questions, had known he needed to have an excuse for being there, like he always did whenever he hunted for a criminal. This time, if he told people he was just visiting, he’d chance stirring up lots of questions, since he didn’t have a good reason to just visit.

No doubt Rodney James was already expecting a bounty hunter to be coming after him. If the crook got even a whiff that a new lawman was now in the area, he’d take off before Jericho could figure out where he was.

There was too much riding on this hunt, and Jericho had to keep it as secret as possible for as long as possible. The only thing to do was tell everyone he’d missed the West—which was true—and then start making efforts to buy land. It was the most believable tale he’d been able to come up with.

He leaned against the barn again and tried for a casual pose. “Always wanted a ranch of my own. Heard Steele’s selling land for a fair price and figured it’s time to settle down.”

“He’s sold off the best.” Custer spat a glob of tobacco juice into the dirt at their feet. “What’s left ain’t worth piddle.”

Jericho had heard that too. The truth was, it didn’t matter what the quality of the land was like. Once he ferreted out his prey, he had no intention of staying. But in the meantime, he needed a way to mingle in the community without drawing suspicion.

“Guess a man’s got to start somewhere.” Jericho glanced at the distant range and the disappearing sun.