Conner grinned. “He knows it, but he doesn’t like it. I convinced Major Brisbin that you’re the man I’ve got to have on this patrol.”

“And what makes you think that? What about Ben Mullins or Raymond Red Coyote? They’re both good scouts.” He paused and shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your efforts to try to get me back on the payroll, but I’ve still got a lot of work to do on my cabin.”

“Ah, that cabin ain’t gonna go anywhere,” Conner replied, “and you know you couldn’t stand sitting around up here in these damn woods very long. You’d be back in Bozeman, begging Harvey to let you go back to work. I’m giving you a chance to come back under your terms, and you won’t have to beg Harvey Meade.”

Hawk had to admit that Conner might have a point there, and it was always nice to know he had a job. “What’s so special about this patrol?”

“Why don’t you show some manners and invite me up to your cabin, instead of standing here in the middle of this little stream? Have you got any coffee and something to eat? It’s already suppertime and I’ll tell you all about it while we eat. I know I ain’t going back tonight. It’s already getting dark under these trees.”

Hawk couldn’t help laughing at his good friend. Sometimes he acted like a young kid, but he never came up short when it was time to fight, and Hawk had seen that in more than one engagement. “All right,” he said. “I reckon I can spare a little bit of venison and coffee. Come on.” He turned and started back up the mountain.

Conner followed him, leading his horse. “Venison?” he asked. “Are you talking about old deer jerky you’ve smoked about six months ago? Or are you talking about fresh-killed deer meat?”

“For someone who just invited himself to share my food, you sure are mighty picky. I killed a deer not two hours ago. I was workin’ on it when I heard you shootin’ up the trees.”

“I had to get your attention,” Conner said in defense of his actions. “Hot damn, I haven’t had any fresh venison since the last patrol we were on together.”