Connolly didn’t answer. Instead he started cursing again. Dan blew out his breath in an exasperated sigh and shook his head.
“All right, I’ll just ride away and leave you like this,” he said. “How about that?”
“No! . . . Damn it, all right. I won’t try anything else.”
“Do I need to bend a gun barrel over your head to make sure of that?”
Connolly shook his head, grimacing because evidently that made his face hurt even more.
“No. Just get the blasted things outta me.”
Dan holstered his gun and said, “Sit up where I can reach you.”
He hunkered on his heels in front of Connolly, off to the side a little so it would be more difficult for the man to attack him if Connolly changed his mind. Dan was alert for trouble, but Connolly didn’t do anything except cuss a blue streak as Dan plucked the cactus needles from his cheeks, chin, and forehead. Connolly couldn’t very well throw any punches when his hands looked like pincushions.
“You look a little like a porcupine,” Dan said with a wry smile.
“Shut up and get on with it,” Connolly growled.
When Dan had all the spines out of the burly puncher’s face, he straightened to his feet and backed off.
“You can pull the ones out of your hands yourself,” he said. “Use your teeth if you have to. Just be careful you don’t get any stuck in your tongue.”
“That’ll take a long time,” Connolly protested.
“Yeah, I know, and I plan to be a long way from here by the time you finish. Don’t try and jump me when we’re both back in the bunkhouse tonight, either.”
“You’re gonna be sorry you ever met me, mister.”
“I already am,” Dan said.
He picked up his hat, slapped it against his thigh to knock some of the dust off it, and swung up into the saddle. He turned his horse and rode off, leaving Jube Connolly sitting there carefully picking cactus needles out of his palms.
Anger and disgust filled Dan, and a good chunk of those emotions was directed at himself. He was mad at Abel Dempsey for sending Connolly to give him a thrashing, and he was mad at Connolly for following that order so eagerly. But a lot of the trouble was his own fault because he should have known better than to come here to the Tonto Basin, to the Box D, where Abel Dempsey lived with his beautiful young wife.
Dan shoved those thoughts out of his head. Despite everything that had happened, he still had work to do, so he set about scouring the rangeland for those strays.
He found the wandering cattle, but working alone, it took him most of the day to do it. It was late afternoon before he was satisfied he had located all the missing stock and started driving the jag back toward the higher pastures.
His muscles were stiff and sore from the fight with Connolly, and his belly growled. He’d had a couple of biscuits left over from breakfast wrapped up in a cloth in one of his saddlebags, along with some jerky, so he’d made a midday meal out of that and washed it down with water from his canteen. He was looking forward to getting back to the bunkhouse and putting himself on the outside of some real grub as well as a few cups of coffee.
When Dan reached the higher pastures, he turned the cattle over to Hamp Jones and Charley Bartlett, the cowboys who were staying in the line shack up here.
“Don’t lose ’em this time,” Dan told them with a smile that took any sting out of the words.
“We’ll try not to, but you know how damn muleheaded these critters can be,” Hamp said.
“They’re cows,” Charley pointed out. “I don’t see how they can be muleheaded.”
“Yeah, well, cowheaded ain’t a word, as far as I know,” Hamp responded.
Dan left them to their good-hearted wrangling and headed for the ranch headquarters.
Night had fallen by the time he got there. By now supper was over, but he knew the stove-up old cowboy turned cook Willie Hill would have saved him some. He rode into the barn and started to unsaddle his horse in the dark, not needing a light to carry out a task he had performed thousands of times.
He wondered as he did so how Jube Connolly had explained the scores of little puncture wounds on his hands and face. Any seasoned range rider could guess that Connolly had landed in some cactus, but he wouldn’t know the reason why.
Dan had just slung his saddle on one of the stands when he heard a soft step behind him. He turned quickly, his hand going to his gun, in case Connolly was about to try settling that score.
Instead he heard a gasp in the darkness of the barn and knew it wasn’t Connolly sneaking up on him.
“Dan, don’t . . . It’s me . . .”
A lantern was burning on the front porch of the main house. Dan saw her silhouetted against the glow from it as she moved deeper into the barn.
“Hello, Mrs. Dempsey,” he said stiffly.
“You don’t have to be like that,” Laura said. “Not now.”
As if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “You probably shouldn’t be wandering around out here in the dark. There might be a rattler—”
“You’re not worried about snakes. You’re worried that somebody might see us.” She was close enough now that he could smell the faint scent of lilac water that clung to her. “But it’s all right. No one’s around. I made sure of that. Abel is in his office, going over the books. He won’t come out for hours. Lew has gone to his cabin, Willie is in the cook shack, and all the other hands are in the bunkhouse. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Damn it, Laura . . .” The name came out of his mouth before he could stop it. “It was a mistake me ever coming here. We both know that. If I had a lick of sense, I’d put that saddle back on my horse, ride out, and never look back.”
She reached out with her right hand, rested the fingertips on his chest, and whispered, “Is that what you’re going to do, Dan?”
“You know good and well it’s not,” he rasped, then he closed his hands around her upper arms, pulled her tight against him, and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss with enough hunger in it to jolt him more than Jube Connolly’s fists ever could.
CHAPTER THREE
A week later, buggies, buckboards, and wagons began converging on the Box D from the other ranches in the Tonto Basin as well as from the town of Hat Creek, the only major settlement in the area. It was Laura Dempsey’s birthday, and her husband was throwing her a party.
Dan would have just as soon avoided the celebration. In fact, he had approached Lew Martin the day before and asked the foreman if he could ride up to the line shack and let either Hamp or Charley come back in for a few days.
“No, those two old pelicans are fine right where they are,” Lew had said. “They got no use for fancy parties.”
“Well, neither do I,” Dan had insisted.
Lew had been adamant, though. Abel Dempsey had declared the occasion a holiday, and everybody would participate, no exceptions.
“So I reckon you’re just gonna have to drink punch, eat barbecue, and dance to the fiddle-playin’ like the rest of us,” Lew had decreed. “Just don’t go startin’ any more trouble with Jube Connolly.”
This was the first time Dan had had a chance to talk to the foreman alone since the fracas with Connolly. He said sharply, “I didn’t start the trouble last time. Jube jumped me without any warning. Did you know the boss set him on me like that?”
Lew looked like the question made him uncomfortable. He scratched at his grizzled jaw, then said, “Not exactly. Mr. Dempsey got Jube aside and said somethin’ to him that I couldn’t hear. Then Jube rode off. When I asked the boss about it, he just said he sent Jube on an errand. You know the boss. He ain’t one for explainin’ himself.” Lew shrugged. “But when Jube come back lookin’ like he’d run into a buzz saw and you showed up that night with some scrapes and bruises of your own, it was pretty obvious what’d happened. You want to tell me about it?”
“No,” Dan had replied, his voice flat and hard.
“I’ve noticed the
way you and Jube been avoidin’ each other. My advice’d be to keep on doin’ it.”
“That’s my plan,” Dan had said.
He wasn’t sure that was going to be possible today, though, he thought as he stood in the open door of the bunkhouse with a shoulder propped against the jamb and watched the visitors arrive. All the cowboys would be on hand for the party. Liquor would flow, even though the punch wasn’t supposed to be spiked. Willie Hill had given strict orders about that, and no puncher with any sense crossed the cook. The men would leave the punch alone and instead sneak drinks from the flasks they carried.
Dan wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Connolly came looking for him before the day was over, eager to resume their battle.
Abel and Laura Dempsey were on the covered porch of the big house, greeting their guests. A buggy with silver trim, being pulled by a pair of magnificent black horses, stopped in front of the house, and a craggy-faced man with a thick mane of white hair under his black hat climbed down from the seat.
He turned back to the vehicle to help the woman who had been beside him climb down. She was considerably younger than he was, probably around thirty, with honey blond hair artfully arranged under a blue hat. The hat matched the dress that managed to reveal the fine lines of her body without being too blatant about it.
The gap between the ages of this couple was similar to that of the Dempseys’, although Dan figured the difference wasn’t as great since this woman was obviously older than Laura. The white-haired man took the blonde’s arm and they went up onto the porch, where the man shook hands with Dempsey, and the blonde and Laura embraced like old friends.
It wasn’t surprising that Laura had formed a friendship with the woman. They had something in common, after all.
The two couples were still talking in an animated fashion on the porch when Lew Martin walked up to where Dan was standing. Dan nodded toward the house and asked, “Who’s that?”
Lew looked at the visitors and then said, “Yeah, I reckon they haven’t been around since you rode in and signed on with us. That’s Henry Stafford and his wife. Stafford owns the HS Bar spread, up at the north end of the basin.”
“They look mighty friendly,” Dan commented.
“Well, sure,” the foreman said. “The boss and Mr. Stafford were some of the first cattlemen here in the basin. They fought the Utes and the Apaches together, as well as rustlers and the weather.”
“That was before either of them was married, I guess.”
“Well, not exactly. Stafford had a wife then, just not this one. She died of a fever about fifteen years back. The boss, now, he was an old bachelor until Miss Laura come along. To be honest, I figured he’d stay that way, but shoot, you can’t blame a fella for fallin’ for a gal like her.”
“No,” Dan said quietly, “you can’t.” He paused. “How did they meet. Do you know?”
“Mr. Dempsey and Miss Laura, you mean? I ain’t exactly sure. The boss had gone to Saint Louis on business. Reckon that’s where he met her, because she came back to the ranch with him to visit. They wasn’t married yet, but she brung an old maid aunt with her, so ever’thing was plumb proper. They stayed awhile, then went back to Saint Louis. The boss, he moped around for a spell, then left again, and when he came back, he had Miss Laura with him and they was married. That’s all I know.” The foreman gave Dan a stern look. “And we hadn’t ought to be standin’ around, gossipin’ and cluckin’ like a pair o’ old hens, when there’s a party to go to. Willie’s got damn near a whole cow roastin’ on a spit, and as big a pot o’ beans as you ever seen on the fire. Come on. Let’s go see how it’s comin’ along.”
“You go ahead, Lew,” Dan said. “I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”
* * *
Even though this party was in celebration of her birthday, Laura didn’t join in wholeheartedly. She had too much on her mind and had been in that condition for more than a month now, ever since Dan Hartford had ridden up to the Box D looking for a riding job.
During that time she had gotten good at hiding the turmoil in her mind and heart. Abel might be suspicious, but Abel was always suspicious. Laura was confident that she hadn’t given him any specific reason to feel that way. She’d been careful, so careful, even though what she really wanted more than anything else in the world was to go to Dan, throw herself in his arms, and ride away with him . . .
“My goodness, Laura, you look like your thoughts are a million miles away from here.”
The voice broke into Laura’s reverie. She looked over at her friend Jessica Stafford, who wore an expression of concern on her face. The two women were sitting side by side in rocking chairs on the porch of the big house. Their husbands were standing in the shade of a nearby tree, smoking their pipes and talking about the ranching business, more than likely.
Dusk was settling over the basin. The party had been going on all afternoon. Laura had eaten more than she should have, drunk enough punch to last her for a long time, and smiled and thanked people for their good wishes until it seemed like her face would crack wide open. Now colored lanterns glowed in the trees, and the fiddlers were tuning up their instruments. The dancing would start soon.
“What in the world are you thinking about?” Jessica went on.
“Oh, just the strange twists and turns that life can take, I suppose.”
Jessica laughed and said, “Those are pretty weighty thoughts for a girl on her birthday.”
She had taken off her hat and unpinned her hair, which now fell in honey-colored waves around her shoulders. Laura thought she was beautiful in an elegant, worldly way that Laura herself would never be able to manage. Jessica made several trips a year to San Francisco and came back with the latest fashions, including the silk dress she wore now and looked stunning in.
Still, Laura was very glad to have Jessica for a friend. Jessica was a few years older, but she knew the challenges of being married to a man nearly twice her age. She seemed to be very happy with Henry Stafford. The two of them were a good match.
That was something she and Abel might never be, thought Laura.
“It would have been all right with me if Abel hadn’t decided to throw this party,” she said. “At my age, I’m not sure I should be celebrating a birthday.”
“Nonsense,” Jessica said without hesitation. “You’re still young.”
Over in the clearing next to the trees, the musicians began to play a sprightly tune. Folks young and old paired up and started to dance.
“In fact,” Jessica went on, “we should march out there, grab hold of our husbands, and make them dance with us.”
“Maybe you should, but Abel’s not much for dancing. His right knee is still a little stiff, you know. It has been ever since he was wounded at Chancellorsville during the war.”
The war in which Abel Dempsey had served with her father, Laura mused. Both men had commanded Union cavalry units and had become great friends during the epic clash with the Confederacy.
If not for that friendship, she wouldn’t be here in Arizona Territory tonight, and she couldn’t stop a trace of bitterness from creeping into her mind along with that thought.
“If Abel won’t dance with you, there are a lot of handsome young cowboys here this evening who’d be happy to,” Jessica pointed out.
Laura felt her face growing warm as she said, “I couldn’t do that. It . . . it wouldn’t be right.”
“Well, that’s just crazy. Dancing doesn’t mean anything. It’s just for fun.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. I’ll dance with Henry tonight, sure, but I intend to dance with as many other men as I can, too.”
“You’re more daring than I am.”
Jessica laughed and said, “Honey, you’ve got to have a little bit of daring in your life or you might as well already be dead and buried.”
What her friend said made sense, Laura thought. She nodded and said, “All right. But I should probably ask Abel about it first.�
�
“No, you shouldn’t. Look at those two. They’re complaining about the price of beef and about what all the politicians are doing in the territorial capital and anything else they can think of. When men get to be that age, complaining is their main leisure-time activity. Don’t spoil their fun.” Jessica stood up and held out a hand to Laura. “Come on.”
Laura hesitated, but only for a second. Then she took Jessica’s hand and stood up.
The two women went down the steps and started toward the area where the dancing was taking place. Laura glanced toward her husband and Henry Stafford. As Jessica had said, the two men were engrossed in their discussion, and neither of them seemed to have noticed that their wives had left the porch.
The fiddlers had launched into a second tune as merry as the first. Laura and Jessica paused at the edge of the clearing, and Jessica said, “It’s not proper for ladies to cut in, so I guess we’ll have to wait until the next song. I’m sure someone will ask us to dance.”
Laura surprised herself by saying, “I don’t think I want to wait.” She headed for a cottonwood where a man stood leaning against the trunk with his back to her. Behind her, Jessica laughed in approval of Laura’s boldness.
Laura stopped behind the man, touched him lightly on the shoulder, and as he started to turn toward her in obvious surprise, she said, “You’re going to dance with me, Dan Hartford.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Dan drew his breath in sharply as he saw Laura standing there. She looked beautiful, of course, in the light of the colored lanterns in the trees, but she had looked beautiful all day, so much so that he’d barely been able to keep his eyes off her. She wore a green dress that went well with her brown hair and eyes, and an emerald necklace sparkled at her throat.
He could never afford to give her something like that, he thought. Not on the wages a cowboy made. Not even on what he could earn from a spread of his own. That was his other dream, and neither of them were likely to ever come true.
Without thinking, he said, “Laura, you’d better go back—”
“Go and sit on the porch like a good little wife, you mean?” she broke in. “I’m tired of that, Dan. That’s why I want you to dance with me.”
The Range Detectives Page 2