“Nobody else’s come ridin’ up to my house with half a dozen horses,” the sandy-haired youngster barked. “Got business here?”
“Thought to have,” Pinto answered, giving the big black a stroke across his white nose and nodding at the other animals. “Name’s Lowery. I raise horses.”
“These look to’ve raised ’emselves,” the boy pointed out. “Range ponies. ’Cept for that chestnut there. She’s no accident.”
“No, sir,” Pinto agreed. “Half a year’s labor paid for her. But that’s not what brung me here. I come through Defiance town and sold some animals to a fellow name o’ Dotham. Plans to take the trail north to Kansas, as he tells it. Said de Double R’s goin’ with him, and I might sell dese three saddle ponies to a fellow name o’ Richardson.”
“That’d be my pa,” the boy answered. He paused a moment to study Pinto’s face. Then he glanced over the horses. “He ain’t here just now,” the boy finally explained.
“Yeah?” Pinto asked.
“Out with the range crew. I guess I could take you to him. In a bit.”
“You’d be de only man about, wouldn’t you?” Pinto asked, reading the wariness in the fifteen-year-old’s eyes. “You jus’ point de way. I got a nose fer findin’ people.”
“I’d have to know a man better to send him Pa’s way,” the boy said.
Pinto glanced around the buildings. A pair of smaller boys had started over from a chicken coop. A winsome girl in her late teens now appeared in the doorway.
“Who’s that come visitin’, Jared?” she called.
“Mustanger named Lowery,” Jared answered. “I was thinkin’ to take him to see Pa.”
“Not ’fore supper, you won’t,” she answered. “Your friend there looks like he could stand a good feedin’, too.”
“Could be you’d feel easier if I was on my way,” Pinto said, recognizing the concern etched in Jared Richardson’s brow.
“No, if Mr. Dotham sent you along, I don’t figure you to do us harm,” Jared responded. “You might leave that pistol off your hip, though. Elsewise Jim and Job’ll talk off your ear on it.”
“Sure,” Pinto agreed. “Got a Parker County friend with boys like to jabber.”
“Who’d that be?” Jared asked as he helped Pinto secure the horses.
“Bob Toney. Lazy T.”
“I’ve rid some miles with him,” Jared declared, grinning. “He and his boys both. Should’ve said that right off. Lowery, huh? I recall him speakin’ of you. Judged you to have the devil’s own way with horses, though you could be mule-stubborn and chicken-brained besides.”
“Guess he has spoke o’ me,” Pinto said, laughing. “That’s ole Bob. You ask him sometime who drug him off de field at Spotsylvania Court House? Was dis chicken-brained fool here!”
Jared echoed Pinto’s cackle. The youngster went on to introduce his brothers Jim and Job before turning to the pleasant-faced young woman in the doorway.
“Now this’s Arabella,” Jared explained. “Our sister. She sort o’ runs the house, what with Ma bein’ dead.”
“Sort o’?” ten-year-old Job asked. Jim, who was a hair younger, couldn’t resist a chance to laugh.
“I heard o’ kings easier o’ manner,” Jared whispered. “Don’t you get the wrong side o’ Arabella. Not if you figure to see tomorrow.”
“Works us near to death,” Job added.
“Work?” Arabella exclaimed. “What would you useless batch o’ fool boys know o’ work! Now get washed and come to supper. It’s sure grown cold.”
“More likely burnt black,” little Job said, hopping out of his sister’s reach. Jim chuckled again, and Arabella gave him a solid swat. She then marched down a long hall to the kitchen. Pinto followed Jared in that same direction while the younger Richardsons set off to find a wash basin.
Supper with the Richardson youngsters took Pinto back to his own younger years. His sisters had been a considerable vexation, and though he hadn’t had brothers to provide like torment, there’d been cousins aplenty to stand in their place.
“You’ll find no escape from troubles in the army, Georgie,” his mother had warned when he joined the Marshall Guards. But being young, Pinto hadn’t believed that. There never was a hint of smarts an older person could pass along to a young one. No, things had to be learned all over again ... and again ... and again.
After stuffing himself with three helpings of Arabella Richardson’s meat loaf, four potatoes, and a fair assortment of greens, Pinto finally accompanied Jared back outside.
“The crew’s sure to be havin’ its supper, too,” the boy announced. “Pa’ll be tired, but I don’t figure he’ll be past hagglin’ over horses. He’s a fair hand at tradin’, folks say.”
“Well, that ought to make fer a well-passed evenin’,” Pinto declared as he collected his horses. As he climbed atop the big black, Jared ran his hand along the flank of the chestnut mare.
“Don’t suppose I might have a ride on her, do you?” Jared asked. “Just the three miles or so to the range camp.”
“Get her saddled,” Pinto answered. “But don’t hurry her along. She’s not used to carryin’ anybody.”
“I’ll be easy on her,” the boy promised. “You see I don’t wear spurs. Don’t even dig my toes in like some I know. Truth is I never needed to. Horses sort o’ take to me.”
“That’s ’cause you smell like one,” Job hollered from a nearby corral. “Can we come along, Jared?” Jim said, glancing up hopefully.
“Be late comin’ home,” Jared told them. “We’ll have ourselves a ride tomorrow.”
The smaller boys nodded soberly, then dashed off to find some other mischief. Jared soon had the mare saddled. Then he climbed atop the spry chestnut and led the way northward. Pinto followed.
It took but a quarter hour, even riding slow, to reach the range camp. Along the way Pinto eyed the two thousand grazing long-horns that would make up the Double R trail herd. Some of the animals bore other brands, Pinto noted. Richardson was probably taking on other than J. B. Dotham ’s steers.
That was, indeed, the case.
“Pa’s got close to every man in Wise County out here,” Jared explained as they rode. “Times’s been tough lately, and we all got our hopes pinned on sellin’ these steers for a high profit.”
“You got de jump on de south Texas crews,” Pinto said. “Bet you’ll get yer price.”
“Trailin’ cattle’s a regular adventure, I hear.”
“Can be,” Pinto admitted. “I recall a high time or two. More’n one nightmare, though. Near got drowned once and trampled twice.”
“Done it, have you?”
“Twice.”
“How come you ain’t signed on with somebody this year?” Jared asked.
“Nobody’s been fool enough to take me on,” Pinto said, laughing. “Truth is, I hoped yer pa’d have a place.”
“Won’t even take me,” Jared grumbled. “But it might be different with a full-grown man.”
“You look man aplenty to me,” Pinto replied. “Likely yer pa wants somebody to watch over yer brothers and sister.”
“He says that,” Jared muttered. “But he’s taken along others littler with mas and brothers barely past diapers.”
Pinto tried to think of something to say to the boy, but after all, words weren’t much of a tonic for hurt insides. Besides, the camp appeared on a nearby hill. Jared nudged the chestnut mare into a trot, and the two of them ushered the other horses between them.
“Son, what’s brought you out here?” asked a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a tan stiff-brimmed hat.
“Pa, I brought Mr. Lowery along,” Jared explained. “You remember Bob Toney talkin’ about him. He’s got three horses to sell off. Thought you could use ’em maybe.”
“Thought right,” the rancher responded. “Lowery, I’m Ryan Richardson. Slide along down and let’s dicker. These three, huh? What of the chestnut Jared’s ridin’ ?”
“She’s special,” the boy answered as h
e dismounted. “Mr. Lowery’s also lookin’ to sign on with a trail crew.”
“Well, Mr. Lowery and I’ll do business on the first count anyway,” Richardson announced.
“Ain’t no mister to me,” Pinto said as he climbed down from the big black. “Call me Pinto.”
“I’m Ryan,” Richardson said, accepting Pinto’s proffered hand. “These three look sound. I pay twenty-five for saddle ponies, but I judge you’ll want more.”
“Forty’s fair,” Pinto answered. “If you want to dicker, best call it fifty. Make you feel you got me down some when I sell ’em fer forty.”
“Forty’s fair,” Richardson agreed. “I’ll count out the cash.” While Richardson walked off a moment, Jared stepped over and stared longingly at the chestnut.
“If you’d sell her, Pinto, I’d see she got treated easy,” the boy whispered. “I got seventy dollars saved up. Come by honest, too. Ask Pa. Mostly from workin’ deerhides or helpin’ neighbors get in their corn.”
“I figured to breed her,” Pinto explained.
“Know that,” the boy confessed. “But I’d see you got a colt by and by. Seventy dollars ain’t much of a price, I merit, but it’s what I got in my boot.”
Pinto turned from the boy to the horse. The two were a pair. There was no denying it. Sometimes a horse ought to go to a man who had wildfire in his heart. Jared sat down and pulled off his boot. He held out a fistful of crumpled notes, and Pinto grinned.
“Done,” the mustanger agreed, taking the money and gripping the youngster’s hand.
“Hear that?” Jared asked, hugging the chestnut’s neck. “You’re mine, girl.”
“What?” Richardson asked as he rejoined them. “You bought that mare, son? You must be a better haggler than me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t wager that,” Jared replied. “It’s just I watched him with those horses. He knew I wanted her bad.”
“You’d never make a proper rancher,” Richardson said as he paid Pinto for the mustangs. “No love o’ hagglin’ and too much heart. Still, I thank you for makin’ a youngster happy.”
“You could return de favor,” Pinto said, stuffing the money into his pocket and scrawling his name on two bills of sale. “I had in my mind headin’ north dis summer.”
“I got a full crew,” Richardson said, sighing. “Look out there. Two thousand head. A third’s from neighbors, and they’ll slow us down fattenin’ up. Look around at my outfit now. Lord, I got near every boychild with chin whiskers for fifty miles around. And a few without.”
“Some o’ those boys won’t make it pas’ de Nations,” Pinto said sadly. “I know. I been dere. Look yonder at that one. Cain’t even get his toes in his stirrups!”
“I made promises to my neighbors,” Richardson explained. “Joe Bill Trask there’s as close to a man’s that family’s got. Wages he earns’ll keep hunger from his door. People hereabouts have had it hard. Money’s needed to pay taxes and buy seed. Their kids want shoes and such. Can’t take a stranger and leave a friend to suffer.”
“Unnerstand that,” Pinto muttered. “But a man needs a purpose to put himself too.”
“Sure, he does,” Richardson agreed. “Tell you what. I’ve signed on Tully Oakes and his boy Truett. They’ve got a nice enough place, and they put in a good crop of corn. Could be they’d favor havin’ a man around to keep watch over that corn.”
“Ain’t a farmer.”
“Likely Tully could do with a man to watch Elsie and the little ones, too,” Richardson added.
“That makes a difference, do it?”
“Let me sketch you a map that’ll get you to the Oakes place,” Richardson offered. “You tell Tully I sent you over.”
“Pa, I’ll take him,” Jared offered. “Be good to visit a hair with Tru.”
“Don’t you jaw the night away, son. I’ve got words to share with you tomorrow. We’ll be headin’ north directly. I have things to tell you and Arabella.”
“Sure,” Jared agreed.
“Be best not to send you ridin’ out that way by twilight,” Richardson said, turning back to Pinto. “But tomorrow the Oakes men’ll be busy. Time to make a bargain’s tonight. Set you a fair price, too, Pinto. In writin’. Tully’s never been one to recall his agreements.”
“I’ll write it up myself,” Jared promised. “By way o’ returnin’ a favor.”
“Get along with you now,” Richardson ordered his son. “I’ve got a final word for Pinto.”
“Sure, Pa,” Jared agreed as he turned toward the horses.
“Don’t need to say it,” Pinto whispered. “It’s on yer face and in yer eyes. I’ll give a look after ’em.”
“It’d be appreciated,” Richardson said, shaking Pinto’s hand in a firm farewell grip. “See you get everything written down. Only way to deal with Tully Oakes.”
“Sure,” Pinto said, releasing Richardson’s hand and heading back to where the big black stood restlessly pawing the ground. Then, with the packhorse trailing along behind, Pinto Lowery followed Jared Richardson out of the cattle camp.
Chapter 7
“Pa’s done you no favors, sendin’ you out to see Tully Oakes,” Jared declared as they rode. “I never knew another man half as contrary as ole Tully. Truett, he’s as good a friend as you’d want, and Miz Oakes’s just fine, too. Ole Tully’s one to watch, though. He’s back-slid on so many promises to Tru, well, it’s hard to see why the either of ’em bothers comin’ to terms. Tully’ll only break ’em. Last summer Pa advanced Tully money against what the steers would bring at market. Never saw a dime of it again. Ben Moorehead put a roof on the Oakes barn, but did he get paid? Not as I heard.”
“Knowin’ yer pa to feel such, I wonder he steered me here,” Pinto said as they approached a small picket cabin standing beside a clapboard barn. “Or why he’d take dis Oakes to Kansas with him.”
“That’s on account of Elsie Oakes bein’ kin. Ma’s cousin. As to takin’ Tully, I’d guess Pa figures to get some o’ his money back for the trouble last summer. He thought to leave ’em to get their own steers north, but then Elsie, Tru, and the little ones’d only starve. You ask me, it’d be better all ’round to leave Tully and take little Ben. He’s nought but twelve, but I wager he’d be more use.”
“Have to be a mighty hard twelve to make it to Wichita,” Pinto said, frowning. “Sometimes hardship gives a man backbone, too. Maybe dis Dully Oakes jus’ needs a chance.”
“Maybe,” Jared said. He wasn’t half convinced.
Shortly Pinto was to have a chance to judge matters for himself, though. A shaggy-haired boy, lean and hard for fourteen, stepped out from the house and called a friendly hello.
“What’s got you out here with dark on its way, Jared?” the boy asked as he trotted over. “And where’d you come by that mare? She’s too fine for you by half.”
“Meet Pinto Lowery, Tru,” Jared replied. “He’s a horse chaser from out west a bit. Bought this mare off him.”
“I could use a horse, Jared, but you know we got no cash to spare. Sorry, mister, but you won’t find much market here.”
“Sold my string,” Pinto explained. “Mr. Richardson bought de las’ three off me.”
“So what brings you to our place?” Truett asked anxiously.
“Mr. Richardson advised it,” Pinto explained. “Said yer pa might could use a hand do watch over his acreage while he was off to Kansas.”
“Tru’s goin’, too,” Jared added. “Nobody full-growed to look after things.”
“Ben and Brax can do what chores need doin’,” a gruff voice announced from behind. Pinto turned in time to see a big, broad-backed giant of a man march out from the barn. With a bearlike paw Tully Oakes pushed back tangles of oily black hair from his forehead.
“They won’t be much help if Comanches happen by,” Jared announced. “Nor for seein’ the corn gets water if we have another dry June. Pa figured somebody ought to think about Elsie.”
“Meanin’ I don’t?” Tully stormed.
“That’d be for Pa to answer,” Jared answered coldly. “Anyhow, Pinto’s here. You hire him or not as you like. I’m headin’ home. Pa expects you at his camp early tomorrow. Ain’t altogether pleased you didn’t help with the brandin’.”
“Was busy here,” Tully insisted. “Headin’ out tomorrow?”
“With or without you,” Jared said as he turned the chestnut mare southward. “Good luck to you, Pinto. Might be you’ll need it. And don’t forget what I said.”
Pinto waved young Richardson farewell. Then the weary mustanger rolled off his horse and eyed Tully Oakes.
“Don’t know I’d bother gettin’ down,” Tully barked. “You ain’t stayin’.”
“Den I’ll get back on top and make some miles,” Pinto said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Hold on, Pa,” Truett objected. “He’s come this far. Cousin Ryan and Jared never would’ve sent him without a reason. We’ll have money once we sell off our beeves, but it won’t build a new house nor be much of a swap for a scorched corn crop.”
“Look at him, son,” Tully argued. “I seen these drifters. They hit their horse runnin’ first chance that comes along, so I wouldn’t figure him to help much if Comanches came raidin’.”
“I never run from trouble yet,” Pinto said, staring hard at the big farmer. “If you’d care to try me, roll up yer sleeves and have at it.”
“Look there, Pa,” Truett said, grabbing Pinto’s hand and showing the old scars. “That’s a bullet done that, I’d bet.”
“And put the sad in the eyes, too,” Elsie Oakes said, stepping out to join her husband and eldest son. Two smaller boys and a girl of eight kept to their mother’s shadow.
“Many a cattle thief’s been shot,” Tully muttered.
“I’d judge that uncalled fer,” Pinto said, squaring off.
“Was it the war, mister?” twelve-year-old Ben asked from his mother’s side.
“Sharpsburg,” Pinto announced. “Maryland campaign under General Bob Lee. Firs’ Texas Infantry. Never collected myself any bullet holes in de back, nor’d I leave a friend on de field if I could drag him along with me. I was ready do fight den and I am now. I’ll do it, too, if I’ve further cause.”
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