Trouble at the Redstone (Leisure Western)

by John D. Nesbitt

  Will got up from the table, and Jim Calvert did the same. They put their eating utensils in the wreck pan and went outside, where the sky was showing gray.

  Both men put on their hats. Calvert’s was a dark, battered thing with a round crown and flattened brim. It looked natural on him.

  “I’ll show you where we get our horses,” he said. “When we’re just ridin’ out like this, we usually use one in the morning and one in the afternoon. If we need to stay out all day, of course, we do that.”

  Will got his rope from his saddle and went with Calvert to the horse corral. He had noticed it the evening before, a good-sized corral with about ten horses that ate hay out of a rack. It looked as if each evening the men brought in the horses for the next day. With the exception of finding Aden at this ranch, Will had a favorable impression of the way it was managed.

  Calvert pointed out a bay for Will to rope, then went after his own. A few minutes later, as they led their horses to the barn, Aden and Brad came out with ropes for their mounts.

  The sun was coming up as Will and his riding partner jogged side by side out of the ranch yard.

  “Here’s the deal,” said Calvert. “We ride out a couple of miles, split up, and each make a circle, or the better part of one. We’re partway back here when we meet. Then we split up again, circle around, and so forth. I ’magine you know the pattern.”

  “I’ve done it a few times.”

  The other man smiled. “I thought so.”

  “Anything in particular we’re keepin’ an eye out for?”

  Calvert waved his free hand. “The regular stuff— anything lame or sick, anything suspicious, like little out-of-the-way brandin’ fires, or the smell of new-burnt hair. When we get out on the far end, we push our cattle back this way. Push any others farther out if you’ve got the time and it’s not too much trouble. Make a general note of what’s runnin’ with what. You’ll see about four or five brands, over and over.”

  “How about anything unbranded?”

  Calvert sniffed. “See what it’s runnin’ with, and what brand, especially any mama cow, and remember where you saw it, if you can.”

  “All right.”

  They rode on for a couple of minutes until Calvert spoke again. “Any questions?”

  Will cleared his throat. “Actually, I’ve got one. What happened to the last fellow?”

  “Ben Forrester?”

  “I guess that’s him. The fellow whose stuff you moved.”

  “Oh, that subject’s a little touchy. No one seems to know, and the bosses don’t seem to want to talk about it. I don’t think Earl likes having one of his men shot, but until someone knows more, there’s not much to do.”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “Not a mile from the ranch.”

  “No one else around?”

  Calvert raised his eyebrows. “Well, the party that pulled the trigger, I suppose.”

  “In full daylight.”

  “Yessir. It was like this. Earl Ingram, Ben, and I were all working together, building a holding pen, about two miles north of the ranch, a little more. We run out of nails, so Earl sent Ben back to the place to get some more. He never made it.”

  “How about all the others? Where were they?”

  The other man shrugged. “We’d just finished roundup, so the extra hands were gone. There were just the ones that are here now. So that leaves Max Aden and Brad Way. They were together, out south a few miles.”

  “Huh.”

  “I know what a man might think, what with Max bein’ so disagreeable and all, but he was with Brad. And besides, he didn’t have anything against Ben. No one did. Ben was an easygoin’, likable young fella. Why anyone would want to do him in is a mystery.”

  “So it had to be someone from the outside.”

  “Yep. The big boss wasn’t even on the ranch. He was off in Laramie City. You couldn’t even suspect Blanche. She was with the other girl in the kitchen.”

  The other girl. Will reflected that he had not yet seen her or the big boss. “You think someone could have gotten him by mistake?”

  “It could have been that, if someone was lookin’ for a man who wore a hat like his.”

  The two men rode on for a few minutes without talking until Jim Calvert spoke again. “So you and Max crossed paths earlier in the day yesterday.”

  “We sure did. I don’t know if he was liquored up or if he’s like that all the time, but he was spoilin’ for a fight.”

  “Oh, that’s just Max. Accordin’ to him, he won a couple of bare-knuckle fights back in Missouri, for prize money. Now he thinks he’s got to try to knock off anyone new that comes along. He rode the hell out of a couple of fellas that were here on roundup.”

  “The rest of you seem to take him all right.”

  Calvert waved his free hand again. “Aw, with me and Earl it’s like water off a duck’s back, and Max knows it. As for Brad Way, he’s just naturally the kind that lets others have their way. Like with horses—one does the bitin’ and kickin’, and the other takes it. All the way down the line. Get six horses in a bunch, and one’ll end up at the bottom of the order. That would be Brad.” Calvert shrugged. “I guess that’s why Earl has ’em work together. No friction.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Me, I get along, too, but I ain’t nobody’s whip-pin’ boy.”

  “Good way to be. I wish I was better at it. I let Aden get under my skin. He just wouldn’t let up.”

  “Well, I guess he found out how far he could go with you, and you heard what Earl said about fighting. So I wouldn’t worry until I had a reason to.”

  Which might be too late, Will thought. But he said, “I suppose.”

  Full daylight had spread over the plains when Will and Jim Calvert split up. Will felt the sun on his back and the cool morning air on his face as he put his horse into a lope. He felt the freedom of being back in the saddle on the open range, riding alone and ready to see what was over the next rise.

  About an hour and a half later, the two men met as planned. They dismounted and sat in the shade of their horses. Calvert brought out his pipe and a tobacco pouch, and Will went about rolling a cigarette.

  “Gittin’ the lay of the land?” asked the other man as he stuffed his pipe.

  “Somewhat. Pretty dry country. I didn’t see any water at all where I went.”

  “There’s water holes, a couple of ’em made with a scraper, but they’re few and far between.” Calvert struck a match, laid it across the bowl of his pipe, and started puffing.

  Will rolled his cigarette tight and licked it. “No windmills?”

  “Most of them are close to the ranches, and I’d guess all of ’em are on deeded property.”

  “This is all open rangeland out here, then.”

  Calvert handed him the match, still lit. “That’s right. By the way, did you see any sheep? I forgot to mention them earlier.”

  “Didn’t see any at all. I did see some wild horses, though, way the hell and gone.” Will lit his cigarette and stuck the match in the dirt.

  “Oh, yeah. They’re out here. They keep their distance, of course.”

  The men smoked in silence for a couple of minutes until Will spoke. “This horse I’m ridin’, I assume it’s one out of Ben’s string.”

  “That’s right. You took his place. His string, his ridin’ partner.” Calvert smiled as he blew out some smoke. “Take what you git.”

  “Oh, that’s all fine. I was just wonderin’, though, what kind of horse he was ridin’ that day.”

  “It was a sorrel out of his string, the one with a narrow blaze and two white socks. You’ll get to ride him.”

  “Did he have a horse of his own?”

  “Yes, he did. Nice little buckskin. It’s out in the horse pasture still. When Earl figures out what to do with his other belongings, he’ll probably do something with the horse as well.”

  “Did he get buried here?”

  “Ben? Oh, yeah. We buried
him in town.”

  Will nodded. Cowpunchers saw enough of death, most often mishaps out on the range, that they didn’t talk about it very much. Some of them couldn’t stand to hear the song “Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie”; he figured it was because the cowboy in the song got buried there after all.

  Calvert tamped his pipe with an empty rifle casing and puffed again. Then he set his old hat back on his head and in a cheery tone said, “How’d you like our hash slinger?”

  “Blanche?”

  “Uh-huh. I thought I saw you gettin’ a look at her.”

  Will raised his eyebrows. “I imagine she’s a fine figure of a woman, in some men’s eyes.”

  Calvert laughed. “I suppose. But I haven’t seen anyone on our crew motherin’ up to her.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be the first.”

  Will and his new partner rode two more circles, and when they met on the last one, the sun was straight up.

  “Time for the dinner bell,” said Calvert. “Let’s see what the cook has for us.”

  “Sounds good,” said Will. As they put their horses into a trot, he wondered if he’d get to see the other girl in the kitchen, as Calvert had called her.

  Chapter Four

  In the full light of midday, Will could see the red-veined tinted hue of the sandstone that the ranch house and its smaller appurtenant building were made of. He had noticed the stone the evening before but had not seen the color, so now the name of the ranch made more sense.

  Will and Calvert watered their horses and led them into the barn, where the men unsaddled and brushed the animals. Both horses had worked up a light sweat. After checking his mount for nicks and sores, Will took him out to the corral, where Jim Calvert had already left his horse and was waiting with the gate. Will led the bay in, made him turn around, and slipped off the halter. The horse went to the hayrack to join the one Calvert had just turned loose.

  Before he left the corral, Will walked to the south end and looked across the top rail where the horse pasture stretched away. Will rolled and lit a cigarette. He figured the area for a quarter section, fenced in square about a half mile each way. Some twenty-five horses were scattered across the pasture, grazing. Will picked out his own horse, which was dark brown with a long, thick tail. Beyond it he saw the only buckskin in the pasture, a medium-sized horse that grazed with a couple of sorrels.

  Will turned and walked to the gate, where Calvert stood waiting.

  “Everything in order?” asked the other man.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Let’s clean up, then.”

  Will stood at the end of the horse trough and worked the pump handle while Calvert, having set his hat on a post, washed his hands and face. Will took a last drag on his cigarette and stepped on the butt. Then he set his hat where Calvert’s had been and washed the morning’s dust from his face. He splashed himself a couple of extra times, cupping the water with both hands and leaning his face down.

  “Feels good,” he said.

  “Next best thing to a mountain stream.”

  Calvert led the way to the cookshack, where the two of them went in and sat at the table, each setting his hat on the bench next to him. No one else had arrived yet, and no food had been set out. The usual noises came from the kitchen—a clatter of plates, the thumping of a spoon on the lip of a pot, the creak of oven hinges. The current that wafted from the kitchen carried the aroma of boiled beans.

  After a few minutes, Earl Ingram came in and sat next to Will. “How did it go?” he asked as he took off his hat.

  “Just fine. Got to know a few brands.”

  “Nothing peculiar?”

  Will shook his head. “All normal.”

  Aden and Brad Way came in, hung their hats, and sat across the table from Will and the foreman. Brad sat in the middle with Calvert on one side and Aden on the other.

  Earl cocked his eyebrows and said, “Well, what’d you see, boys?”

  “Nothin’,” said Aden in a muffled voice.

  Brad shook his head.

  “Now that I think of it,” said Calvert, “I saw something. It was a bull I don’t remember seein’ before.”

  The foreman turned to him. “Not some of that old stock, I hope.”

  “No, he was polled. Looked like he might be half Durham.”

  “That’s not so bad. Did you give him a push anyway?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  At that moment Blanche made an appearance, holding her head back in a squint as she carried a steaming pot. When she set it down, Will saw that it was a pot of beans.

  Blanche retreated to the kitchen and came back with five crockery bowls, which she set down with a thump and a clatter. By the time the men had the bowls distributed, she had returned with two tin plates of biscuits. Then from the pocket of the apron tied around her waist she produced five spoons, which she dropped on the table where the bowls had been. By the time the spoons settled, she was gone.

  All this time, Will kept an eye out for the other kitchen girl, but she was yet to be seen.

  Each man spooned himself a bowl of beans and grabbed a biscuit. Will thought the beans were a little soupy, but as he stirred his bowl he saw chunks of bacon rind with remnants of fat attached. He knew it took a lot of boiling to soften the rind, just as it took some muscle to cut it up beforehand. When he saw beans cooked this way, he recalled the first time he worked for a cow outfit. He was the night wrangler and cook’s helper, and the old chuck wagon cook, McGuire, always gave him the task of cutting up the bacon rind. The stuff was greasy to hold and tough as leather to cut. Will doubted that Blanche would do that drudgery if she had someone to order around. He wondered if it was a hefty woman who could bear down on the knife.

  Will noticed that Aden and Brad Way salted their grub before they tasted it, while Calvert and Ingram ate theirs as it was. Will tried a spoonful and decided it had enough salt, so he settled into the meal.

  His mind drifted from one little thought to another, and he had forgotten about the kitchen help, when a dark-haired girl appeared with a pot of coffee.

  His pulse jumped, and he looked up to get a view of her. Her dark hair was tied back with a cloth around it and fell loose from there, so that her full face was visible. She had a clear brown complexion, dark eyes, and a firm, serious mouth. She was of average height for a woman, and she had a fair to medium figure apparent beneath her loose work dress, which was made of a plain brown cotton cloth. Will guessed her to be in her early twenties— old enough to work away from home, wherever that was. He got another quick overall look. If she wasn’t full Indian, she was at least half.

  “Thanks, Pearl,” said the foreman.

  “Anything else?” she asked, showing her clean, even teeth.

  Ingram glanced around. “I don’t think so.”

  She hesitated, as if to make sure, and Jim Calvert spoke up.

  “Pearl, this is our new man, Will Dryden. Thought you ought to know him in case he shows up bum-min’ a biscuit. Will, this is Pearl, the best of the best.”

  She blushed, giving a pretty glow to her bronze cheeks. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a clear voice.

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Will smiled. He tried to think of something else to say, but he felt clumsy.

  “Anything else?” she asked again.

  “No, thanks,” said the foreman. “Everything’s fine.”

  The girl turned and went back to the kitchen, leaving Will with the sense that Ingram had dismissed her. Will reminded himself that he was just the hired man, and he didn’t think the foreman had a personal interest in the girl anyway.

  No one spoke for the next few minutes. Spoons clacked against crockery, the biscuits nearest to Will disappeared, and the sounds of eating were audible. Calvert reached for the coffee cups, which sat upside down in a group at the end of the table, and he passed them around. He poured himself a cup of coffee and handed the pot to Brad Way. The coffee went around the table, and one by one the men served them
selves a second helping of beans. Blanche appeared with two more plates of biscuits, and Ingram thanked her.

  At the end of the meal, everyone but Ingram had a smoke—Calvert with his pipe, and the other three rolling their cigarettes.

  “Good grub,” said the foreman.

  “That’s right,” Calvert answered. “Nothing like the real thing. I remember I worked for a fella, just me and him and another puncher. We’d work sun to sun every day, go out on long rides with no grub. Then he’d serve us up a dab of somethin’ for supper and say, ‘Gittin’ down to the bottom here, but we’ll eat good tomorrow.’ He said that just about every day.”

  Ingram took the toothpick from his mouth. “Penny wise and pound foolish. Fortunately, some outfits know better.”

  While Will recognized the comment as typical praise for the company, it also reminded him that he was yet to see or meet the big boss.

  After noon dinner, Will and Calvert saddled fresh mounts and rode out to the southwest for an afternoon of the same routine. When they had ridden a good quarter mile out, Calvert spoke.

  “Well, you got to see the other half of the kitchen help.”

  “The better half, at least by some standards.”

  Calvert laughed. “She’s all right.”

  “Is she Indian?”

  “Uh-huh. Sioux, I think.”

  “I wonder how she got a name like Pearl.”

  Calvert shrugged. “Common enough name. Men have it as well as women. I heard it was a favorite with Queen Victoria.”

  “The name?”

  “No, the pearl itself, and the color.”

  “Huh.”

  “She says her father went over there with Buffalo Bill’s show and met the Queen. I believe it.”

  “Fancy that.”

  “I guess the Indians liked the Queen. Buffalo Bill did a special show for her, and afterwards she met some of them. They call her Grandmother En gland, from what Pearl told me.”

  “How’d she end up here?”

  “She doesn’t want to be a blanket Indian, I suppose.”