Trouble at the Redstone (Leisure Western)

by John D. Nesbitt

  “One of each,” said Ingram, craning his neck to read the brands.

  The cattle broke into a trot for the last fifty yards as they rushed to the water hole. Aden and Way came in at a walk, let the horses drink, then turned away from the water and dismounted.

  “Will, go ahead and hold their horses,” said the foreman. Then, catching a dark look from Aden, he said, “Better yet, get on your own horse and make sure these cattle don’t wander too far. After dinner, you and Jim can take these three pair to the place where we’ll camp to night.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Jim knows.”

  Calvert, who had sat forward and was ready to uncover the food for the other two riders, said, “It’s that holding pen we built a little while back.”

  “Oh.”

  “Makes it easy,” said Ingram. “No one has to stay up and ride night herd on a few head of cattle.” He turned to the other two men. “Don’t bother to tie up your horses, boys. Just hold ’em while you eat. We’re not gonna be here that long.”

  Will rose to his feet, took a long drag on his cigarette, and dropped the rest on the ground, where he smothered it with his heel. A foreman who smoked would have told him to finish his cigarette, but In-gram with his toothpick didn’t seem to care much for someone else’s little pleasure.

  The distance from Popper Spring to the holding pen was about six miles, which meant somewhere between twelve and eighteen for Will, who had to ride back and forth to keep the three cow-calf pairs headed together.

  He and Calvert had the bunch watered and penned up by late afternoon. Will saw that the pen had a good location, as it was a hundred yards from a trickly little stream. Calvert showed him where they would set the camp. Then they stripped the horses, watered them, picketed them out to graze, and sat in the shade of a lone cedar tree to have a smoke.

  “Slow work,” said Will.

  Calvert set his worn hat back on his head. “Oh, yeah, but I guess we’ve got time for it.”

  “Does it seem to you that a dozen pair is quite a few to have missed during roundup?”

  “You’d think so, but some of those fellas we had in here weren’t all that good. Some of ’em got sore from ridin’, some of ’em couldn’t rope worth a damn, and one of ’em was so weak I thought he came off a six-month drunk. So as far as missin’ a few head, I’m not that surprised.”

  Will blew away a stream of smoke as he gazed at the corral. “So this is the pen you were building when that young fellow Ben met his bad luck.”

  “That’s right.”

  Will shook his head. “You know, I haven’t heard a single word about him from any of the others.”

  “That’s curious, isn’t it? And there was nothin’ wrong with that kid.”

  “Was he friends with anyone else?”

  “Oh, like I said before, he got along with everyone. I was his ridin’ partner, so you could say we were pals. As for the others, it was just the normal, everyday talk with them, as far as I could tell.” Calvert took a puff. “Then there’s Pearl. He seemed to be interested in her.”

  Will perked up. “Was he sweet on her?”

  “Somethin’ like that. I don’t know how far he got, because he always had to go around Blanche. I tried not to pay any attention, and I think the others did the same.”

  “How about Aden?”

  Calvert wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think Max cares about her. He doesn’t like anyone who isn’t white, and he doesn’t even like most of them.”

  “That’s just as well. And what about the boss?”

  “The old man?”

  “Yeah, him. Do you think he’d get jealous?”

  “Well, on one hand, I don’t think he’s got that much lead in his pencil, especially with her bein’ that much younger, but on the other hand, he does seem to favor her.”

  “I had that impression.”

  “Might be. Seems to me that he sees her more like a pet.”

  Will shrugged. “You’d think he’d be more likely to have an interest in Blanche, what with her bein’ closer in age and type, but I haven’t seen any spark at all there.”

  “No, I don’t, either. Like I said, he doesn’t seem to have much git-up-and-go, at least in that way.”

  Ingram, Aden, and Way came into camp with four more pair as the sun was going down behind the hills in the west. The first three pair had settled down somewhat, and now the commotion started again with cows lowing, calves bawling, and a continued milling of the restless animals. Grunts and whoofs came from the pen, and dust hung in the air.

  Darkness had fallen by the time the horses had all been put out and the saddles and bedrolls had found their respective places around the camp. With the scraps left over from the poles and rails of the pen, Calvert had gotten a good campfire. He had two twin plates heaped with bronzed salt pork and two more with potatoes fried in the pork grease. A blackened coffeepot sat on a rock at the edge of the fire where the coals were banked, while the other half of the fire blazed with fresh fuel and cast light out into the campsite.

  The five men sat down to eat at the same time. Calvert divvied up the food on five plates, and each man sat with his plate balanced in his lap.

  “Some of this seems like a lot of extra work,” said Brad Way. “We’ve driven a couple of these pair nearly all day from the southwest, and then we’ll drive ’em south to the ranch tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” said Ingram. “We could brand ’em one by one out on the range, but all you need is for someone to challenge you on one calf, and you’ve got more quarrel than you need. We’ll take ’em all back and brand ’em together in the big corral.”

  Aden’s voice came up, unexpected. “It’s the Texas way,” he said. “Never brand outside a corral.”

  “We’ve got a corral right here,” Brad answered.

  Ingram’s voice was firm. “We’ll take ’em all back. It’s what Frank wants.”

  “The Texas way,” said Calvert. “I’m not from Texas, but I know for damn sure it wasn’t always that way there. Hell, that’s where the long rope started, and boys from there’ll tell you how it was every man for himself. A fella slapped his brand on every un-branded calf he found, anywhere he found it. And that wasn’t so long ago.”

  “Times are changin’,” said Ingram.

  “Oh, I know. One of the best changes in Wyoming was when they dropped the Maverick law. When it was goin’, you couldn’t brand your own stock outside a roundup supervised by the association. Thank God those days are gone.”

  “Well,” Ingram said, “we’re doin’ it the way Frank wants. It’s a good way and a safe one.”

  Back at the ranch, the crew had eleven calves to brand—four with the Rafter Six brand, and seven with the Lazy P-Bar. Ingram laid out the procedure after breakfast in the cookshack as the other men smoked.

  “Will, you and Brad can run ’em into the alleyway. We’ll do the Rafter Six calves first, then the Lazy P-Bar. Bring one pair at a time into the chute. Push the calf into the big corral, and turn the cow into the pen. As we go through ’em, they all go into that pen. So we just separate one calf at a time, and only for as long as it takes to brand ’im.” He turned to Aden. “Max, you’ll do the ropin’, so saddle yourself a good horse for that.”

  “Two of us do the wrestlin’, then?” asked Brad Way.

  “That’s right. However you want to do it. Meanwhile Jim runs the fire and makes sure I get the right iron each time.” Ingram looked around. “All clear?”

  The men nodded.

  “Good enough. Let’s get started and see if we can get done before it gets hot out there.”

  By the time Will and Brad had the cattle in the alleyway and the first pair in the chute, Aden was mounted and waiting in the corral. He had his denim jacket tied to the back of his saddle and held the coils of his rope in one gloved hand and his loop in the other.

  He roped the first calf, a dark brown heifer, as it broke from the chute into a run. He had his rope tied hard an
d fast, Texas style, and as soon as he caught the calf he stopped the horse short. The calf kept running, and when it hit the end of the line a second later, the force jerked it to the ground. Aden’s horse trotted forward to drag the calf to the fire. When the horse stopped, the calf scrambled to its feet.

  “Flank him!” hollered Aden.

  Will followed the rope down to the calf’s neck, reached across the animal’s back, grabbed a flank with one hand and a front leg with another, and flopped the kicking, writhing critter onto the ground. Will sat on the front shoulder and kept a hand on the rope while Brad Way pulled out the upper hind leg and held down the lower leg with his booted feet. Dust hung in the air as the calf struggled against the stretching.

  Jim Calvert came at a fast walk from the fire. “Hot iron! Rafter Six, heifer calf.”

  He handed the iron to Earl Ingram, who stood at the calf’s back and set his left foot on the animal’s hip. Will smelled the burned hair as Ingram branded the calf on the flank—not so shallow that the brand could be changed easily, and not so deep as to injure the animal. Nevertheless, the heifer gave a burst of resistance, bawling as it tried to flail its legs.

  Ingram stepped back and said, “Let ’er up.” Then he handed the iron to Calvert, who returned to the fire.

  Will loosened the rope around the calf’s neck and slipped the loop off around the animal’s nose. Before he had his fingers clear of the rope, the loop jerked away, twisting a finger and warming the tips of all four. He looked up to see Aden, nonchalant, reaching to catch the sailing loop. Will turned to nod at Brad Way, who was waiting for the signal. They let go of the calf, which thrashed its way onto its feet and ran bawling toward its mother. Will and Brad pushed the calf into the pen and then went for the next calf. Aden, who had coiled his rope and rebuilt his loop, sat on his horse waiting.

  The second calf went pretty much the same as the first, falling with its back in the same direction, so Ingram did not have to change position. As before, the smell of burned hair mixed with the stirred-up dust, and a minute later the calf stood up with an inverted V over a number six seared into its hide.

  The third one was the bull calf Will had rounded up the first day. Husky and thick-necked, this one gave resistance from the beginning. After Will flanked him he got back up, so Brad Way had to tail him down as Will yanked the rope.

  Jim Calvert came at his fast walk. “Hot iron! Rafter Six, bull calf.”

  “Hold him still!” barked Ingram.

  Brad pulled on the leg as Will strained on the rope. The smell of singed hair rose from the animal’s side.

  “That’s got it.” Ingram handed the iron to Calvert and reached into his pocket. “Let’s cut him.” He called over his shoulder, “Jim, you hold one leg while Brad holds the other.”

  Will kept his place on the front quarter, pulling on the rope. As the other two men pulled on the hind legs and held them apart, the foreman leaned down and castrated the calf. He slit the scrotum, pushed out a testicle, teased the cord with his knife blade, and then did the same to the second testicle.

  Ingram straightened up and said, “Go ahead and take the rope off.” He clicked his knife closed as he stepped back.

  Will took care to keep his fingers free, but Aden gave it a full effort anyway, jerking the rope so hard that the loop went whistling past the tip of Will’s nose.

  Jim Calvert gave the leg he had been holding to Brad Way. Then he stood up and stayed clear. The two wrestlers let the calf up, and as they herded it toward the pen where its mother stood lowing, Will saw Ingram toss the testicles in the fire.

  “Let’s get the next one,” called the foreman. “Should be one more Rafter Six. Brindled cow and calf. Make sure they’re together. Max, back up a little.”

  Aden, who had his coiled rope tucked beneath his arm and was flexing his hands in their neat-fitting gloves, tipped his head up without a word and reined his horse backward a few steps.

  Brad Way spoke softly in Will’s direction. “Look out for this next cow. She’s a mean one.”

  At that moment, a movement beyond the corrals caught Will’s eye, and he saw Blanche’s pale form moving across the ranch yard.

  Aden’s voice came across the corral from behind Will’s back. “Aw, don’t be afraid of that old bitch.”

  Will laughed, and when Brad looked at him, he just shook his head. Brad stuck the pole in between the rails of the chute, nudging the brindled cow forward and then lodging the pole behind her haunches so she couldn’t back up. In an even lower voice he muttered, “Easy for him to say.”

  “Yeah. I was laughing at something else.” Will glanced across the top rail again to see if he could catch another glimpse of the cook, but she was no longer in sight.

  That afternoon, with the calves branded and all eleven pair turned out to pasture, the men were to look after their horses and gear. With the help of Jim Calvert, Will got all seven horses in his string put into one corral. He led them one by one to a hitching rail in front of the barn, where he combed and brushed them and examined their legs and feet.

  Aden took one of his horses out on a ride. Brad Way and Jim Calvert worked with their horses inside the barn, in the shade. Will did not mind working in the sun, as he caught what little breeze came through and he could observe any other movement in the ranch yard.

  At about an hour after dinner, Earl Ingram went to the ranch house, knocked on the door, and was let inside. A little while later, Blanche’s form crossed the space in back between the cookshack and the bunkhouse.

  Will’s heartbeat picked up. Now would be a good moment to talk to the kitchen girl, even if all he did was get himself on speaking terms with her.

  Taking care not to hurry, he crossed the open yard and went in through the front door of the cook-shack. He noticed that the back door was closed, and he thought that was in his favor.

  “Anyone here?” he called out, hoping Blanche couldn’t hear him from the out house.

  A shuffling sound in the kitchen was followed by the appearance of Pearl in the doorway.

  “Hello, there,” he said, taking a couple of steps toward her so he wouldn’t have to speak loud.

  “Good afternoon.” Her eyes passed over him as she stayed in the doorway.

  His eyes met hers, and he smiled. “I was wondering if I could get a dab of bacon grease. One of my horses has a cut on the ankle, down by the hoof, and it’s swelled up. The salt in the bacon grease will take the swelling down, and the grease itself will seal up the cut.”

  She stood still, not speaking.

  “You probably know that,” he said. As she still did not move, he took in a roving glance of her dark eyes and hair, her white apron and brown dress.

  “Let me see.” She put her hand on the doorway and turned.

  From the side, he appreciated her figure. She had a high bosom and firm hips, and he could imagine Ben Forrester having admired the same features.

  She lowered her hand from the doorjamb and disappeared into the kitchen. As Will waited for her to come into view, the back door opened. Blanche stopped in her tracks with the bright daylight as her background.

  “What do you want?” Her voice came out raspy, and her face hardened as the narrow eyes settled on him.

  Will shrugged. “I just came to see if I could get some bacon grease to rub on a cut. One of the horses in my string has a cut on his pastern.”

  Blanche moved forward and closed the door behind her. “There ought to be some,” she said in the same voice as before.

  “I don’t need much more than a dab.”

  “Pearl!” she called out as she turned toward the kitchen.

  The girl came out in a rush, carrying a tin plate with a large gob of pale, streaky grease in the middle. Blanche’s voice stopped her.

  “He doesn’t need that much. Just put a couple of spoonfuls in a tin can.”

  Pearl lowered her head and did not look at either Blanche or Will. She went back into the kitchen, and silence hung in the air as
Blanche, with her lips pursed, stared at the empty space beyond Will. Pearl reappeared, holding out a tarnished tin can. Her eyes met Will’s for a fleeting second as she handed it to him, and she smiled as he thanked her.

  “And thank you,” he said to Blanche as the girl faded into the kitchen again.

  “Anytime,” came the rough voice. Then as Will turned to leave, she said, “You don’t need to bring the can back.”

  The next day, when Will and Calvert were back on the routine of checking cattle, Will told about his encounter with Blanche and the bacon grease.

  “She seems awfully suspicious,” he said, rolling his cigarette. “And I haven’t done a damn thing.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to with Blanche.”

  “But she’s on her guard so much, it just seems curious.”

  “Oh, it might be.” Calvert tamped his pipe with the empty rifle casing, lit the bowl, and handed the match to Will.

  “Maybe it’s because I’m new, but the way she acts goes along with some other things that don’t seem normal.” Calvert gave a light toss to his head, but Will felt they had enough shared confidence for him to go on. “I can’t make the connection yet, but here you’ve got a puncher who’s been killed, a cook who’s jumpy as hell, another puncher who acts like he could blow up any minute, a foreman who acts like nothin’ is goin’ on, and a big boss who talks like it’s all one big happy family.”

  “I can’t disagree with any of that,” said Calvert, “but I try not to go out of my way to look for things wrong with the outfit.” His teeth clacked against the pipe stem. “You ride for an outfit, and you try to mind your own business. Of course, if you see something you think is wrong, maybe you don’t keep lookin’ the other way all the time.”

  “I guess that’s what I mean.”

  Calvert’s eyebrows went up. “Furthermore, a fella’s got to be careful who he talks to.”

  “Well, I’m sure not gonna repeat anything you say, and I’m not gonna share my impressions with anyone else on this outfit, either.”