by Jean Barrett
Before they turned in, Samantha drew Roark off to one side. “What about me? Am I staying behind?”
He’d been thinking about that. There was no way to be positive their man on the ridge had crept down here and fired that shot. For all he knew, it could have been someone from their own outfit. Maybe the same someone who had allegedly fired on Joe Walker in the ravine back in Texas. In which case Samantha would be at less risk sticking close to him where he could exercise every caution to keep her safe.
“Are you up to coming along?” he asked.
She hesitated and then nodded. “I’m in.”
THE FIRST GLIMMER OF DAY WAS just beginning to streak the eastern sky when the three of them slipped away from camp. Though it lit the higher elevations, it was still dark down in the valley. The moon had set, so they didn’t have the benefit of its glow, but the surefooted horses were able to find their way.
It was also cold. Roark was glad of his denim jacket and hoped that Samantha beside him was warm enough in her own coat. And that he wasn’t making a mistake by bringing her with them.
The light had strengthened to a gray twilight by the time they ascended the slope of the ridge. It was possible in its pallor to fix their course on the spot that had been the source of the smoke. Or at least in the approximate direction.
They lost that advantage when they entered the trees, where the shadows were so heavy it was difficult to know if they were still on target. They moved in absolute silence now, the thick carpet of pine needles muffling any sound of the horses that might alert their man.
Providing, Roark thought, he was even in the vicinity. If he had been responsible for the stampede, there was the possibility he had already moved on. Or, for that matter, that he’d never been here at all.
They might have wandered forever through the pine forest without finding their man if it hadn’t been for his horse. Sensing the presence of other horses, the animal nickered softly, betraying his position less than a hundred yards away. They came to a standstill, with Roark praying that none of their own mounts answered him. Thankfully, they didn’t.
Shep raised his arm and pointed in the direction from which the whinny had originated. Roark nodded, and the three of them quietly dismounted. Not wanting to leave Samantha on her own, which could leave her vulnerable to an ambush from behind, he motioned for Shep to stay with her while he checked out their objective.
His gun is his hand, Roark stole silently through the trees. The light from an opening in the pines drew him to the edge of a small, grassy clearing where a chestnut was staked out to graze. Satisfied by what else occupied the clearing, Roark retreated to the place where he’d left Samantha and the trail boss.
“He’s there,” he whispered to them. “Fast asleep on the ground. Samantha, stay with the horses and do what you can to keep them quiet. Shep?”
The trail boss nodded, drew his own gun and accompanied Roark back to the clearing. The chestnut lifted his head as they came through the trees, noted their arrival in the clearing, then lowered his muzzle again to the grass. On the other side of a dead campfire, wrapped in a blanket and with his back to them, lay a motionless figure.
Neither Roark nor Shep nor the chestnut made a sound. But the man on the ground must have somehow realized he was no longer alone. Jerking awake, he twisted around to face them, a startled expression on his blunt features. For a second he gazed at them, then his hand started to reach for a rifle nearby.
“I wouldn’t,” Roark warned him.
Thinking better of his action, he withdrew his hand.
“Get up,” Roark instructed him. “Carefully.”
Eyeing the guns in their hands, he stumbled to his feet, the folds of the blanket twisted around his legs hindering him. When he was finally free of the blanket and standing, Roark could see he was short and stocky. There was something else he observed. The guy was young, probably in his early twenties. The surprised expression on his broad face had become a surly one.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
“Oh, I think you know who we are,” Roark said. “The thing is, we don’t know who you are or why you’ve been shadowing us.”
“Or why you stampeded our cattle last night,” Shep said.
“That’s bull, man. I never came anywhere near your herd.”
“By firing that rifle there over their heads,” the trail boss added.
“I never fired a shot from my gun. Check it if you don’t believe me.”
“Rifles can be cleaned,” Roark said. “And you still haven’t told us who you are.”
“Why should I? This isn’t private land. I got a right to be here when I ain’t botherin’ you or nobody else. Which means I don’t have to answer your questions.”
Roark and Shep communicated with quick glances that told Roark the trail boss was thinking the same thing—that it was time this young man and Ramona were confronted with each other.
“Maybe,” Roark said, “you’ll be in a friendlier mood about those questions back at our camp.”
“I don’t have to go with you.”
“This says you do.” Roark wagged the gun in his hand. “Now, get your things together.”
The young man eyed first the pistol trained on him, then the gun in Shep’s hand. “And who made you cops?” he muttered. But he obeyed the order and began to collect his gear while Shep saddled the chestnut for him. When he started to reach for his rifle, Roark stopped him.
“Uh-uh, that goes with me.” Taking possession of the rifle, he gestured in the direction of the chestnut that Shep had waiting. “Now, get on your horse, and if you’re a good boy and don’t give us any trouble, we might even feed you breakfast.”
Sullen and silent now, he accompanied them to where Samantha was waiting with their own mounts. If he was surprised by her presence, he didn’t indicate it. Nor was he any more communicative on the trip back to the valley, remaining stubbornly silent when Shep, who rode beside him, tried again to question him.
After a few minutes, the trail boss dropped back to Samantha and Roark, who were bringing up the rear. “He still refuses to tell me his name,” Shep confided in a low voice, “but I’ve seen him before.”
“You remember where and when?”
Shep nodded. “I do now. It was back at the Walking W, about six months ago. I only caught a glimpse of him storming away from the ranch house and roaring off in an old jalopy. Joe was on the porch glaring after him.”
“You ask Joe what it was all about?”
“I tried, but you know what the old man was like. He told me in so many words to mind my own business, but if I ever saw that jalopy around the ranch again I was to throw its driver off the property.”
Roark turned questioningly to Samantha. “You have any clue?”
She shook her head. “You forget I haven’t been anywhere near the Walking W in a long time. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before, but…”
“What?”
She gazed at the rider in front of them, frowning in puzzlement. “There’s something familiar about him.”
Roark knew what she meant. He, too, had an impression of being reminded of something. Or someone.
The sun had risen by the time they reached camp. Cappy was still with the herd, but Alex McKenzie and Dick Brewster were having their breakfasts when they rode in and dismounted. Alex’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked up from his plate and caught sight of the chunky young man who was with them. Along with that surprise was recognition.
Before Roark had a chance to question Alex, Ramona came around the side of her cook wagon with a skillet in her hand. She stopped when she caught sight of the new arrival.
The young man met her anxious gaze and nodded. “Hello, Ma,” he greeted her matter-of-factly.
Samantha and Roark traded astonished glances. No wonder he had seemed familiar. Although it wasn’t an obvious likeness, mother and son resembled each other, sharing the same Hispanic heritage.
&n
bsp; Ramona set the skillet on a tripod and moved toward her son, this time expressing her anxiety in words. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, Ma, I’m okay.”
She reached out to him with both hands. Roark, watching her, expected to see a loving embrace. What he and the others witnessed was Ramona cuffing her son swiftly on both cheeks.
“You should have listened to me!” she railed. “Why didn’t you listen to me?” And before he could answer her, Ramona rounded angrily on the others. “What have you done to him? If you’ve gone and hurt him—”
“Whoa, Ramona,” Shep strove to pacify her, “take it easy. No one’s done a thing to him.”
“Except drag him down here like he’d gone and committed some crime!”
“Maybe he did,” Roark said. “Or have you forgotten last night’s stampede?”
“I told you, man,” her son insisted, “I didn’t have a thing to do with that.”
“Then why have you been following us the last two days? What was that all about if you’re so in—” Roark broke off. “What is your name, anyway? Or are you still refusing to tell us even that much?”
“Ernie,” Ramona said. “His name is Ernie Chacon.”
“Don’t tell them anything, Ma. We don’t have to answer their questions.”
“No,” Roark said, “we could leave them for the nearest sheriff to ask. There ought to be one somewhere in the area. What about it, Ernie?”
For the first time Ernie looked uneasy, his dark eyes shifting from face to face. He’d been in trouble with the law before, Roark guessed. The threat worked. Ernie caved.
“I heard things back in Texas,” he mumbled. “They worried me.”
“What things?” the trail boss demanded.
“Guys in the bars talking. Saying this cattle drive had trouble brewing for it. It worried me, you know.”
“Because of your mother?” a perceptive Samantha gently prompted him.
“I told him that was all a lot of nonsense,” Ramona said. “That he had absolutely no reason to think I wouldn’t be safe.”
“And that’s why you’ve been following us,” Samantha said. “You wanted to be there for your mother in case there was any danger.”
“I didn’t want her to come on this drive. I had a bad feeling about it. Then when she says she wasn’t staying behind, and she wouldn’t let me come with her…” Ernie shrugged. “Well, sons are supposed to look out for their mothers, ain’t they?”
Roark could see that Samantha was touched by his explanation, as well as prepared to accept it. But he wasn’t ready yet to buy it. It was altogether too innocent, besides leaving several unanswered questions.
“If that’s the case,” he said, “then why didn’t you just ride down here and tell us who you were and what you were doing?”
“Yeah? And would you have let me join up with you?”
“Probably not,” Shep replied honestly.
“See, I knew it,” Ernie said defiantly, and then he abruptly turned to his mother. “I’m famished, Ma. You got anything for me to eat?”
“Come on around to the back of the cook wagon, and I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Not yet,” Shep said. “There are a few more questions we’d like to ask.”
“You’ve heard enough,” Ramona said swiftly. “He’s explained everything to you. There isn’t any more to tell. Let’s go, Ernie.”
Mother and son disappeared around the side of the truck.
“In a hurry to get him away, wasn’t she?” the trail boss said after they’d gone.
“Oh, yeah,” Roark agreed. “Like she was afraid of what he might say next.”
“You don’t think she’s hiding something?” Samantha asked, sounding as though she couldn’t believe Ramona was capable of being devious.
“Why not? She must have realized from the beginning it was Ernie up there on the ridge, and yet she denied knowing anything about him. Why keep it from us?” Roark turned to Shep as something else occurred to him. “There must be a father somewhere. You know anything about Ernie’s father?”
“Hell, I didn’t even know Ramona had a son. I never heard her mention anything about either a husband or a boyfriend, past or present.”
No explanation there then, Roark thought. But he suddenly remembered something. Looking around, he saw that Dick Brewster had finished his breakfast and left the campsite to help Cappy Davis with the herd. But Alex McKenzie was still with them. Alex, who, along with his surprise when Ernie Chacon first arrived on the scene, had worn a look of recognition.
“You hear all that, Alex?”
“I heard.”
“You know Ernie, don’t you?”
The young drover hesitated. Then he put down his plate, got to his feet and came to join then. “I don’t know him, but I know about him,” he admitted. “I used to see him sometimes hanging out in this bar.”
“Back in Purgatory?” Shep wondered.
Alex shook his head. “I don’t guess he ever spent much time in Purgatory. This was up in Austin when I was going to the university. He worked construction there, I think. When he had a job at all, that is. The thing is…” He stopped, an expression of reluctance on his boyish, good-looking face.
“We have a potential problem here,” Roark urged. “You need to tell us what you know.”
Alex nodded. “It’s not what I know, just what I heard from other guys. That Ernie had this hot temper, and it would get him into trouble sometimes. Fights, and that kind of thing. Anyway, I steered clear of him.”
Alex’s disclosure had him looking increasingly uneasy, as if he hated being an informer. Shep took pity on him. “Thanks, Alex. You’d better go out and relieve Cappy now.”
With a sheepish look in Samantha’s direction, which she answered with a smile, Alex hurried away.
“Useful?” Shep asked when he was gone.
“Maybe,” Roark said. “If Ernie has a bad reputation, it could explain why Ramona was afraid for us to know about him.”
“And why Joe didn’t want him hanging around the Walking W, even if it was to visit his mother.”
“That doesn’t make him responsible for the stampede,” Samantha said.
“It could if he figured it was a way to prevent his mother from going on with the drive.” Or, Roark wondered to himself, did Ernie Chacon have a more sinister agenda than that? Something that had his mother very nervous?
“What do we do about him?” the trail boss asked.
“Add him to the outfit. We could use another drover.”
“Is that wise?”
“I don’t think we have a choice. If we let him go, he could be a threat all the way to Alamo Junction. And no sheriff is going to hold him when we don’t have evidence he sabotaged the drive. But if he rides with us, providing he’s willing, we can keep a close eye on him.” And Ernie bears watching, Roark thought. “Well, it’s your call, Shep.”
“I’ll go talk to him.” He went off to the back of the cook truck, leaving Samantha and Roark alone.
“This drive is getting awfully complicated,” she said, her tone registering her regret.
In more ways than she meant, Roark thought, remembering the blistering kiss they had shared last night and how much he wanted her. Not just physically either, but emotionally as well. With each passing day, his feelings for her grew more intense. He didn’t know if it could be defined as love, not yet anyway, but whatever it was, it was hell. Because in tandem with his longing for Samantha was his growing desire to live the kind of life she despised.
He had yet to make a decision to abandon PI work to be a full-time rancher, but the cattle drive was pulling him in that direction. All its hardships and difficulties aside, he found himself savoring the experience, feeling as if he belonged to it. It was a powerful argument, and a frustrating one when it made the gulf between Samantha and him all the wider.
Shep returned to report that Ernie had agreed to join the drive. “Let’s hope he’ll be of use to us. You
two had better grab some breakfast. It’s long past time we were underway.”
Roark knew that the trail boss was right and that every delay was costly to the drive, which made him feel guilty when he and Samantha went off away from the others so that he could steal several more minutes of precious time. It was necessary.
Wendell’s voice was so sleepy when he answered his call that Roark knew he had gotten his young trainee out of bed. He had forgotten how early it was.
“You phoning from Lost Springs?” Wendell asked, referring to the town that was scheduled to be the cattle drive’s first stop along the trail.
“Still ahead of us,” Roark said, cell phone tight against his ear.
“Then you couldn’t have picked up the photographs I e-mailed to the copy center there. Or my two reports.”
“What reports would those be?”
“The outcomes of the interviews I had with the director of the Western Museum in Purgatory and the abbot of St. James Monastery.” Wendell sounded grieved that Roark hadn’t seemed to remember his assignments.
“Any luck?”
“Well, the good part is neither one of them was suspicious. They accepted my story I’m a freelance writer wanting to do articles on their operations, so they willingly answered all my questions. The bad part is they didn’t seem to be hiding a thing. I mean, they both freely admitted funds are always a problem, but nothing sounded like there was any critical need.”
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t one somewhere,” Roark soothed his conscientious trainee. “We’ll keep on digging, but this time we’ll try another direction. I have a new assignment for you.” He went on to explain about Ernie Chacon. “Try Purgatory first. Go back there and see if you can find out whether he has any kind of record. Do the same in Austin. Find out all you can about him, even if it means asking in the bars. This could be important, Wendell.”
HE WAS DISAPPOINTED. The stampede had failed to achieve his intention. Samantha had emerged from it unharmed. Nor had it succeeded in halting the cattle drive. They would go on toward Alamo Junction and those waiting stock cars.