Cowboy PI

by Jean Barrett

  He continued to sense the explanation to everything was somewhere in that ravine and that it must be connected with the caves there. At the same time, something didn’t feel altogether right about it. But no matter what angle he examined it from, he couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  HE WAS DESPERATE. His every effort to destroy the cattle drive, to keep Samantha Howard from winning the Walker ranch, had been defeated by her and that damn Hawke. He could feel the time running out, the prize slipping away from him. No. He couldn’t permit that. Wouldn’t permit it. Not now, when he was so close. He had to stop her, needed to find another way. Two days. He had two days left, and somehow, somewhere between here and Alamo Junction…

  Chapter Twelve

  Roark was in a foul mood. He had every reason to be, didn’t he? Damn right he did.

  The beleaguered cattle drive alone entitled him to bad humor. What with a terrain even more rugged than he’d expected, the clock ticking on that deadline and a shrunken outfit that frayed tempers over the increased workload, the problems never seemed to quit. Starting with the cook truck.

  “If my chuck wagon stays, then I stay with it,” Ramona stubbornly insisted when Roark had suggested they temporarily abandon the pickup, arguing that the trail ahead of them was too difficult for it and that they could pack enough food supplies for two days on the horses.

  Roark had relented in the end, not wanting to leave Ramona behind, especially with her son a loose cannon somewhere out there in the wilderness. In fact, he intended to keep both her and the rest of the outfit at close range at all times. So the battered cook truck with its missing driver’s door—or, as Dick began to call it, the Doorless Wonder—went with them. But the vehicle was a pain in the backside, especially on the tough grades they frequently encountered.

  And then there was the worry of Ernie Chacon himself. Was he gone for good or shadowing them again? Although Roark maintained a constant vigilance, he never spotted any sign of Ernie. But his concern intensified when Wendell reached him on his cell phone late in the afternoon of their first day back with the herd.

  “Chacon may not have a record in Purgatory like he does in Austin,” Wendell reported, “but that’s only because charges weren’t pressed. I found out from talking to the desk clerk at the Western Museum that Ernie assaulted the guy when he refused to let him in to see the director.”

  It was clear by now that Ernie had an obsession about his father. One sufficient enough, Roark wondered, to make him willing to go to any lengths to please the man? Even kill to win his recognition? It was a chilling possibility, especially since Roark had had another opportunity to examine those police photographs. This time something registered with him about one of the three books taken from his saddlebag.

  The first book, of course, had been shredded along the path to the canyon rim. The second had landed on its spine several feet away from Shep’s body. The third had ended up by Shep’s arm. Or, to be exact about it, lying at an angle across the top of his arm. But if it had fallen with him into the canyon, maybe while he still clutched it, it should have landed under his arm. Even if he had released it in his fall, it should have ended up under him or beside him, not on top. To Roark, it was an indication the book had been thrown into the canyon after Shep. Nothing conclusive, certainly, but enough to go back to Sheriff Wilkins after the cattle were delivered and convince him to reopen his investigation.

  Meanwhile, Roark knew he couldn’t relax his guard for a millisecond. Maybe Ernie wasn’t a murderer, but someone was, although Wendell had been unable so far to learn anything incriminating about the others in the outfit.

  Roark had no better luck with the new batch of photographs he collected from Willow Creek’s copy center that evening. Wendell had dutifully shot every wall throughout the length of the ravine, many of them at close range, including those in the caves, but Roark was unable to spot anything unusual. Either the ravine had no secret to reveal, or he wasn’t seeing it. Still, there was something about the photos that bothered him, something that added to his frustration.

  But who was he kidding? It wasn’t the ravine, the tensions of the drive, a potentially explosive Ernie Chacon or his worries about the others in the outfit that had him in a vile mood on this morning of their second day back on the trail. The woman who rode close beside him at his insistence was responsible for that.

  Samantha had barely spoken to him since he had told her the truth about Hank Barrie. She was unfailingly polite, responded whenever it was necessary, and remained as cool and detached as their proximity would permit, rejecting any of his efforts to discuss their conflict. And with the two of them practically joined at the hip, and her enticing presence bombarding his senses, Roark was miserable.

  He didn’t know whether to be relieved or reluctant when, soon after midday, they reached the high, stony ridge that put them within sight of their destination.

  Just on its other side was a dry bowl into which the first of the cattle, led by Cappy, were already pouring. At its far end, the curving trail lost itself in an expanse of evergreen forest that blanketed the mountainside. They would climb that trail up through the pass that was their last barrier. Alamo Junction waited down on the other side. It was almost over. The cattle drive would end at the stock cars, and Samantha, having qualified for her inheritance, could walk away from him and never look back.

  Knowing he would go crazy if he thought about that, Roark turned to more practical matters. “I wish we could stop long enough down there to find water for them,” he said to Dick, who had joined him on the flank of the ridge, “but I don’t want to risk it. The contract specifies that we have the herd at the rail line before five o’clock, and while we still have more than enough time to make it, that pass won’t be—”

  He was interrupted by the insistent blare of a horn several yards below them.

  Dick grinned. “The Doorless Wonder is calling you.”

  Exasperated, Roark cursed under his breath. That damn truck again! Though Ramona had refused to leave it behind, she was nervous about the steeper slopes, and this one was no exception. Picking his way with care on his mount back down the gravelly surface of the incline, he joined Ramona, who had emerged from the truck midway on the side of the ridge.

  “I’m sorry, Roark. She stalled on me, and I can’t get her started again. I guess the grade is just too much of a challenge for her.”

  “Leave the truck where it is. We’ll take care of it after we get the rest of the cattle over the ridge.”

  The herd was as resistant as the truck about crossing the rocky ridge. The next several minutes were a melee of scrambling, bawling cattle, clouds of dust and shouting drovers. Roark, along with the others, found himself dashing in and out of the turmoil, calling orders in an effort to urge the cows up and over the ridge.

  When the last of them were streaming to the top and down the other side, Roark turned back to deal with the truck. And found his heart leaping out of his chest. The truck was on the move, rolling slowly backward down the incline. And directly in its path at the bottom was Samantha arguing with the obstinate Irma, who refused to climb the ridge with the others.

  “Samantha!” he yelled.

  She didn’t hear him in all the noise and confusion. Didn’t even look up. His heart doing a somersault now, Roark raced for the runaway truck.

  He didn’t have time to wonder if Ramona had neglected to set the emergency brake, which seemed unlikely, or whether the cattle swarming around the truck, shoving against its sides, had somehow caused a release of the brake. All he knew was that he had to stop the truck.

  The vehicle was beginning to gather speed on its descent when Roark reached it, flung himself from his horse, and managed to dive through the doorless opening and behind the wheel. But not in time. Just as his foot started to stomp on the brake, the pickup lurched sharply, its back wheel striking what must have been a large rock.

  The jolt was so sudden and so hard that Roark felt the top-heavy truck beg
in to topple over in the direction of the driver’s side. Without a door or a seat belt, he knew he faced serious injury by remaining at the wheel. Dimly aware of a woman’s alarmed cry, he threw himself out of the cab in an effort to save himself.

  His body twisted, landing him on his backside. Scrabbling frantically, he managed to get clear of the rapidly descending truck. All but his right leg. There was the sound of metal grinding against rock, a spasm of pain somewhere above his knee, and then a silence.

  When his shock ebbed, Roark realized that the truck was on its side, roof facing him and his leg pinned beneath the stout door frame at the top of the cab. By this time he could hear the shouts of Samantha and Ramona as they clambered up the hill.

  Samantha was the first to reach him, a sob in her voice as she knelt beside him. “Dear God, your leg! It’s—”

  “Not crushed,” he assured her quickly. “At least I don’t think it’s that bad. There’s a dip in this band of rock where it’s caught, and that saved me.”

  Alex, arriving on the scene, crouched down on the other side of him. “Can you move it?” he asked.

  Roark tried to withdraw the leg trapped down in the narrow depression across which the top of the pickup had squarely landed, sucking in his breath at the pain his exertion cost him. “It’s no use. I’m locked in here good and tight.”

  “What if we tried to dig you out?”

  “It’s solid rock, man. We’d need tools we don’t have. Look, go get Dick. Maybe the four of you heaving together can raise the damn thing just high enough for me to scramble out of here.”

  Alex rose to his feet and ran to his horse. Within seconds, he was in the saddle and urging his mount toward the top of the ridge.

  “Ramona,” Roark instructed her, “see what you can do about clearing out your pantry. Lightening the load should help.”

  Ramona hurried around the fallen pickup where Roark heard her tugging at the door of the camper unit. Samantha continued to huddle beside him, her eyes registering her concern.

  “It’s all right,” he tried to assure her. “It hurt like hell for a minute, but as long as I don’t try to move it, it’s okay.”

  There were thuds and bangs from the back of the pickup, and then Ramona rejoined them. “The door won’t open. It’s jammed shut. Roark, I’m sorry about this. I guess you were right. The truck should have stayed behind.”

  “Forget it. What’s done is done. Ramona, you did set the brake before you left the truck, didn’t you?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t imagine why it rolled like that.”

  Roark could. Either it had been an accident, the result of a steer slamming against the vehicle as he had earlier supposed, or else in all the commotion someone had—

  He didn’t have a chance to pursue his suspicion. Alex had returned, accompanied by Dick. The two men, together with the women, spent long minutes making every effort to either lift or rock the truck the necessary few inches Roark needed to drag his leg free. But no amount of straining budged the vehicle.

  “She’s wedged in here good,” Dick complained.

  “Maybe if we got Cappy,” Alex suggested.

  “Leave him with the herd,” Roark said, knowing that Cappy would make no difference. The vintage pickup had been made in the days when they used plenty of steel. Thick, heavy steel. “It’s going to take machinery to raise her.”

  “There was a small ranch we passed a couple of miles back down the trail,” Dick said. “And ranches have tractors.”

  “All right,” Roark agreed, knowing there was no other choice.

  And, meanwhile, he thought, turning his head to watch Dick bolt into the saddle and gallop off in the direction of the ranch, I’m stuck here and useless. He swore under his breath.

  Samantha, who was crouched down again close by his side, heard his curses and misunderstood them. “Is your leg bothering you very much? Can you tell if there’s bleeding?”

  “The leg is going to be okay, once I manage to get it out. I can move it now under there from the knee down with barely an ache. Trouble is, I’m not going to be able to get it out until that tractor is here, and tractors move like snails.” Frustrated, he was unable to prevent the bitterness in his voice. “And by that time, it’s probably going to be too late to move the herd over the pass. It looks like the cattle drive ends here.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Samantha said. “It’s not important.”

  But he noticed her gaze drift in the direction of the pass that had to be crossed. There was both longing and regret in her expression. He knew she was wishing it didn’t have to end here, that there was some way she could finish the drive. He knew he was failing her in his helplessness, and that made him angry.

  “It is important to you,” he growled. “It’s always been the damn money, hasn’t it? Sometimes I think that inheritance is more important than your own life.”

  She stared at him, stung by his accusation. His blazing anger had been unreasonable, unfair. Roark was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said, and he knew she was disappointed in him.

  “Look,” he said, trying to understand her own frustration, “I’m sorry it has to end like this, that you have to lose the inheritance.”

  “It isn’t just that.”

  “It’s proving yourself, huh? Hell, Samantha, you’ve already done that. You’ve managed to do it with every mile of this drive.”

  She nodded, but he could see she wasn’t convinced. That his admiration for all the courage and resolve she’d demonstrated throughout each day of the difficult drive wasn’t enough. But it was useless to argue with her about it. In any case, Cappy had appeared on his horse. An unhappy Cappy, who wasted no words of sympathy on Roark’s plight.

  “In case you’ve all forgotten,” he reminded them around the wad of tobacco in his cheek, “there’s a herd of longhorns on the other side of this here ridge, and they’re growin’ restless. Real restless. You don’t want to lose them cows, then I need help to hold ’em.”

  Even with the ridge between him and the herd, Roark could hear the cattle bawling, expressing their discontent at being held so long in a tight place. He knew Cappy was right. And though he might be trapped under the Doorless Wonder, he was still the trail boss.

  “Alex, there’s nothing more you can do here. Go with him and take that fool heifer with you.”

  “I said restless,” Cappy repeated with emphasis, gazing pointedly in Samantha’s direction to indicate he needed more than one drover to effectively control the nervous cows.

  “Uh-uh, no way. Samantha stays here.” He glanced at Ramona, but she shook her head vigorously.

  “Forget it, I don’t ride, remember?”

  “I’ll go,” Samantha said quietly, getting to her feet.

  “Samantha, no.”

  “There’s no reason for me not to help,” she insisted. “It isn’t as if I’ll be in any danger, not with Alex and Cappy right there close by.”

  Damn it, why couldn’t she understand that he didn’t want to risk her in any situation, even with him helpless like this to adequately safeguard her? There was always the chance that Ernie Chacon might be out there somewhere. Ernie, who was their prime suspect and, for all he knew, was just waiting to strike at the first opportunity. Or, if not Ernie, who was still not a certainty, that one of the others could—

  “Somebody needs to make up his mind here,” Cappy said impatiently, “before we have us another stampede on our hands.”

  Roark made a fast decision. “All right,” he reluctantly agreed, “but you go no farther than the top of the ridge where I can keep you in sight. You’ll be able to stop any cow up there from straying back over the hill. Let Cappy and Alex handle them down below.”

  There was an advantage in having Samantha in that position. There would be no surprises, no enemy, either Ernie or anyone else, able to sneak up on her since the top of the ridge would permit her a v
iew of the open country on all sides.

  “You keep a sharp watch in every direction,” he added.

  She nodded, the meaning of his caution apparently clear to her. Roark, intending for her to take his pistol, started to reach for the weapon in his holster. She stopped him. “No gun. I wouldn’t know how to use it.”

  He’d feel better if she had the gun with her, but he could see she wanted no part of it. There was something else he saw as she stood there looking down at him, torn at the last moment by whether to leave him or to remain at his side. All of her anger with him since he’d told her about Hank Barrie had been set aside in this crisis. But not forgotten, he knew. The issues between them were still there and would have to wait to be sorted out. If ever, he thought dismally.

  Ramona, understanding Samantha’s hesitation, offered her a hasty comfort. “Don’t worry. I’ll stick right here by him.”

  Alex had fetched her horse and Irma from below. Seconds later, she was in the saddle and following Cappy, Alex and the heifer up the slope. Sensing how anxious he was about Samantha, Ramona squatted down at Roark’s side and tried to distract him.

  “Dick won’t give up until he finds a tractor. We’ll soon have you out.” She paused. “Roark?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know the cook truck shouldn’t have come with us on this last part of the drive. But I wasn’t just being obstinate. I had a reason. I was planning to fix us a special dinner when we got to Alamo Junction, a surprise to celebrate the end of the drive, and I needed the truck for that. But now, of course…”

  Roark scarcely listened to her. His attention was focused on the crest of the ridge where Samantha was stationed on Dolly, her back to him as she kept watch over the cattle.

  “It’s Ernie, isn’t it?” Ramona said solemnly. “That’s what you’re so worried about. That Ernie will come back and try something. But he won’t. He’s far away by now.”