“Tell him to throw away his damned mirror. Mara fell in love with him just the way he is. She’ll love him the same way once she gets over the excitement of my having saved her from Newt’s attentions.”
“You tell him when you come to breakfast. He doesn’t believe me.”
Will started putting the goodies in a paper sack.
“Moderation in all things,” he muttered to himself as his fingers grew sticky with sugar. “Too much of anything is a pain in the neck.”
Will had about decided that being sheriff was a cushy job. Okay, you probably had to handle a fight once in a while, but for the most part it consisted of walking around town, talking to people, and listening to their complaints about their lives . . . and sometimes about their neighbors.
He had expected that being followed by a posse of little boys who copied his every move would get tiresome, but so far it had given him an opportunity to get to know every urchin in town. If adults had any idea what their kids knew about them and didn’t hesitate to tell anyone who’d listen, they’d lock their children up and never speak above a whisper. He could blackmail half the town if he wanted.
Doing rounds in the evening was different. The kids were home in bed, but the men were out getting drunk. Given his choice, Will would have stuck with the kids.
“Evening, Sheriff.”
Will greeted two men who hurried past him to one of the buildings, where beams of light and the sounds of music and laughter beckoned. Women rarely ventured out after dark even when accompanied by their husbands, so the men felt relaxed enough to be themselves. Which pretty much meant they got stumbling drunk and began arguments. Will was considering a law that required wives and other female relatives, especially grandmothers and old-maid aunts, to roam the streets until the saloons closed. Few things could sober up a man faster than the sight of his mother or older sister approaching, encumbered with a load of wrath and indignation she was eager to pour over his head.
“Howdy, Sheriff. Quiet night so far.”
“It’s early yet, Andy,” Will said to the owner of the mercantile. “Plenty of time for trouble.”
“Drop by the Swinging Door before you go to bed, and I’ll stand you a whiskey if you have any trouble with anybody.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
Andy laughed and headed for the saloon while Will continued his rounds. Clouds had come in late in the afternoon to obscure the moon, plunging the streets into darkness. Will had just told himself it was the perfect kind of night for trouble when he heard the sounds of a scuffle. He could tell the sounds were coming from deep in the alley between the lawyer’s office and the barbershop. Feeling for his gun, he charged into the alley.
The sounds were actually coming from behind the lawyer’s office. Newt was in a fistfight with Mort, one of Idalou’s cowhands.
“Break it up, Newt,” Will shouted, “or I’ll put a bullet into you.” Newt hit Mort one last time, then stepped back.
“Remember what I said,” he growled at Mort.
“What’s this all about?” Will asked as he drew closer. It was dark behind the law office, but he could tell that Mort had come off a lot worse than Newt.
“Just a personal disagreement,” Newt said.
Mort had a bloody nose, a busted lip, and a torn shirt. Newt, much bigger than the wiry cowhand, hardly looked as if he’d been in a fight.
“It looks like more than that to me,” Will said.
“You calling me a liar?” Newt asked, his hands balled into tight fists.
“I’m not sure yet,” Will said. “Give me a minute, and I’ll let you know. What’s this all about?” he asked Mort.
“A difference of opinion,” Mort said without looking Will in the eye.
“You’re both liars,” Will said. Newt didn’t seem to mind. He just grinned.
“You want me for anything else, Sheriff?” His tone was insolent.
“If I do, I’ll find you. Come with me to my office,” he said to Mort as Newt turned and left. “You need to clean up before you go back to the ranch.”
“I’m fine,” Mort said.
“You’re not fine.”
Mort searched for and found his hat. “I’d better be getting back. Miss Idalou likes us to be in the saddle by seven.” He punched his hat back into shape and settled it on his head.
“Newt jumped you before you could get to the saloon, didn’t he?”
Mort nodded.
“Will you tell me what this is really about?”
“Like Newt said, it’s personal.”
“His fist in your face is personal. It’s the reason behind it that I doubt.”
“You’ll be gone in a few days, Sheriff, so it’s best if you just leave this alone.”
“The town will have a new sheriff.”
“No, it won’t,” Mort said. “What fool will take the job once they know Newt killed the last one?”
“ I took it,” Will said.
“For a week. Miss Idalou told me how long you agreed to wait for her to find that bull. Well, she’s not going to find it, and you’ll be gone. Don’t mess with things you won’t be around long enough to fix.”
Mort brushed some dirt off the knees of his pants and walked away, leaving Will angry and helpless. He had taken this job to bridge the gap until the town could hire a new sheriff, but now he found himself in the middle of a tangled web of potential alliances and conflicting ambitions. He was certain the fight between Newt and Mort factored into the conflict over the Ellsworth ranch and the missing bull. He just couldn’t figure out Newt’s role. He lived in a rundown cabin on a dry creek and picked up odd jobs from time to time. He’d tried to assault Mara and now had attacked Idalou’s cowhand. Newt was a bully and a brute, but he wasn’t irrational, so what reason did he have for these attacks? Because he could? Because no one except Will would try to stop him?
Will didn’t believe so, but he was up against a problem Mort had stated with perfect clarity. Did he have a right to mess with things he wouldn’t be around long enough to fix?
Will knew something was wrong as soon as he saw Idalou’s face. “Has something happened to Carl?” he asked as he stepped inside.
The aromas of bacon, coffee, and hot bread reached out to him from the kitchen, causing his stomach to rumble ominously. Idalou turned and headed back toward the kitchen.
“Carl’s fine. It’s Mort and Henry. They’ve quit. Carl’s in the bunkhouse right now trying to change their minds, but they say they’re riding out this morning.”
“Did they give a reason?” Will asked.
“No, but it must have something to do with the fight.”
“Do you know why Mort would be fighting with Newt?”
“No. As far as I know, he has never had anything to do with Newt.”
“Mort wouldn’t tell me what was going on last night, but maybe he will now.”
Idalou moved the bacon to the side of the stove, took the bread out of the oven, and covered it with a towel. “I’m coming with you.”
“Have either Mort or Henry tangled with Newt before?” Will asked as they covered the short distance between the house and the bunkhouse.
“As far as I know, they’ve had nothing to do with each other.”
A heavy overnight rain had left the ground soggy. The air was still cool, but it would be hot and humid by afternoon. Two saddled horses stood outside the bunkhouse, one already burdened with bedroll, stuffed saddlebags, a canteen, and a rifle. Before they reached the bunkhouse, the door opened and Henry stepped out, loaded down with his bedroll and saddlebags. Carl and Mort followed.
“You know we can’t find anybody else this time of year,” Carl was saying. “Can’t you at least wait until fall?”
“We gotta go now,” Mort said.
“Why?” Will said. “Is there a family emergency?”
Swollen and badly bruised, Mort’s face looked worse than it had last night.
“You might look at it that way,” Mor
t said.
“Newt’s suddenly decided to take a dislike to Mort and Henry,” Carl explained. “He doesn’t like their looks, so he says. If they stay around, he’s going to make sure they look a whole lot worse. We can’t let him run people off just because he doesn’t like them.”
“What are you going to do to stop him?” Mort asked.
“That’s the sheriff’s job.”
“It would be if he was going to stay here,” Mort said, “but he ain’t, so whose job is it going to be then?”
“It’ll be mine,” Carl said.
“You can’t do nothing,” Mort said as he tossed his saddlebags across his horse’s back. “Newt’s bigger than you and me put together. And he’s faster with a gun.”
“There’s no reason for this to become a gun issue,” Idalou said.
“I expect that’s what the last sheriff thought.” Mort finished securing his saddlebags, then turned to face Idalou. “Look where that got him.”
“Is this the first time Newt has threatened you?” Will asked.
“No,” Mort said. “He’s done it a couple other times. Only this time he said I wouldn’t see him next time. That means I’ll get a bullet in the back and no one will ever know who did it. Look, I don’t want to leave, but Henry and me are just cowhands. I didn’t hire on for a range war, but it looks like that’s what you got.” Mort tightened the rawhide strips holding his bedroll in place. “If you’re going to keep this place,” he said to Carl, “you need a gunfighter.”
“Do you know something you’re not telling us?” Will asked.
“McGloughlin’s cows don’t wander onto our land,” Henry said. “Somebody pushes them this way. That bull doesn’t wander off by himself, neither.”
“Do you know who’s doing it?” Will asked.
“Neither of us knows,” Mort said. “If I hadn’t seen hoofprints, I wouldn’t be sure myself. This place is too big for three men to watch everything.”
“Then how do you expect one to do it?” Carl asked.
“That’s not my problem.” Mort swung into the saddle. Henry was already mounted and waiting. “All I want is a place where I won’t get shot for doing my job.”
Will couldn’t think much of two men who would cut and run when things got tough, but it was hard to expect a man to risk his life for twenty-five dollars a month.
“Can’t you put Newt in jail?” Idalou asked Will. “He has no right to beat up people and threaten their lives.”
“As long as Mort isn’t willing to tell a judge what he just told us, all I can do is let Newt know I’m watching him and will jail him the next time he puts his toe over the line.”
“What I don’t understand is why Newt gives a damn about Mort or Henry,” Carl said. “He’s never had anything to do with them.”
“Could be somebody’s paying him to cause trouble,” Will said. “According to what I hear, he doesn’t have a steady income but always has enough money for beer.”
“It’s got to be Jordan,” Idalou said. “Newt’s worked for him lots of times.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Carl said. “Why would he try to kiss Mara if he was working for her father? I think he hasn’t gotten over the sheriff knocking him down or outdrawing him. I think he’s trying to do everything he can to rile Will without doing enough to get himself thrown in jail.”
“That sounds like something Newt would do,” Idalou admitted.
“That still leaves Henry’s assertion that someone is behind the movement of stock from Jordan’s land to yours and from yours to Jordan’s. Do you think Newt could be doing it for somebody else?”
“He could do anything,” Carl said.
Will hoped Andy and Lloyd found a new sheriff soon. Things could get completely out of control if he had to leave and Dunmore still had no sheriff.
Breakfast was a very solemn meal. Convinced that Jordan was behind everything, Idalou didn’t bother to comment on her brother’s probable or improbable solutions. Will’s thoughts were divided between the perilous situation and Idalou. It worried him that he was becoming more and more attracted to her. Not the physical part—the rest of it. His admiration of her fierce loyalty to Carl and the ranch even when it caused people to dislike her. His desire to stay around long enough to help her out. The thought of spending time with her talking about something other than bulls, ranches, and the perfidy of Jordan McGloughlin. His constant comparisons of her to Isabelle.
Isabelle was one of the most uncompromising women alive. She never stopped going, doing, thinking, and she couldn’t understand anyone who did. Nevertheless, Will adored her. Comparing anyone to Isabelle was a danger sign. Doing so favorably was an indication it was time to cut and run. The fact that he didn’t want to run should have thrown him into a panic. So why hadn’t it?
Seeing Idalou look as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders made him want to shoulder that weight himself. She was too young to have been thrust into the role of responsible adult and parent. She should have been going to parties, flirting with the best-looking men in Dunmore, spending more time thinking about her clothes than the whereabouts of a bull. She should be looking forward to each day, rather than gearing up for another struggle she had little chance of winning. Men should be willing to take risks for her, not run the other way when they saw her coming.
If he knew what was good for him, he’d run away, too. Hers wasn’t the only bull in Texas, even though he thought it was the best. He should concentrate on setting up his ranch, buying breeding stock. He could use Jake’s bulls or the fancy critter Chet had bought in Dallas last year. But Chet’s bull had to be pasture bred. The animal would breed meatier calves, but Will wanted a bull who could be master of his range, ruler of his universe. So he had to stay here if he wanted this bull. He also had a job to do, whether he wanted it or not.
Then there was the problem of Mara. He didn’t believe for a minute that Mara was in love with him. She was simply infatuated. If he left before she recovered, she just might set him up as the love of her life who’d gotten away. She’d still probably marry Carl, but she wouldn’t give him the love he deserved because she’d have built a shrine around Will. He owed it to both of them to get the matter straightened out before he left.
So, having decided that he had to stick around for a while, he wondered what Idalou would say if he asked her to go walking in the moonlight.
“I heard your hands rode out this morning,” Van said to Idalou.
“How do you know? They’ve only been gone since breakfast.” Idalou was supposed to be looking for the bull, but she couldn’t concentrate. She hadn’t been able to think straight since Will had asked her if she’d walk with him on his rounds some evening after supper. It had to be boring to walk around the same street for hours, but she couldn’t understand why he’d asked her to walk with him. If any other man had asked her, she’d have thought he was interested in her. She was certain Will wasn’t.
“They rode through town to buy supplies,” Van said. “I was in getting some stuff for the ranch.”
Idalou couldn’t imagine Van lowering himself to buy supplies for the ranch, but she had little inclination to think about Van. Her loan payment was due in two days, and she still hadn’t found the bull. She and Carl had spent every hour of daylight for the last two days looking for him without success.
“What are you going to do for help?” Van asked.
“Unless we find the bull by tomorrow, it won’t matter. Lloyd will put our ranch up for sale, and we won’t have any place to keep the bull once we do find it.”
“You think it could have wandered onto our land?”
“It could have gone anywhere.”
“You want to look?”
Idalou couldn’t hide her surprise. It was well known that Van’s father didn’t like anybody riding across his range. Even though Van had always been friendly with her, even stopping to help out on occasion, he and Carl were competing for Mara’s affections. “What would
your father say?”
“Why should he say anything? We didn’t take your bull, so he can’t have any objection to your looking anywhere you want. I’ll ride with you if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.”
“I wouldn’t feel so much like I’m trespassing.”
Idalou didn’t like Frank Sonnenberg. He wasn’t a pleasant man, but she didn’t hold that against him. Losing his wife and daughter to an infectious fever shortly after they moved to Dunmore was enough to sour any man on life. He stayed pretty much to himself.
“If you’d like, I can lend you a couple of men,” Van said. “You and Carl can’t cover all the ground by yourselves.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to,” Van said with the trademark smile that had caused so many female hearts to flutter. “If we do end up with your ranch, I don’t want to feel like we were responsible for your losing it.”
Idalou was finding it hard to be thankful for Van’s offer of help when he kept referring to the impending loss of the ranch. The possibility—the near certainty— was all too real. She didn’t want to think of the consequences. They were too dire. “It’s very good of you to offer, Van. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem. Let’s go round up a couple of hands. Then you can look anywhere you think the bull might have gone.”
Idalou tried not to let her hopes get too high. Sonnenberg controlled more range than Jordan, but his grass wasn’t as good. It didn’t make sense for the bull to have wandered from good graze to poor. But it was always possible he’d gone in search of cows.
If she had to lose her ranch, she just might sell it to Sonnenberg before Lloyd Severns could put it up for auction. At least that way, Jordan wouldn’t get it, and she and Carl would get some cash out of the sale.
But even as she swung her mare alongside Van’s gelding, she couldn’t stop wondering why Will had invited her to walk with him. She wished she had a close friend she could talk to. Except for Webb, she’d never been interested in a man, nor had any man been seriously interested in her. She was certain Will wasn’t seriously interested in her, but if he wasn’t, why had he asked her to walk with him? Surely he would realize that in a town like Dunmore a walk in the moonlight practically meant they were seeing each other.
Texas Tender Page 10