Chapter Fourteen
OWEN ROSE WHILE the first of the morning sun still ducked under the distant horizon. The ranch house, set up a bit higher than the other buildings on the property, was beginning to outline itself against the sky. Very little was stirring at such an early hour; a few horses whinnied and neighed inside their corrals, and he could hear the first birds of the day chirping in a tree somewhere close. A light in the kitchen window told him that someone else on the ranch had awakened before him but was nowhere to be seen.
He was alone, just the way he liked it.
Inside the cabin, his sister still slept soundly on the cot beside his own. Quietly, he’d slipped a worn shirt over his work pants and boots before going out. He ran a hand over his stubby chin that was in desperate need of a shave. Sleep still cottoning his head, he stretched a sore kink out of his back, snatched up a wooden bucket from beside the front door, and headed off into the morning for his water.
Nearby, the work of rebuilding from the fire had already begun. The wrecked barns and charred fences had been demolished and cleared away; the only obvious signs of the fire that still remained were blackened earth and dead shrubbery. In the end, the damage had been minimal, even if the fear of worse had not been. Hale had been placed in charge of the reconstruction and, with loads of enthusiasm and a penchant for backbreaking labor, had been intent on finishing the work quickly.
All the better to keep him out of my hair, Owen thought.
In the days since his confrontation with Hale in the horse barn, Owen steadfastly stayed out of the man’s way, save for an occasional run-in around the supper table up at the ranch house; he avoided the cramped dining room at breakfast and dinner for another reason. Avoiding Hale wasn’t something he did out of fear, but rather caution. Ever since Owen had arrived at the Grant Ranch, he had done his best not to draw any attention to himself. In order to learn if John Grant really was the man responsible for ruining his mother’s life, if he was his and Hannah’s absent father, the last thing Owen needed was an extra pair of eyes on him. Work hard… keep your head down and your eyes open. If there were bad blood between him and Hale, it would be a setback; Owen regretted mouthing off in the horse barn; it made things much worse than they needed to be.
Even though he had done his utmost to avoid Charlotte, by steadfastly skipping any meal she might attend, skirting the main ranch house, and even excusing himself from driving her and Hannah into town, sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t making his situation worse. By not seeing Charlotte or talking with her, he found himself thinking of her all the time: while he did his chores, while Hannah rambled on about her day at the law office, and especially when he lay in his cot at night, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Even when he should have been out gathering evidence pointing to John Grant’s guilt, he was wondering if Charlotte hated him for all he had said and done. While his head was pulling him one way, his heart pulled another. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he was falling in love.
Rounding the back of a cabin, Owen neared the well that served the bunkhouse, where the workingmen employed by the Grant Ranch lived. Constructed of mortared stones and odd pieces of brick, with a simple winch and bucket, the well provided water for cooking, drinking, or whatever other personal use might be needed, including, in his case, letting a groggy man have a much-needed shave.
Owen loosed the rope line from the winch and tossed the bucket down into the darkness of the hole, hearing it land with a gentle splash. When he pulled it back up, straining easily at the winch, he whistled a tuneless tune, echoing the chorus of morning birds.
Before the bucket reached him, he knew that something wasn’t right; a nauseating stench rushed up to meet him, a smell, a particular smell that he couldn’t quite place, assaulted his senses. Despite his strong desire to let the bucket drop, he managed to draw it up.
Once the bucket was in view and he had pulled it over to the well’s ledge, the pungent odor grew stronger. Owen expected to find something in the water, a dead animal or horse manure, but the bucket’s surface just rippled as usual. Pouring out the water on the ground yielded no further answers and, after he had smelled the bucket, he began to wonder if it was the pail itself; someone could have untied it, used it for something else, and put it back not realizing what damage had been done.
After untying the bucket from the rope, Owen attached his own wooden pail and repeated the process. His bucket came back full of water as foul smelling as before.
“What in the hell is going on around here?” he muttered.
“It’s kerosene,” John Grant announced.
He stood beside the tainted well in the bright early morning sunlight, his face filled with concern. His jaw was set tight and his flat, contemplative eyes traveled back and forth from the well to Owen’s bucket where it sat on the ledge. John touched its edge and rubbed his fingers together. When his tongue touched his thumb, he spat on the ground. “Kerosene, all right.”
All around him were the men who had been summoned after Owen’s discovery. Hale stood closest to John, his thick, muscular arms folded across his broad chest, while Del and Clyde Drake, another ranch hand whom Owen didn’t know particularly well, were opposite, closer to himself. Every face was pensive, worried.
Owen hadn’t known whom he should talk with first, but had settled on speaking with Del, who had always treated him right and seemed particularly levelheaded. Surprisingly, the Grant Ranch’s best man hadn’t immediately sought to inform John of the matter, joking that he hadn’t wanted to interrupt his boss’s breakfast, but Hale, who had overheard their initial conversation, thought otherwise, and told them in no uncertain terms that if they wouldn’t disrupt Mr. Grant’s meal, he most certainly would. On this particular matter, Owen couldn’t help but see things Hale’s way. Clyde had just been finishing his eggs and bacon and was swept up on their way to the well.
“You sure about that, boss?” Del asked.
“I am,” John answered gravely. “Ain’t no doubt ’bout it.”
“How’d kerosene get in our well?” Hale asked the obvious.
“Ain’t rightly certain how it got there, but I aim to find out,” John replied.
“Maybe when they was diggin’ this here well, they struck oil and didn’t even know it.” Clyde laughed, his speech drawling. He was a short and thickening man, his potbelly threatening to spill over his belt line, his blond hair going dirty and grey at his temples. When he smiled at his own inappropriate joke, his stained, crooked teeth retained a smile that kept on even when no one else laughed.
“This ain’t likely to be an accident, I reckon,” John observed.
“Why not?” Del asked.
“It must be intentional tamperin’. There ain’t no other explanation.”
“Maybe it’s that a lantern fell down the well,” Hale offered. “Maybe someone came out here in the night, thirsty or whatnot, maybe they’d been doin’ a bit of drinkin’ and weren’t right on their feet or were overly tired and just stumblin’ round. Either way, they put it on the ledge and bumped into it, causin’ it to fall, plain and simple. The lantern sinks and the oil floats round on top. Seems like it could’ve happened, just that way.”
“Could be,” Clyde echoed. “Could be that right there.”
“We could ask around, see if anyone will admit to it,” Del offered. “This ain’t like droppin’ a match that set the ranch on fire. Somethin’ like this here ain’t so hard to fess up to.”
“Even if no one comes clean,” Clyde said, “and I ain’t sayin’ they wouldn’t, don’t mean that that ain’t the answer.”
John remained silent for a while, his mind struggling with all of the possibilities that might explain what had happened, although it looked to Owen as if he wasn’t giving Hale’s suggestion much of a chance.
“Owen,” John finally began, turning to face him, “there wasn’t anyone else around when you come out here this mornin’?”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“
Did you look around?”
“No. Not until I pulled up the bucket.”
“Were you the first person to use the well today?”
“Probably.”
“Your place is just over yonder?” John nodded over Owen’s shoulder.
He followed the older man’s gaze. The sight of the cabin, indistinguishable from most of the others on the ranch’s grounds, set off a fluttering in his chest, completely unexpected, as if there was something about his living inside of it that was about to change. Owen’s nerves went drum tight. He could see in what direction John Grant was headed. Cautiously, Owen nodded.
“Livin’ right there and you didn’t hear nothin’ last night,” John kept on, “no sounds of commotion or somebody rootin’ round, up to no good?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Nothin’ at all?”
“If someone was out here, they must have been taking pains to keep quiet.”
“Anyone else hear anythin’ last night?” John asked, his eyes examining each of their faces.
In turn, every man replied that he hadn’t.
An unsettling silence settled around the well as each man’s thoughts remained his own. Owen felt no closer to understanding what had actually happened than when he had discovered the stricken well. Whatever the final explanation, he knew that John Grant was slowly and surely arriving at his own conclusion, one that, deservedly or not, made Owen quite unsettled.
I don’t like where this is headed… not one bit…
“I ain’t followin’ all this here thinkin’,” Del said, breaking the quiet. “If you don’t think this is an accident, how did kerosene get down the well?”
“I think it was put there.”
“What?” Hale exclaimed, his hands flying from his chest and his mouth hanging open. “You mean someone tried to ruin it on purpose?”
“I do,” John replied simply.
“But what about the idea of it bein’ a lantern?” Hale kept on.
“One of the lanterns don’t hold enough oil to explain the amount that’s down the well. Oil settles on top of water, so if it was what fits into a lantern, it would take only a couple of pails full and you’d have most of it out. What’s comin’ up here is a lot more than that. One sniff of a bucket would tell you that clear enough.”
“Why in the hell would someone do that?”
“The bigger question would be who would do such a thing,” Clyde offered.
John’s tone darkened. “Right now, I don’t know, but rest assured we’re gonna find out, come hell or high water.”
“You reckon it’s someone here?” Hale asked. “Someone on the ranch?”
“Can’t be,” Del answered.
“Don’t see how it could be any other way,” John contradicted. “Be a hell of a walk for a fella to come up from the edge of the ranch property, ’specially when takin’ into account the oil he’d be haulin’. Drivin’ close enough, comin’ ’cross the road over the creek, would be a sure way to get noticed.”
“Then it’s someone here,” Owen said. And he would be one of the first to be suspected. On the surface, it made a lot of sense. He and Hannah were two of the latest arrivals to the ranch, and while his sister was outgoing and well liked, he had gone well out of his way to be aloof and even unfriendly with the other men; and he was, as John had already established, living close enough to the well to have been able to pull off the crime without being noticed. Somehow, the fact that he had been the one to report the tainting of the well would be conveniently overlooked, people assuming that he had alerted them to throw them off his trail.
When he looked at the faces of the men gathered around the well, he saw that they were thinking similar things. Even Del, whom Owen had trusted enough to inform of what had happened, even he was stealing glances in his direction, suspicion in his eyes.
Everything Owen had done since he had arrived in Oklahoma, all of the time devoted to discovering if John Grant was his real father, hung in the balance. If the suspicion of his involvement grew too great, he could be asked to leave the ranch, regardless of what excuse he offered. After the death of his mother back in Colorado, he had sworn over her freshly dug grave that he wouldn’t rest until he made the man responsible for her suffering pay. If he were to falter now, if he were to fail to fulfill his vow…
He couldn’t allow that to happen; he just could not…
When the gathering around the well broke up, Owen couldn’t help but notice the way Hale kept looking back at him as he walked away.
“I couldn’t give a damn whether he likes the plan or not!” Carter Herrick thundered, his fist clenching so tightly that the lit cigar clutched between his fingers snapped in two. “Who does he think he is to question what I have ordered? Ruining that well was what I asked him to do and by God, he’ll do it, any consequences to his own person be damned!”
Clyde Drake shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and then back again. He’d been on his feet all day and was utterly exhausted, but no matter how much he wanted to sit down in the chair opposite Herrick’s oak desk, he understood that he couldn’t do so without first being invited; it hadn’t taken him long to learn that a man in Herrick’s employ never dared do anything without his boss’s approval.
“I don’t think he likes havin’ me lookin’ over his shoulder,” Clyde ventured. “He feels like you don’t trust him.”
“And why in the hell should I?” Herrick shouted, tossing his broken cigar at his employee, the lit piece bouncing off Clyde’s chest and sending a shower of smoldering tobacco cascading to the floor. “Maybe if he hadn’t been so damned concerned about stopping the blaze that he had set, he wouldn’t find himself in such a delicate position!”
“You’re right, Mr. Herrick.” Clyde nodded. “I don’t understand what he was thinkin’ ’bout…”
“If only he’d let the blaze grow, Grant would be destroyed and his debt would be repaid,” Herrick said as he got up to pour himself another whiskey; to Clyde’s displeasure, no offer was made for a glass of his own.
“His heart just ain’t all the way in it, boss.”
“Thank you, Drake.” Herrick sneered sarcastically. “I’m so happy that I have a smart man such as you to tell me these things.”
“It ain’t all bad,” Clyde explained. “He done what he should’ve when Grant was talkin’ round the well. He kept his head and didn’t say nothin’ suspicious. Ain’t no one gonna be lookin’ at him. Ain’t no way that he’ll be suspected of dumpin’ the kerosene.”
“Who does Grant suspect?”
“Can’t say for certain just yet, but it looks as if the attention’s turned to the fella that done first reported it. Man by the name of Williams.”
Herrick nodded. “All the worse for him.”
“Course…” Clyde began tentatively, struggling to choose his words carefully, “that don’t mean our man still don’t think you done made a mistake by actin’ the way you did.”
“And I told you I didn’t give a damn what he thought!” Herrick roared.
“Now, boss… it’s… it’s just that… well, he might have a bit… of a point is all I’m sayin’,” Clyde continued, beads of sweat dotting his brow. “If it had only been the fire, then it could be seen as nothin’ more than an accident, a cigarette butt or somethin’, but now we gone and ruined that there well, it makes things pretty clear that someone is out to do the ranch harm. From this point on, Grant’s gonna be watchin’ close.”
“Let him, for all the good it will do.”
“It’s just that—” Clyde began, but Herrick’s scowl silenced him.
What Clyde left unsaid was that the other man’s concerns were also his own. In fact, his own position was even more precarious; he hadn’t been at the ranch long and his boisterous nature always drew attention. Even if he were to be scrutinized by accident, he would have to be a fool to think that Grant wouldn’t take a long look at him as a possible suspect, so it was still possible that his connection t
o Carter Herrick could be found out. But there was no way for Clyde to give voice to his concerns; the man who gave him orders was not the kind who would stomach weakness.
“What happens if we get found out?” Clyde asked.
“Then that would mean you weren’t doing your jobs as you should,” Herrick spat angrily. “What your task requires is both a low profile and an attention to detail. You are to follow my instructions to the letter, nothing more. When you deviate from the plan, that is when you will fail. You’re both being paid a substantial amount of money, so the last thing I want to hear about are excuses and failures! Success is the only outcome that will be tolerated, so if Grant learns about what I am planning, if he finds out about my involvement, it will be your lives! Am I making myself clear?”
“Ye-yes, sir, you are,” Clyde stammered.
“You tell your fellow saboteur every word that I’m telling you tonight. If he has a problem with what he’s being asked to do, remind him of how solid his standing at that godforsaken ranch would be if word got out about his gambling problem. That should serve to silence his tongue.”
“What are you gonna want us to do next?” Clyde asked.
For a long moment, Carter Herrick was silent as he stared out the window into the night sky. When he finally turned, a malicious smile curled the corners of his mouth in a way that unnerved his lackey.
“Now is the time for us to be bold,” Herrick answered. “Now is the time for drastic measures…”
Chapter Fifteen
WITH THE DINNER PLATES cleared from the table and the men headed back to the remaining chores of the day, Charlotte joined Amelia Grant and the other women in the kitchen to wash dishes. Positioned at the end of the working line, she dried each plate, glass, and piece of silverware that came her way, joining in the easy talk and ready laughter. It felt comfortable, different, yet still similar to the life she had left behind in Minnesota, a part of her new life, a future she felt glad to be pursuing.
Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] Page 13