by Paul Lederer
Mystery Herd
Paul Lederer writing as Logan Winters
ONE
It was an agreeable time and place. The horsemen had dismounted and loosened their saddle cinches to allow the horses to breathe easier as they grazed on the grass of the oak-stippled knoll. The long valley below them was rife with gold colored grass ready for mowing. A creek ran past prettily, appearing silver and purple in the slanting light of the downward tending sun. Far beyond the valley a ring of rugged, pine-stippled hills showed early shadows in their crevices. The breeze was fresh as it flowed across the knoll, rattling the leaves of the oak trees, but not cool enough to cause discomfort. It was Trinity’s first visit to this south-eastern corner of Colorado Territory, and he liked what he was seeing.
Had it not been for the slowly swinging shadow the hanging man cast, it would have been a peaceful view.
Now Trinity again returned his attention to the lynched man whose tongue protruded and whose face was nearly black. He was a large man, Trinity noticed, with work hardened hands and a cowhand’s clothes. His boots were missing.
His companion, Russell Bates, did not look at the dead man. He already knew who it was.
‘His name is Dalton Remy – or that was his name,’ young Russell Bates said, without turning to look at him or at Trinity. ‘I don’t know if a dead man is still entitled to a name.’
‘That depends on what kind of man he was,’ Trinity said. He removed his hat, ran his fingers through his reddish-brown hair and let the breeze finish arranging it before planting his Stetson once more.
‘He was a good man,’ Bates said, forcing himself to glance that way at the man who was no longer one of the living. ‘He taught me a lot when I was a kid – some that I didn’t appreciate at the time.’
After they had tightened their cinches and again were aboard the horses, Bates went on, ‘Remy was my father’s foreman for years. He still was the last time I heard from Dad.’
Trinity nodded. He had already heard much of the story along the long trail. Russell’s father had written him an urgent letter at Fort Bridger where he was serving out his enlistment in the cavalry. The old man had pleaded with Russell to come home. There was a dire emergency down on the Owl, which was the ranch’s name and the quirky brand its livestock wore.
Since the Owl was also a provider of army beef, Russell had assumed his commander would grant him an emergency leave, but his request had been denied. Russell had taken matters into his own hands. One day while riding patrol, he had slipped away from his troop, put on the civilian clothing he had stashed in his saddle-bags, and headed off on his own. As he had asked Trinity:
‘What was I to do? I have a duty to the army, but there’s no duty stronger than that owed to one’s family.’
He had met Trinity by chance while riding south, and it was a good thing he had. In his state of mind, in his haste, Bates hadn’t even brought basic provisions along and he was half-starved before he encountered Trinity camped in the broken hills along the North Platte River. Trinity didn’t talk much about himself, but he was a companionable man and when Bates told him his story, he agreed to ride along with him toward the Owl.
‘Got nothing much else to do,’ the tall man had told Bates. Trinity was willing to share his supplies and listen to Russell’s speculation as they rode.
‘My father didn’t go into details in his letter – he was never much for writing,’ Russell told him. ‘He only said that someone was out to ruin the Owl, and I should get myself back home. He’s not young any more, Trinity. I could see by his squiggled writing that his hand was uncertain, trembling.’
‘Who has been running the Owl since you’ve been gone?’
‘Who? Dalton Remy,’ Russell said, jerking his head toward the hanged man. ‘He was foreman on the ranch for maybe twenty years, since Father drove the first herd up out of Texas. You see what’s happened to him. I was worried before … now I’m plain scared.’
‘Well,’ Trinity said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘It looks like we’re nearly there.’ Ahead through the scattering of oak trees he had spotted a collection of low buildings. ‘I take it that’s the Owl.’
‘Yes,’ Russell said. ‘We’ve been on our land for the past hour.’
‘We’re almost there; your father will be able to tell you what the trouble is.’
‘If he’s.…’ Russell’s voice faded away. By now he had come to the conclusion that his father might be dead or dying, unable to speak.
‘Who else is home who might be able to tell you what’s gone wrong?’
‘My sisters. Holly and Millicent. Neither is likely to know much. I’ve never seen Millicent out on the range – she has no interest in where the money comes from, only in spending it,’ Russell said without bitterness. ‘As for Holly, she’s so busy trying to prove she’s mistress of the Owl that the cowhands duck for cover when they see her coming.’
‘That’s everybody?’
‘I have an older brother, Earl, but he rode back to Texas a few years ago after he and my father got into some sort of squabble. We weren’t close. He had a temper like Holly’s. I didn’t even know he was gone until a week had passed and one of the hands happened to mention it.’
Trinity only nodded in reply. They continued toward the yard of the house where a single blue spruce towered. Beyond the house a clump of barren cottonwood trees surrounded a red barn. There were six horses standing idle at the hitch rail, and a few men standing about, doing very little. For a working ranch, there was so little activity that it almost seemed a pall had fallen over the land.
‘It’s my father,’ Russell said, his voice taut, throttled. ‘He’s dead. That must be what’s happened.’
‘Wait until you find out for sure,’ Trinity said, but that did nothing to calm Russell Bates.
‘If he were still alive and saw this many men standing idle, the world would be hearing about it.’
Trinity joined in silently adding their horses to those hitched to the rail, and followed Russell up on to the porch and through the door of the white house. The cowhands watched their passing without saying a word, expressionless eyes staring out from the shadows cast by the brims of their hats. Yes, Trinity thought, something was terribly wrong on the Owl.
Entering the living room where a low fire crackled and sent wavering flames up the native stone chimney, they found a slender, elegantly attired young woman in deep purple velvet seated there, watching the fire.
‘Russell,’ she said, not with great surprise, nor in a welcoming tone, but merely acknowledging his presence. Trinity watched as she strode forward, took one of Russell’s hands and studied him with her dark eyes. She was as tall as Russell Bates, perhaps an inch or so taller. Svelte and sleek, her black hair groomed and brushed to a shine which reflected the shifting firelight. ‘How did you know?’ she asked in a sultry, soft voice.
‘It’s true, then? Father’s gone?’
‘Not more than four hours ago.’ She shifted her eyes to Trinity, a question behind them.
Russell, obviously shaken, was nevertheless alert enough to read the look and he said,
‘Millicent, this is my friend, Trinity. Trinity, this is my sister, Millicent.’
The lady did not extend a hand and so Trinity merely nodded. There was the patter of feet on the stairwell to their left and a youngish, red-haired girl in range clothes appeared. She paused halfway down the flight of steps and squinted at them.
‘Russell? Just a little too late as always,’ the girl said in a cutting voice. It wasn’t the way Trinity would have liked to be welcomed to a family gathering. Russell, however, perhaps used to the tone, seemed to take the scolding in his stride.
‘I got here as quickly as I could. Holly, this is my friend, Trinit
y.’
‘What’s he here for?’ the redhead snapped and Trinity turned his eyes away to watch Millicent as she slinked back to her over-stuffed black leather chair and settled into it with feline grace. It was hard to believe that these two women were sisters who had shared the same upbringing.
‘I want to go up and see Father,’ Russell said, as Holly clumped down the stairs, her boot heels thudding heavily. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her faded jeans and looked up at her brother, her mouth tight.
‘Well?’ She nodded her head toward the stairs.
‘First I wanted to ask you, have to ask you – what happened to Dalton Remy – if you know.…’
‘How would I know?’ Holly Bates asked, tucking her hair into the gray Stetson she wore. ‘The old man just came up missing two days ago. I guess he knew with Father gone there wouldn’t be a place for him on the Owl any more.’
‘That’s not what happened!’ Russell said, growing agitated. ‘Besides, why wouldn’t there be a place for him? He’s been here since the first days. Father trusted him completely.’
‘I can’t say I did,’ Holly said, her eyes smoldering. ‘Besides, he was getting old. I brought in some younger blood to manage the ranch.’
‘What do you mean?’ a puzzled Russell Bates asked. Trinity was aware of the man standing in the shadows in front of an interior door, and he lowered his hand just slightly toward his holster.
‘She means me,’ the man said before strutting forward to join Holly Bates. He was tall and broad, his upper lip decorated with a black mustache, his blue eyes cold and impenetrable.
‘Vincent Battles,’ Russell said, obviously shocked by the man’s appearance. ‘My father told you once—’
‘He’s not around to tell me anything now, is he?’ Battles asked coldly. ‘Besides, Holly asked me to come up to help her. With your father gone, with Remy having drifted off, with you away in the army, she wanted someone who could manage things on the Owl.’
‘That’s right, Russ,’ Holly said, her eyes fiercely challenging. ‘We’ve got a big trail drive coming up, whether you know it or not. There’s a lot of money involved – money the Owl needs. I can’t manage the details and control all these cowhands by myself. Vincent was available – and he knows the Owl.’
Russell was silent for a long time, his mouth working with subdued emotion. There was obviously bad blood between him and Vincent Battles. ‘I want to see Father,’ he mattered finally and started past Holly and Battles toward the staircase. Trinity started to follow, but it was a private affair and he hadn’t been invited. Battles and Holly had started toward the front door, a private conversation distracting them. That left Trinity alone with the oversized kitten, Millicent Bates, who continued to occupy the chair, watching the fire in silence. He took a seat close but not too near to her, crossing his legs, placing his hat on a knee.
‘Have you known my brother long?’ Millicent asked. Firelight swirled across the dark velvet of her dress, across her quite beautiful face.
‘No, we just met along the trail,’ Trinity replied.
‘Oh, I see,’ she said in a very soft voice that made Trinity lean nearer to hear her. ‘So many new men around the place now – I don’t know half of them.’
‘There’s always a lot of new hands hired around roundup time,’ Trinity commented.
‘Yes, but usually local boys: ones I’ve seen here and there or around town.’
‘These aren’t?’ Trinity asked without expression.
‘No, most of them seem to be from down in Texas. A few Mexican men as well. I guess Vincent must have brought them along.’
The way she said Vincent’s name seemed to imply that she thought little of the man, unlike her sister, Holly. Trinity knew nothing of their past history, but it did occur to him that if Holly, in the absence of Dalton Remy, had decided to hire Vincent Battles as foreman, he had only done the reasonable thing in finding a new bunch of men to help with the long drive to Fort Bridger where the beeves were expected within the month.
The front door opened just as Trinity glanced up to see Russell Bates making his heavy way down the stairs from his father’s death bed. Holly came in the front door, a bounce in her steps just as Russell reached the foot of the stairs.
‘Well?’ Holly asked, snapping a riding quirt against her boot.
‘Well what?’ a doleful Russell asked.
‘Well, Father’s beyond talking to you, as you saw. Whatever he wanted you to tell you, it’s past thinking about now. There’s no need for you to stay on at the Owl, Russ. Things are well in hand, with Vincent back.’
Russell Bates lifted his eyes. ‘Are they?’ he asked. ‘I wonder.’
‘They are – you’d be better off getting back to Fort Bridger before they court martial you and start organizing a firing squad.’
‘I’m not worried about that – not just now,’ Russell told his sister, although his drawn expression said otherwise.
‘Well, do what you like,’ Holly said carelessly. ‘You know where your room is. But if your friend there’ – she looked at Trinity – ‘is going to be staying around, it’ll have to be in the bunkhouse – and I expect to get some work out of him,’ she finished with some heat before making her way to the inner part of the house.
‘Sorry,’ Russell mumbled to Trinity.
‘No apology is necessary,’ Trinity said. Millicent had remained curled up in her chair. Once or twice she glanced at the men as if she would say something, but she held her silence.
‘Will you … do you mean to stay around for a while, Trinity?’ Russell asked.
‘I guess so, if I’m not putting anyone out. I could stand to catch some bunk time, rest my horse and maybe make a few dollars.’
‘I’m glad,’ Russell said, and the rush of relief in his voice was obvious. He was still a deeply troubled young man, perhaps more so now than ever.
Millicent uncoiled herself from the chair and got to her feet. ‘I believe I would like a cup of tea,’ she said and then sort of glided away toward where Trinity figured the kitchen must be. She paused before reaching it, with her hand on the door, and turned her head toward Russell.
‘You should know that Earl is on his way up from Texas.’
‘Earl?’ Aside he reminded Trinity, ‘My older brother.’
‘Of course, Earl. There’s a lot still to be settled, isn’t there? The reading of the will – we have to find out who has what coming. Who owns the Owl.’
‘We’ll all have a share, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know. In Father’s family it was always the first-born son who inherited.’
‘Earl has his own spread down in Texas,’ Russell objected, but not strongly.
‘I know,’ Millicent answered, and she slipped away, passing through the doorway like a spirit.
‘You’ve got yourself quite a mess, don’t you?’ Trinity said, approaching Russell to stand in front of him. He looked down into the troubled boy’s eyes.
‘Yes. Yes, I do, Trinity. I’m glad that you’re going to stay on here. I might need someone to talk to, to lean on for a little while.’
‘I need a place to lay my head. My horse needs water and feed.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Russell said, grabbing his hat. ‘I’ll show you around and find you a cot in the bunkhouse. Let’s get outside.’
Russell seemed to need to get out of the house, into the fresh air. Trinity knew why. He, too, could sense that there was more than the old man’s death casting a heavy cloud over the house. There was something nebulous but quite evil at work here. Something threatening which hung over the Owl Ranch like a dark curse.
TWO
Russell Bates walked out of the house with Trinity into the bright sunlight. Although the sun was fading in the west, there was still enough of its light to strike the blue spruce tree in the yard and gild its tips. Gathering their horses, they started walking toward the stable with their mounts in tow. Bates would have to hide his bay horse, si
nce it wore the tell-tale US brand, one brand even the running iron specialists stayed away from.
Trinity’s black and white speckled pony wore the Rafter W brand out of Austin, Texas. That brand had been altered with differing success from time to time. A clumsy rustler running Double Diamond cattle had been hung over one such infraction. Outside the stable, Trinity got his first look at the Owl brand – the same mark their cattle would be wearing – on two saddle horses standing there.
The brand was merely a circle with two flaring iron loops within it that suggested rather than resembled an Owl. Trinity did not see how that brand could be tampered with successfully, though there was always a slick hand with a running iron or a hot cinch ring who would try to burn a new brand over anything that happened to come his way.
Russell saw Trinity studying the strange, quite distinctive brand. ‘We had a smith here who was an artist in a small way – he came up with that iron for Father.’
‘It’s unusual,’ Trinity commented.
‘What do you think of my sisters?’ Russell asked as they reached the hay- and manure-smelling building which was deep in shadow now, empty but for a few curious horses, their heads hanging over the lintel to their stalls, eyeing the entering men. ‘And what do you think of Vincent Battles, Trinity?’
What the younger man was really asking is what state the Owl seemed to be in and what he could do to take charge of affairs and prevent difficulties that his father had only alluded to in his last letter. There could be no answer to that. Trinity told him:
‘I’d have to be around longer, to know those people better, to say, Russell.’
‘I know,’ Russell Bates said with a sigh as he slipped the saddle from his army bay and swung it over a partition. ‘It’s just that I don’t like the feel of things around here. If Father were alive.…’
But he wasn’t. Russell who had come to the Owl to assist his father with some problem, now had no idea what the problem even was. It appeared there was some sort of secret game going on. Vincent Battles had been enlisted by Holly to come to her aid, they said. The man seemed to favor her. At any rate she had the right to ask for assistance with all that was happening. In response, perhaps, Millicent had written to her brother, Earl, asking for his help. Were they both trying to get ahead of the game before the elder Bates’s will was read? Trinity couldn’t even guess at this point, not after knowing them all for only a matter of minutes.