Rancher's Law

by Dusty Richards

  No way to ever catch them. The major squinted against the heat waves as they fled. Sick to his stomach, he turned when the thick-set woman handed him the rifle.

  “Gracias, señor. You saved our lives.” Then she waddled back inside. He shook his head to clear it. That was why he didn’t fight with Delgado, for her sake and the other two men. He’d had his chance to die and decided he better stay alive and fight another day.

  “I am sending to Tucson for a buckboard to take you to Yuma. The woman?” the stage manager asked.

  “She’s fine. She’s at the station west of Gila Bend.”

  “Good. My boss in Tucson would be very mad if they had killed her, too.”

  “She’s fine.” Then he laughed aloud and clapped the little man on the shoulder. His slap raised a cloud of alkali tasting dust from his shirt. “Sorry about the hole in the roof.”

  “It don’t rain much here,” the man said, and shrugged as if it was a fact of life for him.

  “No, it don’t,” he said, and sighed. He still had a prison contractor scandal to resolve. He took the cup of coffee from the woman and nodded. More work left to do in Yuma before he could go home to his cool house in Prescott. Whew! He wiped his gritty forehead on his sleeve. This marshaling had turned into some job.

  21

  Jules’s place looked like a goat ranch, and the rank smell of his animals made Tillie’s nose burn. She saw every color of goat imaginable come running out of hiding at their arrival. Several raced out of the junipers and others bounded from around sheds and pens. Black ones, white woolly, brown and white ones. Some had beards as long as an old man’s and horns that curled. Others were sharp and pointed.

  “Jules does like his goats,” Jinx said in an apologetic way as he helped her down.

  “They in the house, too?”

  “Naw, but I better get my mailbags and your baggage. They’ll eat anything left outside.”

  “I’ll help,” she said, and raised her hands defensively as the curious bleating goats encircled her. For a moment, panic spread through her. She’d soon even smell like them. A shutter of revulsion ran up her spine.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” Jules said, and swept off his shapeless hat. “Get back,” he ordered, and a black and white collie took command. The dog’s barking and charges drove the ring of curious goats back and away from her. She wanted to hug him. That was a great dog, not a sneezing, leering bulldog like Ben. Somehow in the near future, she must make her peace with Luther’s best friend. But she dreaded the reunion with the bulldog. Quickly she scooted inside the picket gate with huge iron implement parts tied on a rope for ballast to keep it closed.

  She had heard how early settlers ran inside forts to escape Indians. She had narrowly escaped ten thousand goats as the two men brought her things and the canvas mail sacks inside the gate. With her luggage safely on the porch, she relaxed some. This being a righteous woman was hard work. Through the goat episode, she questioned herself. Had she acted composed and ladylike? If not, she’d sure tried.

  “Ain’t often I get a pretty young lady here,” the congenial Jules said, showing her the door like some grand marquis would royal company.

  The cabin was neat. So neat, she felt her jaw sag at the sight of the yellow table and chairs. A bachelor with a yellow table and chairs. And the cabinets had doors, not curtains. They were painted yellow and had scroll designs like the Danish drew on their houses. Was Jules Danish?

  “Ain’t it a nice place?” Jinx asked, coming in behind Jules with her bags.

  She managed a nod in agreement.

  “Put her things in the lean-to. There’s a fresh bed in there. It’s all ready,” Jules assured her.

  She thanked them, and skirt in her hand, went to the doorway. The room had lace curtains that swept in the cool breeze and the iron bedstead looked so inviting that she wanted to jump in it and sleep forever. How many days had it been since she slept in a real bed? Must have been months.

  “That suit you, ma’am?” Jinx asked.

  “I think a queen could stay here. Thanks.” She smiled at him.

  Then she heard him tell Jules, “She’s getting married in Fortune and I’m going to dance at her wedding.”

  “With who?” Jules demanded in a stage whisper. “Ain’t a fitting woman in that town that’s going to dance with a dirty galoot like you. You’ll have to be cleaned up and get a haircut and pound them buckskins in corn meal.”

  “All to dance at her wedding?”

  “Lord, yes, man. Aw, you’re so damn uncouth, even a bath, a shave, and clean clothes couldn’t fix you up.”

  “Listen here, you old goat chaser!”

  Tillie smiled. God was sure looking out for her. Oh, she’d never been to a fancy cathedral or even gone to church much. Once or twice, she went to a revival under a brush arbor, but she’d never been afraid to pray when she was in real trouble. But she also knew enough straitlaced folks in her lifetime who looked down at whores, and then their husbands would sneak up the back stairs for a little. Those folks she figured to be hypocrites. And if God listened to them, then he damn sure would listen to a sincere dove.

  She fell on her knees beside the bed and clasped her hands. “Dear God, this is Tillie McQuire. You done brought me across the desert and I’m grateful. Grateful for them two out there, ’cause they’re surely your children. Maybe they’re your angels delivering me to Luther. You have him be all right, Lord.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of what else she could promise him. Then she overheard the two men in the other room.

  “Lord, have mercy, Jules, I can hear she’s praying for us in there.”

  “Leave her alone. Riding with you up here would be a trying ride on the old devil hisself.”

  “I ain’t prying. Just nice to know there’s still good girls in this world. That cow buyer, Luther Haskell, is the luckiest guy in this world to get her, Jules. Hope he knows how lucky he is.”

  “He does … he does,” she said to herself. “Amen.”

  Mid-morning the next day, Luther met with the ranch foreman from McKean’s who’d ridden over with his rep. The wiry man, well into his sixties, introduced himself as Jakes nodded toward the hand he was sending along to help. Henry Davis had three horses with his gear piled on one. Davis lacked two front teeth, but he still smiled as if pleased to be there.

  “Henry, put your bedroll and war bag in the wagon,” Luther directed. “Pleased to have you.”

  Davis grinned, agreed, and rode on by. Obviously, the cowboy knew Bones, for Luther saw the cook pouring him some coffee and talking friendly.

  “Light a spell. We’ve got a fresh pot,” Luther said to Jakes.

  “Kinda need to talk to you. You spoke pretty sharp to my boss’s missus yesterday.”

  “You hear me do that?”

  “No, but she was damn sure upset when I got in. Her husband wasn’t there and she said—”

  “Hold it,” Luther said, and sidled Cochise in beside the man’s big bay. “She told me straight out to be careful of what I drove out of the basin. And she accused those three dead men of rustling. Her husband told those deputies there was no evidence of rustling in this basin. I never started that conversation. Then that boy got sick listening to it, and I mean plumb sick.”

  He could see Jakes had a hump in his back. He wondered how far the man intended to buck this deal. It was Mrs. McKean who did the charging, not him. He just asked some questions that needed answers. This might be the place to do her a real favor. He held no grudges.

  “You and her close?” he asked.

  “What the hell do you mean by that?” Jakes raised his head back in affront.

  Luther shook his head to dismiss the man’s upset. “I mean you’ve worked for them a long time?”

  “I have, and I respect her. She’s a real lady, and a good one. That’s why I’m so mad about you—”

  “Hold it right there. You swing around by Stearn’s tent and get the paintings out of the trunk. Take t
hem to her or whatever. Hirk and I saw them. We won’t tell a soul. But they don’t need to be circulated.”

  “What are they?” Jakes frowned suspiciously.

  “You’ll know when you see them. Wasn’t our place to do a thing about them, so we left them. It won’t need an explanation when you find them in the trunk.”

  “What is it I’m suppose to find?” Jakes frowned, and his diamond eyes glared in distrust.

  “You’ll see. Now extend the lady my apology. Tell her next time I will be more polite. But there was rustling in this basin before that necktie party, or why have one?”

  “You some kin of Burtle’s?”

  “Nope. Just gathering cattle for the estate. But I heard the Dikes family has got a big reward up for the arrest of the parties involved.”

  “Big rewards bring in trouble.”

  “No. That lynching started it.”

  “You after that money?”

  “I’m making day wages buying and gathering cows for Allen. Tell me how I could get my hands on a couple thousand to buy a good ranch in a hundred years.”

  “Lots of money,” Jakes agreed, and calmed down. He reined the nervous bay around. “I need to go see whatever is in the trunk, huh?”

  “Yes, and you don’t need to tell her I sent you.”

  Jakes saluted him with two fingers and rode off standing in the stirrups. Luther watched him. Tough old man. They could pull his yellow fingernails off one at a time with fencing pliers and he’d never tell a thing. But Luther felt certain he had made a good cover for his asking all the questions. The reward. Simple greed made a good alibi for his interest. How much money they’d offered to pay he wasn’t certain, or if they would pay any at all, but in other cases, rich folks paid rewards.

  He nodded, pleased. The foreman was out of sight up the mountain and into the timber. Enough marshaling for one afternoon. Better go get Ben, ride out, and meet the boys coming in with the cattle. He’d also have to take Hirk aside and tell him about sending Jakes after the nude picture. He felt confident that the cowboy would agree that it was the best way to handle it.

  With Ben at Cochise’s heels, he rode out of camp to meet his crew. He could hear the cattle bawling long before they came into sight. Dust boiled higher than the tallest pines. They had gathered several hundred head and it would take some cutting to get down to the B Bar stock. But the only way to get them out of the range was bring what you had to a sorting area. They’d done great. He was proud of them. Hirk came riding out of the dust to join him.

  Their horses pulled aside, Luther told him about Jakes; the cowboy agreed with a nod. “Good idea. I’d sure hate if it had got out on her.”

  “Me, too, but she ate me out yesterday about rustling and watching whose stock we took out.”

  “She did?”

  “Then Jakes got hot under the collar for me talking roughshod over her.”

  “You calm him down?”

  “Hope so. He left wondering anyway. Brought Henry Davis to help us for their part.” Something was wrong; he could see how puzzled Hirk looked.

  “You know that weekend of the hanging? It was sure strange that McKean gave them three cowboys that Saturday off and they had money to buy whiskey. Lots of it.”

  “The Saturday of the hanging?”

  “Yeah.” Hirk pointed to some breaking cattle. “We better go help them boys hold them cattle. There’s some real spooks in this bunch.”

  Luther agreed and pushed Cochise down the slope. In a long lope he hit the flat and turned back some rowdy yearling heifers. What had Hirk told him? At the sound of Ben’s barking, he looked around, then put spurs to the roan. The bulldog was fleeing down the hillside pursued by an angry half-longhorn cow. Luther began driving Cochise hard to save his bulldog from a horning.

  Ben, I’m coming!

  The hard-running cow’s right horn dipped down, then without missing a stride, she flipped it out and upward. Her toss sent Ben skyward. He hit the ground and rolled down the hill like a ball. The cow was closing in for the kill. Out of nowhere, Pyle and his horse closed in on her, the youth swinging a rope. He threw the loop down and around her hind legs, then made a wrap of his rope around the horn. The cow’s heels caught, and he swept his horse to the side. His actions sent the cow tumbling over and over.

  Luther waved his thanks to the proud-faced youth and headed for the black and white ball. At Ben’s side, Luther stepped down, scooped him up, and put him over the seat of the saddle. No time to see how badly he was hurt. He swung up and steadied the shaking dog in his lap. Not much blood showed on him besides a few scratches. He really looked fine. The horn hadn’t gouged him. One thing that Luther knew for certain—Ben would have to ride in the wagon with Bones for the duration of this roundup.

  When they returned to camp, he wanted to talk to Davis to learn why his skinflint boss gave them that Saturday off. He still needed someone to testify. Porter would be his best bet. Weakest link in the chain. But how? In the morning, he planned to ride over and talk to Charboneau about sending a rep. The Frenchman would not be easy to deal with. He riled easily. Then the last man, Crain, no one spoke much about him. Luther shook his head. He had lots to do. He needed some real meat about the lynching to sink his teeth into. Not bare bones.

  Ben sneezed and acted ready to jump down.

  “Quit, you damn fool,” Luther scolded him. “You nearly were roasted dog on that she-devil’s horns.” He shook his head in disapproval at the dog. Thunder in the distance pealed over the rim and some dark clouds distracted him for a second. He’d better go see Charboneau in the morning. They’d be close enough to his range in a few days at this rate.

  Matt stepped out of the buckboard into an afternoon downpour that had followed him all the way from Fortune. He paused to catch his breath on the porch, behind a sheet of water pouring off the roof eaves. Stamping his sodden boots, he slipped out of the clammy rubber slicker and hung it on the wall peg. Jakes and Taneal stood in front of the fireplace. Cool maybe, but not cold enough for a fire. He turned his nose to test the strange smell of the smoke. He frowned; they weren’t burning wood.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  His wife blocked him from seeing in the fireplace. “Nothing.”

  She was lying. Roughly, he turned her aside to find out what she concealed. Impatience raged in him as he stepped closer to see a canvas painting being consumed by the flames.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, looking first at her, then at Jakes. “Someone answer me!”

  “Tell him,” she said, and stalked away.

  “That rustler Stearn had been spying on your wife.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He painted her swimming in the creek.”

  “Naked?”

  “Sorry, I found them paintings up at his tent. Don’t know who else saw ’em.” Jakes shook his head.

  “Was it her?”

  “Hell, yes. That little sneaky bastard.” Taneal stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Anger blackened her face. She could do that to him, blame him for everything. How could he know the son of a bitch was a Peeping Tom, too? Of course, looking at his wife’s bare body probably gave that horny cowboy some kind of thrills.

  “Were there any others?” he asked.

  Jakes shook his head. “Not of her.”

  “Damn, what else?”

  Taneal had gone into the kitchen. Jakes tossed his head toward the front door. Matt followed him, wondering what the old man had on his mind.

  With his steel-blue eyes on the mountain, Jakes spoke softly. “I took Henry up there as the rep to the camp. I met that buyer that Allen sent.” He never looked at Matt. “He said something. Dikes’s family’s offering two thousand dollars reward for information.”

  “I heard that. I met him. What’s he doing, trying to collect it?”

  “Matt, I had me a gut feeling up there. He ain’t no ordinary cow buyer.”

  “Figure he’s law?”

&nbs
p; “He said he was working for day wages—that reward could buy him a place. Sounds to me like a man got a big purpose.”

  Matt glanced back inside the front door to be sure they were alone. “So?”

  “My daughter and her man have a place down at Tularosa. I could run some stock down there.”

  “You’re leaving me because of that sumbitch?”

  Jakes shook his head. “You need a younger, tougher man than me to run this outfit.”

  The last of the rain ran off the eaves and dripped on the wet ground. A pine smell filled the fresh air. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Matt forced back his rage. How could Jakes consider leaving him? Where was the old man’s loyalty after all these years? Now, especially with all the troubles he faced with this new outfit moving in the basin. An image of that angry gun hand, Burns, in the Valley made him reconsider Jakes’s words. Perhaps he did need a younger, tougher foreman.

  “When you leaving?”

  “I ain’t much on words and show. I plan to go pack right now.”

  “How did you find those paintings?”

  “Prowling, after I took Henry up to the cow camp.”

  Matt rubbed his chin. “I never checked his place. Good thing you did. I’m grateful for all you done for me and this ranch.”

  Jakes nodded without a word.

  “I’ll have your money ready.”

  “Thanks.” Jakes started for his shack. Matt watched him go off in his two-inch heels, stiff-backed. He was an old man. Best he did ride on or he’d have an old invalid on his hands. Time for change, he kept convincing himself.

  More thunder in the distance, He looked at the sky. The storm was over in the west for the afternoon. He turned slowly, realizing Taneal was standing in the doorway.

  “Better figure up what we owe Jakes,” he said. “He’s going to his daughter’s place at Tulerosa.”

  She nodded.

  Matt raised his brows at her. “You aren’t surprised?”

  “No. He told me it was time.”

  “Figure it up. Guess we owe him a bonus.”