Rancher's Law

by Dusty Richards

  “Good girl,” he managed.

  “I’m learning,” she said, grateful for the straight stretch ahead.

  An hour later, with her whole body shaking, she finally reined the lathered team up in front of the mercantile.

  “Got a man shot here,” she said, looking around for someone to help her. “Get a doc.” She searched about feeling desperate. Then she spied a boy coming out of the store, wiping his hands on his apron.

  “Don’t stand there with your thumb in your ass. This man’s hurt. Go get him some help!”

  The red-faced boy blinked in disbelief.

  “You heard me!” she said, filled with sinking embarrassment. Oh, excuse me, Lord. I’ve been so good and I had to blurt that out. Maybe she should have stayed in Fort Smith. How could she ever …

  In minutes, storekeepers in aprons and others came running to help her. She chewed on her lip. The crimson blood on the floor of the buckboard worried her. Thank goodness, at last people were there to help him.

  “Be careful with Jinx. He’s been shot,” she reprimanded the men trying to get his bulk out of the wagon.

  “We will, miss,” one said to reassure her, but Jinx’s big form was wedged between the dash and seat.

  “Well, he’s been hurt bad enough.” She shook her head in disbelief, but six men soon had his burly form free and were carrying him off. Anxious and worried about Jinx, she looked all around for Luther as she hurried beside them.

  “Who did it?”

  “Some one-eyed breed. I left him lying in the road and I took his horse. Well, dang—” she said, hands on her hips. She stared at the back of the wagon. Only the broken reins remained. “His horse must have torn loose.”

  “Get some horses, men,” the man in charge directed. “How far back?”

  “Ain’t sure, but we were stopped at a small trickle of water, I know that.” She pointed north.

  “My name’s Lincoln.”

  “Mine’s Tillie McQuire. Anyone seen my betrothed, Luther Haskell?”

  “Yeah, he’s out on a roundup.”

  “He’s all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her head began to swirl. Luther was all right. A weakness raced through her frame. Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled and the whole world began to darken. She felt faint, and started to fall forward. Someone caught her. She heard him scream.

  “Someone help me!”

  Then silence swallowed her.

  Three young Indian cowboys squatted in the dust by the corral. One flipped a lope back and forth as they eyed Luther. He stepped down off his horse.

  “Charboneau here?” he asked. The place looked lacking. Side of the barn needed several boards replaced. Poles were broken in the pen fencing. The cabin sat too close to the pens. A shanghai rooster strode proudly across the barnyard obviously out to get on one of the small brown hens dusting themselves under a bunker. He crowed nosily. Luther decided that was what those three boys were waiting to watch for their entertainment. Ole Shanghai on his way over to show off and top a hen or two.

  Bare-headed, Charboneau came to the doorway, a cigar in his hand and the same contempt look that Luther expected in his eyes.

  “What do you want?”

  “Send a rep, if you want. We’re moving this way.”

  “Where you going to camp tonight?”

  “Alma Creek.”

  Charboneau frowned. “Why there?”

  “Ask my cook, Bones, he chooses the places.” With that said, he swung up on the bay horse he had ridden out that morning. Actually, he lied to the man. He’d chosen Alma Creek and aimed to invite all of them there, Charboneau, Porter, and Crain. If it made them edgy, so much the better.

  “I’ll be there,” Charboneau said to Luther’s back. “You boys, go saddle up!”

  The three Indians rose, looking hard at the strutting rooster who was dancing around a fluffy hen. Then the cockerel reached out with his beak and caught her by the nape of the neck, taking two tries to mount her. He climbed on her back, tucked his tail down, and made contact.

  The boys elbowed each other, grinned at the feat, and laughed. The rooster jumped off her, shook himself, and crowed loudly. Luther rode on by, between the birds and onlookers. To each his own. He heard Charboneau over his shoulder telling them again to get ready. Some folks could spoil all the fun you had in life. Why, there were three more females left for that red-tailed rooster to take on. He set the bay into a lope. Daylight was burning. He had others to see about joining him at the ford.

  An attractive brunette of eighteen came out on the porch at Porter’s ranch headquarters when he rode up. She must be Margie. Dressed in a divided skirt and a blouse to match that hugged her figure, she looked him over with care. Hirk was right. She was attractive, not as good-looking as Tillie, but nice to look at. He removed his hat for her and checked the anxious bay. A very neat place. All the logs had been squared for their erection and the rambling two-story house was fronted with a wide porch where she remained. Their pens were built with peeled poles. Sheds were constructed from sawmill lumber and all white-washed. Sharp-looking headquarters.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. Name’s Haskell. I work for Mr. Allen and I am gathering the B Bar cattle to settle that estate.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” she said.

  “If your outfit wants to send a rep, we’re moving this way. We’ll camp at the Alma Creek crossing tonight.”

  “Why there?” She frowned at him.

  Luther shrugged. “My cook, Bones, picks the camping spots, ma’am.”

  “I’ll tell Reed,” she said, acting withdrawn, either about the notion of the site or them sending a rep.

  He touched his hat. “Sure appreciate it. Good day.”

  “Good day, Mr. Haskell.”

  He wished he could have bottled the coldness in her tone when she wished him adios. Would have lasted him all summer long. Oh, well, they weren’t supposed to be nice to him. But he wasn’t used to attractive young ladies being that glad to see him leave. Maybe he looked too trail dirty or perhaps she, too, knew something about the hanging and feared he knew the same.

  One more left to invite. That would be Crain. Bones said his place would be easy to find. Take the wagon tracks west from Porter’s and turn up Turkey Creek. He jobbed the bay with his spurs and short-loped him westward.

  At the creek, he let the horse drink, bellied down himself, and sucked up some of the cool clear water. Shame that Porter gal was so cold. Hirk told him she and Dikes were seeing each other. He might have considered—oh well, Tillie sure wasn’t ever going to do anything. He put his foot in the stirrup and on the second bounce, swept his chap-clad leg over the horse’s butt and rode on.

  Dead grass sod roofed Crain’s cabin. No one was around, so he wrote the rancher a note in pencil and stuck it in the door, leaving without going inside. They’d all been warned. He ducked his head going off the porch and started for the hitch rack and the bay. This place wasn’t much; a bachelor outfit. He doubted that Crain even had any regular hands. No bunkhouse. The corrals were poles piled between double posts, half rotted. A blue roan stud horse in the far one screamed good-bye after him.

  He glanced at the sun time. Mid-morning. He still had time to swing by Fortune and check the mail. Maybe there would be some word from the major. Had Tillie ever even bothered answering his letter? Did he put a return address on it? No telling; he should have stormed that damn cathouse, taken her out by the nape of the neck, and had some JP marry them. Then he laughed out loud; she’d probably left him anyway and gone back. Why did he have to love such a hardheaded woman?

  What was it Bones needed at camp? He reined up in front of the mercantile two hours later. Deep in his own thoughts, he looked up as the young clerk came out in his apron. The look on his fresh face told him something was up. He dropped heavily from the saddle and undid the girth.

  “You all right today?” Luther asked

  “Yes, sir, and do I have news for you.
”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your fiancée is here.”

  Luther blinked at him. “Here?”

  “Up at Doc’s office. But they say she’s doing fine.”

  “What happened? You mean Tillie’s here?” He pointed at the dirt under his boots.

  “Sure is, and quite a hero. They got the robber she beat half to death with a club when he held up Jinx’s mail wagon. A guy calls himself Curly Meantoe.”

  “He’s here, too?” How did that no account get to Arizona so fast? He’d gotten away from him and Choc down in the Kiamish at Windgate’s revival. No telling.

  “Yeah. He was still addled when the posse rode up on him. Doc said he’d lose his ear, though. It was hanging on by a thread. She must have been real mad. Why, he’s got knots all over him.”

  That one-eyed breed didn’t need to know he was even there. He better go see how she was. Why was she at Doc’s? No telling anything except that she came. He could hardly suppress his excitement. Dang! The girl got serious and came clear out there on her own. Filled with the notion of seeing her, he raced to Doc’s yard gate, jumped the low fence, and bounded up on the porch.

  At long last, she’d surrendered. Oh, hell. The only thing better was if she hadn’t told anyone about his marshal role. Never mind. He could work around that. The drunk Porter and the McKean boy should tell a grand jury all they needed to know. Still, he hoped to get more evidence. He pushed in the door and, there on the couch looking extra pale and holding a wet towel to her face, sat his woman.

  “Tillie!”

  “Luther!”

  They rushed to each other and hugged. He swung her off her feet, then around and around, their eager, hungry mouths kissing in a fury.

  “Easy there, son. She’s been through a heckuva lot today.”

  Luther heard the older man and set her down. “You all right?”

  “Fine. Doc says this high altitude must have got me a little.”

  He held her at arm’s length. “Tell me all about it.”

  “Take that boy and you two sit down on the couch,” the doctor said, herding them over there.

  Luther listened to her story of the robbery and all about her coming west. He shook his head, amazed, filled with pride at her bravery.

  “I need to get back to camp,” he said with concern about leaving her. “You be all right here?”

  “She’ll be perfectly fine here,” Doc assured him. “Besides, she’s helping me care for old Jinx.”

  “I’ll be all right until you can come for me.”

  “Fine, I get this roundup over …” He shook his head in disbelief. This was really finally happening. “We’re going to have a heckuva wedding.”

  “We will, but I promised Jinx he could dance at our wedding and that will be a few days anyway before he can get up.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “Me either,” she said

  If he were ever going to leave her, he better do it now. He swept up his hat, kissed her on the mouth, and hurried out the door. Dazzled by the turn of events, he rumbled down the boardwalk to the bay, mounted up, and raced for camp. He had to solve a lynching and do it right. Soon he’d have a new wife to feed and care for, so he needed to keep this good job the major gave him.

  23

  “What did that Injun boy bring you?” Taneal asked, trying to look over his shoulder as Matt stood on the porch reading the note.

  “It’s from Charboneau. That’s one of them Apache cowboys rides for him.”

  “Figured it was one of his killers.”

  “Killers?” What the hell did she mean by that? Them Apache boys rode for the old man, worked for half wages. Saved him lots of money.

  “They ain’t no better than them filthy Comanches in Texas. Same thing. They’d rape a white woman first chance they got. Steal their babies and raise them as their own. Damn heathens. But he ain’t much better. Well? What did he say?”

  “I need to meet him this evening.”

  “Something else wrong?”

  “I’m not certain. That cattle buyer is camping at Alma Creek Ford tonight and wants the other reps there.”

  “Why at that bloody place?” She made a displeased face.

  “I’m not certain,” he mumbled, deep in his own thoughts. Before Jakes rode out, the last thing he did was warn him about that guy Haskell being so hell-bent on collecting that reward. What if Porter got loose-tongued up there?

  It was time. He needed to do something about Porter. But how? Who knew about Jakes leaving? Maybe he could get rid of Porter and point the finger at Jakes. Why, the old man was long gone to Tularosa. They’d never find him. A smile creased Matt’s face. One troublemaker dead, another disappeared.

  Could he leave some evidence to point at Jakes? He would have to check his foreman’s shack and see what he left behind for him to use, but the idea had merit.

  “What’re you thinking?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Where’s the boy?”

  “What do you need him for? Doc said—”

  “He can oil harness. That won’t hurt his damn leg! Get his ass down there to the tack room and have him oil every piece of leather in that shed! Let him earn his keep around here.”

  “All right, Lord High Ass. I’ll go up and tell him. But if you so much as raise a hand again to him, you and I are going to have a fight.”

  “Come on. Let’s go.” He took a prize-fighter’s stance, raised his fists, and shook them at her.

  “It won’t be no fair fight, Matt McKean. I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “What happened that day you brought him home so sick?”

  “What do you mean?” A cold chill ran up his cheek. Had the boy told her something about the lynching? No, or she’d not be asking, she’d be accusing him. If that boy had whispered one word to her—one word.

  “When that cattle buyer mentioned the lynching—”

  “He was here talking to you about it?” Matt looked at her in disbelief.

  “Yes. A couple of days or so ago.”

  “What did he ask?” He needed to know. Jakes must have known he’d been there. Maybe the old man knew more than he had told him about Haskell. How did Jakes know to go check Stearn’s tent for the paintings? Things didn’t add up.

  “When Haskell mentioned the hangings, Randy got violently sick again. Fell down. I worried he had rebroken his leg.”

  “What did Haskell say?”

  “I’m not certain. Oh, yes, how you told him that there was no evidence of rustling in the basin to him.”

  “I never—what did you say then?”

  “Don’t holler at me,” she snarled.

  Her angry look of indignation blinded him. He whipped out his hand hard across her face and sent her reeling backward. Then in a flash, he had her by the upper arms, shaking her. “What did you tell that sumbitch Haskell?”

  “That there had been rustling. Lots of it!”

  He shook her with such fury that she paled. “You stupid bitch, that’s why he’s here! He’s after that reward. He got you to tell him …” So shaken by his newfound knowledge, he released her and stared at the wall.

  “Tell him what?” she asked, sprawled on the floor and rubbing the side of her face with her palm. “Damn you, Matt McKean.”

  But he had no time for her. Two steps at a time, he rushed upstairs and burst into the boy’s room. He wasn’t there. Where was that lazy ass? He came back down. Still dazed, she leaned on the table and avoided looking at him.

  “Where did he go?” he demanded

  “Who?”

  “The boy! That stupid boy of ours!”

  “He’s not upstairs?” She stared in disbelief at him.

  “No. He’s gone. Listen, if this family doesn’t close ranks, and quickly, we stand to lose it all. Everything. Do you understand?”

  “What for?” Then she slapped her hands over her mouth. Her green eyes widened in disbelief.
“You hung them? Oh, Jesus, you hung them.”

  “Get yourself together.” He scowled at her in disgust.

  “Oh, my God, you took him—you took Randy along with you for that.” She staggered around in a circle like a drunk. “How could you have done that?”

  He stepped in, grasped her arms in a vice-like hold and shook her hard. “You better listen good. Yes. We hung them. Your precious son was there. In the eyes of the law, he’s an accomplice, and if you don’t want him hung, you better quiet this down. It won’t only be the end of this ranch, but your life and your son’s as well.”

  She fell to the floor when he released her and raised up to a sitting position, with one arm bracing herself. The other hand swept the hair back from her face. “You dirty rotten bastard.”

  “You heard me?”

  She waved him away. “I don’t care. Don’t give a damn about you, this ranch—nothing.”

  “You will if you don’t want that boy hung.”

  “That’s why Jakes left you, isn’t it?” she screamed after him.

  He turned in the doorway and glared back at her. “Yeah. That old sumbitch lost his guts, too.”

  “I hate you, Matt McKean!” she screeched.

  He could hear her still ranting and cussing him, dishes breaking, while he saddled his horse at the corral. Must have gone mad. He might have to have her institutionalized, she kept that up. Regular stark-raving crazy woman. He grinned to himself over the notion of her in the crazy farm, while he and Lana shared the bed upstairs.

  With a look around to be certain no one saw him, he headed the hump backed buckskin for Jakes’s shack. He sawed hard on the bits and tried to spur the buck out of the gelding. The cowpony danced in a circle, made a short run, two or three hard pitches, before Matt got his head up. He really needed a stupid horse at this moment. One simple piece of evidence to plant was all he wanted. He gave the buckskin a hard jerking from side to side to make him settle down and behave

  Better hurry. It looked like rain again. Clouds were gathering in the south. At last, he dismounted and tied the reins to the hitch rack. Angry with the horse, he scowled at him, then hurried for the plank door of Jakes’s small shack.