by Anna Schmidt
“You there,” the second man shouted, and Chet turned in the saddle to look back at him. “You’re riding awfully close to private property, cowboy.” The Tipton man came alongside him now with only the fence between them.
“Well now, the way I see it, you and your friend there are riding just a close to this private property,” Chet replied.
“A smart aleck,” the larger man sneered.
“Nope. Just making an observation.”
“Well, here’s an ob-ser-VA-tion for you, cowboy: Stay well away from this boundary, got it?”
“Or?”
“Or you might just find yourself in trouble.” He tipped his hat back and spit as he scanned the territory surrounding them. “Yup, could take days for somebody to find a man in trouble out here—ain’t that the truth, Shorty?”
“Be a gol-darned shame,” Shorty replied, but he was grinning up at his partner.
“Is that why you rode off like something was chasing you to get your friend here, Shorty?” Chet saw the man go for his pistol, but he was quicker, having wrapped his hand around the butt of his whip and released it from the saddle horn. The crack of the whip startled the men and their horses. The horses bucked against their reins, and once the men let the reins go slack, the horses took off with their riders flailing wildly as they tried to regain control. “Nice talkin’ to you,” Chet called out, and he couldn’t help but grin as he watched the Tipton men ride away.
That night, when he relayed the story in the bunkhouse, the other men did not laugh as he would have expected. They just kept playing cards, glancing nervously at each other. As usual, it was Bunker who finally spoke up. “You got a death wish, Hunt? ’Cause unless you do, you’d best watch yourself out there. Those boys mean what they say. You don’t want to be stirring them up none.”
Chet frowned as he studied his cards. “You’re sayin’ this was nothing new?”
There were snorts of disbelief from the other men. “You cannot be that dumb,” Joker said. “Tipton’s men would not think twice about shooting you and claiming you was trying to steal their stock.”
“And what happens if they steal from Miss Maria or her neighbors?”
Once again the room went absolutely still.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Rico muttered as he discarded a single card.
“Back before Miss Maria’s father died?” Chet asked, tossing Rico another card.
“And since,” the older hand said. “She don’t know it though.”
“Is it a good idea to keep such information from her?” Chet asked.
Joker shrugged. “There’s a lot that Miss Maria and her family don’t know.” He paused and glanced around, then leaned in as if about to share a secret. “Thing is, there’s a lot more going on here than most know for sure. You’re a stranger here, and maybe you can get closer to the whole mess without raising suspicion, the way I can’t. Look, we’ve been keeping our traps closed because of—”
Bunker cleared his throat loudly, interrupting whatever Joker had been about to say just as Turnbull walked in.
“Because of what, Joker?” the foreman asked in a voice that was far too quiet to be friendly.
Joker gave him a nervous grin, immediately pulling back. He almost looked scared. “Because we didn’t want her getting upset after losin’ her pa and all, ain’t that right, boss?”
“That’s exactly right.” Turnbull focused his attention on Chet. “Got any more questions?”
“Not right now.”
“Good.” Turnbull pulled a three-legged stool up to the table. “How about dealing me in then?”
The next morning, as they got ready to ride out for their shift, Chet noticed Joker was missing.
“He left,” Bunker said.
“On his own?”
“Stay out of it, Hunt,” Bunker advised. He jerked his head toward the house. Turnbull was talking to Maria—or rather, she was talking to him, gesturing toward the corral before planting her hands on her hips and apparently waiting for Turnbull to speak. Instead the foreman shrugged and strode toward them.
“Mount up and get going,” he bellowed as he snatched the reins for his horse from Eduardo’s hands, mounted the animal, and dug in his spurs, sending the horse galloping off toward town while the rest of the men headed in the opposite direction.
“Chet!”
All the men turned to glance back at Maria. Chet waved them on before turning back toward the house. “Something you need, Miss Maria?” he asked.
She shot a look at the dust Turnbull was leaving in his wake and then looked back at Chet. “What happened with Joker?” she asked. It was a question that Chet was fairly certain she had just asked Turnbull. He didn’t like being put on the spot, and he definitely didn’t want any part of saying something that might make Turnbull more determined than ever to have him gone.
So he shrugged and, not wanting to meet her gaze, stared at a point on the horizon where he could see the other men winding their way along the trail. “You know how it is, Miss Maria. A man gets an itch to move on and then up and goes without a word.”
“Did something happen with Roger?” she pressed.
“Maybe that’s a talk you’d best have with Turnbull.”
“I did. Now I’m having that conversation with you. I just learned that yet another of my hands has left the ranch. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I do know that we can’t handle getting stock to market unless we have the men to drive them. Now for the last time, Chet, what happened to Joker—because that man was devoted to my father and would never have left unless—”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Maria, but Joker might not be as devoted to you as he was to your pa.”
She bristled. Chet couldn’t help thinking that if she had a porcupine’s quills, they would be splayed out, ready to take on all challengers. He fought back a smile at the thought. It wouldn’t do for her to think he might be smiling at her expense.
She narrowed her eyes, studying him closely. “Are you suggesting that these men are leaving the ranch because of me?”
“No. I’m just speculatin’ about Joker, but I do know one thing, Miss Maria.”
“And what is that?”
“I know it’s a fact that you’re shorthanded and yet you’re keeping me here jawin’ instead of letting me go out there where I’m needed.”
She bit her lower lip and stared out over the land that surrounded them. “I just want to know what happened.”
“And what good would that do you? Joker has gone. What does it matter why?”
She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, starting to say something, then rejecting each idea. “Oh, go do your job,” she finally said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She turned away from him, but he saw that her fists were clinched. Chet figured that was about as close as she would ever come to admitting that he’d been right—that whatever had driven Joker away didn’t much matter now that he was gone.
“Miss Maria?”
She looked back at him.
“The men are bound to wonder why Turnbull rode off toward town again without really giving us any direction.”
“I am wondering the same thing.” Once again, she glanced down the road. Then she seemed to gather herself. “Move the herd to higher ground. Also, the Tipton fencing needs checking,” she said. “We’ve lost half a dozen calves in the last few weeks.”
So she knew more than the others gave her credit for. “And if we find holes?”
“Close them up.”
“But…”
“I don’t care if that’s Tipton property. The rest of us have the right to protect our property, and since we have repeatedly asked them nicely to patrol the fences they insisted on installing, and they have not, then I will take matters into my own hands. Repair the fences before we lose any more unbranded ca
lves.”
“We could brand the stock,” he suggested.
“Don’t treat me like some novice, Chet. Branding was to finish up weeks ago as you well know, but with all the setbacks—Papa’s death, the men leaving, and now Joker gone—we need to reconsider our schedule. Joker is the best iron man this side of the Mississippi and losing him is like losing two men. I aim to get to the bottom of this and, with any luck at all, get him to come back. So we will check the fencing, close the holes, and brand the stock in that order, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” This time he made no attempt at smothering the grin. He tipped his hat to her. “Be seein’ you in a few weeks then.” The amount of work spread over miles of territory meant the men would camp out on the range rather than returning to the bunkhouse each night.
“You’ll be seeing me and my younger brother, Trey, by tomorrow,” she replied. She must have noticed the way Chet couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping in surprise because it was her turn to smile. “We’re shorthanded, remember?” She walked into the courtyard. “Trey Porterfield,” Chet heard her shout. “Stop whatever you’re doing and get down here now.”
Shorthanded without a doubt, but if she thought she and that boy could make up for a man like Joker…well, she was not as smart as Chet had thought.
* * *
“I’m not asking you to make ranching your life’s work, Trey,” Maria said. “It’s just that we all have to pitch in. Papa always said you were ready. Maybe Mama didn’t agree, but if Papa thought you were well enough to start doing your part, that’s good enough for me. We’re coming up on our busiest time and—”
“I’ll go,” Amanda volunteered. “Anything to escape this,” she added as she held up her hands covered in soapy water.
Juanita handed Amanda a scrub brush and motioned to the shirt draped over the washboard. “Just keep working that stain, mi hija. You got no business out there alone with a bunch of cowboys. A body shudders to think what might come of that.”
Maria wiped a scattering of soap bubbles from her sister’s cheek. “I need someone to watch Mama,” she said, “and we won’t be gone long.”
“You’re going?” Amanda looked back at Juanita. “How come she can go and you don’t say a word?”
“She isn’t likely to throw herself at that good-looking drifter, and more to the point, she is the boss. I got no way of stopping her, but you, little one, are another story.”
“Can I take my sketchbook?” Trey asked, interrupting the women.
“Yes, as long as I don’t see you drawing in it when you’re supposed to be keeping watch or doing some other chore.”
Sensing that he was dealing from a position of power, Trey pressed on, “And my books?”
“One book. Now go change and meet me at the corral in fifteen minutes.”
“We’re going now?”
Maria sighed. “No, I thought we would wait for the next lunar eclipse,” she said, giving vent to her frustration. “Yes, now, Trey—so go.”
When he had headed down the hall, she turned back to Amanda. “Now remember Mama—”
“You don’t have to order everybody around, Maria. We are all aware that you’re in charge. Nita and I can take care of Mama. You just take care of Trey.” And with that, she wiped her hands on her apron and hurried down the hall to her brother’s room.
The kitchen was silent for a long moment, and then Juanita started scrubbing the stain herself. “Those two might bicker and scratch like a couple of wild dogs, but I never saw a brother and sister closer than they are.”
“Not like Jess and me?”
Juanita snorted. “You lost Jess when he realized your papa took more pride in you and what you could do when it came to ranching. That hurt him as it would any boy. And he blamed you.”
“What could I have done?”
“Nothing, but he couldn’t take it out on his pa, so he took it out on you. That night he left? His parting words to Eduardo and me were ‘We’ll just see how good she is at running things.’”
“But he never wanted this life.”
“Not necessarily. Truth is that he could just never figure out where he fit into the scheme of things.”
Maria stared out the window, fighting the tears that these days were never far from the surface. “Do you think he’ll ever come home again?”
“Jess? More than likely. When he goes through that money and realizes life out there is nothing like the life he had here. Question you need to be asking yourself is what you’ll do when that day comes.”
Maria pushed herself off the kitchen stool. “That’ll hold. For now, I’ve got to get the horses saddled.”
* * *
Bunker was the first to notice the two riders approaching from the east. “Holy…” He stood up in his stirrups as if that might give him a better view. “That woman is crazy as they come, bringing that tenderfoot out here. What’s she thinking?”
Chet looked up from his work and saw Maria riding toward them. There was something about her that made him just want to stop whatever he was doing and watch her—something that made him think he would never get enough of looking at her.
“Why, Bunker, I heard her say she wanted to be sure that boy was trained by the best,” one of the younger cowboys said. “That’d be you, wouldn’t it? Ain’t that what you keep telling us?”
“Shut up, Slim,” Bunker growled. He edged his horse closer to the place where Chet was closing a large hole in the Tipton fence, twisting the wires together, his shirt soaked through with sweat. “You know about this, Hunt?”
“She said something about being shorthanded and seemed real upset about Joker leaving.”
“Joker didn’t leave,” Bunker muttered. “At least not on his own.” He glanced around as if to assure himself that none of the others were listening. Sure enough, Slim and a couple of the other hands had gone back to watching the herd. “You get my meaning, Hunt?” Bunker asked.
“You’re saying he had help.”
“I’m saying he was forced out by Turnbull. I’m saying that if he’s even still breathing, he is miles from here by now.”
Chet’s hands stilled as he gripped the pliers hard. He’d had little doubt that Joker had left because of the encounter with Turnbull, but what Bunker was suggesting was something far more sinister. “You think Turnbull…”
“You been here long enough to know Joker ain’t afraid of nothing, man or beast, and he sure ain’t afraid of that dandy Turnbull. Course, accidents do happen, and just maybe later last night when we was all sleeping…”
“You’re imagining things. Joker and his horse and all his stuff was gone this morning. He left, Bunker. Men do it all the time.”
Bunker shrugged. “Maybe so. But I’m recalling that Turnbull came storming into the bunkhouse before sunup bellowing about how we was a bunch of no-good layabouts and how we better get used to the idea that we’d be working short again. How did he know Joker was gone when none of us knew? And unless Miss Maria has taken to ordering bed checks…” He glanced back at the approaching riders.
Chet went back to work. “She wants to get him to come back,” he said, jerking his head toward Maria. “Joker. Says he’s the best iron man around.”
“Is or was?”
“Is,” Chet said firmly and stood up to survey his work. He had reset the fence post and tightened the strands of barbed wire. Taking off his hat and swiping the back of one hand across his forehead, he watched Maria and her brother riding toward them. The kid was nervous—it was plain as day in the way he kept looking around and talking nonstop to his sister. Maria had her eyes fixed on the fence that ran along the border of her property. When she saw Chet standing next to it, she raised her hand in greeting and then kicked her horse into a gallop to cover the distance between them.
“Any trouble?” she asked.
“It’s
pretty much a matter of just resetting the posts and twisting the wires together again,” Chet replied, a little insulted that she seemed to be questioning his ability to handle such a simple job.
“I meant with the Tipton men.”
“Not a sign of ’em, Miss Maria,” Bunker assured her. “Those boys will look for any way out of work they can find. Bunch of no-good layabouts, they are.”
Chet wondered if Maria knew the whole truth about the Tipton brothers and their attempts to cause problems for her and the other small ranchers. He doubted it. It seemed pretty obvious to him from things he’d heard Bunker and the other cowhands say that they saw it as their job to protect “the little lady,” as they were fond of calling her. Now Bunker turned his attention to Trey. “Well, young fella, you ready to round up some strays and get set to finish the branding?”
Trey glanced at his sister, his eyes wide with pleading. Chet expected that all that chatter he’d been doing as they rode was about begging her to let him go back home.
“It’s not as hard as it looks once you get the hang of it,” he told the boy.
“That’s right,” Maria said. “If I can do it—a mere girl—it should be easy for you.”
“You can do anything,” Trey murmured.
“Tell you what, how about you stick with me for today?” Chet said, wondering even as he said the words why on earth he was making such an offer. Taking care of young-uns was woman’s work—a thought he could see from Bunker’s smirk that he and the other men would surely echo.
“Thank you, Chet. Trey can start with fence mending and ease into the rest.”
Chet whistled for Cracker and the dog took one more bite of something she’d found in the tall grass before ambling over and waiting for Chet to mount his horse. “Come on, Trey. This is the easy part. We’re just going to keep riding along the fence, looking for places where it’s down. When we find that place, we fix it and then move on, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”