Lucas followed her hand with his eyes, keeping them on her chest far too long. It took a moment for her comment to soak in and he snapped back to her face. “What for?”
“Just in case this whole thing turns sour.” She slipped out of the cab and slammed the door.
“Hey, honey-child.”
She stopped, squinting her eyes at the blowing dust. “Yeah?”
“I don’t like you.”
“I don’t care, people prob’ly don’t like you, neither.”
Chapter Thirty-six
The blue norther finally arrived nine days after the Gold Dust fiasco and with it, plummeting temperatures. The old-time Texans always said that if you didn’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes for it to change.
They were right. The rustlers swung their trailer full of stolen cattle into the dusty gravel lot of the Vernon stockyard, three hundred and fifty miles north of Austin. The cold north wind blew sand, small gravel, and trash across the truck.
Dale glared out the window. The redhead’s eyes were listless, and he looked to be shrinking in on himself. “I hate this country.”
The cattle that had been in the trailer for over twelve hours bawled for water and stomped the filthy floorboards.
Owen pulled around to get in line behind two other trailers waiting their turn to unload the stock at the sale barn. Owen tilted the stained Stetson back on his head and turned up the heater. His hair was even greasier than the day they murdered the Center Springs farmer.
“We got here just in time. I can’t believe they’re this busy on a Monday morning.”
Dale pointed. “They’re having a sale tomorrow. Things’re different out here.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“You sure this is safe?”
“Safe as can be.”
“I don’t want to get caught by no stock inspector.”
Owen spoke with authority backed by nothing but arrogance. “Don’t worry about that. I hear tell he don’t show up here more’n once a month, and he was here two days ago. That’s why we came out and I didn’t figger on such a busy day. We’re golden.”
The trailer at the chute pulled away and the next truck swung around to back up against the pipe gate. Metal slammed as the hands unloaded a herd of complaining shorthorns. The rustlers waited their turn, and Owen backed in.
A freezing cowboy in broken-down boots and faded jeans motioned for him to roll the window down. Tightening the scarf around his neck, he tucked it into the barn coat that didn’t look thick enough to turn the icy wind. He passed the clipboard through the open window. “Fill this out.”
Keeping the window down despite the falling temperatures, Owen finished the paperwork while the cowboys unloaded the cattle. Nothing on the form was true. The owner of the sale barn would make the check out to their own bank in the name Owen was using. He’d drive directly to the bank and cash it, using the fake driver’s license in his billfold.
The cowboy pulled his sweat-stained felt hat down tighter. He took the clipboard back. “No brands?”
“Naw, we got lazy. Our boss is ’bout done with ranchin’ and is sellin’ out.”
“That’s a dangerous business. There’s folks who’ll steal ’em if you ain’t careful.”
“I know it.”
“You didn’t put the name of the ranch down there.”
Owen scribbled “Cobb Ranch” and handed it back.
Dale coughed, deep and wet. The cowboy looked concerned. “This weather’s gonna make us all sick.” He glanced down at Owen’s handwriting. “Where’s this? I don’t recognize y’all.”
“Montague County.” Owen kept up the conversation to let Dale rest. “We were here last year. I remember you.”
Embarrassed that he might have forgotten, the cowboy turned his back to the wind like a cow and chewed his lip. “How come y’all to bring ’em out this far?”
“The prices are better’n back home. It’s been a good, wet year. Everybody and his duck’s trying to sell off their stock, and they ain’t getting what they ought to bring.”
“Sure ’nough.” Eyes tearing in the cold wind, the cowboy nodded with pride. “We do a fair business here.”
“I know. That’s why we came back.”
The cowboy handed them a receipt and waved the next truck and trailer forward. “See y’all next time, and, buddy, you better get in out of this weather. That cough sounds like you’re coming down with puh-monia.”
Dale flicked a hand. “I believe you’re right.”
With a pocket full of cash three hours later, the rustlers pulled out of the bank parking lot and drove east, looking for their next mark as Dale’s cough increased with every mile they traveled.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“Bass’ gonna be fine.”
Sitting in the hospital waiting room that Monday morning, Sheriff Cody Parker was relieved to hear John Washington’s cheerful voice on the other end of the line. Despite what Miss Sweet, the local healer, told them about Bass being allergic to most everything he came into contact with, the stocky four-year-old boy woke up Tuesday morning with clearing lungs and an appetite.
A nun passed in silence, her habit scraping the polished floor. Cody wondered how she could almost float across the floor. “The folks here say he has the same thing Top’s down with, but he’s not near as bad off.”
Cody swallowed a rising lump in his throat. Top was in bad shape and not getting any better. He was in an oxygen tent, wired to machines, and pumped full of antibiotics. He hadn’t opened his eyes in days.
“That’s what my doctor says, too. But little ol’ Bass don’t have weak lungs like Top. He’s strong for his age, and he’ll be all right even though he keeps a snotty nose most all the time. The doc looked in the rest of our kids’ heads and says he don’t see nothin’ wrong with any of ’em.”
“I bet Rachel’s relieved.”
“You ain’t a-kiddin’. How’s Top?”
“Not good. Doc Heinz says we’ll know by tomorrow, but he thinks the medicine they’re giving him is working.” He swallowed again. Heinz remained optimistic, but Cody could tell by the look in his eyes that despite what he said, the doctor was losing hope.
“Would you tell Mr. Ned I’m sorry I can’t come by…”
“Don’t you worry about it. He knows you have to stay and take care of your family. I’ve got a question for you, though.”
“Shoot.”
“I got to tell you first that Curtis Gaines is dead from the same infection. He’s had some problems and that pulled him down before this stuff got ahold of him. I hear he did some business with two men in dark suits and sunglasses before he got sick. You see any strangers in town by that description?”
The line crackled while John thought. “I don’t reckon, but that don’t mean much. There’s folks coming and going these days to beat the band with this gold rush Miss Pepper’s started.”
“Well, check around when you get back to work and see what you can find.”
“Are they tied up with all this in some way?”
“I believe they might be.”
“I’ll poke around.”
“You do that. Oh, by the way, I got a call from the Dallas Sheriff’s office to be on the lookout for grave robbers.”
“Good lord, people digging up cemeteries?”
“Indian grave robbing. There’s lots of stuff like skulls, bones, bowls, pipes showing up all of a sudden. They say a couple of leads point back here.”
“They know for sure it’s coming from Lamar County?”
“No, but he heard about Pepper’s gold rush and thinks there might be some connection, like people are up here digging for treasure but finding graves and selling our people’s bones. Ned says this whole part of the county is thick with graves we don’t know about.”
“I rememb
er him saying there was a lot of tradin’ here at one time.”
“Yep, the river crossing was close, and all these springs were good for camping. I told Anna, and some of the others to keep an eye out. You do the same.”
“Yessir.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
The cattle rustlers were sitting in The Rig, a smoky honky-tonk restaurant southwest of Fort Worth, eating steak and washing it down with whiskey. Everyone who pushed into the warm interior shivered in relief to be inside the dim building lit by neon beer signs. Loud country music made it difficult to hear each other talk.
The bartender came to their table, wiping his hands on a stained apron tied around his waist. “Owen.”
The greasy-haired rustler looked up and squinted his close-set eyes. “What do you need, Dennis?”
“Phone call for you.”
Owen met his partner’s lethargic gaze and cut another bite of T-bone. He didn’t like Dale’s gray color that matched the half-eaten, well-done steak on his plate. Dale stifled a phlegm-thickened cough. “I bet it’s Ben.”
“It would be, since he’s the only one who knows we’re here.” Owen followed the bartender to the phone sitting beside the register. “Yeah?”
The man, who sometimes helped them move questionable cattle, got right to the point. “Somebody wants to buy some cows.”
“Got a name?”
“Nope. It’s a phone number. A feller I know in San Angelo knows a feller in Round Rock named Lucas DeWitt, who gave the number to a woman named Anna.”
“A woman?”
“That’s all I know. A woman who’s looking for cattle.”
“Why don’t she go to a sale barn?”
“How the hell do I know? You want the number or not?”
“Sure.” Owen motioned for Dennis who brought him a pencil and order pad. He licked the dull point. “Shoot.” He wrote down the number and hung up. “Dennis, gonna call long distance.”
“I’ll put it on your bill.”
He dialed the number and a female voice answered. “Hello?”
“I hear you want to buy some cows.”
“Sure do.” The voice brightened. “Who is this?”
“Oh, let’s say Mr. Smith.”
“All right, Mr. Smith. I’m looking for thirty or so head.”
“What breed?”
“What do you have?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I hear music. That’s pretty confident from a guy doing business in a honky-tonk.”
“I’m a broker, and I work out of this restaurant. If you’d do a little reading in the library, you’ll find that cattlemen have been doing business in restaurants since the Civil War.”
Owen might look like an addled high school dropout, but he’d graduated with honors. He was too lazy to make money by hard work. He intended to let others do the work and he’d get rich off them.
The woman on the other end hesitated, as if the dressing-down hurt her feelings. “I see your point. Look, I’d like to buy some Herefords if you have any stock. I hear you can deliver.”
“Sure can, depending on this cold front. They say there may be some falling weather out of this norther. When and where would that delivery be?”
“How about my daddy’s ranch in Roxton?” She read him the route address and gave him directions.
Dale was staring absently at his steak when Owen returned to the table. It took a moment to realize Owen was back. “Was it Ben?”
Owen shook his head in disgust. “A woman wants to buy some cows.”
“A woman?”
“That or a man with a really sexy voice. I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ her. She sounds like a real man-eater, if you know what I mean.”
Dale didn’t catch his drift. “Where do we deliver them?”
“Roxton. That’s not so far from where we’ve been watching that two-thousand-acre ranch in Bonham.”
Dale nodded and wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. His eyes were red and liquid. “It’s gonna be a cold bitch, loading them up, though.”
“The timing’s perfect. Everybody’ll be inside by the fire at night. Hey, are you all right?”
Dale shivered as a customer pushed through the door, bringing a gust of cold air that washed over their table. He sipped from a glass of whiskey beside his plate. “Let’s get some aspirin when we leave. I got a fever and my stomach don’t feel all that great, neither.”
“Drink some more whiskey. My old man always said that a toddy’d fix whatever ails you.”
“Forget the toddy part, but he was right.” Dale finished the bourbon and held it up for a refill. “I’ll have another.”
“I’ll join you.” Owen swallowed the last of his beer. “I believe I’ll move to Scotch.”
“You never ordered that before.”
“I never had the money. We’re gettin’ rich, and I intend to enjoy what’s coming to me.”
“Us.”
“Yeah. That’s what I meant. Us.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Deputy John Washington steered into the Holiday Inn parking lot. Chisum had only two motels decent enough for tourists or travelers. The other was the Ramada Inn on the opposite corner of Highway 271. The norther had arrived in full force, and though the heater was on, cold radiated through the windshield.
Instead of going to the office to ask around about the visitors in dark suits, John parked under the distinctive sign where he could see all of the rooms in the two-story L-shaped motel. He kept the engine running to stay warm. Fifteen minutes later a door opened on the ground floor and a colored maid in a dingy white cotton uniform stepped outside with an armload of sheets.
She flinched at the chill and dropped the linens into the bin. John exited his car as she knocked on the next door. “Maid service!” She knocked again and when no one answered, used a passkey and cracked the door open. “Maid!”
John moved up behind her and took one arm, pushing the short, round woman into the room. “Hey!” She twisted in his grip and stopped. “John!” She threw herself into his great arms and he hugged her back with the same enthusiasm.
“Howdy, baby!”
She squealed and wrapped both arms around his neck. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Same here.”
“Shut that door. You’re lettin’ all the heat out.”
He closed the red door and tilted his hat back, eyeing Junie, his youngest sibling.
She looked up at him and smiled. “How’s Bass?”
“Right as rain. I done took him home and Rachel’s tending the whole bunch.”
“My stars, I don’t know what that good woman sees in you.”
“Can’t say myself.”
“What’choo doing here, and why’d you push me inside that-away?”
“You ain’t got no coat on, and you’d catch double walkin’ pu’mony if we was to talk out in that icebox. I need to ask you some questions.”
“Well, as long as we’re inside, I got work to do. First things first.” She stepped into the bathroom and flushed the toilet. “I swear, lazy folks don’t think they got to flush in a motel.” She turned the television off as well.
“Ain’t that the truth? It’s a shame we take indoor plumbing for granted.”
“We should all be ashamed. Got kinfolk who still use outhouses not twenty miles from here who’d dearly love a flush toilet.”
John leaned against the chest of drawers and crossed his ankles. “President Nixon says we’re gonna put men on the moon in the next few months, and here people still livin’ like when we was kids.”
Junie pulled one corner of the wrinkled bottom sheet free and stripped the bed. “What kinda questions you here to ask me?”
“I’m looking into something and wondered if you’d seen two suspicious men sta
ying here in the past couple of weeks.”
“Suspicious how?”
“City people. It was back before this norther came in, a week to ten days or so, if that’ll help. They wore dark suits and had crewcuts. Wore shades a lot.”
She rolled the sheets and pillowcases into a bundle and pitched it on the floor. “Drove a dark car.”
John raised an eyebrow. “That’s right.”
“Yep. I seen ’em. They stayed here for a couple of days.”
“Tell me about ’em.”
She picked up a full ashtray and dumped it into the trash. “They’s quiet. One coughed up a storm like smokers do. He looked at me like I was dogshit, and never spoke a word. They’s goin’ out one mornin’ when I was cleaning the rooms. The other’n was nice enough. Held the door for me to come in and said they’d be gone and out of my way. The mean one call him Mr. Brown. Like that a real name. Shoulda said Mr. Smith. It’d be the same thang.”
“You see anything? Papers. Notes?”
“You mean newspapers?”
“No, stuff businessmen carry.”
“I wouldn’t look at it if they did. I ain’t about to get fired from this job, and I ain’t no snoop. Mama’d blister my hide even today if I was go to diggin’ through customers’ business.”
John held up a hand. “Didn’t say you’d do that. I was just wondering if you saw anything out of the ordinary.”
“Like two men who look a lot alike, same haircut and suits, but didn’t smile much. Out of the ordinary like that?”
He laughed. “Yeah.”
“No, but I did notice one thing. One of ’em took down a phone number on one of them pads we put out with the motel’s name. I only noticed ’cause it wasn’t like our numbers and he left a five-dollar bill beside it for a tip. I wish ever’body else’d tip me like that.”
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