Dark Journey Home

by Cherie Shaw

  Chester looked at Logan to see if he was serious, but decided by Logan’s honest and blank expression that he was.”

  “The owner of this spread is Woody Perkins, but he prefers to be called Mr. Perkins, by the hired help. Don’t forget it.” With that Chester walked away. That’s all they would get from him. He’d left them to their work.

  “Si, Señor, we will remember to address his royalty in such a respectful manner. Si.” Ricardo called after Chester, but received no answer.”

  “I’ll give the black a workout first, amigo.” Ricardo turned to Logan, and began unbuckling his gun belt, then handed it to his friend for safe keeping.”

  “No, no, Ricardo, I need the practice. Let me go first.” Logan argued.

  “It has been decided already, amigo. I will admit to being over forty, but these old bones haven’t been put to pasture yet. Besides I will only wear out the devil for you. Then you may take over, and have the glory. Hold him down while I put the saddle on.”

  The black attempted to shift sideways, as Logan held on, and Ricardo finally managed to saddle up and then tighten the cinch. The stallion didn’t like the weight of the saddle on his back at all, and protested with a loud whinny and a hard stomping of his right front foot, and just as Ricardo attempted to step his left booted foot into the stirrup, and raise himself up onto the saddle, it was like a small volcano erupted. The stallion gnashed his teeth, snorted like a dragon, and then reared up prancing around on his two hind legs.

  Logan was unprepared to step back out of the way, and almost lost his balance, as he was lifted into the air holding on to the horse’s head, then he turned and jumped out of the way of those heavy iron-shod hooves, as they frantically pawed the air in violent protest. Ricardo was unseated, before he’d even finished mounting.

  “Why you ornery devil!” Logan shouted, as he once again grabbed the reins, and tried to hold down the now prancing steed.

  Ricardo picked himself up from the dirt, and after another failed attempt to mount, finally the third try was successful. He took the reins from Logan, and literally threw himself into the saddle.

  That devil horse stood stock still, his heavy sides vibrating with fear at the unexpected extra weight on his back. He stood motionless for several seconds, blowing and snorting, then the bucking began once more, and it was a fight between man and beast, as Ricardo managed to stay in the saddle for all of one minute before he hit the dirt, then just barely managed to roll out of the way, as that devil black horse, teeth bared, raced towards him.

  Logan ran and grabbed the reins, then held on, not giving him time to start with the bucking again. He leaped up into the saddle, and hollered loudly. “You wild hombre, let’s see you shake me off. If you were mine, I’d name you Lucifer, ‘cause that’s what you are. You’re gonna be a tame devil ‘afore I’m done with the likes of you.” And Logan gave a loud ‘Yahoo!’, as he held on tight with he knees, and managed to keep his seat midst all the wild efforts of the sweating muscular beast.

  All the bucking, snorting, and attempted cartwheels, among other wild maneuvers the mustang gave, wouldn’t loosen the tight hold the rugged cowhand had on the horse’s back, and even Logan was surprised that after all those years at sea, he hadn’t forgotten a thing that his pa had taught him on that horse ranch of his. He’d broken many a wild bronc to the saddle, some just as ornery and mean as this one, but that had been a long time ago, before his gold-prospecting days. He’d give this mustang credit though, he was game. A fighter, no less. Strong-willed and proud. Logan admired that in a horse.

  He moved with the animal, judging his every tactic, and when the black mustang had finally worn himself out and stopped the bucking, he began running all around the corral with Logan still mounted and holding.

  Suddenly the black raced over and leaped at the corral fence, knocking off the top rail in the process, and at that time Logan realized they’d drawn quite an audience, as several cowhands jumped down from the rail, and ran to get out of the way, just before the mustang flew over, and took off running across the ranch yard, then out to the green valley, racing through the tall grass.

  Logan just gave that horse his head, and let him run. He hadn’t had that much fun in years, but knew that every muscle in his body would ache for days to come. However, what better way to get to meet the supposed owner of this spread, than by taming this devil mustang.

  By the time he took charge of the reins, and turned the horse around, heading for the corral, he knew that at least he and the animal now understood each other, and he looked forward to working with him for the few days he would be there at the ranch.

  As he rode up to the corral, Ricardo came running up and said, “See, amigo! Didn’t I tell you that I would wear him down for you?” He was grinning ear to ear, showing white even teeth.

  Logan chuckled, and patted the sweating, heaving sides of the black horse, and looking at Ricardo, said, “Gracias amigo. That you did.”

  A very sultry feminine voice broke in, “Okay, cowboy, so you showed off a bit. Big deal. Now my daddy will give you a pat on the rear and maybe invite you to supper.”

  Logan and Ricardo both turned towards the voice, and glimpsed the young lady who leaned lazily against the corral fence.

  “How do, ma’am.” Logan touched the brim of his hat that he had managed to keep on during the wild ride. “And just who may your daddy be, may I ask.”

  “Why, anyone with half a brain knows my daddy owns this whole part of the country. My name’s Trudy. Trudy Perkins, that is. Ring a bell?” She continued to slouch against the fence in a very unladylike manner, though no one could complain about the lady’s looks, as she definitely was feminine, and young as she was, she was apparently all woman. Wearing a turquoise riding skirt, that hugged softly rounded hips, and a tight white shirt that, hiding nothing, molded to her soft feminine curves, gorgeous would be a mild description of the owner’s daughter, and obviously she well knew it.

  Her hair was auburn and thick, hanging down her back in soft glossy waves, her eyes a glittering green shaped like cat eyes, with thick lashes, her lips full and pink, and very pouty. She now brazenly looked Logan up and down and, raising one eyebrow, asked. “What else can you do, cowboy?”

  Ricardo was amused, and looking at Logan, he said, “See how you can untangle yourself from this wild one, amigo.”

  Logan just stared blank-faced at the obviously out-of-hand daughter of the supposed owner of the spread, then slowly drawled, “Well, ma’am, it’s like this. I definitely would like to meet that ‘daddy’ of yours sometime, but I’ve a feeling that he wouldn’t like too much uninvited attention towards his daughter by one of the ‘hired help’. So let’s just say, it was nice meeting you, and just let ‘what else I can do’ go for now.”

  He smelled the cigar smoke just before the very loud voice of Jinx Holderman blasted the air next to him, to his left, “Good decision there cowboy. I wouldn’t like having to let you go so quick after the display you put on with that black stallion.” Then he addressed Trudy pointedly. “Miss Perkins, I believe your father is calling you.”

  “Is that so, Jinx?” She smirked. “When I decide to let you boss me around, I’ll certainly let you know.” Glaring at him, she then winked at Logan just before she threw back at Jinx, “Tell my daddy that I went for a ride, boss man.” And she sauntered off towards the stable, but not before casting one last glance towards Logan as she purred, “Nice meeting you, cowboy, and be assured that we’ll meet again……..soon.” Then she winked at Ricardo as she walked away.

  Jinx, flustered and obviously irritated by Miss Perkins’ attitude towards him, motioned to Logan, “Well now, you boys aren’t hired out here to socialize with the womenfolk on this spread, so let’s get back to workin’.” He then nodded towards Logan, after a slight hesitation, and added, “By the way, nice riding. The boss’ll be pleased.” Logan was sure that last statement was grudgingly given.

  CHAPTER 10

  The rest of t
he morning was spent working several of the mustangs, a little pinto mare was the easiest, and had a good disposition, and for some reason Logan began thinking about Olivia, and how she would love this little mare for her own. Well, just maybe?

  Most of the horses took a little work, but would make some good saddle mounts, once they had been worked with for awhile. By lunch time Logan and Ricardo were more than ready to take a well-earned break, and they headed for the water pump in the center of the yard, and washed up, then headed over for lunch.

  There were only a few hands having the noon meal, and Logan figured that most were probably out on the range checking cattle, and possibly moving some to a different grazing pasture; roundup would begin soon, and those beeves needed to be kept fat and healthy. So many pounds would be lost anyway during the long drive to the rail yards.

  Logan was already thinking of Claude’s profit from the next drive, and figured it would be a good one, although Lord Beckford had assured him that he didn’t even need the income from the ranch, but it also was a part of Olivia’s inheritance, and Logan was determined to protect their interests at all costs.

  The other hands had just finished up eating and before long Logan and Ricardo were the only ones left in the room eating. The door opened and Chester walked in with another new hand. He introduced him as Butch Hogan, to the cook, Hank, and told Hank that he’d just hired on, and to feed him, as the man had just come in off the trail, and being as they needed another hand to help with the coming roundup, that he’d hired him on.

  He told the newest employee, a tough appearing man, bearded and carrying a tied down holster with a .45 on his right hip, probably in his mid forties, to report to him after eating, and he would have one of the other men show him to the north range, where the work was being started. Chester left the building, leaving Butch Hogan to his meal. Butch nodded to Logan and Ricardo, then began pouring his coffee as Hank dished up another plate full of beef, potatoes and gravy, with biscuits on the side.

  Logan looked at Butch, and said, “So your handle’s Butch Hogan? Mine’s Logan Wakefield, and this here sidekick is Ricardo Cortez.”

  Butch grinned, then answered after swigging a mouthful of hot, black coffee. “You got it right, son. Name’s Butch Hogan. Now you just call me Butch or Hogan, an’ I’ll answer to either.” He nodded towards Ricardo, and was acknowledged in turn. Instinct told Ricardo that something was going on between the two men, though he kept his silence.

  Logan grinned, then said, “Nice to have you join us…..uh…Hogan.”

  Logan thought to himself, “Well, I guess the Texas Rangers got my cable after all. So my friend Jake Welby is still going strong after all these years. I’d have recognized that son-of-a-gun behind that bushy beard anywhere. So he’s going by the name of Butch Hogan now. His real name must be well known then.” Logan couldn’t wait to see Jake Welby alone, and discuss the situation with him. Maybe sometime after dark tonight, though neither man let on that they knew each other. He’d have to inform Ricardo when they were alone, and could talk.

  The cook, whose name was Hank Chavez, knew his way around a cookstove, as the meal was well-prepared, and Hank was a pleasant enough fellow to be around, seeming to be lonely for conversation with other men. He was in a talkative mood, or maybe he was always friendly, but as the men ate, Logan casually threw a question or two the cook’s way. Chavez obviously had just been waiting for just such an opportunity to begin a long-winded one-sided conversation, with himself as the center of attention.

  He seemed to like conversing, as long as he was the one doing the talking, so Logan and Ricardo, along with the newest ‘hired hand’, were more than willing to listen as he rattled on. Logan had merely asked him how long he’d been a cook at the ‘Triple-B’, and it was like opening up the flood gates, as the words just began tumbling out.

  “Well now,” Hank began, seeming to think for a moment, then, “seems I been here just about twenty-five years, or more, prob’ly more. The place wasn’t much when I first hired out, no sir. That Beckford, the original owner, Sam Beckford that is, he was a workin’ cuss, built up this place from practically nuthin’. We hit it off right from the first, workin’ well together. He had just bought the place fer a small piddlin’, then added on more acres as the years went on, an’ hired more an’ more hands as the spread grew in size, then when he gets it all built up nice and powerful, he just up an’ dies. Shame, it was. He was sure a prince of a fella. Now that was more’n ten years ago.”

  He paused and took a deep breath, took down a mug from the shelf behind his work bench, poured himself a cup of the strong coffee, then began again, just as Logan was about to ask another question, but Hank was already talking again. He had the attention of the men, and was not about to give up a place in front of his small audience.

  “Now then, where was I, let me see, oh yeah, it seems there was some kind of a will leavin’ this place to some distant cousin of sorts, but the cousin lived over in some other country, and just didn’t want to bother with the place, so he just up an’ put it up fer sale. It sold to the first offer to come around, an’ that of course was Mr. Woody Perkins, who didn’t have much money to plunk down in the first place, as his ranch, up the road a piece, was just a small place, with a run-down shack on it, an’ then he got this place fer practical nothin’. A dad-blamed steal, it was.

  “That attorney in Coyote Springs handled the sale, wrote up the papers an’ all, gettin’ the papers signed an’ such. Name’s Clayborne Phillips, nice enough gent. Some say he’s a good attorney, but a bit snooty to suit my taste. He’s been out visitin’ here a lot, sort of a friend to the owner now, and seems intent on courtin’ Miss Trudy, though she has other ideas on that. She says he’s old as her pa.” Hank let out a loud guffaw at that statement, for emphasis.

  “You meet the owner yet? Mister Perkins, that is? His name’s Woody Perkins, though he likes us to call him Mister, makes him feel good I guess. Figures he’s come up in the world since gettin’ this place. He waren’t nothin’ afore that.”

  Logan did manage to get in a few words then, as Hank took a breath, then a swig from his coffee mug. “No,” Logan began, “we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this Mister Perkins as yet, though I do look forward to such an experience in the near future. We did meet the daughter.”

  “Well now,” Hank joined, “don’t expect to meet with him any time soon. He don’t usually come around to chat with the hands, not that he’s snooty, nuthin’ like that at all. He’s got Holderman, an’ then Chester too, runnin’ things mostly. I believe Mister Perkins has his hands full just with keepin’ that daughter of his’n hand, not that he’s havin’ any success in that area. Spoiled ‘er too much.

  “She was just a little squirt when they come here, a little ragamuffin then, guess she’s makin’ up for it now, but always has been a little spitfire too, now she’s all growed up, an’ puttin’ on airs, buyin’ new clothes all the time like some little rich gal.

  “She’s eighteen now, an’ can’t seem to keep from stirrin’ up trouble on a weekly basis. Now Mister Perkins, her daddy, he don’t take kindly to any of the hands being’ overly friendly to the gal. She seems to enjoy causin’ the boys to get fired now an’ again. It usually just takes a little talkin’ to the men, along with a few threats, from big daddy, an’ then they mostly leave ‘er alone.”

  Logan just wished the conversation would turn back to the supposed sale of the ranch. He noted that his friend, the Texas Ranger, Jake Welby, now known as Butch Hogan, seemed to be taking his time eating and enjoying the meal, not paying much attention to the conversation going on around him, though Logan knew him much better than that, and figured him to be taking it all in.

  Years before, Jake had taken Logan with him on several cases, and Logan knew him to be a good man, and an honest and thorough ranger, a tough opponent to come up against, and Logan was always glad that they were on the same side, when he’d been assisting him in his capture of a few outlaws. But
that had been years ago, when Logan had been very young; he also remembered how accurate Jake had been with that colt .45 he carried in his holster. It was a part of Jake, and had seen plenty of action through the years; Logan had no doubt of that.

  Logan had sent a wire to him in care of the Ranger’s headquarters in Austin, using code words that they had used many years before, and obviously Jake had read the message right and possibly had been in the area already, because he’d gotten here quickly. The twinkle in those deep brown eyes told Logan that Jake was glad to see his friend after all these years, and couldn’t wait to hear all details of the past years.

  If there had been a sale of the ‘Triple-B’, and apparently there had been, illegal though it would be, with probably forged signatures on a bill of sale or deed, why has Lord Beckford been receiving monthly statements from the attorney? As a cover, no doubt. What a nice little setup they have going here. All good things come to an end eventually.

  Hank, unknowing that he was filling in the men on much needed information, was still rattling on, now having returned to the subject of the early years, when he’d first met Sam Beckford, the original owner, and distant cousin to Claude.