by Doug Bowman
The lady had not spoken since Rollins began to talk. He glanced at her expression and knew that he had her undivided attention. He knew that money would not buy the property, for he had only to look around him to know that she was rich. He must get the land for free, or he would not get it at all. He paused briefly, then continued his spiel. “I first approached a rancher named Hollingsworth with my idea, but he wouldn’t even listen, said the orphans of the world are not his responsibility. I guess you know the man I’m talking about.”
“Oooh, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I know him all right.”
Rollins continued: “Two businessmen in Dallas have agreed to bear the expense of erecting the buildings if I can get the land. Those kindhearted gentlemen are willing to help me create my vision. This, Mrs. Lindsay, is my vision: I see the Lady Lindsay Home for Boys on that Silver Springs property one year from now. I see ten acres of plowed fields, where the boys are growing much of their own food. A pasture with cattle and hogs. The second year, we would build a separate wing for girls, and change the name to indicate that.
“In three years, I see us with our own schoolteachers, so that our kids can go straight from our Home to college. Of course there’s a two-year junior college right here in Weatherford. The kids could continue to live at the Home while extending their education. I see a large pond, well stocked with fish. The kids would raise their own chickens, and we would allow them to have a few dogs and cats.
“Lastly, I see on the front lawn a bronze statue of the lady who made it all possible: Mrs. Victoria Lindsay! That, dear lady, is my vision, and there will be no shortage of kids to fill it. My compassionate friends in Dallas say they will help with operating expenses till we can receive funds from the state of Texas.”
Mrs. Lindsay sat staring at the wall for quite some time as Rollins walked around looking at the numerous paintings hung about the room.
The lady finally rose from her chair. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Mister Rollins?”
“Indeed I would, ma’am. I only had coffee this morning.”
When she had informed the cook that her guest would be present for dinner, she invited Bret to see her vegetable garden. Each row she showed him looked exactly like the ones he had grown up with and picked on his grandfather’s farm. He commented on the garden. “Being a city fellow, I’ve never had many opportunities to actually see the vegetables growing. This is beautiful.”
They talked of many things, but Bret was very careful not to mention the property again. When dinner had been served, she surprised him again. “Would you like to come to supper tomorrow night?”
“Yes, ma’am. Living in hotels and eating in restaurants like I have to do, a home-cooked meal is always welcome.”
“Tomorrow night at eight, then?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He rode out of the yard feeling that he might have scored a bull’s-eye with the lady, but he also knew that he was not out of the woods yet. Given enough time, she could very easily have him and his story checked out. His only hope was to make her like and trust him so much that she would consider such a thing unnecessary. He kicked his horse toward town. He would stable the animal, then head for his hotel room, where he expected to spend most of his time in the near future. He would stay out of sight for the most part; wandering around the town now was out of the question.
Supper at Mrs. Lindsay’s the following night was truly something that Rollins would remember. He told her many colorful stories about his childhood, while she talked of long-ago times when her family had first come to Texas. Neither of them mentioned the land that was the uppermost thought in Bret’s mind. As he was leaving, she walked him to his horse. She was still thinking about the property, she said, and would have her caretaker contact him at the hotel when she had reached a decision.
The thought crossed Bret’s mind that perhaps she was just stalling for time while she had him checked out. But she had not asked for the name of the orphanage in New Orleans or for the names of the businessmen in Dallas. Without that information, checking out his story would not be so easy. New Orleans was a big town, and there would surely be several orphanages in the area. Anyway, if Mrs. Lindsay began to cross-examine him too closely, Bret was prepared to chuck the whole idea and seek his fortune elsewhere.
He stayed in or close to the hotel for the next three days, leaving his room only to stretch his legs or get something to eat. He had just returned from the restaurant on Sunday night when the desk clerk handed him a message: Mrs. Lindsay’s caretaker had come by, saying that the lady wanted to see Rollins at her home tomorrow morning. Bret put the written message in his pocket and hurried to his room.
He slept fitfully during the night and was up at the break of dawn. He ate breakfast at the restaurant, then reread yesterday’s newspaper while waiting for the barber shop to open. After a bath and a shave, he dressed in his new suit and headed for the Lindsay home.
She met him at the gate, powdered and dressed expensively. “If you’ll hitch up the buggy and drive me to town, we’ll fix up the papers on that property.”
An hour later, at the Parker County Courthouse, the lady deeded the Silver Springs property to Bret Rollins for the sum of one dollar. “I’ve been gauging people for eighty-one years,” she said, “and I know a good man when I see one. I hadn’t been around you more than five minutes before I decided that you were a man who could be depended on to do the right thing. If you need any more assistance, don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lindsay. The land will certainly be used for a good cause.” He put the deed in his coat pocket, then drove the lady home.
Two hours later, Bret visited Rex Allgood at the saloon. “I’m the new owner of the Silver Springs property, Rex, and I could be persuaded to part with it. Do you suppose you can get word to your father-in-law?”
Allgood nodded. “I can send a rider out there, but why don’t you just ride to the ranch yourself?”
Rollins shook his head. “Any business I do with Mister Hollingsworth will be conducted in my hotel room. I’m at the Palace, room two-ten.”
Allgood was busy pouring himself a drink. He returned the bottle to the shelf. “I’ll get a man out there with the message this afternoon. Probably be noon tomorrow before the old man can make it, though.”
“That’s fine,” Rollins said. “Have your rider tell him that I’ll be expecting him at noon.” He bought a shot of whiskey, then left the building.
Right on time, Rollins heard a knock at his door next day. He had put the broadcloth suit away and was now dressed in jeans and flannel shirt. “Be with you in a minute,” he shouted, then waited two minutes before opening the door. As he expected, Cliff Hollingsworth stood in the hall, scowling somewhat less than at their last meeting.
“Why, Mister Hollingsworth,” Bret said, flashing a toothy smile, “what a surprise. Won’t you come in?” He closed the door behind his visitor and reseated himself in the room’s only chair, leaving the old man standing.
Hollingsworth shifted his weight from one leg to the other a few times, clearly uneasy in the younger man’s element. “My son-in-law says you’ve got a clear deed to the Silver Springs property,” he said finally.
“That’s correct.”
The old man shifted his feet again. “Well, how much do you want for it?”
“Six thousand dollars, sir.” Bret eyed the man steadily, his smile never fading. “Cash.”
Hollingsworth began to fidget, and the scowl returned.
“That’s ridiculous. You and me both know that property ain’t worth no six thousand.”
“Maybe so,” Rollins said, his expression turning serious. “But real estate prices are rising every day. I’m a young man, I can wait. Meanwhile, I’ll always have a place to take a good country shit.”
The man stared at him for several moments. “There ain’t nobody in this country that needs or wants that property but me. I’ll pay forty-five hundred, and that’s all.�
�
Rollins got to his feet and began to walk around the room. “Then I guess we can’t do business, sir. Maybe I’ll just dam up that hollow myself. You know, build my own lake and put a fence around it. The day might come when I can sell water by the barrel.” He raised his eyes to meet those of Hollingsworth, his smile returning. “Or maybe by the gallon.
“The six-thousand-dollar price is firm, sir. Of course you don’t have to make your decision today, you can think on it for the rest of the year. I’ll be leaving for New Orleans tomorrow, should be back sometime after Christmas.”
“Christmas? Hell, I was hoping to have the dam built by then.”
Rollins shook his head. “If we can’t do business now, we’ll have to discuss it further after the first of the year. I have an appointment in Orleans Parrish that I simply cannot postpone.”
Hollingsworth heaved a sigh. “All right,” he said, “I’ll pay your price. We’ll go by the bank, then on to the courthouse.”
* * *
The sun was still an hour high when Rollins rode into Zack’s camp. Zack had just finished his supper and was washing his utensils at the spring. “Hey, old buddy,” he said, joining Rollins under the tall oak. “I expected you to come out here before now.”
Rollins dismounted, his saddlebags across his shoulder. “Load that packhorse and saddle up, Zack. We need to be making tracks.” He patted the saddlebags. “I’ve got six thousand dollars in here.”
“Six … did I hear you right?”
“Six thousand dollars.” Rollins partially explained his recent activities as quickly as possible, adding, “We need to get the hell out of here, ’cause I don’t know how long it’ll take for the word to get out. Mrs. Lindsay’s got lots of friends, and all of them probably have guns.”
Zack moved quickly. Twenty minutes later, he led both animals to the dying campfire.
Rollins sat on the ground, where he had arranged the money in two identical stacks. He handed one of them to Zack. “Here’s your half,” he said.
“Half?” Zack asked. “Hell, you did all the work.”
“No, Zack, you did all the work; I had all the fun. You earned your half by setting the deal up.” Rollins stuffed his money in his saddlebags, then mounted the roan. Zack poured the remaining coffee over the gray coals, then bagged his own portion of the windfall. He mounted and took up the slack in the packhorse’s lead rope. They would ride south till dark, then turn west, giving the town of Weatherford a wide berth.
5
They had ridden less than a mile when Hunter ordered Rollins to come clean. “It looks like we’re on the run, Bret, so I want to know what the hell we’re running from.”
Rollins brought the roan to a halt. He sat for a moment trying to decide the best way to explain the situation. He had never lied to Zack and did not intend to do so now. He would simply leave out part of the story. He talked on and on about his exchange with Clifford T. Hollingsworth, and how he had beaten the old man at his own game. At the end of his narration, he added, “I told you I’d make the sonofabitch pay through the nose.”
Hunter was still less than jubilant. “How in the hell did you get a deed to the property in the first place?”
Rollins had dreaded that question. He had first thought of letting Zack think he had romanced the lady, but he knew that Zack already knew how old she was. He decided that he would rather tell the truth than have Zack think he had bedded an eighty-one-year-old woman. He confessed the whole thing, leaving out nothing.
Zack began to drum his fingers on his kneecap. “You have no conscience whatsoever, Bret.”
“Sure, I do, Zack, but that woman had no use in the world for that property. She’s nearing the end of her life, and she damn sure couldn’t take the place with her. You and me still have to get through this world, and though she didn’t realize it, she’s helped us along quite nicely.”
Zack stared into the setting sun, a faint smile on one corner of his mouth.
“Anyway,” Rollins continued, “Hollingsworth’s the one who coughed up the money.” He pointed to Zack’s saddlebags. “Do you realize that you made over four hundred dollars a day for the past week?”
Zack did not answer the question, though having more money in his saddlebag than he had ever seen before had begun to give him a feeling of security. “I guess you know that all hell’s gonna break loose when the old man starts damming up that hollow,” he said.
“Of course I know it, Zack, but I did nothing illegal. I paid a dollar for the property and sold it at a profit, neither of which is against the law. The story about the orphanage was all verbal. I put nothing in writing concerning my intended use for the land. In fact, the only things I signed were the deed and Hollingsworth’s check. Of course Mrs. Lindsay might have some friends who will be unhappy with the transaction. That’s why I was busy trying to get the hell out of this country when you started jumping on me.”
Zack chuckled. He kicked his horse in the ribs and turned the animal west. “All right, Mister Rollins, let’s get the hell out of this country.”
A night of steady travel under a full moon brought them to the Palo Pinto Mountains at daybreak. They picketed their horses beside a spring, then prepared breakfast over a small campfire. After eating, they spread their blankets and slept soundly in the cool mountain air.
Hunter awakened at noon to find Rollins sitting on his bed studying the map. “You remember Harry Terry, Zack?” Bret asked. “He owned the pool hall back in Memphis.”
Zack nodded.
“Well,” Rollins continued, “he was originally from Texas, and he was always talking about a town called Lampasas.” He thumped the map. “According to this, Lampasas is about a hundred fifty miles directly south of here. I think I’d like to look the town over, see if it’s anything like Harry claimed.”
Zack was slipping on his boots. “Lead the way,” he said.
They rode all afternoon and into the night, camping at midnight on the North Bosque River. Just before going to sleep, Zack registered a complaint: “You know, Slick, since it seems that we have plenty of time, and since I can’t hear any hoof-beats behind us, I think we ought to start eating a little more often. If we start riding at sunup, stop for an hour at noon, then make camp an hour before sunset, we’ll have time to eat like normal people.”
Rollins rolled up in his blanket. “No argument here, Zack. I’m hungry, too. I’ll start hunting some firewood at daybreak.”
They camped on the Lampasas River Friday night and rode into the town of the same name at noon on Saturday. They left their horses at the livery stable on the edge of town, and Rollins made friends with the hostler, a tall, skinny man named Oscar Land. “Any good hotels in town?” Rollins asked.
The liveryman pointed west. “The Hartley’s the best one, I guess. At least the folks that own it seem to think so. They charge an arm and a leg, but they’ll bring a hot bath right to your room. Bring you a bottle of whiskey if you want it.” He smiled and winked, adding, “I’ve heard that a fellow can get a little female company just by speaking up. I never have stayed there myself; too damn rich for my blood.”
With their saddlebags across their shoulders and long guns cradled in their arms, the men walked down the street to the Hartley, where they rented a second-story room. The hostler had been right about the price: three-fifty a day for a room with two beds, and another dollar for a bath. Rollins laid an eagle on the counter, ordering two baths and a bottle of whiskey.
An hour later, after shaving, bathing and changing into clean clothing, Hunter and Rollins sat in their room sipping whiskey and water. Bret raised the window, mixed himself another drink, then sat on his bed, propping his bare feet up in a cane-bottom chair. “This is what I’ve been talking about, Zack,” he said, sipping at his drink. “This is first class.”
Zack nodded in agreement. He pressed his hand against the springy mattress. “I think I could get used to a bed like this mighty easy.”
“Sure you could.
And we’ve got plenty of money to keep right on staying in places like this.”
Zack shook his head. “We don’t have to stay in a hotel to sleep on a good bed, Bret. All we have to do is find out where they buy theirs, then buy some of our own.” He sat with his chin in his palms and his elbows propped on his knees. “All morning we’ve been riding through the prettiest country I’ve ever seen, and I think I’ve traveled about as far as I want to.”
Rollins sat quietly for a few moments, then raised his eyebrows. “You mean you want to live in this town?”
“No. I want to live in the country, and I’ll bet a man could buy a piece of land around here at a reasonable price. He sure as hell never would starve; I counted nine deer that we jumped this morning.” Zack pointed to the saddlebags. “Besides, I’m tired of guarding that money twenty-four hours a day. I noticed when we passed the bank that it was closed. Otherwise, I’d have left my money there.”
Rollins shrugged, then began to walk around the room. “Hell, Zack, I’ve always felt like I could make it anywhere. If you want to stay here, then by God, that’s what we’ll do. As far as the banker’s concerned, I never have seen one yet that wouldn’t open his door for a deposit like we’ll be making.” He sat down and began to pull on his boots. “You just stay here with the money; I’ll find the banker.” He was quickly out of the room and down the stairway.
Zack locked the door, then fluffed up his pillow and lay down on his bed, the shotgun within easy reach. He was thinking of the beautiful country he had ridden through this morning, both east and west of the Lampasas River. Though his knowledge of the cattle business was limited, it was obvious that this area was a cattleman’s dream. Grass and shade were abundant, and Zack had seen several springs and small creeks. Then there was the river, a neverending water source. A cow would probably never have to walk more than a mile in any direction to find a drink.
Hunter had no idea what it would cost to buy a section of land in this area, but knew that the Silver Springs property could not be used as a gauge. The price of that land had been greatly inflated because of its strategic location. The fact that Hollingsworth was determined to get it, while Mrs. Lindsay was equally determined that he would not, had pushed the price up even farther. Zack believed that grazing land could be bought for a fraction of the price Hollingsworth paid for Silver Springs.