“You saw the whole thing?” Buckhorn asked.
“Most of it. I heard you when you was just gettin’ started, so I reined up before I came around the corner of that slope back a ways. Crawled down from the buggy and came forward on foot to have a look-see. I held off on account of I figured you might not go ahead with everything if you knew somebody was lookin’ on.”
“It rankles me that I didn’t know you were there.”
“Aw, don’t get sore about it,” Obie told him. “I know the lay of the land around here like the back of my hand. I ought to; I rode it a thousand times. Know it good enough so’s back in the day I even managed to dodge an Injun war party or two due to knowin’ every hill and gully where I could squirt outta sight. And that ain’t no mean feat, let me tell you.”
“No, I don’t suppose it was.”
Obie grinned.
“Heck, in a manner of speakin’, I guess I sorta did it again, didn’t I? Well, partly anyhow. I mean, seein’s how you’re only partly Injun.”
In spite of himself, Buckhorn felt a faint grin tugging at his own mouth. He wasn’t one who took to many people, and not very quickly on those rare occasions when he did. But there was something easily likable about this talkative old rascal.
“Gettin’ back to the shootin’ show itself,” Obie went on. “What was that all about, anyway? Just practicin’ your draw and accuracy and the like?”
“You got it.”
“Tarnation, man. Didn’t you get your fill of the real thing yesterday and last night with all the shootin’ and ambush-escapin’ you went through? I’d reckon any fella who blasted his way outta those scrapes could rightly figure his lead-throwin’ skills was in good enough shape not to need any more practice.”
“Hold it.” Buckhorn frowned. “If you’re just now comin’ from the ranch, how do you already know about all that stuff?”
Obie chuckled and said, “They got a new saloon gal at the Twilight Palace in town. Mighty pretty little blonde, they tell me. At the ranch, we got a couple young wranglers with terrible urgent humps in their backs who laid eyes on her about the same time. Every night for the past couple weeks, when they oughta be huggin’ their bunks for the sake of gettin’ some rest to better face the next day’s work that’s gonna be waitin’ for ’em, one or the other gets the notion to slip out and try to gain some ground with the blonde. But when he gets to the Palace, guess what? He finds the other poor hump-back lad either already there with the same notion, or ridin’ in right on his tail to make sure there ain’t no advantage gained.”
“Surprised they haven’t shot each other by now,” Buckhorn muttered.
“Could come to that,” Obie said with a fatalistic shrug. “Or, more likely, they’re both gonna keel over from exhaustion due to burnin’ the candle at both ends, get their dumb asses fired, then limp off with their tails tucked between their legs to go drown their sorrows at the Palace . . . only to discover that all along the blonde has already been claimed as the personal property of Dandy Don Frake, owner of the joint.”
“Seems to be a lot of unrequited love going on around the Circle D,” said Buckhorn.
“What’s that?” Obie asked sharply.
Buckhorn waved him off.
“Never mind. Going back to the love-struck young wranglers who haven’t figured out the score yet, I take it they were still in town last night when the ruckus broke out at the hotel? And they brought back to the ranch that tale, as well as the one about my earlier trouble on the trail?”
“Indeed they did.”
“Layered thick with plenty of embellishment, I’ll bet.”
“That’s what I figured when I first listened to the telling. But now I ain’t so sure.” Obie lifted his eyebrows. “After what I seen out here just a little bit ago, Powder-burner, I’d say you’re the real goods. Could be there wasn’t the need for much embellishment.”
CHAPTER 15
They rode into Barkley together, O’Binion on the buggy, Buckhorn trotting alongside on Sarge. The old-timer jabbered much of the way, until they hit the main road for the final stretch and the dust kicked up by the buggy wheels finally caused him to close his yap for a while.
They’d barely rolled into town, however, when Obie started in again. As they pulled up before the Hotel Alamo, they spotted Pamela Danvers and Sheriff Tolliver through the front window of the dining room, taking a late breakfast together.
“There’s another lovesick fool longin’ for a heart that will never be his,” Obie said. “What was that term you used a while back, Powder-burner—unrequested love or some such?”
“Unrequited,” said Buckhorn.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Say, how is it that a hired gun and a half-breed to boot—no offense, mind you—knows those kind of big words to fling around?”
Buckhorn, who generally was quick to take offense at any remark about his mixed blood, wondered fleetingly why he didn’t mind so much when it came from Obie. He simply said, “Did a job for a fella once who read books all the time, worked at improving his mind. Didn’t seem like a bad thing to aim at for myself. But whose unrequited love are you babbling about in this case?”
“Why, right there in the window. Ain’t you got eyes? Thad Tolliver fell for Miss Pamela as soon as she was, well, available. Probably had feelings for her, like practically every other man in these parts, even before that. Back when she wasn’t available on account of bein’ a married woman. But as soon as that changed, Tolliver pretty quick-like stopped makin’ any attempt to hide the way he felt.”
“But she doesn’t feel the same way about him?”
Obie grunted.
“Nope. She’s in love with one man and one man only. Gus Danvers is a mighty hard act to follow, even after bein’ dead for nigh on to six years now. Ain’t sayin’ there’s anything wrong with the sheriff, he’s a good man, too. He just ain’t Gus.”
“So Mrs. Danvers will stay in love with a ghost?”
“That’s the way I see it.”
Buckhorn saw something, too. He saw that Miles O’Binion was also in love with Pamela Danvers. Probably had been for even more years than Tolliver.
Eyeing the oldster shrewdly, Buckhorn said, “It’s startin’ to become clear to me that you don’t miss much of anything that goes on in Barkley County. Mrs. Danvers might’ve been better off hiring you to find her missing son.”
O’Binion’s expression grew somber.
“You’d be wrong there, Powder-burner. That’s one thing I don’t know about . . . and I’m kinda worried over findin’ out, no matter who gets to the bottom of it.”
* * *
Half an hour later, they were headed right back out of town again. Once more Buckhorn rode alongside the buggy, only this time the latter held Pamela Danvers in addition to O’Binion. Her presence, it soon was evident, did little to quell his steady stream of jabber. It was equally evident that the two of them were thoroughly comfortable with each other—harkening back to Obie’s earlier claims about the longevity and closeness of his relationship with the Danvers family.
Given the stillness of the day and the fact that Obie was holding to an easier pace than before, Buckhorn and Pamela were also able to do some talking. Mostly he listened as she told of the history of the area, how she and her husband had come here almost as newlyweds, their oldest son Micah still an infant, Jeff not yet born; how they had struggled and sacrificed and worked their fingers to the bone to get Gus’s dream off the ground. It couldn’t have been clearer, from the look on her face and the tone in her voice whenever she spoke of Gus, how proud she was of him and how right Obie had been about the strength of her enduring love for him.
Pamela also spoke of how O’Binion had been their first hired hand and, she freely acknowledged, what an important role he played in those early years of helping to make the dream blossom and start to come true. Obie interjected frequently and there was no mistaking his own pride in what the Circle D had grown into and his part in helping that happen
.
If Buckhorn had harbored any doubt about the vastness of the Danvers spread, it would have been dispelled by the time and distance they continued to eat up from when Pamela first indicated they had crossed onto Circle D range. And they still hadn’t come in sight of the main house and outbuildings.
What they abruptly did come in sight of, though, as they crested another of the rolling, grassy hills that now dominated the terrain, was a group of three horsemen riding at a hard gallop straight toward them.
Buckhorn’s reaction was to check Sarge’s forward momentum, giving a tug on the reins with his left hand while his right dropped instinctively to thumb the keeper thong off the hammer of his Colt. Experience had taught him that the sight of riders coming fast could be cause for concern.
Catching Buckhorn’s movement out of the corner of his eye, Obie clucked softly and said, “Take it easy, Powder-burner. They’re friendly.”
On the heels of this advisement, he began pulling back on the mare’s reins and braking the buggy to a halt. Buckhorn checked his gray the rest of the way and brought him to a halt beside the stopped vehicle.
The riders kept advancing. One of them spurred out ahead of the other two and, as he drew nearer, Buckhorn could see a wide smile spread across his handsome face. Cutting his gaze over to the buggy seat, Buckhorn noted Pamela Danvers’s lips widen in a matching smile. He realized then that the approaching lead rider was her oldest son, Micah.
This was confirmed a moment later when, after making a bit of a show out of galloping up close before reining his horse and wheeling it sharply before settling it beside the buggy, the smiling horseman greeted her by saying, “Good morning, Mother.”
“Good morning to you, Micah,” Pamela responded, still beaming.
“Wouldn’t be such a good mornin’ if you broke your horse’s neck, jerkin’ it around like that,” grumbled Obie. “On the other hand, you might break your own fool neck, too. That might brighten things considerable.”
“Obie! What a terrible thing to say,” Pamela chided him.
“Aw, pay him no attention, Mother,” Micah Danvers said. “Me and the old goat didn’t see each other before he headed out earlier, and he doesn’t feel his day is complete until he’s had the chance to bitch at me about something.”
“And you never fail to provide me plenty to bellyache about,” Obie shot back. “By the way, watch your language around your mother.”
Ignoring this exchange of barbs that Buckhorn judged must be a common thing, Pamela said, “Did you ride out to escort me the rest of the way in, Micah?”
Micah aimed a new, disarming smile at his mother. He was indeed a handsome rake, Buckhorn had to admit. Thirtyish, trim and solid looking, thick black hair like his mother’s, and equally dark eyes rather than her lavender ones. A contribution from his father, evidently, capable of a smoldering gaze that looked like it could twinkle or turn dangerous just as easily as his smile switched on and off.
He was decked out in range clothes, but of much higher quality than standard and augmented by touches like gold piping on the shirt, pearl cuff links, a silver hat band, and more silver trimming on the tooled leather, cross-draw holster that held a gleaming, prominently displayed Peacemaker with pearl grips to match the cuff links. In short, a rich young pup not hesitant about flaunting his prominence and convinced he was tough enough to stand up to anybody who might take issue with it.
That was Buckhorn’s read, and he was pretty sure the two of them wouldn’t need to spend very much time together to discover that they tended to rub one another the wrong way.
In response to his mother’s inquiry, Micah replied, “Well, it’s certainly true I was hoping to run into you since I knew Obie had gone in to drive you back home. But, truth to tell, me and Hank and Dave here are mainly on our way into town to meet with the Texas Ranger we heard showed up there yesterday.”
“Yes. It’s true a ranger arrived in town last evening. It’s not the same one as before; this is an older man named Menlo.” Pamela’s smile was gone now and a look of concern had fallen over her face. “What makes you in such a hurry to meet with him?”
Micah licked his lips and said, “Now I don’t want you to work up a big concern over this. It’s gonna be taken care of. But I have reason to think we’re on the verge of getting hit by another rustling raid. So the ranger’s timing as far as showing up here now could hardly be any better. That’s what I want to talk to him about.”
“What makes you think the rustlers are gettin’ ready to hit again soon?” Obie wanted to know.
Micah started to answer but then stopped short. His eyes cut to Buckhorn, then back again.
“Maybe it’s best,” he said, “if we waited to discuss the details until after I see the ranger. Then we can go over them in private.”
It took a moment for Pamela to catch on. When she did, she said, “If you’re concerned about speaking freely in front of Joe, you needn’t be. You can talk as openly in front of him as you can in front of the men riding with you.”
“Hank and Dave are the ones who found what it is I want to talk to the ranger about. Plus, they ride for the Circle D brand and have for some time. Their loyalty is beyond question.”
“And I vouch for Mr. Buckhorn. Now answer Obie’s question and quit acting ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Micah echoed. “I’m not sure I’m the one acting that way, Mother. You know how cautious we’ve had to be with all the shenanigans going on around here lately.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Buckhorn. “I don’t know this stranger from a fresh-born calf. And neither do you, not really. I say it’s only smart for us to—”
“You dare question my judgment?” his mother cut him off. “You heard me say I vouch for Mr. Buckhorn. You know full well that I have been in contact with him via telegram and by that means solicited his involvement in our problems. I asked him to come here, and, in case you haven’t figured it out, I have subsequently hired him.”
“Yeah, I’m not blind. I can see that much,” Micah said. “And word already spread from town last night about your hired gun and how he blasted two men before supper and two more afterward for dessert. Big deal. So he’s good with a gun. That don’t necessarily make him honorable or trustworthy. You’ll remember I was never in favor of you hiring somebody like him in the first place. And now that a Texas Ranger has showed up again, I see the need for him even less. Just a waste of money, if you ask me.”
“Nobody did. Leastways not that I heard,” said Buckhorn, speaking for the first time.
Micah’s eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?”
The two hombres who had ridden up with Micah, a pair of individuals roughly the same age as him, exhibiting the lean, leathery appearance of men who’d lived the wrangler life for more than a few years, edged their horses forward a bit and slitted their eyes in the direction of Buckhorn as well.
“I think you heard me okay. But I’ll say it again just to make sure you get the full drift,” Buckhorn said. “Far as I can tell, your mother neither needed nor asked for your permission to hire me. From my standpoint, you for sure are no part of my arrangement with her. Now, if it makes it easier on everybody—and if that’s the way your mother wants it—I’ll trot off a ways so you can say your piece without worrying about me overhearing. But, from here on out, don’t make a habit of trying to get in the way of me doin’ my job.”
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, mister,” Micah said, an angry flush spreading up his neck and flooding over his face. “But nobody rides onto Circle D land and tells me what I can and can’t do.”
“Seems to me somebody just did,” Obie pointed out.
“You keep out of this, you old goat. Nobody asked for your two bits’ worth.”
“Just as nobody asked for yours,” Pamela reminded her son. “Although you have every right to express your opinion when it comes to the business of running this ranch, you exercised that right some days back and I told yo
u then I intended to go ahead and hire Mr. Buckhorn. That should have been the end of it. To air it again now is rude and uncalled for, and I suggest an apology is in order.”
“To him?” Micah said, jerking his head to indicate Buckhorn.
“To everyone, if you wish. Your behavior is rude to all present.”
“With the exception of you, Mother, all present can go to hell. The sun will never rise on a day when I apologize to a bunch of hired help, especially not a stinkin’ red half—”
Once again Pamela stopped Micah from finishing what he’d been about to say. This time she did so by suddenly rising partway out of her seat and leaning forward, lunging to land a backhanded slap across his mouth. The blow was so quick and unexpected it caused Micah to jerk back and nearly tip from his saddle.
Quicker than the sound of the slap lasted, Buckhorn’s Colt leaped to his fist. His arm extended outward at waist level and the gun muzzle swept over Micah and his two pals.
“Everybody just hold easy. Real easy,” he said in a low, almost soothing voice.
“Joe!” Pamela said. “There’s no need for that.”
“Maybe not, maybe so. Just makin’ sure,” Buckhorn said.
“You’ll allow him to hold a gun on me?” Micah wailed to his mother.
“You’re the one who brought it on,” Buckhorn told him. “I’ve killed men for taking that tone and calling me a half-breed. I’d like to think I’ve mellowed some in recent years, but you never can tell. Your mother may have just saved your life.”
“Please,” Pamela urged. “Holster the gun.”
“It won’t matter,” said Obie. “If you young pups got eyeballs and half a brain between ya, you saw how fast that Colt came into play. He leathers it, don’t get no fool notions that’ll keep him from showin’ you a second time. Not to put words in the Powder-burner’s mouth, but I’m pretty sure you can count on that hogleg doin’ some squealin’ if it gets hauled out again.”
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