CHAPTER 23
Buckhorn hung back in a stand of pine trees and watched the approach of Lyle Menlo along the near edge of the meadow. His gaze swept wider and farther, scanning for signs of anyone else. When he was satisfied the ranger was alone, he nudged Sarge out into an open area atop the crest of the hogback.
Knowing his movement and emergence into the open had caught the attention of Menlo, Buckhorn called out no greeting. When Menlo reached a point where he was directly down slope from where Buckhorn again sat his horse, it was the ranger who spoke first.
“Even though I got here a mite early, I figured I’d find you waitin’.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Buckhorn replied.
“Uh-huh. You alone?”
“Wouldn’t have that any other way, either.”
Menlo nodded and said, “Good.” He touched his heels to the sides of his mount, and the animal obediently climbed the slope until its rider reined it to a halt alongside Buckhorn and Sarge.
“Not too far from here is where that ambusher opened up on you, ain’t it?” said Menlo, matter-of-factly.
Buckhorn regarded him, not saying anything right away. Then: “Okay. I’ve let it gnaw at me long enough, so I’ll go ahead and ask. How the hell do you know about that ambush attempt, and why haven’t you said anything to anybody else? Or have you?”
Menlo grinned.
“You were pretty cool about holding it in. But then, when you finally decide to let go, it really comes a-pourin’, don’t it?”
Buckhorn waited, continuing to pin the ranger with a hard stare.
Menlo put away the grin and said, “All right. There’s nothing all that complicated about it. You already know about my peculiar sleeping habits when I first arrive at a situation, remember? Well, I did the same thing again last night. After Micah Danvers convinced me there might be something out here that could give us a jump on the next rustlin’ attempt, I agreed to meet him today after the cattle had been moved in. I guess you probably know about that, too.
“Anyway, I rode out last night and camped not too far away. It was too dark to see anything by then, but I was up at first light and didn’t waste any time coming the rest of the way to give everything a good lookin’ over before anybody else showed up. I made my approach about like I did just now, and the first thing that caught my eye was the glint of sunlight off the spent cartridges in the weeds behind some bushes.”
“The spot the rifleman was firing from,” Buckhorn said. “That’s one of the things I intended to come back and check out today . . . until that proddy Mexican changed my plans.”
“Uh-huh. Well, for me, needless to say, comin’ across that much ejected brass stirred my interest all the more,” Menlo said. “Only one or two reasons I could think of for anybody to be throwin’ that much firepower. So I got down on foot and began workin’ the length of the hogback, bein’ careful not to disturb those hoofprints in the middle that pulled everybody’s attention here to begin with. Eventually I came to the spot where the target of all that shootin’ left his horse, hit the dirt, and scrambled to cover. What I didn’t see was any blood traces or any sign of returned fire.”
“There are explanations for that,” Buckhorn told him.
“True,” Menlo agreed. “But it didn’t matter so much. Leastways not compared to what I did spot.”
Buckhorn hissed an irritated sigh.
“Which I hope you’re eventually gonna get to. Maybe even yet today?”
Menlo’s thin smile hinted he was enjoying seeing Buckhorn squirm a bit. Gesturing in the general direction of Sarge’s front legs, the old ranger said, “You aware the front right shoe on that stud of yours got nailed on at a slight twist? Don’t hurt his stride none, I guess, and it’s not real obvious. But if you study on it some, it’s there.”
“So that’s what you spotted? And that’s what made you conclude it was me all those rifle rounds were aimed at?”
“Am I wrong?”
“You know damn well you’re not, or I wouldn’t be here talkin’ to you about it. But how come you to be familiar with the shoe marking of my horse?”
“When you went out for your little target shoot yesterday morning, testin’ to see if your Colt still fired true after usin’ it to pound dents in the cement head of Ace Ringwold,” Menlo explained, “I sorta tagged along. When I noticed you riding out of town so early, it made me curious. I made sure you didn’t see me, but I wanted to know what you were up to. Once I saw, it made sense.”
“Thunderation and hellfire!” exclaimed Buckhorn, smacking the edge of his fist down on the top of his saddle horn. “First Obie from the Circle D and now you—was the whole doggone county out there watchin’ me that morning? I could’ve sold tickets and put on even more of a show.”
“The one you put on was pretty impressive as it was,” Menlo said, a trace of admiration in his tone. “But to go back to your question . . . Following you out from town yesterday was where I first noticed the quirk in your horse’s shoe print and how I was able to recognize it again this morning.”
Buckhorn scowled and said, “Okay. That takes us back to my earlier question. Once you pieced together that another ambush attempt had been made on me, why didn’t you tell anybody?”
“Why didn’t you?” Menlo fired right back at him.
“I had my reasons.”
“Same here. You want to go back and forth like this all afternoon, or do you want to get to the meat and bones of it?”
“What I want is to not have some lowdown skunk throwing lead at me every time I turn around,” said Buckhorn. “I figured if I didn’t let on about this latest try but then somebody else did, I’d have me something I could sink my teeth in.”
“Sounds reasonable. Only now I’m the one who’s come along and let on about it. You gonna sink your teeth in me, Buckhorn?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“In the first place, I got no reason to shoot you. Yet. And if I did, I’d never dishonor this badge by back-shootin’ somebody from ambush. You’d damn well better know that much.”
Buckhorn not only saw but felt the intensity behind his words.
“I believe you,” he said flatly. “It’d simplify some things if I didn’t, but that isn’t the case. So I’m left with two tries at bushwhacking me and not only no clue as to who or why but also no idea how anybody could have known I’d be where it was they laid up for me.”
“You think the two tries were connected?”
“Each time they seemed hell-bent on trying to get rid of me. Not much doubt there. But, beyond that, I have no way of knowing or even making a good guess.”
“So what’s your plan from here?” Menlo wanted to know.
“To do what I’m being paid to do—find and bring back Jeff Danvers.”
“You can just leave this alone?” Menlo made a gesture, sweeping his hand to indicate the spent cartridges in the weeds. “Even though it happened here where everybody figures another rustling raid is bein’ planned, you’re willing to turn your back on the cattle-stealin’ end of things and concentrate on the missing kid instead?”
“Like I said, it’s what I’m bein’ paid to do. And ‘the cattle-stealin’ end of things’ has now been taken over by you.”
“What if the two go hand in hand? Whenever the subject of either one comes up, most folks mention Dan Riley’s name in the same breath.”
Buckhorn said, “I’m aware of that. So what are you getting at?”
The ranger eyed him shrewdly for a long moment. Then: “You ever hear of killin’ two birds with one stone?”
“Is that some kind of favorite sayin’ for you lawmen? Matter of fact, the last person I heard use that phrase was Sheriff Tolliver. Shortly after, you showed up.”
“Can’t help that. You want to hear where I was headed by usin’ it, or not?”
CHAPTER 24
“Who is it? Who’s out there?” Obie said in response to the soft but persistent knocking at the back do
or of his cabin, just off a corner of the kitchen area.
“It’s me—Buckhorn. Throw the bolt and keep the lantern turned down, I’d just as soon nobody saw me here.”
Outside, dusk was settling fast, shadows lengthening and turning velvety thick. Obie had moved to the edge of the kitchen area, a lantern in one hand, his six-shooter in the other. Recognizing Buckhorn’s voice, he set the lantern on the cold cookstove, turned it low, then stepped over to the door and shoved back the bolt. Just in case, he kept a tight grip on the gun, holding it down alongside his leg.
Buckhorn came through the doorway.
“What’s goin’ on, Powder-burner?” Obie said. “I didn’t expect to see you comin’ back around for a spell.”
“That’s how I figured it, too,” Buckhorn replied. “But some things have changed.”
“How so?” Obie asked as he closed and re-locked the door and then turned back to Buckhorn.
The gunman walked over and took a seat at the table.
“You got any coffee?”
“There’s some in the pot. But I’d have to—”
“Cold is fine.”
The old-timer filled a tin cup and set it in front of Buckhorn. Then he took a seat, too. The six-gun he’d been carrying around, its holster and cartridge belt previously removed from around Obie’s waist for the evening and draped over his easy chair, he rather awkwardly placed on the tabletop.
After Buckhorn had taken a drink of the coffee, a grin tweaked at one corner of his mouth as he tipped his head toward the gun.
“I see you’re walking on the careful side.”
“This old shack don’t see a lot of visitors, especially not at the back door with dark settlin’ in,” Obie explained. “A little caution never hurts.”
“No, it doesn’t. And, especially once we’re done talking here this evening, I want you to be sure and remember that.”
Obie frowned.
“Sounds like you got something mighty serious on your mind, Powder-burner.”
“I’ll let you decide that for yourself once I’ve spilled what I came here to talk about.” Buckhorn took another drink of the cold coffee, which was thick and bitter but somehow still hit the spot. “Let’s start with a simple but important question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Yesterday, when I went out to that hogback where Micah and the others found those suspicious tracks, did you for any reason mention to anybody that I was headed there?”
The question clearly caught Obie by surprise. He blinked a couple times, pondering briefly before he answered, “Nope. Not at all. ’Cept for goin’ out to the well to fetch a pail of fresh water, I never even left the cabin here during the time you were gone.”
Buckhorn listened to the words intently and closely watched Obie’s face as he responded. What he heard and saw only confirmed what he wanted to confirm, what he’d already concluded. Whatever or whoever was behind the most recent ambush attempt, Obie had nothing to do with it.
“What makes you ask that?” Obie said.
“Because, shortly after I got there, somebody opened up on me with a rifle. They caught me flat-footed, and it was only luck—good for me, bad for them—that they missed with their first shot. I made it to cover, but they kept pouring it on, trying to flush me out and finish the job before they finally gave up and lit a shuck away from there.”
Obie’s eyes widened.
“Gettin’ ambushed is becomin’ a real bad habit with you, Powder-burner. Sooner or later your luck ain’t gonna hold and one of them rounds is liable to hit its mark. Why in blazes didn’t you say anything before this?”
“Because I figured if I didn’t say anything, it might leave an opening for somebody else to let something slip that could indicate who or what’s behind wanting me plugged full of lead so bad.”
Now Obie’s eyes narrowed. He said, “And since I was the only one who knew you’d gone out there, you figured I might be included amongst the ‘who or what.’ Is that it?”
“I’m afraid so,” Buckhorn replied, wishing he could dodge the question but knowing he had no choice but to face up to it. “I didn’t want to think it, but put yourself in my place. How could the question not cross my mind?”
A flood of expressions conveying different emotions poured rapidly over Obie’s face. Indignation, sadness, anger . . . until it finally settled on a begrudged understanding.
“In your place,” he said tightly, “I reckon I couldn’t hardly keep from wonderin’ the same thing.”
“It’s important you understand and mean that. If I go ahead with these changes that have cropped up, I’m gonna need to be able to count on you more than ever. I can’t have you harboring hurt feelings because I had a brief spell of doubt. I’m over that, I’ve got to be sure you are, too.”
“I’ve been on your side ever since you showed up in these parts, ain’t I?” said Obie. “I still am . . . for the sake of Miss Pamela, young Jeff, and the whole Circle D operation that I’ve put the sweat and blood of over half a lifetime into. Something about you, Powder-burner, makes me think the best chance for it all to end up okay rests on your shoulders. There. That’s my piece. I’ve said it, now it’s up to you whether or not you believe it.”
Buckhorn nodded.
“Good words. They mean a lot.”
“So where do they take us? What’s this big change you say has cropped up?”
Buckhorn drank some more coffee. When he lowered the cup, he said, “The idea came from Menlo, the Texas Ranger. It’s a bold one, not something I’d likely dream up on my own. But I like it. It’ll really spur things along, and it stands a good chance of scalding out a whole passel of answers in mighty quick order.”
“You’re doin’ a good job of sellin’ it so far. But are you sayin’ you and Menlo have throwed in together on this? How did that come about?”
“You mean on account of him being a lawman and me a hired gun?”
“Ain’t exactly a common pairing, you gotta admit.”
“Let’s just say that Menlo doesn’t appear to make a habit of always going by the book. And, like I already mentioned, I know the sound of a good idea when I hear one.”
“Fair enough. So go ahead, let me hear the sound of the rest of it.”
“Simply put, I’m gonna take my differences with Micah and pile on the shoot-out with the Mexican from this morning—talk of which has got to be making the rounds all over the town and county by now—and play them up as a lot bigger rift than they truly are. Enough of one to cause me to part ways with Mrs. Danvers and the job I hired on to do for her. And then, as a hardcase in need of work and packing a chip on my shoulder for the Circle D, I’ll offer my services to Dan Riley. To sweeten the deal as far as giving him reason to take an interest in me, I’ll hint that I can tell him all about the trap being set for him and his boys if they make a try on that cattle herd being moved to the far meadow.”
Obie gave a low whistle.
“Whooeee. Talk about skippin’ barefoot through tall grass set with bear traps! And you’re loco enough to say you think that sounds like a good idea?”
“Menlo’s got some fancy words for it. Working undercover, infiltrating the Riley gang.”
“Gonna take more than twenty-dollar words to keep your hide intact if Dan Riley catches on to what you’re up to.”
“I thought you’re the one who’s been telling me that Riley isn’t really the bad hombre so many others have painted him to be.”
“Back a man into a corner, make him feel desperate,” Obie said, “what comes out of the corner ain’t necessarily the true nature of what you started with.”
“Sounds like you’re admitting that the Dan Riley of today isn’t exactly riding the straight and narrow trail since parting ways with the Circle D.”
“Like I said before, from the way he works so hard at hidin’ it, it’s hard to deny he appears to be not strictly on the up and up.”
“All I know is that if he’s behind the rustling or h
as anything to do with the disappearance of Jeff Danvers, then it’s not for me to fret over why he made those decisions any more than I care why Gonzalez made the choice to slap leather with me this morning.”
“I guess I can understand an outlook like that. Up to a point. I guess it’s also what made you the right choice for Menlo to pitch his idea to. You put it to me a little bit ago whether or not you could trust me. How about Menlo? You figure you can trust him?”
Buckhorn hesitated only a second before saying, “For what’s at stake here, yeah, I do. He’s made it plain that he doesn’t particularly care about the disappearance of Jeff. But when it comes to the rustling, I think he’s hell-bent on putting it to an end and smoking out whoever’s behind it. That means if Riley’s not the one, then Menlo isn’t looking to hang it on him regardless. What he’s out to get is the real culprit.”
Obie nodded and said, “I like the sound of that.”
“I wouldn’t throw in with him and put my neck on the line if I thought otherwise.”
With a grunt of effort, Obie shoved to his feet and limped over to the kitchen cabinet against one wall. From it he withdrew a long-necked bottle half-full of amber liquid. Turning back, he said, “That cold coffee might do it for you, Powder-burner. I know you don’t favor whiskey. But I hope you don’t mind if I have me a snort or two.”
“We’ve covered that before,” Buckhorn told him. “Go right ahead.”
“Still a little coffee left in the pot—you want your cup topped off?”
“Might as well.”
The old handyman returned to the table carrying the pot, the bottle, and a tin cup for himself. Buckhorn relieved him of the pot, re-filled his cup, set the pot over on a corner of the table. After lowering himself back into his chair, Obie wasted no time pouring a generous splash of the whiskey into his own cup and knocking back a big gulp.
“Whoo, yeah. Now we’re talkin’,” the old-timer declared. Then, eyeing Buckhorn somewhat skeptically, he added, “Figured I might need me a jolt because I’m guessin’ you’re finally about to get to the point of what role you want me to play in this scheme of yours and Menlo’s.”
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