dent.” Sadie looked at Lance. “Guess who the other person was involved
in the accident.”
Lance grinned, as if amused with her detective work, and shrugged
his wide shoulders. “Go ahead and tell me.”
“None other than Angus Clyborn,” she said. “Sanders had rear-
ended Angus in a fit of rage over a woman they had both been trying
to pick up at a local bar. Angus dropped the charges, but it was too late.
Since Sanders already had two prior arrests for driving under the influ-
ence, he ended up serving three months in the Denton County Jail.”
Lance picked up one of the papers and began to read. “We already
have that,” he said.
“The two men obviously have a history,” Sadie continued. “Maybe
Sanders was working for the Buffalo Ranch. But with such a rocky his-
tory between the two, why would Sanders follow Angus Clyborn to
Oklahoma?”
43
Lance rubbed his forehead and then began to shuffle through Sadie’s papers. “People do weird things,” he said.
“And why was Sanders installing wild- game fencing at the edge
of my property?” she asked. “Or maybe he was doing something else.
Whatever it was, it cost him his life.”
Sadie walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a stick of string
cheese. “Want one?” she asked, allowing enough time for all she’d said
to sink in. Lance declined and she sat back down, took a bite of cheese,
and continued to talk.
“And, based on what I’ve read here,” she said, “I’d say my worst fears
have been realized. The Buffalo Ranch is a place that Angus Clyborn is
going to let rich city folks come and pay inordinate amounts of money
to shoot buffalo, and wildlife that isn’t wild anymore . . . inhumanely
trapped inside a ten- foot fence.” Sadie searched Lance’s face. “This all makes me sick,” she said.
Lance dropped the pages he’d been reading on the table and leaned
back in his chair. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions about Clyborn and
Sanders. I’ll do some background work tomorrow. But I’m afraid you’re
right. I just left a group of folks from Tulsa who drove all the way down here, news reporters in tow, to protest Clyborn’s hunting ranch.”
“Really,” Sadie said, surprised.
“They were from COWA— something about caring for wild ani-
mals. They were definitely putting on a show for the six o’clock news
because there was no one else around to witness their little demonstra-
tion, except me, and I sent them on their way as soon as the cameras
stopped rolling.”
“Was Angus there?”
“No. After I write up the report for the sheriff tomorrow, I’ll drive
out and have a talk with him,” he said. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to see if his explanation bears out any of your theories.” He began to collect the
papers together in one pile. “You don’t mind if I borrow your handi-
work, do you? You’d make a pretty good detective.”
Sadie smiled. “Help yourself.”
Lance stared at her with his intense coffee- colored eyes for a mo-
ment before speaking again. “Sadie, I’m worried about you, and I don’t
want anything happening to you. Try to keep the doors locked when I’m
44
not here. Okay? I can be here at night, but it doesn’t appear that daylight prevented Sanders from getting killed.”
Sadie got up, sat on his lap, and put her arms around his neck.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said, and gave him a quick kiss. “Sonny’s
a pretty good protector when you’re not around.”
“Yes, but as smart as you think that dog is, he can’t shoot a gun,”
Lance quipped.
Sadie laughed. “No,” she said, “but I can,” nodding toward the long
gun leaning in the corner near the door.
“Just be careful,” he said.
45
Chapter 8
Rebecca Silver turned off the highway and drove toward Eucha. It had
been a long time since she’d driven the roads of her childhood, but she
still knew every nuance of the journey— the homes, the landscape, the
unique feeling of Delaware County. The countryside remained the
same; it was she who had changed.
Living in California had forever altered her life, in some good
ways and some bad, but she couldn’t help but wonder where she’d be,
what she’d be doing, if she’d stayed in Oklahoma. She lowered her
car window and released her fleeting thoughts into the rush of the
evening air.
Old feelings grew in her as she remembered driving these roads after
staying out too late as a teenager, trying to organize her thoughts, her
excuses, in advance. She found herself doing the same thing now. It was
going to take a lot of careful words to explain away a failed marriage and a repossessed home.
Apprehension morphed into excitement when she reached the crest
of a familiar hill from which she could see the lights glowing from her
father’s little trailer. As she dropped into the last curve and turned into the driveway, the fatigue from her long trip slipped away. She was happy
to be home.
Grover Chuculate stood waiting in the doorway, and as she got
closer she could see his familiar barrel chest, his gray hair parted in the center and pulled into a slender braid that fell down his back, and his
eyes dancing with delight. He grinned, but said nothing.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, as she approached.
He held out his hand and she took it. Hugging had never been a part
of their lives and she didn’t expect it now.
46
“Can I help you get your things?” he asked.
“I’ll get them in a little while,” she said. “I’d rather just look at you.”
She brushed her bangs out of her face, hoping she didn’t look too
bad after the long drive. He smiled and together they walked inside.
Grover sat down in what appeared to be his favorite chair, comfort-
able and well worn. Finally, he spoke. “It is good that you are home,
Becky,” he said. “After you bring in your things, we will find a place for everything. I hope you will stay a while.”
Rebecca walked over to her father and patted him on the shoulder.
“Me, too,” she said, accepting that she was once again Becky, Grover’s
daughter, instead of Rebecca, Levi’s wife. “I’m going to freshen up a bit.”
She walked into the small bathroom and suddenly felt claustropho-
bic. How on earth would she be able to stay here in her father’s trailer? It was barely big enough for him. She splashed water on her face and then
used a fresh washcloth to dry. The cloth smelled like fabric softener, and she realized her father must have been preparing for her visit. He didn’t seem like the type to use such an amenity for himself. Her mother’s facial features stared back at her from the reflection in the mirror, and the rest of her face looked haggard, dark circles under her eyes magnified in the harsh light. She smoothed her limp, brown hair behind her ears and
returned to the living room.
“I’m going to grab my bag.” She walked into the evening air,
stopped, and gazed into the clear night sky. “Oh, my,” she said.
Grover spoke from the top of the steps behind her. “You can see the
dippers tonight,” he said.
A giggle escaped at the memory of her dad teaching her about the
stars. The first things he always pointed out were the dippers— the big
one and the little one. She could hear crickets singing around her and a
bullfrog bellowed in the distance. It was good to feel the heartbeat of the countryside.
She pulled her overnight bag from the back seat of the car and carried
it back inside, leaving the rest of her things locked securely in the trunk.
Grover quickly took the bag from her and carried it into the bedroom.
“You can sleep in here,” he said. “I’ll take the couch.”
“No,” she protested. “I’m not going to take your bed. I’ll be fine on
the sofa.”
47
Grover wouldn’t take no for an answer. “It’s getting late and I’m not going to argue with you,” he said, speaking with the same tone of
authority he’d used when she was a child.
Knowing she would never win an argument with him, she relented.
By morning, she would have to figure out what she was going to do. She
realized she simply couldn’t intrude on her father’s life. He didn’t have room for her. Why hadn’t she thought this through? Knowing her father
slept right outside her bedroom door allowed her to surrender to the ex-
haustion that had been creeping around the edges of her life for months.
She felt safe and she slept hard.
Becky awoke to the aroma of strong coffee, but when she opened
her eyes it took her a moment to gain her bearings. The small room and
everything in it looked foreign to her in the morning light, but then she could hear her father’s familiar voice humming right outside her open
window. She rolled out of bed and peeked through the screen, but the
only thing she could see was a leafy tree branch.
She pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and fumbled for her
tennis shoes. By the time she stepped out onto the porch, the humming
had disappeared and so had her father. She went back inside, rummaged
in the cabinet for a clean mug, and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was strong, it tasted good, and it was just what she needed.
She picked up the week- old local newspaper and went back outside,
where she found a place to sit on one of the lawn chairs her father had
set up around what appeared to be a campfire. It was apparent that her
father spent most of his time outside in the shade of the tree instead of cooped up inside the small trailer. Was he happy here?
A horse nickered, catching her attention. She set her coffee cup on
the ground and walked to the fence where four horses stood, swishing
their tails at horseflies while they drank from a huge tank of water. It had been a few years since she’d seen her father’s gentle giants, so she walked quietly through the gate hoping she wouldn’t cause alarm. She walked
among them, scratching their necks and rubbing their backs, and as her
father had taught her to do in her younger days, she hummed softly. It
lets them know you are one of them, he’d always said. She rubbed her
face against Blackie’s neck. The smell and feel of the stallion brought
back childhood memories like a movie on auto- rewind. She had forgot-
ten how wonderful horses made her feel.
48
Leaving the horses, she returned to the shade tree where she’d left her coffee, sat down, and proceeded to read the newspaper, marveling at
what made headlines in small- town Oklahoma. She couldn’t help smil-
ing. Pictures from the Lake Eucha Gigging Tournament, men and boys
holding strings of fish and gigging spears, covered the front page.
The headline on page 2 caught her eye— “Meeting Held at Lake
Eucha to Discuss Bigfoot Population.” “Seriously?” she wondered
aloud as she scanned the article, laughed, and quickly moved on through
the paper to the classified ads. The ads were sparse, made up mostly of
foreclosure notices, houses for rent, and a few job listings. One by one, she eliminated the job offerings. She couldn’t drive a truck, had no nursing skills, and the teacher’s aide job wouldn’t start until August. Then
she read the very last ad on the page. It was for a housekeeper/cook for
a hunting lodge. How hard could that be? The pay wasn’t listed, but it
provided room and board. She could make some money, have another
place to stay, yet be close enough to spend some time with her dad. Once
she got on her feet, she could do something else.
Grover rounded the corner of the trailer, walking stick in hand, his
head and shirt dripping wet.
“Morning swim in the creek?” she teased.
He acknowledged her comment with a nod of the head and sat hard
on the other lawn chair. “See you found the coffee.”
Becky retrieved her cup and took a sip. “Yes, and it tastes good. I’ll
get you some.” She hopped out of her seat, went inside, and returned
with a cup for him.
Watching him drink coffee, she realized how much he’d aged. His
face appeared drawn this morning, and as she studied him more closely
than she had the night before, she noticed he’d lost weight. “How are
you feeling, Dad?” she asked.
“Can’t complain,” he said. “Every day I wake up is a good day.” He
sipped his coffee. “And now that you’re home, it is even better.”
“I’ve decided to stay a while, Dad.” She placed her foot on one of
the rocks encircling the dead campfire. “Levi left me. I can’t go back to California. Not right now, anyway.” She silently marveled at the ease
with which the words had streamed from her mouth.
Grover’s face showed no emotion. “It’s good that you are home.
You can stay with me.”
49
Becky grabbed the paper. “There’s a job in the paper, Dad. It supplies room and board. I’m going to call about it.” She handed the paper
to him.
Grover read the ad and then grunted. “The only hunting ranch I
know about around here is that crazy yonega down by the dam. You do not want to work for him. He is evil.”
“Daddy, what makes you say that?” she said. “What has he done to
make you say that?”
“You do not want to work for him,” he repeated.
“Well, I’m going to call and see what he has to offer. It can’t hurt to
check it out.” She swallowed the rest of her coffee, got up, and went in-
side. It couldn’t be any worse than what she’d been through in California.
It was a start. That’s all she needed.
50
Chapter 9
Lance prepared to leave the sheriff ’s office and make a visit to Angus
Clyborn at the Buffalo Ranch to see if he could shed any light on the
deceased man, Kenny Wayne Sanders. So far, no one wanted to claim
Sanders as next of kin. Deputy Jennings had been successful in locating
the man’s ex- wife, who now lived in Arizona, but she wasn’t interested
in hearing about her ex- husband’s demise. As far as she was concerned,
he probably had it coming, and he had ceased to be her problem five
years ago, she’d said, when she signed the final divorce papers. She had
no idea where his relatives were and didn’t care what happened to his
remains.
Nothing like the scorn of an ex- wife, Lance thought as he chuckled
to himself. He hoped Angus could shed some l
ight on Sanders. The doc-
uments Sadie had gathered the day before certainly indicated they had
known each other in the past. He would drive out unannounced and see
what he could find out.
The door to the sheriff ’s office opened and two men walked inside.
Lance recognized them as locals— Roy Carter and his son, Robert. They
both wore working ranch clothes— well- worn cowboy boots, jeans,
shirts, and hats. Their faces had seen too much Oklahoma sun, and the
nicks and callouses on their hands reflected heavy outdoor work.
Lance walked over and shook hands. “What can we do for you,
Roy?”
Both men nodded and removed their hats. They appeared to be un-
comfortable in the office surroundings. “We’ve got a problem brewing,”
Roy said. “We’d like to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand.”
“Have a seat,” Lance said, as he flipped open two metal folding
chairs and placed them facing his desk. Then he sat down, took out a
51
notepad, and recorded their names, the date, and the time. “Okay, now, what kind of problem are we talking about?”
“Bang’s,” Roy said.
“Bang’s? Like in, the cow disease, Bang’s?” Lance asked.
“Yes, sir.” Roy nodded his head in a definite affirmation. “Bang’s.”
“If you’ve got cattle in your herd with Bang’s, you’re going to need
to notify one of the local veterinarians, and I’d guess the Oklahoma
Department of Agriculture is going to want to know. I’m not sure there’s
anything we can do to help you here.”
“We don’t have Bang’s yet, but it’s only a matter of time. There’s a
man bringing buffalo into Eucha, and everyone knows they carry brucel-
losis.” Roy stopped for a moment and then added clarification, “That’s
the same thing as Bang’s, you know.”
Lance nodded, showing that he understood.
“It doesn’t affect the buffalo,” Roy continued, “but they can spread
it to cattle, and it’ll wipe out the whole herd.” The man nervously fin-
gered the hat in his hands. “We can’t afford to lose our cattle to Bang’s.
We came here to ask you to stop that man from importing those wild
animals. His ranch is down by Eucha Dam, which isn’t real close to our
Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch Page 6