Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch

by Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  “On one of our bison? I’ll see what I can find. What’s the number?”

  Sadie read the number on the ear tag to the woman.

  “Hold on,” she said. Music filled the air for several seconds before

  the woman returned to the phone and spoke in an excited voice. “Oh,

  praise the Lord, you have Sandy,” she exclaimed.

  “Sandy?” asked Sadie.

  “She was the color of sand when she was born, before she grew up

  to be buffalo brown, that is, so we named her Sandy. Her mother died

  shortly after she was born and none of the other cows would take her, so

  the kids and me, we raised her as a pet. I thought we’d lost her forever.

  I am so glad you called. She disappeared, and I just knew she ended up

  on one of the trucks that went to the Cherokees. I’m so glad you found

  her. I’ve been trying to get in touch with that Mr. Sanders, but no one

  ever returns my calls. Is that where you’re calling from? The Cherokee

  Nation? Do you work with him? I believe his name was Kenneth or

  Kenny Sanders.”

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  Sadie’s mind raced, trying to keep up with the woman’s excited chatter. Becky and Beanie stood staring at the phone, mouths agape.

  The woman continued. “He came up here to make arrangements to

  transfer the bison they bought, along with another man, Mr. Eagle, or

  something like that.”

  “You mean Mr. Hawk?” Sadie offered.

  “Oh, yes. That’s it. Mr. Hawk. He wasn’t very friendly, at least not

  as much as Mr. Sanders. I don’t think I want to talk to him. Do you work

  with Mr. Sanders?”

  Sadie’s heart skipped a beat. “Uh, he’s not here anymore.”

  “I guess that’s why he didn’t return my calls. He was such a nice

  man.” The woman continued without pausing. “We need to get Sandy

  back as soon as possible. I think she was the victim of a rogue Charolais bull. He’s the prettiest big old white bull you’ve ever seen; I guess that’s what Sandy must have thought too. Anyway, we need to take care of

  that calf. Oh, my. Are you calling because she already had her calf ?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Sadie’s mind raced. “I just wanted to make

  sure we got a new ear tag back on the right animal.” Did that make any

  sense? Sadie tried to think of what to say next.

  “If you can get her to stand still, she’s got an “S” tattooed on her up-

  per lip. She won’t hurt you. She’s a big teddy bear, well, buffalo, I mean.”

  Her laugh sounded genuine.

  “Thank you so much for this information,” Sadie blurted. “I’ll see

  who took Mr. Sanders’s place and have him give you a call. Thank you

  again so very much.” Sadie quickly hung up before the woman could say

  another word. She drew a long breath and said, “Well, that was certainly

  enlightening.”

  Both Beanie and Becky looked shocked.

  Beanie spoke first. “Sadie, our number is on her caller ID now, and

  when she calls back wanting her Sandy, she’s going to know we are not

  the Cherokee Nation.”

  “I know.” Sadie pushed the phone back to the corner of her desk.

  “I’ll think of something. I’ve got to talk to Lance.”

  The phone rang and Sadie froze. The woman was already calling

  back, she thought. Beanie answered and nodded to Sadie. “It’s Thelma.”

  Sadie picked up the phone and turned her back. After a few minutes,

  she hung up and turned to Becky. “I’m sorry. You were right. You were

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  outgunned. She couldn’t justify hiring you considering the experience of the others.”

  Becky looked dejected.

  “But, she said she would keep your application on file and call you

  if anything else opens up.”

  “I’m going to have to move back to my dad’s. Without a job I can’t

  afford my own place, and I can’t stay with you forever. Lance is going to get impatient.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sadie said. “We’ll come up with something.”

  Becky nodded as tears welled in her eyes.

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  Chapter 26

  Angus entered his house through the kitchen, plunked his briefcase on

  the island workspace that stood between the open kitchen and dining

  room, and bellowed for his wife.

  “Camilla. Come down here, please.” He knew his words sounded

  more like a command than a request, but at least he had added the word

  “please.”

  He pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and dropped them on

  the dining room table and then retrieved a bottle of Budweiser from the

  giant refrigerator. He sat at the head of the table and propped his feet, boots and all, on the nearest chair, and admired his surroundings while

  he waited for his wife.

  The bi- level house, built on the design of a mountain lodge, looked

  like it had been peeled from the pages of a slick magazine and planted

  in the middle of the Eucha countryside. Everything was oversized, from

  the kitchen filled with commercial- sized appliances and the dining area

  complete with a rustic table for twelve to the main living room filled

  with animal- skin rugs, overstuffed leather furniture, a pool table, and

  trophy heads hanging on high walls. A huge rock fireplace divided the

  living room and the dining area. Thick draperies hung on the windows,

  creating a cool darkness that carried throughout the house.

  Camilla seemed to be in no hurry. Holding a highball glass and a

  cigarette in the same hand, she walked down the wide staircase from

  the second story of the house. It was where she spent most of her time,

  watching soap operas in the master bedroom when she wasn’t off some-

  where shopping. Her long robe trailed on the stairs behind her bare feet, and Angus caught himself hoping she’d trip and break her neck. They

  had stopped talking about anything meaningful a long time ago, and

  since Jason’s funeral, she jerked away every time he tried to touch her.

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  She drank more and more, and he didn’t much care for her disgusting behavior.

  “Don’t take all day,” Angus fumed.

  Camilla refreshed her drink before walking to the table and acknowl-

  edging him. “What is it now, Angus?” She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  Angus pitched an ink pen toward her and then began to shuffle pa-

  pers in her direction. “I need you to sign this trust agreement. The lines are marked with those little arrows.” He pointed at her signature lines

  with his stubby finger. “There’re two places— here and here.”

  He leaned back in his chair and pulled a fresh cigar and a lighter out

  of his shirt pocket. He ran his tongue up one side of the cigar and then

  down the other, stuck it in his mouth, and then sucked life into it from

  the flame of the lighter.

  Camilla picked up the first sheet of paper, scanned it, and said,

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s just some legal mumbo jumbo. Just sign it like I asked you to.”

  Camilla took a drink and let the paper drop on the table. “Give me

  the whole document,” she said, “and when I get finished reading it, I’ll

  decide if I want to sign it.”

  Angus took the cigar out of his mouth and spit a piece of tobacco

  onto the floor. Dredging up the nicest tone he could, he continued.


  “Now, honeybunch, don’t you worry your pretty little head about the

  legal operations of this ranch. The way I’ve got everything set up, all

  you’ll to have to do is sit back and watch the money roll in. Isn’t that

  what you want?”

  “Yes, of course, Angus.” The corners of Camilla’s mouth curled

  slightly and her eyes moved to the deer- antler chandelier hanging over

  the table. “I’ll look at it in a bit,” she said.

  “No.” Angus raised his voice. “I want to get this taken care of so I

  can take it back to the bank tomorrow. We’ve got hunters coming next

  week and I’ve got to go track down that cook I hired. I don’t know where

  the hell she went.”

  Ignoring him, Camilla downed the rest of her drink, rose from the

  table, and returned to the staircase. “My bath water is getting cold. I’ll be back shortly and we can talk about it some more.”

  Angus began to shake as Camilla disappeared at the top of the stairs.

  There wasn’t enough beer in the house to quell his anger. “He was my

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  son, too,” he yelled. Then he pushed back from the table and tromped out the back door.

  ★

  “Whoa.” The rider spoke in a low tone and reined the horse to a stop,

  then bent forward and patted the horse on the neck. “Stand still,” came

  the next command, and the horse stood like a statue, just as it had been

  trained to do. The rider noticed an apple core on the ground nearby and

  paused to study the surroundings. Confident of being alone, the rider

  balanced and adjusted on the back of the horse, and unslung a long gun.

  From the high vantage point, the rider could see the house and all

  the other buildings situated on the Buffalo Ranch. Holding the rifle with steady hands, the rider peered through the Leupold scope, magnifying

  the entire area so much that the target appeared to be only a few feet

  away.

  Angus Clyborn walked onto his back porch and out toward the

  barn. He entered the barn and reemerged a few minutes later. The pow-

  erful scope followed the short, stout man as he leaned against the side of the structure, pulled a lighter out of his pocket, and puffed life into the cigar that dangled from his mouth.

  The rider dismissed all thoughts. There would be no thinking about

  the task at hand. It was simply something that had to be done, and the

  time had come to do it.

  The rider gripped the horse tightly, signaling the steed to freeze, and

  zeroed in on the cigar, carefully lining up the crosshairs of the scope

  with the man’s head. The fine lines of the sight came into focus and

  moved down Angus’s body to the middle of his chest. The scope had

  already been adjusted for the distance the bullet would have to travel

  before hitting its target. The horse stood perfectly still as the rider slowly exhaled, took a breath and held it, and then pulled the trigger.

  Angus didn’t look like he knew what hit him as he slowly slid down

  the side of the barn and onto the ground. Mission accomplished.

  The rider calmly lowered the rifle, balanced it on the neck of the

  horse, and then took the reins and spoke in a calm and quiet voice.

  “Good boy.” The rider patted the horse on its neck and nudged it for-

  ward with gentle heels. Slowly, horse and rider retraced their original

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  path down the other side of the ridge, the rider thinking about what had just taken place. For every action, a reaction. Now they were square.

  ★

  Sadie turned off the paved road, stopping to retrieve her mail before continuing up the lane to her house. When she parked and got out, Sonny

  ran to meet her. She gave him a playful scratch on his head between his

  ears and bounced up the steps of the back porch with her mail under

  her arm. She turned around to look for Joe. He and Sir William stopped

  grazing in the pasture not far away and raised their heads in tandem, as

  if to acknowledge her presence, and then both went back to eating grass.

  As she turned to go inside, something caught her eye. On the giant

  sycamore tree near the corral gate, she could see something that looked

  as if it floated in the air. She dropped her things onto the porch and

  walked toward the tree.

  It was an arrow— an arrow with a white feather attached to it. She

  quickly turned in all directions, looking for whoever had left it. It didn’t scare her. Her Cherokee father had always told her a white feather meant

  “peace” or “welcome,” so she believed someone was trying to send her a

  message of peace. She started to pull it out of the tree and then decided to wait for Lance. He would want to lift fingerprints if he could.

  Surveying her surroundings again as she walked back to the house,

  she gathered her purse and mail off the porch, went inside, and locked

  the door.

  ★

  Upstairs in her bedroom, Camilla thought she heard the crack of a rifle

  firing and wondered if there were hunters around she didn’t know about.

  She muted the sound on the television and listened. “He never tells me

  what’s going on around here,” she muttered. She rose from her chair

  and walked to the window. She could see the small herd of buffalo in the

  distance. They seemed content on the serene landscape. Turning from

  the window, she stepped out of her robe and pulled on a pair of jeans

  and a shirt, brushed her hair off her neck and secured it with a stretchy band. She sat back down and readjusted the volume on the television to

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  its normal level. About an hour later, when the movie had ended, she put on a pair of sneakers, and returned to the kitchen.

  Dusk had fallen when she glanced out the kitchen window looking

  for Angus. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet. She flipped open his brief-

  case and pulled out the rest of the trust agreement, sat down, and began

  to read. The more she read, the angrier she became. “So you think I’m

  going to sign off on something that completely cuts me out of ownership

  of this place, do you?” she said aloud. “Only in your dreams, you son

  of a bitch.”

  She walked to the back door, opened it, and looked for Angus. Not

  able to see him anywhere, she called out his name. Nothing.

  Her anger rose. She’d had enough. The only reason she’d stayed

  married to Angus all these years was because of their son. Now that he

  was dead and buried, she had little motivation left to hang around. The

  thought of fighting Angus for her half of their assets caused her stomach to knot. He was crooked and mean, and would put up a fight, but all she

  needed was enough to start over somewhere away from him.

  She stepped off the porch and walked toward the barn, expecting

  to find him inside tinkering with something. When she didn’t find him

  there, she came out of the barn and looked around. She started toward

  the bunkhouse, but her instincts guided her to the outer side of the barn.

  There he was, crumpled on the ground.

  “Oh, Angus,” she said, thinking he’d had a heart attack.

  His lifestyle certainly made that a reasonable conclusion. But as she

  got closer, she saw blood on the front of his shirt.

  “Angus!” She ran to his side, propped him up, and yelled at him.

  “Wake up, Angus!” In denial, she
shook him and yelled again, but there

  was no breath, no movement. She felt his cold hand and looked at his

  gray face. It was too late.

  Frightened, she stood and looked in all directions. Was the killer

  still here? Was she next? Was she going to die because of Angus and

  his meanness? She could see no vehicles, no lights, no one. And where

  was the new maid he said he’d hired? Nausea overcame her as her head

  began to spin, and she felt as if she might faint.

  She’d been miserable since the day she’d said “I do” to Angus, had

  never loved him like a wife was supposed to. It’d been hard to turn her

  head from all his womanizing, but she did what she had to do to preserve

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  a nice home for her and their son, Jason. She should have left him a long time ago, but with plenty of money to spend, it had worked out, she

  supposed. She’d been comfortable, hadn’t she? Or maybe numb. She’d

  watched him build an empire of corruption, thinking if she ignored it, it wouldn’t affect her. Now Jason was dead and Angus had gotten himself

  murdered. She felt her whole world crumbling around her.

  Gathering her strength, she ran as fast as she could back into the

  house, picked up the phone, and dialed 911. When the dispatcher an-

  swered, Camilla’s voice froze. She looked at the blood on her hands,

  Angus’s blood, and panic struck. They would think she killed him. She

  could hear the dispatcher’s voice increase in pitch on the other end of

  the line.

  Finally, she blurted, “Please help me. Angus is dead.”

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  Chapter 27

  Lance parked, got out, and headed straight toward the arrow- struck tree.

  “Where’d this come from?” he asked, frowning.

  Sadie jumped off the porch and followed him. “How in the world

  did you see that so quickly?”

  He turned toward her and gave her a quick kiss. “That’s what I’m

  paid to do,” he said.

  She smiled. “Aren’t you going to give me a gold star for not touch-

  ing it?”

  Lance pulled out his handkerchief, used it to extract the arrow, and

  then scanned the surrounding area. “Did you see anyone?”

  “No, but I think it’s okay.”

  “What do you mean ‘okay?’”

  “It’s a white feather, Lance. My dad and grandmother always told