by Cox, Carol
Jacob felt the blood pound in his temples as he followed, then reined Cap to a halt. He stared helplessly at the bottom of the wash, where those clear-cut tracks became mere dimples in the sand, giving no indication of the direction they had taken. The familiar taste of defeat burned the back of Jacob’s throat.
He slammed his fist against the saddle horn. Another dead end! With the number of failures he had racked up lately, he couldn’t blame Burke for thinking he was on the side of the rustlers.
The man had every right to expect tangible results from Jacob and every reason to feel betrayed when he didn’t receive them. Moreover, he was Hallie’s father. That didn’t make matters any easier. Bad enough to look like an inept fool in front of any one of the people he had promised to serve; even worse to do so in full view of the man he hoped would be his father-in-law one day.
“I can’t afford to stay on his bad side,” Jacob told Cap. “I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing a lot of the man.” The one bright spot he could see in all this mess was the likelihood he would be making frequent visits to the Broken Box. The opportunity to spend time with Hallie was enough to sweeten any disappointment.
Jacob rode on, turning the situation over in his mind in the hope he might come up with a new angle he hadn’t considered before. Other ranches had lost stock, but none had been hit as hard as the Broken Box. What made Burke Evans such a tempting target? Jacob tried to reason out an answer, but he couldn’t see any major difference between the man and his neighbors. It wasn’t like he had a shortage of riders or any other lack that would make him easy pickings. It was almost as though there were some personal reason for him to suffer the most loss.
Could someone hold a grudge against Burke? Now, that he could believe. Maybe it would pay to learn more about any enemies Burke might have made, someone who wouldn’t quibble about stealing his cattle.
His mind went wheeling along possible lines of investigation. Had Burke ever done someone dirt? Shorted someone in a deal? The possibilities mounted, along with Jacob’s excitement. Despite Will Bradley’s assurances of Burke’s goodhearted nature, Jacob had already witnessed a much darker side of the man, and he’d only known him a short time. He had tried his hardest to overlook as much as possible for Hallie’s sake. Anyone else getting that kind of treatment might feel inclined to get some of his own back by whatever means necessary.
He felt a stirring of excitement at this first bit of encouragement he’d had in weeks. The next thing he’d do would be to delve into Burke Evans’s background.
Nine
Hallie swirled a piece of soft flannel in small circles over the surface of her saddle, spreading a coating of glistening oil across the polished leather. She breathed deeply and felt the tension of the past days slip away. The mingled scents of leather, hay, and neatsfoot oil never failed to relax her and fill her with a sense of well-being. She set the oil-soaked rag aside and wiped her hands on a scrap of burlap, careful not to get any oil stains on her skirt. She lifted the saddle and prepared to hoist it onto its stand.
A warm breath tickled the back of her neck. “Hello, you pretty thing.”
Hallie whirled and clutched the saddle against her chest. Pete Edwards jumped back to avoid being slapped by the swinging stirrup leathers. “Whoa, there. You nearly hit me.”
“What do you want, Pete?” After the scare he’d given her, Hallie felt in no mood to soften her tone.
His lips parted in a leer, and he leaned toward her. “Why don’t you set that saddle down and let me show you?”
Hallie tightened her grip on the saddle’s gullet and skirt. “Get out of here and leave me alone. I have things to do, and I’m sure you do, too.”
Pete snickered. “I’ve got something in mind, all right. Let’s start with a little kiss. You’ve been holding me off long enough.” He moved nearer, forcing her back into the corner.
Her irritation gave way to a faint prickle of fear. “I said, leave me alone.” She shoved the saddle at him and sprang to one side.
Pete knocked the saddle away, and it landed in a heap on the dusty floor. He jumped over it and moved quickly to put himself between her and the doorway. They stood in a frozen tableau, with only the sound of Pete’s rough, uneven breathing invading the heavy silence. He flexed his fingers, and a slow smile worked its way across his face. “You got away from me the last time, but not today. I’m tired of playing games with you, Hallie. This time, things go my way.”
Terror flowed through her veins like icy water. She did her best to inject a note of scorn into her voice, knowing if she showed her fear, she would be lost. “I’m not playing, and this is no game. Move out of my way.” She started toward the door, hoping sheer bravado would carry her through.
Pete spread his arms wide and moved toward her, giving her no choice but to retreat into the corner near the stalls.
Her bluff wasn’t working. Hallie fought to gain control over the panic that threatened to overcome her reason. She was no match for Pete in physical strength. She could scream, but was anyone near enough to hear her? And if no one did, what then? She rejected the idea. A scream would only let Pete know how vulnerable she felt. She couldn’t afford to do anything to strengthen his position.
She inched backward, frantic at the knowledge that every step she retreated put her that much farther from escape.
Pete advanced, matching her step for step. His look of anticipation sent slivers of fear plunging through her. His voice softened and took on a cajoling tone. “You know you’re going to give in one of these days, Hallie. Why not now? We could have a lot of fun, you and me.”
A sense of unreality enveloped her. This couldn’t be happening, not in her own barn. Dread wrapped its steely talons around her heart. Hallie looked around, her mind scrambling to find some means of escape. The only exit lay through the wide barn doorway, and Pete stood square in her path.
If not escape, then defense. What could she use? Her gaze lit on a coil of rope, a pair of bridles. Lord, help me!
Pete made a grab for her, and she countered by ducking behind the center post. The sudden change in direction tangled her feet in her skirt, and she sprawled backward into a deep pile of hay. She lay motionless, the wind knocked out of her.
A satisfied chuckle rumbled from deep in Pete’s throat. “There now. If that don’t look inviting.” He lunged toward her, a gleam of victory in his eyes.
“No!” Hallie’s shriek reverberated from the rafters. With a burst of strength born of desperation, she dug her heels into the floor and pushed herself away.
Pete cursed and made a grab for her. His hand closed on the hem of her skirt. Hallie lashed out with her foot and saw his head snap back when her boot made contact with his chin. Pete cursed again. His lips drew back over his teeth in a feral snarl.
Hallie scrambled backward through the hay, knowing her only hope lay in breaking Pete’s hold on her skirt. Help me, Jesus. Her hands clawed in the dust beneath the hay, and her fingers wrapped around a wooden handle. Pa’s sickle! Thank You!
She yanked at her skirt with her free hand and heard the fabric rip. She scrambled to her feet and faced Pete, swinging the sharp sickle blade back and forth.
“Get away from me.” The sickle blade flashed in a broad arc from right to left. “Do you understand? Leave me alone!” She slashed the sickle in the opposite direction. “I don’t want anything to do with you.” Slash. “Now or ever.” The blade flashed again.
Pete shuffled on his hands and knees, backing another step across the floor with every swing of the blade. At the doorway, he staggered to his feet and held his hands in front of him. “All right, Hallie, you win. For now, anyway.” He caught his breath in ragged gasps and watched her warily.
Never taking her eyes off Pete, Hallie held the sickle before her like a sword and circled past him. When she reached the door, she turned and fled headlong toward the shelter of the house. Anguished sobs rose in her throat, but she fought to hold them back. She wouldn’t give
him the satisfaction of hearing her cry.
“I can be patient,” he yelled from the barn. “Get it through your head, Hallie, you’re mine. Next time there won’t be a sickle around.”
The air tore in and out of Hallie’s lungs as she ran. Oh, Lord, don’t let there be a next time!
❧
The latch rattled under Hallie’s fumbling fingers. She wrenched at it again and it finally shot home. Hallie sagged against the door, hardly daring to believe she had managed to escape. She bowed her head and clutched at her hair with both hands.
“I can’t go through that again, Lord! I’ve got to make Pa understand.”
But he wouldn’t. The knowledge plunged a shaft of despair into her heart. In her father’s eyes, Pete could do no wrong, and with his word against hers, today’s encounter would be explained away as mere high-strung behavior.
If only the rustling situation hadn’t claimed all Pa’s attention! With him so wrought over the missing stock, his dependence on Pete outweighed his usual good sense. Hallie racked her brain. There had to be a way to get him to listen to her long enough to be convinced of Pete’s true character.
And then what? A chill crept up her spine at the thought of what would happen next if he ever fully understood the extent of Pete’s unwanted advances.
She knew it as sure as she knew the sun would rise over Mingus Mountain in the morning: He would go after Pete. And in his present agitated state of mind, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.
Hallie sank to her knees at the sobering thought of what she could set in motion with only a few words. If her father killed Pete, he would be tried for murder. He might not hang, but he would suffer the indignity of arrest and trial, a fate almost as bad as death for someone with her father’s brand of pride.
Worse yet, from all accounts, Pete was fast on the draw. What if he killed her father? He could tell the law anything he wanted. Knowing Pete, he would be sure to make it look like a case of self-defense. And given Burke’s outbursts of temper lately, most people would have no problem believing he had finally snapped and gone into a murderous rage.
And Hallie would be left alone, at Pete’s mercy—a possibility too horrible to contemplate.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered to the empty room. Setting her father against Pete could ruin their lives, and the responsibility for that would lie at her own feet. She could not—would not—jeopardize her father’s well-being, maybe even his very life.
She had no choice. She would keep her troubles to herself and do her best to stay away from Pete.
Ten
Jacob tapped on Buckey’s office door. “Do you have a few minutes, or are you busy?”
“Never too busy for a good round of talk.” The mayor of Prescott set down his pen and slid the paper he’d been writing on to one side of his desk. “How goes the rustler hunt?”
“I hoped talking to you might give me some new insight. I’m fresh out of ideas.”
Buckey’s dark eyes held a gleam of sympathy. “It’s that bad, eh?”
“Worse.” Jacob slumped into the nearest chair. “I’ve covered more miles than I can count, looking for some clue to what’s been happening. Every time I find sign of someone moving stock, I lose it again. It seems like I can only get so far on a trail, then it just peters out.”
He leaned his head against the back of the chair and stared at the map on the wall. “I’ve checked at the railheads in Ash Fork and Jerome, but neither place has any record of stock going out without the proper paperwork, duly signed by me.”
“That would seem to eliminate that angle as a possibility.”
Jacob jumped up and paced the office. “It beats me how they’re moving these animals. Where are they taking them? How are they getting rid of them? They just seem to vanish into thin air.”
Buckey leaned back and tented his fingers. “I heard a while back about a fellow up in Holbrook who was making a tidy profit butchering stolen cattle, then selling the beef. You might ask around and see if anything like that might be going on around here.”
He pursed his lips. “If not, they almost have to be connecting with the railroad at some point in order to get that many head out of the area. Otherwise, somebody would have spotted them.”
Jacob halted in midstep. “Unless. . .” He crossed to the map in three quick strides. “Have you heard of any new ranchers who have come into the area recently? Anyone who might have an interest in building up a herd without paying for it?”
Buckey nodded slowly. “We’ve had an influx of new people over the past year or so. There’s a family near Walnut Creek, up past Williamson Valley. Then there are a couple of fellows over toward Clarkdale, on the other side of Mingus Mountain, who registered two or three new brands. And I heard about another outfit over at the base of the Bradshaws.”
He stroked his mustache with the back of his forefinger. “I haven’t heard anything to make me think any of those folks would be involved in something like that, but it wouldn’t hurt to check them out.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” Jacob resumed his seat with a lighter spirit. It felt good to have Buckey as a friend. At least one person didn’t think of him as an incompetent loafer. He rolled his shoulders, easing away the tension that had been a part of him for so long. “I’ve been so busy running around like a headless chicken that I haven’t kept up on the latest news. What’s the word on Cuba?”
“Spain is trying to placate Washington, but it may be a case of too little, too late.”
“You think we’re looking at a war, then?”
Buckey’s face took on a somber expression. “At this juncture, I’d say it’s inevitable.”
❧
Jacob walked down the courthouse steps with a handful of scribbled notes. Acting on Buckey’s tip, he had checked on new brand registrations. He stopped under a tree near the edge of the plaza and studied the sketches he’d made: the C Bar J, the Ladder M, the 2 Lazy 2.
Jacob chuckled at the last one. Too lazy to what? The clever ways some of the ranchers found to incorporate a sense of humor into their chosen brands had long proved a source of amusement.
His gaze shifted back to the Ladder M, and he bent to study it more closely. The Broken Box brand was made up of two facing brackets. Jacob stooped to pick up a fallen twig and used it to sketch the brand in the dust.
And the Ladder M. . . He connected the top and bottom lines of the brackets and extended them outward, then added another vertical line in the center. As a final touch, he wrote an M next to the figure, then rocked back on his heels to study the result.
His pulse throbbed in his temple. The Broken Box brand could be overwritten into a Ladder M with very little effort. This could be it. He looked again at his notes. The Ladder M brand had recently been registered by one of the newcomers Buckey had mentioned over Clarkdale way.
Jacob tucked the paper into his shirt pocket and glanced at the sun’s position. Too late to get all the way out there that afternoon. He walked to the hitching rail and loosened Cap’s reins. He would go home to the T Bar for the night, then head over Mingus to visit the Ladder M at first light.
❧
Jacob reined Cap in a southeasterly direction. “I know, boy,” he said when the steel-dust tossed his head. “We’re supposed to be heading for Clarkdale. But this is right on the way. Well, almost on the way,” he amended.
Truth to tell, the detour took him a good bit out of his way, but he needed to check in on the latest state of affairs at the beleaguered Broken Box. It would remind Burke he was staying on top of the situation.
And if things went the way he hoped, he might get a glimpse of Hallie.
He felt a grin crease his cheeks at the thought of seeing her again. Cap whickered and flicked his ears back and forth.
“You’re right,” Jacob said. “Seeing Hallie is a powerful draw for going there, but I’m just as interested in focusing on my job.”
Cap shook his head and snorted. Jacob tugged his hat brim do
wn lower over his forehead. If he couldn’t convince his horse, he sure wasn’t going to convince Burke Evans.
He rode into the yard at a trot, anxious to put his best foot forward. Before he could swing his leg over the cantle, the front door burst open. Burke stormed outside and planted himself squarely in Jacob’s path.
“I hope you’ve come to tell me you’ve got those thieves locked up and facing a trial.”
“Not yet.” Jacob pulled off his hat and rolled the brim in his hands, waiting for an invitation to go inside the house. After a second look at Burke’s grim expression, he knew he might as well give up on that notion.
He sent a quick glance at the front windows, hoping to see Hallie peering out at him. The curtains hung neatly across the glass. It looked like this detour was going to turn out to be strictly business after all.
Jacob turned his attention back to Burke. “I just wanted to stop by and see if anything more had happened since the last time we talked.”
Burked tipped his head back and spread his arms wide as if appealing to the heavens. When he looked back at Jacob, the expression on his face could have curdled milk. “Seems to me like you spend a powerful amount of time looking for answers in all the wrong places. For the life of me, I don’t understand why you keep looking around here instead of trying to track down whoever’s been stealing my stock.”
He went on, his voice weighted with exaggerated patience. “If I had my cattle tucked safely away close to home, I wouldn’t need your help. But they aren’t here, are they?” He scooped up a pebble from the ground and threw it across the yard. “How hard is it to find some cowboy who’s spending more money than he should? I could do it myself with one eye shut.”
Be my guest, Jacob thought. Let’s see how far you get. Aloud, he said, “If you have all the answers, maybe you don’t need me on the case at all.”