Road To Forgiveness

by Cox, Carol

  Jacob set his fork down and stared unwaveringly at Dan. “That had to cost a pretty penny.”

  Dan nodded. “Nearly three months’ wages, from what Tom figured. Dixon has never been known for being much good at hanging on to his pay. Tom wondered where he got hold of that kind of money.”

  Excitement throbbed in Jacob’s veins. “This could be the break I’ve needed. Who does Dixon work for?”

  “He’s with the Flying V.”

  “The one a few miles down the valley from the Broken Box?” At Dan’s nod, Jacob’s mind whirled, considering the implications of this news. He picked up his water tumbler and set it directly in front of his plate. “Let’s say that’s your place. This—” he positioned a spoon to the left “—is the Broken Box.”

  He lined up the salt cellar and a bowl of peas, completing the model. “That would put the Flying V and the Rafter Five here. . .and here.” He leaned forward over the layout he had created and studied the relationships of the places. “Look at this, Dan. The Flying V land butts right up against Broken Box range. It just might be the connection I’ve been looking for.”

  “And all those ranchers said they’ve been missing stock?” Dan eyed the diagram and pursed his lips.

  “You figurin’ out how to catch those rustlers, Uncle Jacob?” Ben spoke around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, earning him a reproving look from his mother.

  Thoughts wheeled through Jacob’s mind faster than he could keep up with them. “Do you remember hearing about what happened up in Wyoming when that bunch of cowboys decided they weren’t getting paid enough and figured they ought to do something about it?”

  Dan’s brow puckered, then he nodded slowly. “Weren’t they the ones who decided to pick up some extra money by rustling some of their employers’ stock?”

  “They’re the ones. That was the beginning of all the trouble that led up to the Johnson County range war. Maybe we have something similar happening right here.”

  “You’ve already visited Owen Ladd at the Flying V, haven’t you?” Dan leaned over the diagram, ignoring Amy’s repeated throat clearing.

  “He was one of the first ones I met.” Jacob felt his newfound excitement flicker. “But he said he hadn’t lost that much stock.”

  “But that could make sense if his own cowboys were a little hesitant to steal too much from their own boss.”

  Jacob stared at his friend, sickened by the thought of that kind of betrayal. “I’d sure hate to be caught doing something like that. A man could get strung up mighty quick if—”

  “Could we bring this conversation back to lighter topics?” Amy’s honeyed tone softened the implied rebuke. “I’m afraid this kind of talk isn’t good for our digestion. . .or for little pitchers with big ears.” She tilted her head in the direction of Catherine and Ben, both listening avidly.

  “Sorry, Amy.” Jacob ducked his head and scooped up a bite of potatoes. Amy had every reason to be upset. Youngsters like Benjamin and Catherine shouldn’t have to listen to him expound on topics like lynching and the threat of war.

  He’d been the one to steer the conversation in the wrong direction. It was up to him to find a new subject. A memory stirred, and he brightened.

  “Hey, Catherine, I almost forgot. I have a message for you.”

  “For me?” The little girl looked up from gnawing a chicken leg, round-eyed. “From who?”

  “Whom,” Amy corrected.

  “Whom from?”

  Jacob grinned. “From Will Bradley’s boy over at the Heart Cross. He said to tell you he has a new pet frog, and you can play with it anytime you want.”

  Catherine jerked upright so hard her red-gold curls quivered. “That Alexander Bradley! He’d better watch out.”

  Dan eyed his daughter. “What’s all this about? Sounds to me like he’s just trying to be friendly.”

  “Not him.” Catherine shook her head emphatically. “That wasn’t what he meant at all. Last fall at the church picnic, he put a slimy ol’ frog down the back of my dress, then he just hooted when I screamed and couldn’t get it to drop out.”

  Ben snickered, and she rounded on him with a vengeance. “You hush! It wasn’t a bit funny. I had to go down to the creek where there were some bushes to hide behind, then I had to peel clear down to my—”

  “Catherine.” Amy’s voice held a warning note.

  “Sorry, Mama.” Catherine’s lower jaw jutted out mutinously. “But it wasn’t funny. And now he thinks he’s warning me he’ll get me again. If he tries anything else like that, he’s really going to catch it.”

  “Catherine Elizabeth!” Amy’s stern tone left no room for argument.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She dropped down to a whisper. “But he’d better watch his own back, that’s all I have to say.”

  Jacob caught the muttered threat and smothered a grin.

  “Are you two finished?” Dan asked. “I think it’s about time you were excused.”

  The children scraped their chairs back with alacrity and scooted out the door.

  Benjamin’s voice floated in from the front porch. “They’re just being nice because Uncle Jacob is here. I bet you’re really going to get it later.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are, too.”

  “Am not.”

  Their bickering tones faded into the distance, and Amy sighed. “If it isn’t rustlers, it’s wild children.” She rose and picked up a dish from the sideboard. “Apple pie, anyone?”

  ❧

  Jacob lay under his blankets that night, staring into the darkness and going over the information Dan had shared. Dixon had more money than anyone would expect him to. Dixon worked for the Flying V, which adjoined the Broken Box. . . and several other hard-hit ranches.

  Could Dixon be responsible for the thefts plaguing the valley over the past few months?

  The thought turned his stomach, but it had to be considered. What would make a man ignore his loyalty to his own brand?

  Jacob punched the pillow into a wad and folded his arms under his head, pondering his next move. If Dixon was brazen enough to flaunt ill-gotten money around town like that, it would line up with the attitude he had observed recently in the rustlers’ behavior. That’s one cowboy who’s going to bear watching, he decided just before he faded into sleep.

  A sudden noise brought him bolt upright. Jacob sat motionless, every sense focused on the sound that had jolted him back to wakefulness. Had he imagined it or. . .

  There it came again, a soft tap on the window glass. Jacob swung his feet over the edge of his bed, lifted his pistol from the holster slung over the bedpost, and padded across the plank floor. He had opened the window partway before retiring to let in the fresh spring breezes. Jacob caught one edge of the fluttering curtain and eased it back.

  Only the darkness met his gaze, but he sensed the presence of someone just outside.

  “Who’s there?” he whispered.

  A boot scraped against the dirt. “It don’t matter,” came the hoarse reply.

  Jacob pushed the window open farther and started to lean out.

  “Hold it,” said the disembodied voice. “I’ve got some information to pass on, but I don’t want to give myself away. Don’t strike a match; don’t try to see who I am. Agreed?”

  “Okay.” Jacob drew back inside. “I’m listening.” He heard a whisper of sound, as though the other man shifted his position closer to the window.

  “Those rustlers you’ve been after? They’ve got the makings of a herd bunched up in a box canyon back in the foothills at the north end of Broken Box range. They’re getting ready to move them out soon. They’re talking about calling it quits after selling this herd. They know they’re pushing their luck, running the operation this long, and they’re ready to move on.”

  Jacob clutched the windowsill with his free hand. “Where? When?”

  “Late Friday night. There’s going to be a full moon. They plan to push them over the mountain, then sell them to the mines and some o
f the army posts over in New Mexico. If you want to catch them, that’s the time to do it.”

  “How do you know all this, and why should I believe you?”

  “I’ve been a part of it almost from the beginning, but I can’t do it anymore. Some good people are getting hurt, and it’s been eating at me. I’m pulling out tonight.”

  “You know who they are. Give me some names.”

  “No.” The emphatic tone told Jacob there would be no point in arguing. “I’m not that much of a traitor. You want to catch them, you get out there and do it. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

  Jacob fought back the urge to reach out through the window and choke the information out of the man. “Just one name then. Who’s the leader?”

  Gravel crunched and footsteps faded away into the night.

  Jacob stuck his head outside and peered into the darkness. He saw the faint outline of a shadow melding into the deeper gloom, then nothing.

  He stared up at the three-quarter moon. By Friday, it would be full, giving the rustlers plenty of light to move the stolen cattle.

  And giving him plenty of light to put a crimp in their plans.

  Jacob smiled and stretched out on his bed again, too wide-awake to think of sleep. He had plans of his own to make.

  Thirteen

  Monday morning, Jacob rose with the sun, surprised he’d gone back to sleep at all after his midnight visitor. He made a quick breakfast of biscuits and coffee, then saddled his mount and rode south from the T Bar in the direction of the Broken Box.

  He took his time, studying the terrain with a new appreciation for the rustlers’ choice of location. It would be easy to drive stock from the other ranches in the area to this place. After a short push over Mingus Mountain, they would be able to hit well-traveled routes to the mines, army posts, or even Mexico. Whoever was in charge of this outfit either laid his plans well or managed to stumble onto the perfect setup.

  Cap seemed to pick up on his mounting excitement and moved into a brisk trot. Jacob held him back to a more relaxed pace. No telling who might be watching from behind rocks in these hills or from just inside the line of cedars. It wouldn’t do to show undue interest in the area and take a chance on spooking his quarry.

  Up ahead, a lone rider appeared over the top of a rise. An honest cowboy just out doing his job or one of the rustlers? Jacob slouched back in his saddle and adopted a bored expression, grateful the oncoming rider wouldn’t be able to see his heart hammering against his ribs. The rider waved, and Jacob returned the salute.

  By the time they were thirty yards apart, Jacob recognized one of Edgar Wilson’s riders. He pulled up and waited just west of a large rock formation.

  “Morning,” he greeted the lanky cowboy.

  “Howdy. What are you doing over this way?”

  “I’m supposed to see a fellow over in Camp Verde. Is there a quicker way over Mingus than just following the road to Jerome?”

  The cowboy shook his head. “Nah, this is probably your best bet. If you wanted a way that isn’t as steep, you could cut over to Cherry and go around that way, but that’ll be farther and take longer to get there.”

  Jacob nodded his thanks, then touched his heels to Cap’s flanks and set off again. At the rock formation, he twisted around to see if the other rider was watching before moving to put the stack of broken boulders between himself and the cowboy. To his relief, the other man seemed to be riding away with a total lack of concern.

  Jacob eased Cap toward the right side of the trail, then slipped in among some brush and faded into the tree line.

  From his earlier studies of Buckey’s map, he had a fair idea of where to look for those box canyons, but he needed to determine their exact locations. He picked his way through the rough terrain until he found a rocky promontory. Tethering Cap at its base, he climbed to the top and sat cross-legged at the summit.

  Perfect. The higher elevation gave him a bird’s-eye view of the whole area. He took out his field glasses and proceeded to sweep the area. He took it in small sections, examining a bit at a time, checking for movement of cattle or horsemen. When he headed back down and started investigating, he would need to know just how to get to the box canyons. And he wanted to make sure he’d be alone.

  He spent the better part of an hour checking things out and getting a feel for the lay of the land. From his vantage point, he spotted three likely looking canyons. The hint of a trail appeared to lead toward the farthest one.

  Jacob lowered the glasses and studied the approach to that area. If he wanted to hide a bunch of cows, that spot would be a prime choice. He would check all three canyons, though, just to be thorough. Anticipation at the thought of finally getting the goods on his quarry made his pulse pound.

  He clambered back down the steep slope and mounted Cap. He took his time and chose what he thought would be the least visible route. He hadn’t spotted a soul out there apart from Wilson’s rider but couldn’t be positive no one sat watching him. “Come on, boy,” he whispered. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

  Thirty minutes later, he had eliminated the first canyon as a possibility. A thorough examination showed only a few tracks heading into it. From the canyon rim, he spotted one lone cow grazing down in the bottom.

  He made a mental note of her description: one horn pointed up and one pointed down. The tip of the upright horn had been broken off at some point. That cow would be easy to recognize if he ever saw her again. He pulled out his glasses and looked for the brand. A Rafter Five. He’d have to remember that.

  The second canyon yielded even less: no tracks, no sign, no livestock. With a feeling of certainty welling up within him, Jacob pressed on toward the third.

  Along the way, he spotted fresh tracks and cow flops. This is it. He guided Cap as close to the rim of the canyon as he dared to keep his own tracks from being noticeable to anyone who might ride that way. And he felt sure there would be someone. Every instinct told him this was the place.

  Cap let out a soft whinny. “Easy, boy,” he murmured. He stroked his hand along the steel-dust’s neck. He hadn’t seen signs of any other riders about, but he didn’t want to be surprised.

  Spotting the glint of water on the canyon floor below, he pulled up and took a long look. A small pond shimmered in the sunlight. The earth around the pool had been churned into a patchwork of mud.

  Beyond the pond, a brush fence stretched from one side of the canyon to the other. A trail led up to the line of brush, then reappeared on the other side. Gotcha. The tracks told the story. The cattle had been driven into the canyon, then fenced in where they had abundant feed and water. And they were still down there, he knew it, just waiting to be moved on Friday night.

  He dismounted and hunkered down in a clump of cliff rose so he could study the layout and determine his next move.

  From deeper in the canyon, he heard lowing, and a line of cattle ambled into view. Jacob swept the herd with his gaze and did a quick estimate. There must be upward of seventy-five head down there. If the rustlers got the going rate. . . He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. That would add up to a nice chunk of money. Depending on the number of people involved in this scheme, it could add up to as much as several years’ wages for each of them. Plenty of reason for some men to ignore their scruples.

  His sense of justice pushed for going down there right now and returning those cattle to their rightful owners, but his better judgment held him back. Returning the stolen animals wouldn’t bring the rustlers to justice. How often had his father advised him to take his time and do things right? Waiting went against his grain, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

  All right. He’d wait for Friday night and the full moon, then he would see it finished. He could have the whole matter resolved before he rode off for Cuba and glory.

  Jacob stood up and worked the stiffness out of his knees. He remounted and rode along the rim, seeking the entrance to the canyon and looking out for the best place to set up his
ambush Friday night. More than likely, they’d bring in the last batch of cattle and slap on a road brand. That would cost them precious time and give Jacob a chance to nab them.

  Down there, he decided, where the canyon opened up to the valley beyond. The slope wasn’t too steep and offered concealment in the form of scattered brush. He would lie in wait there and let them drive the cattle inside the canyon, then stop the herd when they came back out.

  He eased Cap through the trees to the edge of the meadow. Several likely clumps of manzanita and buckbrush caught his notice. Any one of them would make an excellent watching place.

  Should he let anyone else in on his plans? Form a posse of trustworthy riders, perhaps? He considered the possibility but decided against it. The more people who knew about this, the greater risk of having someone give away information. Even if that were done unwittingly, it would still prove disastrous to his plan.

  What about Dan? He discarded the idea almost as soon as it sprang into his mind. His lifelong knowledge of Dan’s character left him in no doubt as to his friend’s trustworthiness. But Dan had a wife and children, and cornering a group of desperate men could prove dangerous. Jacob had a feeling Amy wouldn’t be any crazier about Dan taking on a bunch of rustlers than she was about the idea of him going off to war. No, he’d just have to do it alone.

  He would arrive early and take up his position late Friday afternoon. Come full dark, he would be in a perfect spot to watch their every move.

  In another four days, it would all be over. Jacob longed to get his hands on the miscreants who had been causing him such misery.

  He glanced up at the sun’s position. No point in continuing on the road to Jerome today. By the time he got to Camp Verde, it would be late.

  But it didn’t matter. A ripple of elation set his heart dancing. His sole purpose in talking to the rancher over there was to check with him about missing stock. With the lead his mysterious nighttime informant had given him, the trip over the mountain just might not be necessary after all.

  Instead, he turned Cap in a wide loop and swung back by the Broken Box. It wouldn’t hurt to put in an appearance and let Burke Evans know he’d been hard at work.