Chapter Four
Early morning sunlight began to shine weakly through the window in my back room at the saloon. I laid on my bedroll, stared at the ceiling and thought about what I’d learned last night. The Carson brothers were still in the area, or at least they had been last night. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do about that, if anything. Was it best to let sleeping dogs lie?
I got up and shaved in the sink I had in the corner of my room. When I had finished I stepped back and took stock of myself in the broken piece of mirror I had tacked to the wall. I was in good shape, I knew that. The rough and tumble life in New York and the work at the docks had built solid muscles on me. At six feet tall and 185 pounds, I was bigger than most and had learned how to take care of myself the hard way. I’m Irish, but hadn’t inherited the red hair and fair skin of so many countrymen. I had taken after my mother’s side of the family, with dark hair and dark complexion. I wasn’t sure if you could call me handsome or not. I got my fair share of second looks from the ladies, but I couldn’t say they exactly pestered me for attention.
I heard Sam come into the saloon out front, and I decided to ask a few questions. I walked out into the saloon, picked up a broom, and started sweeping. Sam glanced up and nodded, then went back to washing glasses. When I finished sweeping, I walked over and sat down at the bar. Sam looked up, a quizzical expression on his face. We didn’t talk much, usually. He leaned forward, elbows on the bar. “What’s up?” “I’ve been thinking about trying to get some work on a cattle ranch somewhere around here. Does that cause any problems for you?” Sam shook his head back and forth. “Naw. There’s always someone I can hire temporary, when I need some help. You ever do any ranch work?” I told him I’d done some cowboy work and general ranch work when I was younger. I asked him to fill me in on the possibilities around Cimarron.
Sam came around and sat down on the stool next to me. He thought for a minute, and then shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. I wondered how often he changed out that toothpick. “Only two places I can think of around here that might hire some help. I can only recommend you try one of them.” “Tell me about both” I told him. “OK,” he said, “the first one is owned by three brothers we had in here last night. Carson brothers. Nice piece of land they have up there, upper and lower pastures, good water on both. I don’t know how much ranching they really do. Got a few skinny cows running around up there. Every once in a while they sell a few and ship ‘em off. I don’t know if they’ve ever hired a hand, but I can’t see they do much work themselves. Maybe they would want to hire somebody to do it for ‘em.”
I sat and digested what he’d just told me. “OK, I said. How long have they had that place?” Sam squinted out the windows and thought for a second. “Maybe twenty years, give or take a couple”. Well, I thought, that answers my question about what became of the old homestead. I became aware that Sam was glancing at me sideways, so I swung back around on the stool to face him. “You’re right,” I told him. “Doesn’t sound very inviting. Tell me about the other place.”
Sam walked back around the bar and began wiping down the counter. “Other place belongs to a man named Randolph. Jim Randolph. Lives out there with his daughter, maybe early twenties. Her name is Kate. She comes in town with him for supplies, maybe once a month, but never comes in here. He comes in for a beer when he’s here. Their spread is next to the Carson place, been up there since before the Carson’s. Not quite as well set up a spread, but he runs it right. They generally have one hand, but I don’t know if they’ve got one right now. Jim ain’t getting any younger, though. Maybe he needs a hand or maybe he’d consider another one. I can introduce you when he comes in next time, if you want.”
That name rang a bell with me faintly. I supposed it was the neighbor who used to come over and help out Dad from time to time. I seemed to remember a wife as well as a little girl, but Sam hadn’t mentioned the wife. I looked up and nodded. “Sure,” I said. “Next time he comes in.” I got up and grabbed the mop and bucket. Maybe that was the beginning of a plan. I still didn’t know what to do or not do about the Carson brothers. Maybe I could ride up to the old place and take a quiet look around.
Around five o’clock that afternoon, with just a few regulars sipping beer at the bar, the doors swung open and an older gentleman wearing a tin star came in. He sat down at a table, and Sam suggested I take a whiskey over and introduce myself. I placed the whiskey at the table and asked if I could join him for a moment. He nodded at the empty chair and held out his hand. “George Stanton,” he said. I shook his hand and sat down. He wasn’t the same sheriff who’d been here when I was a boy. “Reilly” I told him. “Chance Reilly”. He nodded again. “Been here long?” I told him I’d been in town only a few days, but was hoping to stick around. We made small talk for a few minutes while he finished the whiskey, then he moved on.
I walked back to the bar and glanced at Sam. “Always good to meet the sheriff when you’re not in any trouble,” he said with a grin. “George mostly wants a quiet town. He’s honest and he’ll do his job, but he doesn’t want trouble. He’d rather have it quiet and peaceful than anything else. Won’t hurt you any to know that.” I nodded and wondered, not for the first time, if Sam remembered more about me than he let on. He was a hard one to read.
Morning came, and after the usual morning chores at the saloon, I decided it was time to do what I’d been putting off—I would ride out to the old ranch and look around. I dug around in my knapsack and found the old pair of binoculars I’d had since I was a kid, slipped them under my jacket and walked down to the livery. I mounted Archie and headed out to the north of town. We began to climb higher, and I buttoned up my jacket against the chill. The stands of pines and firs thickened, and I became more aware of sounds of the wilderness—the chirping of the birds, a mountain stream not too far off, and the occasional rustling of squirrels and other small animals in the underbrush. It had been many years, but there was still a familiarity to the trail I was on. When I thought I might be approaching the ranch house, I swung off the narrow trail I was on and looped around to the west. There had been a ridge atop the fences separating our spread from the neighbors to that side, and I had it in mind to ride up to that ridge and look things over with my binoculars. The trees and underbrush began to thicken as we moved on, but I could see the ridge ahead and above me. I slowed the pace and pushed forward steadily.
I reached the base of the ridge and began to climb, using the trees for cover and keeping the noise to a minimum. After about ten minutes of steady climbing, we crested the ridge. I tied Archie in a stand of pine trees, walked back and found myself a perch behind a couple of boulders and under some trees. I settled down to watch what was happening at the old homestead.
Somebody was at home in the ranch house, because I could see a bit of smoke climbing out of the chimney. There were a few horses in the corral, but not many. The ones I could see probably belonged to the Carson brothers. If they had any hands working stock on the ranch, it didn’t seem like there were enough horses there to get the job done. I swung the glasses over to the barn, and saw no activity there. I moved on to what appeared to be a bunkhouse, which was an addition they’d made since the days Dad and I had lived there. I studied it carefully. It didn’t appear to be in use. There was no smoke coming from the chimney, and the doors and windows were all closed up tight. There was a hitching rail in front, but no horses were there and I couldn’t see any hoof prints on the ground from recent usage. I lifted my gaze to the lower pasture and see only a few head of cattle. I knew that pasture could support a couple hundred head, and it was too early in the year to have taken any to the upper pasture. It seemed strangely deserted.
The front door of the ranch house swung open and I swung the glasses back in that direction. Two men emerged from the house. I recognized the taller one from the saloon the other night—Jack Carson. The other man had to be one of his brothers, but I didn’t know the other names. They walked to t
he corral where each saddled a horse and rode out in the general direction of Cimarron. I looked back toward the ranch house, and saw there was no more smoke coming from the chimney. I toyed with the idea of going down for a closer look, but decided it wasn’t worth it if the third brother was still around somewhere. There was still one thing I wanted to do before leaving, though. I stayed where I was for another ten minutes or so before moving out.
I went back to Archie, mounted up, and worked down off the ridge, still keeping to the west of the ranch. I worked my way through the trees to the west of the lower pasture, and then began to climb toward the high pasture, keeping alert for any sign of the other brother or anybody else I wasn’t expecting. When I topped a rise now and then, I took out the binoculars to make sure my back trail was clear. I stayed in the trees to the west of the high pasture and stopped Archie at the edge of some trees at the base of a rocky cliff. I took my Winchester out of the saddle bags and scrambled up along the rocks and boulders until I found what I was looking for. There was a small natural cave tucked behind some boulders up there. Dad and I had come across it years before, and he’d brought a few supplies up here in case either of us ever needed shelter and couldn’t make it home.
I propped the Winchester against a couple boulders and drew my pistol as I edged up to the cave. I moved quickly into the entrance, stepped inside, and then drew up against the wall as I let my eyes adjust to the light. I could see no sign of any recent use. The blankets we’d left up there were rotting and moldy at this point. I dragged them out and buried them in the woods a couple hundred yards away. I returned and looked around. There were a couple pots and pans we’d left in there that still looked usable. There was an old Henry rifle that Dad had left up there along with some ammunition, but I didn’t figure the ammunition was still good. I pushed it off to the corner of the cave. After looking around for a few more minutes, I left the cave, mounted up on Archie, and headed back to Cimarron.
The sun was up high overhead by the time I reached town. I stabled Archie and had my coat over my shoulder by the time I reached the saloon. It was a few minutes past my usual one o’clock afternoon start, but Sam was easy about such things. He was talking to a tall, rangy, iron-haired gentleman I hadn’t seen before. Sam waved me over when I walked in. “Chance, this is Jim Randolph. I was just talking about you.” He got up from the table to give me his seat and walked away as I shook hands with Randolph.
He looked me over with curiosity. “Sam says you might be looking for some ranch hand work?” I nodded. “That’s what I would like to do.” He took a pull from his beer, and then looked up at me. “But Sam says you came here from New York. You got any experience on a ranch?” “I grew up just north of here,” I said evasively. “I grew up herding cows, working fence lines, doing anything you need me to do. Anything I’m out of practice doing, I promise I can pick it right back up. I’m a hard worker. Just ask Sam.” He seemed to stare at me for a long time, and then a small smile played around his lips for a second. “I already asked Sam. OK, I think you’ll do. A dollar a day and you can bunk in at the bunkhouse, meals at the house with me and my daughter. Pay for your own ammunition, and if you bring a little deer or elk meat for the dinner table every now and then, that would be nice. Take it or leave it.”
I stood up and shook his hand. “I’ll make a good hand for you.” He nodded. “You can come out to the ranch on Monday and get started.” I trailed along after him out the doors of the saloon. He gathered the reins of his horse and mounted up. He looked down at me, that same small smile on his mouth. “Took me a minute to make the connection,” he said. “You shortened up the last name, that was part of it. The first name didn’t ring a bell at all. Your dad just used to call you ‘Boy-O’, best as I can recall. Your dad was a good man.” He turned and rode down the street and out of town. I stared after him and wondered if he would keep it to himself.
I worked one more day for Sam, helping him lay in some supplies and clearing out the back room. That left me with a few days before I started work at the Randolph ranch the next Monday. On that Friday morning, I decided there was one more thing I would do before then. I rolled out in the morning and walked down to the general store. I bought a bedroll, some blankets, an axe, and several cans of beans. In addition, I bought ammunition for the Henry rifle up there in the cave, and got more ammunition for my own guns. The shopkeeper looked over my purchases and gave me a questioning glance. “Goin’ on a trip?” he asked. I shrugged and discouraged further conversation by saying “No, just getting some supplies.” He nodded and minded his own business after that.
I rode back up to the cave above the ranch, covering over my trail now and then as I went and keeping an eye out for any of the Carson brothers. When I reached the cave I gathered up the usable things I found there – the pots and pan, an old coffee pot and a broom. I put the blankets inside the bedroll and put them on top of some rocks, off the ground where I hoped it would stay dry. Likewise, I put the Henry rifle and ammunition, as well as the extra ammunition for my guns on a natural shelf at the back of the cave. If took out my binoculars and left them there also. If I needed them for the ranch work, maybe Jim would have an old spyglass or something. I came out and brushed away any footprints or other sign of my entry with a branch I found lying on the ground.
I went outside and gathered up some wood and kindling. What I found was a little wet, but it could dry out inside the cave. Finally, I went back to Archie and took an old knapsack out of the saddle bags. I had a couple changes of clothes inside. I left the knapsack back in a corner of the cave.
On an impulse, I climbed a little farther up the slope and ducked through a notch in the rock formation above me. Coming out on the other side, I looked down on what I knew must be the Randolph ranch below me. I could see the usual collection of buildings—ranch house, barn, bunkhouse and corral. A little smoke lifted from the chimney at the ranch house. I could see no sign of activity at the bunkhouse. I slid back through the notch in the rocks, mounted Archie, and started back toward Cimarron. I hoped I would never need the items I’d left up here, but life had taught me to prepare for the unexpected and watch your back. Being careful was a good thing.
Chapter Five
I stopped off at the saloon before leaving Monday morning. I thanked Sam for the work he’d offered me and also for putting in the good word with Jim Randolph. “You never know,”
I told him, “if I don’t like it there, I might be back and ask for my old spot.” “You’ll like it there,” he said as he wiped down the counter. “You think ranch work will suit me?” I asked. “Probably” he said as he picked up a box and headed toward the back room. He pushed open the door with his foot and turned around briefly. “Plus, there’s Kate.” He chuckled and went into the back room, closing the door behind him.
Now what was that supposed to mean? I shook my head, went outside, mounted up on Archie and cantered out of town. I knew the Randolph spread was due west of the old place where I’d lived as a kid, so I took the same trail for several miles. When I was close to getting on to the Carson property, I took a trail to my left and followed it for another mile or two. I saw a hand-lettered wooden sign proclaiming the entrance to the Randolph ranch, and followed the trail on in.
I could see Jim Randolph in the corral, talking to a red-haired man and pointing occasionally to the pasture and mountains beyond. The other man was nodding without much enthusiasm, it seemed to me. I rode up, dismounted, and tied Archie to the top rail of the corral. Randolph walked over, hand extended. “Chance,” he said simply. “I’m glad you’re here.” I shook his head and glanced toward the other man, who was introduced to me simply as Red. I shook his hand also, taking in a rather sour expression and overly forceful handshake. I guessed him to be about twelve to fifteen years older than me, a couple inches taller, but thinner. He had a narrow-shouldered look about him, and didn’t seem to have much to say to me. Jim Randolph patted my shoulder and pointed toward a small building about 5
0 or 60 feet away. “Bunkhouse over there,” he said. “Put your stuff in there and come back. I’ll give you a tour of the place and tell you what I have in mind for you.”
I took my knapsack, bedroll, rifle and ammunition along with a few other things and carried them over to the bunkhouse. I shoved at the door with my foot and went inside. One glance told me that Red had never been described as a good housekeeper. There were dirty clothes strewn all around, with a couple dirty dishes mixed in. I could see which bunk he’d been using, so I tossed most of the dirty clothes in that direction and threw my bedroll on the other one. My rifle went under the bed. I tossed the knapsack on top of my bedroll and went back outside.
I could see Jim had moved over to the corner of the barn and was talking to Red, who was out of my sight around the barn. I put my hands in my back pockets and walked on up to them. “I’m moved in” I announced as I came up to Jim. He nodded and stepped back, and I could see that he hadn’t been talking to Red, after all. There was a young woman standing there, giving a sack to Jim, and my nose told me it was his lunch. I looked back at the woman and swallowed a couple times. She was probably a few years younger than me and a few inches shorter. Long blonde hair and the bluest eyes I could remember seeing. She was beautiful by any definition. “Chance, this is my daughter Kate. Kate, Chance.” It occurred to me suddenly that I should take off my hat. I yanked my hands out of my back pockets and swiped my left hand toward my head. I only succeeded in knocking the hat to the ground. I picked it up and extended my right hand awkwardly. “Ma’am”. She took my hand and smiled. “Chance,” she said. “Welcome.” We shook hands and she turned for the house. I turned my hat around in my left hand a few times and glanced over at Randolph. He was staring at the ground and seemed to be smiling at his boots. “Well,” he said eventually and pushed past me toward the corral. “Let me give that tour I promised.” I jammed my hat back on my head and followed.
Chance Reilly Page 3