Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006) (13 page)

‘Well, not yet. I’m a very lively man looking for a coupla skunks, and you call me a stranger. Don’t you remember holding me under the guns of you and your pa, tying me up and then beating me unconscious? I’m that stranger you and your pa then tied to my horse and took out into the sand blow and left with no water. Even taking my horse. Why, I had to come into town today just to replace the hat you didn’t let me keep out there. Is that the tall tale you’re telling these good people?’

‘Don’t think you can make any such claims. Not here. I’ll have you know this is my town. You’re nothing but a killer. It’s because of you my little brother was shot. Damn you. You’re nothing.’ Frank’s angry ranting made his face flush. Taking a step or two closer, he didn’t notice the men who had been standing around him move away, out of the line of fire. The bartender had stopped and when Buck glanced his way, carefully placed both hands flat on the bar in front of him.

Frank’s breath came in great gulps as he tried to speak over his rage. ‘My pa is the head honcho of this basin. Once he gets control of that damn Randle woman’s range he and I will be the power that everyone will have to deal with. And you think any of these people care about your little trip into the desert? They’d better only care about keeping the
Hightowers happy. Damn.’ He swung a fist against the bar in frustration, ‘This wouldn’t have happened if that stupid brother of mine had done what Pa told him and killed you before you even got here. Oh, you’re lucky, I’ll give you that. Pa had no trouble finding those rustlers. All he had to do is point out where they’d find a few bunches of cattle nobody was close to. Their greed took over from there until you butted in. We set up a stage robbery and who says you didn’t do it? That dinky little snot Paul. He didn’t even know enough to keep his mouth shut.’ Without knowing it, with each statement he took a step or two closer and banged his fist on the wood.

‘Yeah, you’re lucky. Why you didn’t die in the desert, I don’t know. I tried to tell Pa that I should just go ahead and put you out of your misery, but oh, no, he wouldn’t listen to me, would he? No. He had to get cute and run you out into the desert. So here you are, about to lose out after all. You can’t stop us. How can you? We own this town. Don’t you know the sheriff is ours? Hell, we even own the bank. You don’t think that old fool Blount is smart enough for that, do you? Right now Pa is out at the widow’s ranch, getting her to sign that place over. That’s when things’ll really happen. When we take over this valley, fools like you won’t last an hour.’

Smiling through the man’s haranguing, Buck reached up and carefully removed his new hat. Placing it squarely on the bar by his elbow, he turned to face the blustering horse breeder. Thumbing the thong from the hammer of his Colt, he chuckled.

‘Frank, I think I’m going to give you a chance. Tell you what, we’ll both unbuckle our gunbelts and go at it with our fists and boots. You’ll lose, but I’m looking forward to paying you back for what you did while I was strung up. That’s the only way someone like you can win a fight, having the other guy helpless. Well, come on, I’m not helpless now. Let’s see
what kind of man you really are.’ He used one hand to slap the bar top and let the other drop causally to the butt of his .44.

‘Damn you,’ Frank swore, reaching for his Peacemaker. Those watching said later that Buck waited until Frank’s gun cleared leather before pulling his own six-gun but nobody really saw his Colt Dragoon come up. One instant the pistol was in its holster and the next it was out and flame was
shooting
from the gun. Three shots were fired, Frank got his off first, but he’d been eager. His lead dug a hole in the floor as Buck’s two shots, so close together they sounded like one, punched holes in Frank’s chest, slamming his body back and against the bar. Dead on his feet, he slowly collapsed to end up sitting with his back against the bar. For a time nobody moved.

Watching the men, Buck waited to see how it would go. Finally, one man exhaled. ‘Jesus. Did you hear all that? Damn.’

Nobody was looking at Buck, all were staring down at the dead man. Slowly, one at a time they glanced up at Buck and then at each other. The silence that covered the saloon like a blanket was broken when the doors were smashed open and Sheriff Holt came running in waving his
double-barreled
shotgun.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ he bellowed, slightly out of breath from his run down the street. Sliding to a stop when he saw Frank’s body, he looked quickly up at Buck. Before he could raise the shotgun, Buck’s Colt was pressed against the lawman’s plump stomach. ‘You! I might have known you’d be here, shooting up the place. Boy, you did it this time. That’s one of the local rancher’s sons you’ve killed this time. And before witnesses, too.’

‘No, Sheriff. Those days are over. Frank was kind enough to explain just what he and his father, and you, were up to. Now, slowly hand that scattergun over to one of those men.’
Startled, Holt did as he was told. The shopkeeper who reached out to take the shotgun didn’t hesitate and looked the sheriff right in the eye.

‘I’d say your time of wearing the badge is about over, Holt,’ Buck shook his head. ‘My advice is for you to leave that star on the bar and go find yourself a fast horse. I’m on my way down to the bank and after that I’ll be riding out to the Rocking C. Don’t be here when I come back through.’

Looking from face to face, the chubby man let his
shoulders
droop. Unpinning his badge from his shirt he dropped it on to the bar and without another word, walked out dejectedly. Again nobody commented and the silence grew.

‘Well, boys, looks like you’ll have to find a new sheriff.’ Buck replaced the spent shells in his Colt and looking around, smiled and walked out of the saloon.

Juan Navarro watched his son, hoping that once he had learned that the big cowboy hadn’t been behind the
shooting
of his father he would return to his normal self. The old Basque snorted, normal self indeed. Once upon a time, back when Jose had been much younger and his mother was still alive, he had had hopes that the boy would grow straight, proud and tall. Not just in stature but in the terms of being a man. Somewhere, something had changed the once happy boy and made him a very serious young man. Juan wondered if not having a mother during all those years had caused this to happen.

Truly, there was little to complain about. Jose was very good with the sheep and the flocks, being healthy and well taken care of, had grown in size. Since a very young boy, Jose had shown an instinct for knowing when and how far to move his flock each day. There was nothing more the older man could teach his son. It was not to do with the sheep that worried the father. There was something inside, something that caused Jose to brood that was the cause for his concern.

This morning, when the man, Armstrong, had joked about his appearance, Jose had found the humor and laughed. As the big black horse disappeared in the distance, he had gone about his work getting the sheep lined out to the little brown grass meadow he had been taking them this
past few days. Soon, possibly even tonight, they would have to move the wagon and the flock on to a new area.

The sheep were fattening nicely for this time of year and the lamb crop had been good. When they moved south in preparation of making their fall shipment, Juan was sure it would turn out to be an excellent season. This year, feeling his years, he had decided not to travel with the loaded box cars but to let Jose handle that business on his own.

He had not said anything to the boy yet, of course. After being shot, Juan had taken things very easy, resting most of the day and not riding or walking out with the flock. Jose had not noticed, he believed, but the healing was slow going. The gash cut by the bullet had scabbed over and then mended leaving only a scar. A white mark on the outside, but sometimes, especially in the cool mornings, a red-hot streak of pain inside. This was something else he hid from his son. Sighing, he thought about all the things he was not sharing.

Juan was not surprised to find, when Jose returned to camp in the early evening, that the humor had gone from his eyes. With little conversation between the two men dinner was prepared and the dishes cleaned up. Settling back on his blanket with a full pipe burning smoothly and a mug of strong black tea, the old man decided it was time to make some of his thoughts known to his son. Jose, however, didn’t pour his tea as usual. Standing by the fire for a few minutes, staring out into the coming darkness, he finally looked down at his father.

‘There is something I must do, Father. Don’t fret and do not wait up for me. I will return before first light.’ In minutes he had saddled his horse and without another word, had ridden out of the camp. Juan Navarro listened until the silence of a night-time sheep camp returned. Customarily, after so many nights spent like this, the night sounds were comforting. Tonight, however, was different.

Jose rode with one thought in mind. All day he had been thinking about the man, Armstrong. A strong man and, more than likely, a good man in his own world, but that was a separate world than the young sheepherder knew of. When he had found him lying face down in the rocky edges of the sand country, the thought had been to just leave him and let nature take its course. After all, this was the man who had shot his father, wasn’t it? And even if it had been some other cattleman, what did that matter? At heart, they and their kind were all the same.

But as he sat his saddle thinking about it, he knew he couldn’t just ride away and leave him to die, if he wasn’t already dead. That would make him as black-hearted as the man whose life he now held in his hands.

Turning Armstrong’s body over, he saw that life was still there, barely. Although painfully sunburned and bloody, a soft groan and shallow breathing were signs that the man still lived. After moistening the wounded man’s lips with a wet cloth and wrapping the man’s head in a faded kerchief, he loaded him into his own saddle and began the ride back to the sheep camp. Riding slowly to make the trip as smooth as possible, Jose stopped every so often to wet the
unconscious
man’s mouth.

Back in camp, he had had to lift Armstrong off his horse and then, with his father’s help, gently cleaned the dried blood from the cuts. It took hours of applying wet cloths to his lips and face before the near-dead man’s breathing became stronger. Sleep was the great healer and, although at times restless, he slept through most of the night and the entire next day.

Jose and his father had worked to save the man’s life even though he might have been the one who had shot the older sheepherder. When Armstrong had made his argument, proving to Jose that it had been some other rancher, the young man had felt relief. That is until he thought it all over
while with the flock the next day. It wasn’t enough to have worked to save the big man, he decided. There was still evil out in the world. Now he was riding toward that evil.

The young sheepman wasn’t exactly sure where he would find his quarry, but thought a good place to start would be at the Rocking C. Mr and Mrs Randle had always been friendly to the Basque sheepherders, and anyway, he
couldn’t
think of where else to start. Perhaps he would end up crossing the river and riding to the horse-breeder’s ranch, but he’d never been there and didn’t like the idea of wandering around blindly.

It wasn’t that Jose thought of himself as a brave man, or a coward either for that matter. He had never shot anyone before and didn’t know if he’d be able to do it. A flush of shame passed over his face as he thought about taking the old Winchester out of the wagon. He hoped his father hadn’t noticed the barrel sticking out of the bedroll tied to his saddle. Somehow, he felt that hiding the weapon was almost like stealing. Riding armed into the enemy camp, though, was not something that he wanted to do if he didn’t have to.

An ambush on the trail? Jose shook the thought away. Too much like what the real killer had done to his father. He’d just have to wait and see.

‘Matilda, I’m making this my last offer,’ Hightower said coldly. He had ridden into the Rocking C ranch at dusk and without so much as a hello, tied his horse to the rail and stormed into the house. Matilda, hearing the horse coming into the yard, had smiled, thinking it was Buck returning for something. When the front door slammed open, she frowned and put down the coffee pot of water she had just poured, and hastened out of the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt when she saw who it was.

‘Damn it, woman. This is not easy for me, but I can’t be put off any longer. You will agree to marry me so I can take care of you or not. I want to know what your mind is.’ Hugh wasn’t yelling, but he was hard and demanding. Matilda was nearly speechless.

Finally, seeing the blackness behind the man’s eyes, she started shaking her head in denial. ‘No, Hugh. I won’t be bullied into marrying you or anyone. Who do you think you are, anyway, bursting in here and making demands? Are you drunk? Go home and sleep it off. Go on’ – the more she talked the madder she became – ‘get out of my house.’

Hightower rocked back on his heels. A thin smile brought his lips into a slight curve. ‘I guess you’ve made it clear. Too bad, but just like any female it won’t do any good trying to change your mind.’ Taking a quick step forward, he grabbed her arm and twisting it around, forced her hand up behind
her back. Matilda was too surprised to do anything but whimper at the sudden pain.

Pushing against her arm, he almost ran her ahead of him back into the kitchen. Slamming her down into one of the wood chairs at the big table he took a pigging string from a pocket and quickly tied her hands to the chair arms. Moaning with shock over the sudden harsh treatment, Matilda wilted.

Laughing at the sight of the young woman now helpless, Hugh causally finished the job of making the pot of coffee. Pouring a handful of crushed coffee beans into the pot of water, he stoked up the fire in the stove’s firebox and placed the pot on the hot top.

‘Now, let’s have a cup of fresh coffee and talk about what’s the best thing for you to do,’ he said pleasantly. ‘That’s all I’ve wanted, you know, is what’s best for you. Why do you think I offered to marry you? It would have made everything much easier. But no, you had to think you knew what’s best. Well, it doesn’t matter. In the end, it won’t matter at all. I will get what I want and everything will come out just the same.’

As the coffee pot started to boil, Hugh, settling his gunbelt more comfortably on his waist, leaned one hip on the counter and watched the woman. Jerking against the thongs that held her, she quickly realized her helplessness. Unable to move, she sat for a minute or two and then,
flipping
her head up to swing her hair out of her eyes she glared at her captor.

‘What are you talking about? You couldn’t be serious about my marrying you. My Virgil hasn’t even been in the ground but a short time; how could you think I’ve given any thought about marrying anyone?’ Slowly, as her early scare faded, some inner strength developed.

‘That’s what I tried to tell you. A woman just doesn’t understand enough about things to be successful when it comes to running a spread like this. Why, I’ll bet you’ve
never given any notion to what it means to be the biggest rancher in the valley. Your precious Virgil didn’t, that’s for sure. He was too easily satisfied. He could’ve been the most powerful man in this part of the state, but I doubt he was smart enough to see it. Well, his loss is going to be my gain.’

‘Hugh Hightower, I think there is something wrong with you. Now, cut me loose and we’ll have a cup of coffee and forget all about this.’

That brought another chuckle from the man. Turning to move the boiling coffee pot off the hot stove, he shook his head. ‘You’re just a woman, how could I expect you to see beyond the kitchen?’ he asked. ‘Take that mess you helped make of my youngest boy Paul. It’s just something a woman would do, turn a spineless boy against his family by throwing some dirt clod piece of girl at him. That made me very angry and sooner or later those people will pay for it. But first there’s the little business of you to take care of. I found out a long time ago, there’re easy ways to tame a horse and there are hard ways. At the end of the day, though, the horse does what I want.’

Matilda pulled against the ties binding her arms to the chair. ‘That sounds like you, thinking you can tame people just like you would a horse. It doesn’t work like that, Hugh. People aren’t dumb animals.’

‘Oh, horses aren’t dumb. Why, I could name a lot of people who are a sight dumber.’

‘Someone like Buck Armstrong?’ she asked, and almost flinched at the sudden fury that covered his face.

‘Armstrong,’ he snarled, and then, relaxing, looked at her with scorn. ‘That’s one man I was very happy to get rid of. You don’t have to look for him to help you any more. By now he’s nothing more than a sunburned crisp.’

‘Oh? Then you don’t know.’

‘Know what? He’s gone, I tell you. His horse was found out near the sand blow. That fool probably got lost and
wasn’t carrying enough water,’ Relaxed, he poured a cup of coffee and, blowing at the steam, sat down at the table across from Matilda. ‘Anyway, he’s gone. Take my word for it, he’s dead.’

‘Just this afternoon he was sitting just where you are. I cooked him a nice steak for lunch. He looked like he’d been out in the sun too long, but he was his usual self.’

‘No. That couldn’t be,’ Hightower snapped, then once again calmed himself down. ‘But that doesn’t matter. Not now and not to you. What matters to you is that you’re tied to that chair. And there’s nobody to come to rescue you. So, here’s what I want from you: A signed paper telling everyone how you decided to sell this place to me. Say you can’t stand to be here anymore. You write that out like I say and I’ll set you free.’

‘I don’t understand you, Hugh. Nobody would believe I’d do such a thing.’

‘No, it’s you who don’t understand. Once I’m in control of the Rocking C there’s nobody that’ll go against me. I’ve been planning this since your pa died. With this spread joined to mine I’ll be the biggest man in the area. Look, so far my plans have been good. I fixed it with Hubbard to hold those IOUs. Those and the bogus bank-loan papers should have been enough for you to simply do as I wanted. But no, that damn Armstrong had to show up.’

‘What do you mean, bogus loan papers?’

‘Your dear husband didn’t gamble, although I certainly tried to get him into a few games. But he did like to drink. That was when I decided it didn’t matter, I’d simply sign his name on the pieces of paper and when the gambler made his claim, everybody thought they were real.’

‘But I saw them, they had Virgil’s signature on them.’

‘No, that’s another thing that old Blount is good at,
copying
people’s signatures. It even fooled you, didn’t it?’

‘Blount? Why would he be involved with you?’

‘Because I own the bank and he works for me. I told you, I’ve been planning this for a long time.’ Finishing his cup of coffee, he stood up and put the empty cup in the dry sink. ‘Now see, if you were smarter you’d realize that I don’t need your signature on a piece of paper. Blount can do it for me. Hell, I don’t need you at all. Fact is’ – he frowned in thought – ‘it’d probably be better if you simply disappeared.’ He thought for a minute and then smiled. ‘No, better if you had an accident. Yes, people would be more likely to understand if you signed the place over to me and then, poor woman, got caught in a fire.’

‘Hugh, you’re crazy. You’d never get away with something like that.’

‘Sure I would.’ Looking around the homely kitchen he grinned, ‘It’s too bad, though. This is a nice place. Ah, well. Frank and the boys wouldn’t understand how to live in some place like this. They’re more used to a bunkhouse or the barn. Come on, let’s get on with it.’ Saying that, he walked around behind her and taking hold of the chair leaned it back and dragged her, chair and all, out into the short hall.

‘That’s the best place. The pigging strings will burn off and there’ll be no sign that you didn’t just get caught in the blaze.’