Death on the High Lonesome (12 page)

V
irgil had finished the last of the barn chores by the time Cesar, Pedro, and José pulled in with the final load of hay. Each of them was driving a pickup. The beds of each pickup were loaded as were the hay wagons each was pulling. Virgil waited for them as they pulled up.

“Looks like a parade,” he said as they exited their respective vehicles. “I'd have hated to be driving a car in back of you guys.” They all looked whipped.

“We should have thinned the herd,” Cesar croaked, shaking his head as he brushed off the chaff from his pants.

“Hang on a minute,” Virgil said as he turned and ran over to the house. A couple of minutes later he was back with a pitcher filled to the top, along with some plastic cups. Each of the men took a cup, filled and emptied it in one swallow, then filled it again. “That's a lot of hay. I saw what you already sent up the conveyor. Have you got it all?”

“As much as we're gonna get for now. Depending on the
weather, this should take us at least to February, I figure,” Cesar said.

“That being the case, we're not going to send this all up the conveyor, only the stuff in the beds of the pickups. The hay wagons we'll line up in the walkways of the barns. Leave the hay in them, feed that first.” José and Pedro each smiled at the suggestion.

“I don't know,” Cesar said, wiping the smiles off their faces. “We have to get those hay wagons back along with that third pickup we borrowed.”

“They won't need those hay wagons till next year. I'll square it with Marian Thompson. I mean, Davies. I'm sure she'll be fine with it. I can drive their pickup down there tomorrow. When I come back from my search for Charlie Thompson, I'll call. You can come down and get me and Jack. You and these boys are done for the day.” Virgil saw the relief come into the eyes of José and Pedro, then almost reluctantly, Cesar. “Fellas, if you could just empty what's in the bed of your pickup onto the elevator, you can get out of here for your Thanksgiving holiday.” Virgil didn't have to ask them twice. While they did that, he insisted Cesar go take a shower and get out of his work clothes. By the time Cesar returned, Virgil had backed the hay wagons into the barns, then sent the two pickup loads of hay up the conveyor to join what was already there.

“Looks like you're going to need a shower now,” Cesar said. “By the way, I put Jack in that stall before I left. He'll be waiting for you. Be careful up in that backcountry tomorrow.”

“I will, don't worry. See you in a couple of days.” Cesar walked away, shaking his head.

When Virgil stepped into the kitchen, he could see the message light flashing on the phone. He drank the last of the ice
water from the pitcher he had brought out to his men. It felt good going down, but was a reminder to him that he had hardly broken a sweat compared to the physical exertion of Cesar, Pedro, and José. He punched the button on the phone. He heard Kyle Harrison's voice.

“Virgil, the search continues. Nothing yet. I'll call if there's a change.” The second message kicked right in. He recognized Virginia's voice.

“I stopped by your office to find out what you were doing for Thanksgiving. Your deputy Jimmy filled me in. Doesn't seem like much of a holiday for you. Maybe we can do better at Christmas. By the way, it's pretty obvious you really have two children. Me, by way of the old-fashioned method. Jimmy, by adoption. You are definitely the father he never had. See you soon.” There was a brief silence. “I hope.” Virgil reached over to erase the second message, but instead of deleting it, played it again. When it ended, he sat for a moment listening to the silence. Then he got up, went upstairs, and took a shower.

*   *   *

There wasn't even the faintest glow on the horizon when he walked to the borrowed pickup the next morning. The roosters were still fast asleep. The night was reluctant to let go. Even the pickup rebelled until the third try. It was cold. It didn't feel any warmer, sitting on the cold vinyl, waiting for the engine to catch. When it finally did, it had the raspy sound of an old man coming off a three-day drunk. He got to the end of the driveway before he realized he had left the saddlebags sitting on the kitchen table. By the time he left the house the second time, a rooster was crowing, the faintest glow showed on the horizon, and the engine was humming like a Jimmy Buffett tune.

Driving down the eight-mile driveway to High Lonesome ranch was an exercise in dodging most of the wildlife that called Hayward County home. At the end, he saw a light, surprisingly coming from the barn. He pulled up close, turned off the engine, then stepped out of the cab. He was caught off guard when he saw the figure of Marian Davies as he stepped inside.

“Morning, Virgil.”

“Morning,” he answered. “It wasn't really necessary for you to come out here this early. Hope it wasn't just for me.”

“No. It was because of me,” she answered. “I got to thinking after you left yesterday. You're giving up your holiday to go look for my dad. I'm sitting here doing what? There's something wrong with this picture. So, Virgil, you're not going alone after all. But before you go stereotype on me, you need to know two things. My dad set me on a horse long before I could even stand. So don't go looking for me over your shoulder because I won't be back there. The other thing is, I know this country, you don't. I'll be better than a GPS and you can yell at me if I make a mistake. By the way, I fed, watered, and saddled your horse for you.”

“Jack let you saddle him?”

“He was a little balky at first, but when he figured out I knew what I was doing, he settled right down. I notice you got a snaffle bit on him. He must have a real light mouth.”

“Yes. He's got a soft mouth, doesn't need a curb.” Virgil was a little taken aback by the exchange, discussing bridle restraints with Marian in her barn at six in the morning. It didn't look like there was going to be any place for his input. “Well, I guess we'd better get this show on the road.” He made the remark without a great deal of conviction. She didn't seem to notice as she opened the stall next to the one she had just led Jack from after she had placed Jack's reins in Virgil's hands.

“Meet Ringo,” she said. Virgil looked at the gelding that stood alongside Jack. He had a Roman nose and a blind eye. Virgil figured he couldn't have been more than fourteen, three hands way short of Jack's sixteen-one. He was a full-on buckskin right down to the black stripe that ran down the middle of his back. “He was born where we're going. Pop found him alongside of his mother after she had snapped her leg in a hole. Put a bullet in her, then brought him home to me. Had to bottle-feed him for the first couple of months. Maybe don't have that three-bars pedigree like your horse, but he's got a heart like a locomotive, tough as nails, can turn on a dime and give you change. Won barrels on him three years running, till I got married. So like I said, you won't have to be looking over your shoulder for him or me because we'll be right alongside you.” Virgil said nothing. He knew when he'd lost a fight, even one he'd never been in, so he just threw his saddlebags over the saddle and led Jack from the barn. Marian followed. When they got outside, each of them checked their girths before mounting. Virgil noted Marian kneeing the gelding's abdomen, then tightening the cinch. Virgil's saddle sat snug on Jack, so he put his left foot in the stirrup and sprang up. He watched her step up, throw her leg over, then settle into her seat with the grace of a ballet move.

“Let's go to the High Lonesome,” she said.

The sun had broken through. The late autumn sky was blue and cloudless. Within ten minutes, the ranch complex had disappeared. They were leaving a dust trail along with scattering rocks as they began a gradual ascent toward the distant tabletop. For the first hour they rode side by side. When they reached any level areas they broke into a light canter, but most of the time they were climbing. The terrain was rough and broken. Mostly desert with hidden arroyos and rock outcroppings, there
was little green to interrupt the earth tones. An occasional yucca or piñon could be seen, twisted into modern art by winds that, when they blew, scoured the land, sandblasting everything on it. Finally, about three hours into their trek, Marian pulled Ringo to a halt. Virgil followed her lead.

“I think we better take a break. Your horse needs it.” Virgil looked down at the lather which stained Jack's neck. He didn't argue. After he dismounted, he loosened Jack's cinch.

Once he saw how wet he was, he removed the saddle, setting it on a huge rock. Then he reached into one of the saddlebags. He took out a good-sized piece of terry cloth, then started wiping Jack down. The horse stood quietly, breathing noticeably. Virgil rubbed his flanks, the saddle area, working up to his neck and finally his face. The towel was heavy with moisture. The late-morning air meeting with the wet caused a little steam to rise. When Virgil wiped Jack's face along with the area of his throatlatch, Jack gave a contented snort. Lastly, Virgil wiped the inside of his ears. He noted a tiny trace of blood on the cloth, evidence of some ear mites that had tried to find a home. When he had finished, he glanced at Marian, who was sitting on one of the boulders that were the most dominant feature of the immediate landscape. She had finished with her horse long before Virgil. Virgil walked over and sat beside her. She handed him a bottle of water. Virgil popped the cap, then took a long drink.

“That's my fault,” Virgil said apologetically. “That's my fault.” He pointed to Jack, who was still standing quietly where Virgil had left him. “I've not been putting in the time with him lately, like I should. He's out of shape. So am I.”

“Don't beat yourself up, Virgil. We all get busy. Life interferes. Some things get put on the back burner. It was Jack's turn. Besides, I don't think you're out of shape from where I sit. In
Jack's defense, he's what Pop used to call a bottomland horse. Ringo here is part billy goat. The mustangs that roam this land have never seen the inside of a barn. You've got a good, solid horse there. He just needs some time to adjust. So do you. We've been riding uphill for the last three hours. We have that and more to go to reach the top. The air is starting to get thin. We've probably climbed up close to fifteen hundred feet. Takes some time getting used to.”

“Guess I never thought about that,” Virgil said. “Pretty rough up here. Nothing for cattle to eat but dirt.”

“You'll see, it's a lot different up top,” Marian replied. “Anyhow, I suggest a little break now and a lot more walking for us.”

“Is this the way your dad would have come?”

“There is another route, about a third shorter, but it's three times as difficult. Dad is tough, but he's not stupid. He would never go that way alone at his age. No. He came this way.” When they left their resting spot half an hour later the only thing on Jack's back was an empty saddle and the saddlebags.

*   *   *

Two more stops and almost six hours later found them within a quarter mile of the top of the plateau. Whatever warmth there was from the midday sun had come and gone. Nevertheless, Virgil could feel rivulets of sweat running down his back. Much of the last few hours had been on foot with both him and Marian leading their mounts.

“Virgil, I need to stop for a minute.” Virgil held Jack close, not unhappy for the break, while Marian sat down on a rock, then slipped off her shoe. She withdrew a piece of shale from inside. Virgil noted the red mark on her sock. “Should have stopped sooner,” she said.

“I've got something for that,” Virgil said. He went to his saddlebag, took out a first aid kit, then knelt down and dressed the cut on Marian's instep.

“You must have been a Boy Scout.”

“Always be prepared,” he replied. “I think you better get back on Ringo. The friction of walking is only going to make that worse.”

“I guess you're right,” she said. “We're almost to the top. There's an old line cabin not too far away. Might be a good place to spend the night, then we can get an early start. Tomorrow, we won't have to walk. Be a lot easier on the horses, too. Then we can start looking for Dad.”