“You may be sure I’ll not speak of it. Does your daughter know?”
“Ann? Of course not! Women have no head for business, sir. Nor should they have. Women have beauty, graciousness and style, and that is why we love them and why we work for them. Even a poor man, sir, wants those qualities in a woman, and his wife should have them in his eyes. Ann knows nothing of this, and shall know nothing.”
“And if something happens to you? What then? How will she manage?” Major Timberly waved a hand. “Nothing will happen.” He got up suddenly. “Balch and Rossiter have lost young stock, too? That puts a different look on it. Unless …” he paused and turned to look at me, “unless one of them is stealing from himself, too, to appear innocent. My boy, if what we assume is true, those cattle have been stolen over a period of years, stolen very carefully so their disappearance would not be noted.”
My thoughts were running upon what he had said about women not understanding business. He should have known my mother. Em Talon was a quarter of an inch under six feet, a tall, rawboned mountain woman. She had been handsome as a young woman, yet I doubt if she had ever been what one would call pretty … striking, perhaps.
Even while my father lived, she had been the one who operated the ranch. A shrewd judge of stock as well as of men, she was strongly a Sackett, which was her family name. She was a strong woman, a woman fit to walk beside a strong man, which pa had been. Yet he was a builder, and only half a rancher. Major Timberly and I talked long, and finally when it was time for bed, he said, “Young man, if you learn anything new, come quickly to me. If you have to take action to stop this rustling, do so, and I will back you.” “That’s just it, sir. It must not be stopped.”
“Not stopped? Are you daft?”
“No, sir. First we must find out what is being done with the cattle. I believe they are being held somewhere, in some hidden place, some distance off. If we put pressure on the rustlers now, they’ll just get off with the herd and drive to Mexico. And that will be the end of it.
“Leave it to me, Major. I think I have an idea. If you wish to get in touch with me again, I’m at the line-cabin. If I’m not there, tell Fuentes.” “The Mexican?”
“He’s the best hand on the Stirrup-Iron, Major, and a solid man.” “Of course. I meant no offense. I know Fuentes well, and he can go to work for me anytime he’s of a mind to.”
When I was at breakfast the following morning, the major did not appear, but Ann did. She came in, looking bright and sunny in a starched gingham dress of blue and white with a kind of blue scarf at her throat. “You and Pa talked a long time,” she said brightly. “Did you ask him for my hand?”
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “we talked about cattle. Didn’t get around to you.”
“You mean he didn’t give you his little oration on women not knowing anything about business? I am surprised. He always enjoys that subject. He’s a dear, but he’s silly. I know more about the business of this ranch than he does, and have … since I was twelve. Ma told me I’d have to look after him.” I chuckled. “Does he know that?”
“Oh dear, no! He’d be very upset. But he’s very bright about cattle and horses, Milo. He can make money, but he can also spend it … far too well. Even at that, we’d be doing well if it wasn’t for the stock we’ve lost.” “Much?”
“Over half our young stuff … and some of the best six-year-olds are gone.”
Over half? Balch and Rossiter had lost almost all. Was there a clue here? Actually, the major’s stock was better than that of Stirrup-Iron or Balch and Saddler. He’d brought in a couple of excellent bulls, and was breeding more beef on his young stuff, so why only half or a bit more? That needed some thinking, but when I rode out that morning I put the idea out of my mind. The first few miles led over a wide prairie where nobody could get within two miles of me without being seen. There were a few scattered cattle wearing the Stirrup-Iron, and I started them off ahead of me. But nearing the low rolling hills I grew cautious.
Such hills are deceptive, and they offer hiding places that do not seem to be there. I had cut wide to bring back a cow with a notion for the high country when I saw the tracks—several fresh tracks, clearly defined, of a fast-moving, smooth-stepping horse.
The tracks pointed toward the hills on my left, so my eyes swept the grassy crests but saw nothing that looked to be out of place. The steeldust moved of his own volition to head a steer to the right, and I held my place there. Suddenly, I let out a whoop and started the cattle running through the draw, yet once I had them started I swung the gray and went up the left slope at a run. The gray topped out on the crest just as a bullet clipped past my ear, and then I saw a flurry of movement, somebody scrambling into a saddle, and a horse leaving at a dead run.
The gray was a runner, and it liked to run. Despite the quick scramble up the slope it was off and running without a word from me. I shucked my rifle, sighted on the bobbing figure ahead, and tried a shot.
I missed.
At the distance and at a bobbing target, it would have been a miracle had I not missed, but suddenly the rider whipped his horse over and vanished! The rider was now two hundred yards off, and by the time I reached the place and saw the narrow slide that led into a wooded valley below, he was through the gap and gone. I went down it, and then pulled up.
Before me stretched a good half mile of thick brush ending in some broken hills. There was a scent of dust in the air, nothing more. The man I pursued might be in there anywhere, might be waiting for me to come on and be killed. Nonetheless, this was as close as I’d come and—
Tracks … The earth was dusty but I found a partial one and, taking that direction, picked up another. In a moment I was in the dense thicket, dodging prickly pear and mesquite.
Another track, a broken mesquite twig, leaves just coming back into place after something had pushed through them. I followed carefully, keeping a sharp lookout to left and right. Yet an hour of search brought me nothing. Whoever had fired at me had gotten away again. I had a hunch my luck was running out. After all, how many times can a man miss? Granted, he’d not had many good chances, but luck had saved my bacon, and such luck does not last. The odds were against me.
Dropping down in the arroyo, I rode on after my cattle, which had drifted on through a small, scattered thicket and were now beginning to spread out to graze. Once more I made my gather and started on, picking up two more head as I moved.
Fuentes was gone when I came in, but Danny Rolf was there. He was seated at the table with a cup of coffee in his hand, yet I had the sudden impression that he had not been there long.
He looked up sharply, guiltily, I thought. Then put his cup down. “Howdy,” he said. “Wondered where you was.”
15
Taking my cup, I went to the coffeepot and filled it. My eyes caught a bit of mud, still damp, near the hearth. I looked at it, suddenly every sense alert. Mud? Where around here was there mud? I glanced out the door toward the water trough. It had not overflowed, and the earth around it was dry. Straightening up, I took a swallow of coffee, taking the opportunity to look past the cup at Danny Rolf’s boots.
Mud.
Dropping into a chair across the table, I glanced out the door again. His horse was tied on the far side of the corral, a curious thing in itself. The sort of thing a man might do who wanted to approach the cabin unseen, yet not to actually sneak up to it.
“Any luck?”
“Huh?” He was startled, obviously worried by something else. “Luck? Oh, no. Found a few head, but they’re gettin’ flighty. Hard to round up now, they’ve been drove so much.”