Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006) Read online

  A short ride along the winding river, with the tracks left by the young stuff, led Buck and the momma cow to where the herd had forded the bigger river. Far from the color red, the water was a muddy brown. Crossing, the water level didn’t reach anywhere near the bottoms of his stirrups. The rustled herd wouldn’t have had any problems getting over at least this time of year. Trunks of dead trees stuck in the bottom mud proved that at times the force of this river was a lot different than what it was now, in late summer.

  On the other side, the heifer didn’t hesitate but kept moving. Buck, following behind, now believed they were making better time and wasn’t surprised when, in the early in the afternoon and standing high in the stirrups, he could make out the holding pens at the Big Valley junction. The heifer was all but running as she smelled her calf.

  Reaching one of the smaller pens, the cow stood with her head between the rails and bawled. Buck climbed tiredly out of the saddle and watched as a calf pushed through the small herd to nuzzle the heifer. Nodding with satisfaction, he removed the saddle from the black horse, let him roll and then led him to the water barrel.

  ‘Hey, boy. What the hell are you doing?’ Buck looked up as a big man wearing a store-bought suit came striding up. Scowling, the man pointed to the hip-boned heifer standing outside the pen and demanded an explanation. ‘Those pens are for cattle being sold here, boy. Now you just get that sorry looking beast out o’ there.’

  ‘Nope,’ Buck said, dipping his kerchief into the water barrel and then wiping his face and hands. After plunging his head into the barrel and letting the water drip, he looked up at the bullying man. ‘I don’t guess I will, at least not yet,’ he went on, looking the self-important man up and down.

  Before the blustering man could react, another well-dressed man, likewise wearing a suit and high-topped shoes came up and asked quietly what all the yelling was about. Before the blustering man could respond, Buck cut in.

  ‘Just looking for the gents that brought that jag of young stuff in,’ he said, putting out his hand. ‘I’m James Buckley Armstrong, Buck to my friends. That heifer there is wearing the Rocking C brand and her calf has one that’s slightly different. That doesn’t seem right to me.’

  ‘Well, I’d say there is something odd about it, wouldn’t you, Thompson?’ the man asked shaking Buck’s hand and looking at the first man. ‘My name is Collins and both Thompson and I are cattle buyers. Fact is, I’m waiting word on when the Randle herd is due.’

  Strolling over to stand near the heifer, he shook his head. ‘Thompson, I must say, there is something strange about this little bunch and I think I mentioned that when they came in. Now, looking at the two brands, I say, not too smart of you to doubt it, don’t you think?’

  Glancing toward the small building that served as both rail-master’s office and waiting-room, Buck saw three or four other men start walking over, curious to see what all the yelling was about. He smiled as he recognized one of the men.

  Turning back to the cattle buyer, he said quietly, ‘Mr Collins, I’m afraid I’ve got a little problem to settle and if you know the Rocking C, maybe you’re just the man I need to back me.’

  ‘Oh, I know the Randle family all right. Virgil and Matilda. And in his time, the old man, too. I’ve been buying their herds for quite a while, ever since Old Jim Coulter first came out here. That was before there was a railhead anywhere near here. He used to have to drive … well, that isn’t the issue now, is it?’ he finished, looking up to see the men now standing facing Buck.

  Buck, having released the reins of his horse, smiled at the one he recognized. ‘Well, look who’s here. It’s Lew, isn’t it? Fancy meeting you again. Seems you didn’t get my message.’ Carelessly placing his hand of the butt of his belt gun, Buck went on, ‘Now I’m going to ask these fine gentlemen to witness this. Mrs Randle’s Rocking C has been missing a few head, and I have proof that the yearlings and weaners in that pen are from her herd. Seems likely that certain hardcases have been changing the brand and some buyer here has been taking them. Now, I’m not about to point the finger at anyone, but I think I could spit on at least one of the rustlers right now. He knows who he is because he was there when I caught his partner with a running iron in his hand. And I can probably guess who has been buying the stolen stock.’

  Collins, seeing the direction of Buck’s stare, moved to one side out of the line of fire. ‘Now, boy, I don’t think any gunplay is necessary.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ the first complaining cattle buyer said, not noticing the tension that was filling the men’s bodies. ‘You’re declaring that some buyer has been taking stolen stock? I’ll have you know none of us here is guilty of that.’

  ‘No?’ Buck asked, never taking his eyes off the men facing him across the water barrel. One, holding his rifle in one hand with the barrel pointed at the ground, looked at the young rancher with a vacant stare. The other slowly removed a glove from his right hand and let that hand drop casually on the cedar handles of his belt gun. ‘I’ll bet that if either of those rannies there would talk, they’d point right at the buyer I’m talking about. But that’s OK. I guess I’ll just have to hurt one of them before I ask about that. You there, Lew, what can you tell me about this deal?’

  ‘Hurt one of us, boy?’ Lew said, laughing, as his fingers slowly tightened about his pistol grips. ‘You can’t just ride in here making brags like that, claiming me or my friends are rustlers? You can’t do that and then expect to ride out.’

  ‘Yep, I just did do that. And it’s a claim I can prove. All we got to do is go look at the brand on that heifer I just brought in and the brand on her calf. You dropped her too soon. Any fool can see her calf isn’t fully weaned yet.’

  Hearing that, Lew stopped laughing and, without saying another word, in one smooth movement, his long-barreled pistol came clear of the holster. At the same time, the man with the rifle brought it up, his finger finding the trigger. Buck could only react, pulling his six-gun and firing without aiming and at the same time, throwing his body to the left.

  CHAPTER 14

  The silence following the sudden gunfire was thick. For a time nobody moved and no one said anything. Slowly, realizing he had been holding his breath, Buck exhaled. Still with his handgun pointing in the direction of the rustlers, he watched as the rifleman, his eyes still staring, unhurriedly doubled over, falling first to his knees and then falling flat on his face. Looking down he saw his shot had gone true, taking Lew squarely in the chest. The third man stood with both hands shoulder high and empty, his face a pasty gray.

  ‘Don’t shoot me. I didn’t sign on for this; don’t shoot. I ain’t going for my gun,’ he babbled.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’ – Buck used his Colt as a pointer, jabbing it at the two bodies – ‘these are your pals so you take care of them. Pile them on their horses and start riding. I’m going to be somewhere behind you and if I catch up, then there’ll be another grave to dig. Now move.’ It took the scared man only a few minutes to tie the bodies across saddles and blubbering his thanks and an assurance that he would never be seen again, headed south and was soon out of sight.

  Keeping one eye on the frightened man, Buck watched as Collins calmly replaced a spent shell and shoved his silver revolver back into an underarm holster. You just never knew about a man, he thought.

  ‘Thanks,’ Buck said, getting a nod from the buyer in return.

  ‘My boy, I couldn’t stand there and let these scoundrels kill someone representing the family of my favorite rancher, now could I? And while we’re cleaning out scoundrels, Mr Thompson, you’re probably right: it’s unlikely that anyone can prove that one of us has been buying shoddy branded cattle, but for some time I have been aware of your purchasing small herds from this siding. As the Rocking C is the largest producer of beef, it would not surprise me to discover, whatever mark they carry, these animals were once wearing that brand. Sir, I would suggest you get on the next train out and not return.’

  �
�But you can’t just chase me off.’

  ‘Not only can I, I am,’ Collins said, ‘On top of that I will make it my business to make sure every rancher up and down the line hears about the buying of obviously stolen cattle. Proving you have shipped such small lots wouldn’t be difficult. Now, do you wish to argue with me, sir?’ he asked, with one hand still on the pearl-white grips of his holstered pistol.

  Wordlessly the other buyer turned and hurriedly made his way to the waiting-room.

  ‘Now, young man.’ Collins turned his full attention on Buck. ‘I would appreciate knowing what is going on with the Randles and, if you can, some indication as to when I can expect the arrival of the Rocking C herd.’

  Quickly Buck told the cattle buyer about the shooting of Virgil and his reason for taking up the fight. It turned out that Collins was an old acquaintance of the professor’s. After hearing in more detail how Virgil Randle had died, how dear Matilda was holding up, he stood silent for a minute.

  ‘Young man, I don’t know what is going on, but it seems strange to me that it is only the Rocking C cattle that are showing up here. I’d almost think there is someone in Coulter’s Landing has it in for the Randles. Also, it is equally perplexing that Virgil would borrow money without Matilda’s knowledge; they have always been very close. I don’t know anything about the banker Blount but it is typical for bankers, if they are going to remain in commerce, to be a good businessman. Well, give my regards to the widow when you see her. If Professor Fish sent you, I have to believe he knew what he was doing. When I get to the capitol I’ll have a word with the governor about getting the law to this part of the state.’

  Making a deal for the herd of young stuff, Buck filled his canteen with fresh water and, slapping the saddle back on his horse, headed back north.

  When the sun came up Friday morning, Buck was sitting comfortably on the hotel porch. He had arrived in town well after dark the night before and, after stabling his horse, had taken a room. Now with breakfast out of the way he sat and waited for the rest of the town to come awake. Somewhere in the residential area back behind the stores a rooster crowed his happiness at life. Buck rolled a smoke and watched as a mangy-looking black and white dog, its tail hanging so low it almost trailed in the dust, crossed the street and disappeared under the boardwalk on the other side. He smiled as he looked up to see the butcher’s sign over the door there.

  Slowly, first this shopkeeper and then that, opened their doors and, some at least, swept the boardwalk in front. It was almost two hours before the hotel clerk came out and handed him two telegrams. The first was from the governor’s office and in terse words informed him that at the present time no one was available to come to Coulter’s Landing. That brought a frown to Buck’s face that the second one, a transfer of $1,200, didn’t wipe off. If Matilda held to her decision, the money would simply be transferred back to his bank in Brisby.

  He wanted to catch Matilda before she went to the bank to give her the money from the sale of cattle to Collins. Buck wasn’t sure what she’d think of that. He’d soon know, though, watching the road into town he saw her wagon coming. Her first stop was at the general store where she entered and a few minutes later came out and turned toward the bank.

  Buck met her just as she got to the door and smiling, handed her Collins’s noney. Explaining where the money came from meant telling her what had happened at the railhead. Looking directly into Buck’s eyes, he saw that she wasn’t happy with the report, but before she could comment, a horseman rode up and swung down. The two turned to find Hugh Hightower climbing out of his ornate saddle.

  ‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, Matilda,’ he commented, letting his eyes slide to Buck. ‘And I hope this friend of yours is not still bothering you.’

  ‘No, Hugh. He brought me some money and information about the rustling.’

  ‘Money? I thought you had agreed to let me take care of that loan.’

  Buck stood watching and listening but not commenting, a smile playing on his lips as he saw how unhappy the news made the horse rancher.

  ‘Oh, it isn’t enough for this month’s payment,’ she answered, ‘but, well, it does help.’

  Not mollified, Hightower was about to comment when the bank’s doors opened and two men stepped out. Blount and a well-dressed professional-appearing man.

  ‘Good morning, Matilda,’ Blount said, nodding to the men.

  ‘Mrs Randle,’ the man murmured. ‘Fortunate, my running into you this morning. It’ll save me a ride out to your ranch. It is the IOUs left by your late husband I wish to discuss.’ This man, Buck saw, was the gambler. Typical of the breed, his worn black suit was clean and recently brushed. Taking in his long, thin face made Buck think of the face of a fox. Everything about the man was thin. A sharp nose separated from thin lips by a well-trimmed mustache had a small knob that indicated it had been broken at least once. His light-brown hair had been recently barbered and was shiny with some kind of pomade. His boots were black and had been polished to a high gleam.

  ‘And this must be the cowboy that showed up to help you. My name is Hubbard, Vance Hubbard,’ he said, offering his hand.

  Buck shook, feeling the wiry muscular strength under the smooth long-fingered hand. ‘James Buckley Armstrong,’ he said, ‘and I’ve heard a little about you, too.’

  ‘Yes, well, Mrs Randle, can I count on a visit from you today?’

  ‘First Matilda has some business to take care of with the bank, Hubbard,’ Hightower growled. ‘That is more important than any questionable IOUs left by her late husband.’ Turning to the banker, he motioned toward the door. ‘Banker Blount, if you’d be so kind we can get this transaction dealt with.’

  Blount opened the door and let Matilda go through first. Hightower followed the banker and, attempting to cut Buck off, reached to close the door behind him. Neither Buck nor Hubbard was going to let that happen and catching the door before it closed, both entered right behind the others.

  ‘You may not approve, Hightower, but the debt left by Virgil Randle must be satisfied.’

  ‘And even a poor cowboy such as myself,’ Buck added, with a big smile, ‘can have banking business to conduct.’

  Without a comment, the banker escorted Matilda and Hightower through the break in the railing, leaving the other men standing outside. Still smiling, Buck strolled over to the single teller window and flattened out the telegram bank transfer. ‘I’d like to open an account with this,’ he explained.

  The teller, a young man wearing a green eyeshade, read the transfer and glancing quickly back at the group gathered at Blount’s desk, frowned. ‘I’ll have to have Mr Blount approve this, sir.’

  ‘Well, then, why don’t you just do that?’

  ‘He is busy with other customers at the present time, sir. If you’ll just wait?’

  ‘Nope. Can’t do that. Tell you what, though. When the good banker is ready for my business you have him find me. I’ll be having a cup of coffee in the restaurant.’ Turning to Hubbard he extended his hand. ‘Hubbard, may I buy you a cup of coffee? There’re a couple things I’d like to talk over with you.’

  Getting a nod, he led the way out and across the street.

  ‘Armstrong, I don’t know exactly what your interest in this is, but I don’t think it is any of your business.’ With cups of strong black coffee steaming on the table in front of the two men, Buck had asked about the IOUs. Hubbard smiled and shook his head. ‘This seems to be a matter between the widow Randle and myself. What exactly are you looking for?’

  ‘Well, Mr Hubbard, to tell the truth, I’m fishing. It seems there are a lot of questions floating around but very few answers. The shooting of Matilda’s husband is one; the debts that you claim he ran up is another. I’m a friend who is trying to understand how these things happened. Tell me, how did the game that Virgil Randle supposedly lose the money in, go? Who else was at the table?’

  Laughing, Hubbard again shook his head no. ‘As I said, it’s none of you
r business. All you, as a so-called friend, need to know is that I hold the paper with Randle’s signature. And I expect to get my money.’

  Buck was saved from trying to come up with another approach by the arrival of Matilda and Hightower. ‘Mrs Randle.’ The gambler stood and waved a hand invitingly at an empty chair. Without a word of greeting both Matilda and Hightower sat down.

  ‘Buck,’ Matilda asked sternly, ‘tell Hugh what you told me about the shooting at the railhead.’

  ‘It was simply a case of a coupla rustlers biting off more than they could chew.’

  ‘You seem to have a habit of shooting people and then calling them rustlers,’ Hightower frowned. ‘What led you to believe these men were really guilty of stealing Rocking C cattle?’

  ‘A matter of brands not matching made it obvious. When they were called on it they made the mistake of trying to shoot their way out of it. Just as the fellow here in town, they were a bit too slow to make it work.’

  Hightower glanced at Matilda and grimaced, ‘Matilda, I don’t think you want to be associated with this kind of man, I really don’t. No one has seen any proof that the men he’s shot were actually rustlers. And really, since he showed up that’s about all he’s done, shoot men and call them criminals and, according to one witness, shoot an old man from ambush. You have to get rid of him before he ruins your reputation. People are starting to talk, you know.’

  Matilda stared at Buck, waiting for him to respond.

  With his usual innocent smile, the big cowboy paused and lifted his cup. ‘You know,’ he wondered, ‘I seem to recall the cattle buyer, Collins, mentioning something. You all know Collins, don’t you? After the shooting was over he asked about what was happening with his friends on the Rocking C. I told him what I knew. He hadn’t heard about your husband being murdered, Matilda, and sends his sympathies. But he pointed out that it’s only Rocking C cattle that have been brought over to the railhead. It seemed strange to him that these rustlers knew which animals to run off. Almost like there was someone here locally telling them. Now that makes me wonder.’