Finally, the last one was urged back from the river, hitched to a juniper tree for the night, and fed some of Alma’s hand cut hay.
Leading the weary mounts into the pen, Mark followed Jones, closed the gate, stretched, and yawned big. “I sure hope she can find us some riders.”
Jones nodded. “She could convince you it is raining. I think she is a bruja.” Then he laughed and clapped Mark on the shoulder. “Too damn much work.”
Mark didn’t like the sound of that. Both remarks gave him the shivers. That Jones might quit was only a bit less worrying than him calling Alma a witch. He had never considered that being possible. Lost maybe over the death of her mate, but not a mystic or anything like one. He’d found her a real bed-full of a woman for such a small body and a damn hard worker, but she was not a bruja.
When they finished the rest of the chores, they settled beside the campfire and ate more beans. Bone-tired, they crawled into their bedrolls. A loud noise woke Mark in the middle of the night, and Jones bolted upright when he did. Someone was coming.
“Who is that?” Jones asked, peering into the darkness.
“It’s a big truck.”
In the headlights, a shadow climbed out of the truck cab.
“It’s Alma. Where did she get a stock truck?” And how would he ever pay for it? No telling.
“Mark,” she called out. “Do you remember Noah Gaines?” She led a big man wearing coveralls with his name on them to him.
“Sure, we played football.” He stuck his hand out to shake the guy’s hand.
“I remembered that, too,” Gaines said. “She said you have some horses you need hauled over to Lehi.”
“We sure do.” He turned to Alma. “How did you find him?”
“He was delivering and busy unloading feed at the Lehi Store when I rode up. We talked, and he said he owed you a favor.”
“Hey, you don’t owe me this much. We’ll sure pay you for this business. May take us some time, but you haul our horses, you’ll be paid.”
Gaines looked around in the glow cast by the truck’s headlights. “Don’t worry none about that. Where can I back up so it’ll be easy to get those broncs in the truck?”
“Over there.” Jones led Gaines to a sharp lip.
He studied the ground and agreed, then went for his truck and backed in place. The vehicle set, Mark and Jones went to saddle two horses.
“I hope we survive doing this in the dark.” Jones pulled his cinch tight and threaded it in by the starlight.
“We have to.”
“Maybe we will, but we will damn sure earn it.”
“Nothing is free in this world.”
“Damn sure that’s right.” The wild horses proved stubborn. Looked like they’d gained back the energy spent earlier, too. They fought, they balked, they screamed, they sweated, they kicked—but finally, they were loaded.
“You need to go along with him,” Mark told Jones. “He will need you to help to unload those wild mustangs. Take two saddle horses as well and I’ll be down later.”
Jones nodded and led the well-behaved horses into the truck, too. He looked relieved to be going along. Hopefully that didn’t mean he was going to walk away once there. It would be hard to lose the hard-working Indian who had also become a friend. Mark wanted to say something to him to convince him the worst was behind them, but he knew better and so would Jones. It was not easy working with wild animals or building a ranch. Lord, he hoped the man stayed with him.
“We’ll be back at your place by dark tomorrow,” Mark said, closing the passenger side door.
“I will be asleep,” Jones said.
Mark stepped back and shouted thanks to Gaines. Then he stood back as Alma slipped under his arm and he affectionately hugged her to his side.
“You did great. Gaines never said how much I owed him for this?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t ask him.”
He bent over and kissed her. They shed their clothes on the way to their bedroll. In minutes, they were in each other’s arms.
Later in the night, he got up under the stars to empty his bladder. A couple of coyotes yapped as he stood to savor the night in the cool, soft wind. How good it was to be free of those bombs bursting inside his skull. At last, he went back to the bed, easy so he wouldn’t waken her. She needed her rest, too. All the while they fought the animals, she’d been right in there, lending a hand where she could, and cooking for them, as well. What a lucky man he was to have found such a woman after his bad experiences with Sheila. She would be a perfect helpmate in his battle to build a ranch and a new life. The best part about that was he loved her, and she seemed to love him, too. He could not imagine that she would ever betray him either. Content, he stared at the scattering of stars for a long while and fell asleep listening to her soft breathing.
CHAPTER THREE
THE LONG, HOT, DUSTY DRIVE from Fort McDowell to Mesa seemed as endless as the day. Mark perched on the spring seat, keeping up a long conversation with Alma about the Hancock Ranch and his plans to buy it.
“I tell you, if there’s any way in the world for me to get that ranch, I’m going to do it. All I got in my pocket is a bit under three hundred dollars and no job. So, it won’t be easy.”
Alma just kept listening and driving her team. When they pulled into Jones’s yard, he was still scheming. He could think of nothing else ever since Rough Craven told him about the abandoned ranch stocked with mavericks. He wanted that place worse than anything.
She wrapped the reins and stared at him for a moment, dark eyes flashing.
“What?” She sure looked like she had something to say.
“I think you will do it, no matter what.”
He shoved his hat back and scratched his head. “I think so too. I need to talk to some bankers, but not in my army fatigues. I need to find some clothes. Never needed them fighting the damn Germans for four years.” It was damn frustrating, and he didn’t know where to begin.
“So, buy you some. I know you can do anything. Look at those horses.”
“You’re right. I’ll buy some Levis, one white long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of boots. Might as well get me some khaki shirts to work in while I’m at it.”
Jones came out of his jacal and greeted them. “Gaines said if he could help you, to call him anytime.”
“He ever say what I owed him for doing it?”
Jones shook his head like the whole situation was too much. It still looked sort of iffy that he would stick with Mark on this deal. Dang it. He could use him as a partner. He’d keep working on him.
Alma hopped down off the wagon and faced Jones. “You have supper fixed?”
Jones chuckled. “Not yet.”
She sniffed. “I bet you’d eat crackers first.”
He never answered.
She went off laughing and tucking her long dark hair off her face. “I’ll cook something.”
Feeling a little better about Jones, he unhitched the team and the spare horses and put them up. When he finished, he went to where Jones was squatted, whittling on a stick.
“You still thinking about that ranch?” Jones asked him.
The small nod told enough. “I’m going to go look for a banker.”
“Good.”
His tone sounded promising. “I want to wash up some. She’ll have some food soon.”
“You remember what I told you? How do you think she just made that truck appear?” Jones nodded enough for the eagle feather to rustle on his hat. “You will see.”
***
Two days later, dressed in a white starched shirt with a small western string tie, a pair of Acme boots and Levi’s, and a straw hat in hand, he approached the First Arizona State Bank. He had a memorable meeting with a stern-faced loan officer named Arthur Bloom.
After Mark explained his entire plan for acquiring the Hancock Ranch, the man bent over his desk and told him, “The bank is not interested in investing in ranch mortgages. We are looking at the ex
pansive housing boom beginning to start in the valley. Would you like to secure a government-sponsored loan on a house in Phoenix or Mesa?”
“No, thank you.” It was hard to pay attention to this pot-bellied banker with the low hum of people talking in the busy bank. But he got the gist of it. He’d get no money here.
His next stop was the Sun Bank. The meeting was much like the first one. They didn’t make ranch loans either. When he finished, he considered going to Phoenix to check with those banks, but when he fled the last one, he had lost his excitement for the task. He went to a phone booth and asked for Sam Cline’s phone number. The Bell operator placed the call and told him to put a nickel in the box.
“Mister Cline there?” he asked the girl who answered the phone.
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Mark Shaw.”
Silence, then she came back. “May I ask what is the nature of your business with Mister Cline?”
“I have a twenty-thousand dollar deal I want to share with him.”
Silence. Behind him a wagon rattled by, followed by a Model A that made so much noise Mark plugged his other ear. This Cline fellow was well known for his big deals. Surely this one would appeal to him.
A man’s voice roared in the phone, startling him. “What’s this bullshit about twenty thousand dollars?”
“Mister Cline, Mark Shaw here. I have a deal that could make you some big bucks, and some for me, too.”
“Well, what is it?”
“A ranch that’s been abandoned. Both the owners died and the cattle have not been worked in five years.”
“How many damn cattle?”
“They say lots.”
“Who says lots?”
“A neighboring rancher who knows cattle.”
“Who in the hell has it?”
“Some lawyer has it.”
“Why call me?”
“’Cause I know you like to make money.”
Cline paused. “Where you at, boy?”
“I ain’t a damn boy. Now listen, I’ve been over there killing damn krauts for near five years. I’m home now and I’m looking to get myself a ranch. Now, if you want in on it, fine. If you don’t, say so and I’ll make someone else a pile of money.” He bit his lip and waited, hardly breathing.
“Where can I call you back?”
Whew. A good first step. “I don’t have a phone.”
“Send me a letter with all the information.”
“Let’s talk, man to man. I’m not illiterate, but someone is going to find this deal, and you and I will both lose it.”
“I don’t buy blind horses unseen.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“I’m on the third floor of the City Bank building on Main Street. When can you get here?”
He had no intention of running down there. “Thirty minutes.” He knew damn good and well where that man’s office was located. The silence got on his nerves. Was the man changing his mind?
A rustling of papers, then his voice came back on the line. “I’m going to dig up some property maps. This better not be a damn hoax. I don’t have time to waste on bullshit.”
“I heard you. See you then.”
Cline hung up the phone.
He held onto the phone, staring out of the phone booth, then grinned and whooped. The operator came back. “May I assist you, sir?”
“No, ma’am. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. Three ladies waited in line to use it, all acting like they owned the danged thing. He barely slid out between the booth and a huffy woman.
He excused himself as she glared, pushed by him, and said under her breath, “Some people have no manners.”
He was so excited he really considered saying something smart-alecky to her, but he refrained.
Still coming off a high from his conversation, he went down the block to the Five and Dime soda fountain. When he walked in, the fragrance of ladies’ creams and new cloth slammed him backward in time. He had been in here as a little kid, buying two-for-a-penny candy when his old man got paid, and later with Francine, a girl in school who gave him the eye in class. He hadn’t thought of those days in years. It was good to be home, but he hadn’t really taken time to think about what life here would be like. That was all in the past and this was the present. Today he sidled up to a red stool, sat, and ordered an ice-cold chocolate malt. The thick drink came in a tall glass and the cute teenager set a metal mixer tube that had a lot more in it on the counter.
“Twenty cents.” She leaned on the counter and gazed at him, her long blonde hair swinging.
He gave her a quarter and told her to keep the change. She smiled with lipstick all over her mouth. “I ain’t seen you in here before.”
“I’ve been gone four or five years in the Army.”
“You got any medals?”
“Yeah, a whole shoebox full.”
“Wow. You really look like a soldier.”
Had he ever been that young? If so, he couldn’t quite recall it. He laughed. “In these clothes?”
“No, but you stand tall. What are you going to do next?”
“Go buy myself a ranch.”
“Where?”
“Bloody Basin.”
“I never heard of that place. What’s your name?”
“Mark Shaw.”
“Nice to meet you, Mark. My name is Carol. I get off at five.”
“Thanks. Maybe someday. Today I have to close a deal.”
“I’ve got a customer and have to run. But I work here all the time. Remember my name. It’s Carol.”
She walked away, hips swaying. How did women just know to do that? He’d never figured it out, but maybe they were born cute and flirty.
The straw in his malt made a sucking sound, interrupting his thoughts. He’d finished it without barely tasting a single swallow, only thinking of the pretty girl and his ranch. Right now, he didn’t need the one but had to have the other. Back out on the sidewalk in the too bright sun, wiping the sweat, he stared not at the streets of Lehi but into the past. In Europe, it would be cold by this time of year. Shaking away the memory of echoing gunshots that hovered just over his shoulder, he hurried down the block and a half and went into the bank lobby. He took the elevator to the top where it stopped like a drunken bus driver. He waited until the doors parted and then stepped off.
Why did banks always smell hollow?
The sign on the frosted glass said, Samuel Cline Enterprises, Salt River Land Company, Samuel Cline, President. Well, old Sam had been home making lots of money while he’d been off in the mud, getting bloody fighting krauts.
He recalled, years ago, Sam coming around like a big shot in his black Lincoln coupe and talking to his father about what he wanted done on the farm of his they lived on. He bet the old man never even knew his name in those days.
A woman sat typing at a desk, the clickety-clack of the keys the only sound in the room. She looked up. “May I help you, sir?” She had drawn-on eyebrows and a thin face.
“My name’s Mark Shaw. I have an appointment with Sam Cline.”
“Mister Cline is talking to a client currently. Have a seat. When he finishes, I’ll tell him you are here. There are magazines on the coffee table. It may be some time. This is a very important client.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
He looked at the clock on the wall. Two-ten. How long would the old bastard stall him? Since his discharge, he didn’t bother with clocks or watches. The sun was his timepiece and he felt secure enough doing that. By three o’clock, he’d read every dog-eared Life magazine and a chapter of a western short serial in the Saturday Evening Post. The cowboy was left afoot at the end of the chapter and his bucking horse ran off.
There were no later copies of the Saturday Evening Post there. He’d have to guess how the story ended.
The woman spoke into the silence. “Mister Cline will see you now. Please make your presentation short. He has another appointment in thirty minutes.”
&
nbsp; You just bet I’ll make my ‘presentation’ short. Short enough to show how busy he was. He shoved through the door, hustled across the large office toward a white-haired man behind a large shiny desk with files neatly stacked on one corner.
“Mister Shaw. How are you today?” Cline didn’t rise but shuffled at the files to show he was indeed an important man. He glanced up but offered no handshake. The chair he sat in squeaked. “Where do I know you from?”
“Officially, we’ve never met before. I’ve been away for over four years. I’m discharged now and heard about this ranch.”
“A veteran, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have a chair. I have a few minutes.”
Mark took the upholstered-in-leather chair facing the desk and leaned forward. “A rancher from the Verde Valley gave me a ride down from Flag a few weeks ago. His name is Rough Cravens. He said the old folks who owned this place both died in a short span of years. Must have been before the War. Help’s been short, and the place has sat vacant. Mavericks are running all over it and no one has had the labor to work it. He said lawyers have it and the heirs are in California and don’t want it.” He’d spouted all he could think of to tell the man, then paused, watched, and waited. Must’ve been enough.
Cline punched on his intercom. “Send Jim Burch in here with the land map he mentioned.”
There was a large, polished wooden table and big leather chairs around it like General Ike had in his office in France when Mark got his big medal. Two men entered and went directly to the table.
Cline ushered a very excited Mark there. “Jim, this is Mark Shaw. He’s looking at a deal up on the Verde.”
The man under the visor looked to be forty and wore thick glasses. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He didn’t look up but put the large maps on the table. They looked very official. “I found the Hancock Ranch on this one, sir.”
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