Mark studied the problem. “What do you think, Jim?”
“Let’s stop here on these bluffs and have something to eat. We can look at our map and maybe see off down there to a better way.”
After dismounting to munch on cold bacon and tortillas, Jim consulted his map. “Looks like, if we head over there through that cut, we can make it without much trouble. Unless there’s been any landslides.”
Snow continued to fall, but so far, the wind had laid off, and it wasn’t piling up into drifts. That could soon block trails. Mark rose from his perch on a rock and leaned over the edge. “Yonder looks like an animal trail if we can work our way to it. We need to get down from here before this snow gets any worse.”
Both Jim and Jones took a look and agreed they could lead the animals through the narrow cut and hit the trail that looked passable. It would be the easiest crossing since deer and elk often made such trails. The going was fine once they coaxed the nervous mounts around a fall of rocks nearly blocking the way. By the time they walked the animals through the dangerous pass and down the steep incline it was getting late, but they had reached the Verde.
Again, the three men had a meeting of minds. Mark usually gave in to Jim and Jones since they knew more about these mountains and rivers than he did. But if he didn’t like something, he’d sure speak up. Alma kept silent most of the time when it came to discussions about keeping to the trail.
Mark didn’t like that the only crossing they had was to ford the river. Best to always cross a river before making camp for the night. Never knew if a storm would hit upriver overnight, causing the waters to rise and make a more difficult if not impossible crossing the next morning.
Even though he was nervous about the crossing, he urged the long-legged bay into the water, bailing off halfway to swim beside the animal. He waded out, then returned the same way. It looked pretty hard for the pack animals and he sure didn’t want to lose them and their packs.
He beckoned to Jones. “It’d be best if you, Jim, and I hand-lead each of the horses, then bring her across. I don’t want to lose a horse or anyone to this river.”
Jones nodded his agreement, as did Jim. They helped Mark with the back and forth crossings. It was hard going, but they finally made it. Tying the pack horses to some saplings, he went back for Alma, even though she had insisted she could do it alone. That was just like her, but he couldn’t chance it. Once he led her horse up the bank to join Jones and the four pack horses, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Everyone was shivering with the cold. It was getting dark and Alma sat up against a big rock hugging herself.
“Come on, let’s gather some wood and build a big fire. We can dry our clothes, get warm, and see our surroundings.”
Jones eyed Mark and, always the jokester, let him have it. “Now, I’d say there’s a great idea. Don’t have a notion why I didn’t think of it.”
“Maybe your thinker froze.” Alma never could resist razzing Jones. Their banter could be counted on to raise everyone’s spirits.
“Taint all that froze, little gal.” Jones simply couldn’t let her get the last word.
They all went to work at what they each did best and soon had a big fire built to dry themselves and their clothing. Alma pulled some hot coals away from the huge flames, cooked their supper, and made a pot of coffee.
It was late when Alma took the hot beans and tortillas off the fire. Mark stirred his spoon around in his plate. Much as he liked beans, he’d be glad when they had something else to eat.
Worst thing was, they would have to make a crossing of the Verde again, for the river curled back around and would be waiting the next afternoon. He could only hope it would be an easier crossing. Once they made it, they would be close to the ranch. That was all he could think about.
—
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, THEY CROSSED back to the western bank of the curling river without any trouble. It was all he could do to keep from spurring his horse ahead to see what was truly—at least partly—his. He owned it in a way he’d never owned anything. He would run the ranch, see to the animals, the hands, the fencing and building. His excitement could hardly be matched. Eagerly, he rode out ahead, leaving Jim and Jones to see to the packhorses and Alma. He couldn’t help it. He could wait no longer. Him, a cotton-picker from the fields. He now owned a place of his own. A real honest-to-God ranch.
And here it was. He swung off the bay and walked around, taking in the abandoned surroundings. There wasn’t much sign of life, since the place hadn’t been used by humans in years. Most all the fencing was down. They had crossed some a ways back. It made him sad to see the barbed wire stomped into the earth, pulled loose from posts, with more posts laying on the ground. What trails they’d found had been made by cattle or game. Nothing much to see yet. But there were buildings. He’d seen them from the air.
The rest of the crew rode up to where he had stopped to search for signs of life. He mounted, and they rode on in search of the ranch headquarters.
At sundown, the exhausted group finally found ranch headquarters and reined up. Mark’s heart thumped under his rib cage like a large Indian drum. It looked like a real fine place to him, but he’d spent his youth in cotton picker shacks, so he might not be a good judge.
“It is gorgeous.” Alma jumped down and threw her arms out.
Well, she wasn’t much of a good judge either, seeing as how she’d lived. Still, the low set log home did not look as deteriorated as it had from the air. Jones called his attention to some shod horse tracks, a real surprise in the dirt.
“How long ago?”
“A week, maybe?”
“Probably someone checking on their own cattle.”
Jones agreed, but not without a frown. Jim wandered about, checking on a bunkhouse that wasn’t too dilapidated, considering no one had taken care of it for a long time. There was considerable work waiting for them.
They unloaded. The house had been closed, but pack rats had ruined the couch. One room had a bad roof leak, but the rest looked like someone left one day and never came back. Alma lit some candles they brought to see and cook by and they took the lantern to do some searching.
Inside the shop, under two inches of dust, they found a 1940 International pickup with only 7000 miles on it. Of course, the tires had rotted but with new rubber hoses, a fan belt, a battery, and tires, it should drive like a new one. Not bad, as hard as good vehicles were to get in these days of war-caused shortages. The ’37 Buick also looked recoverable and had low mileage on the speedometer. After the Hancock couple died, the rest must have left the ranch, taking only their own things.
He followed Jones out of the shop and saw Alma must have recovered a kerosene lamp, ’cause the light in the house was much brighter than her candles were from before. It was getting real dark and hard to see, but he wanted to check yet another shed and did have the lantern. Where Jim had got to, he had no idea, but he was a grown man and wise in most ways.
In a shed in even worse shape, Mark was thrilled to find a once new Ford-Ferguson tractor in the same shape as the vehicles. Plows and other equipment were in there to farm with, including a three-point hookup to a mowing machine.
“I’d bet he had a patch of alfalfa he irrigated down here,” he told Jones.
Jones nodded.
The tack room built on one side had six saddles. A little dried out but the room must have been rat proof. None had been gnawed on. Some fancy bridles marked the wall as well, though one was missing.
Mark rubbed a hand on the wall where it once hung. “There’s no dirt on the space where the head stall once rested. These others are fitted with silver gal leg bits. Looks like they were made so the sides of the bit looked like some woman’s bare leg. Kinda risqué looking, but these are expensive items. No doubt someone’s taken off with one.”
“They got that bridle recently, too.” Jones said.
“I bet it shows up soon.”
They walked back to the house to find Jim w
as there, helping Alma, who had built a cook fire in the fireplace.
“That bridle shows up, it’ll be on some guy’s horse’s head.” Jones chuckled.
Alma looked up from the skillet sizzling with bacon. “What’s so funny?”
Mark went to hug her. “We’ve had a thief take a valuable bridle off the rack up here recently.”
She frowned. “They sure came a long way to get one then.”
He agreed. “We have a car, a truck, and a tractor. Need some work, but they should run.”
Jones shook his head in despair. “You hear him say needs some work? This whole damn place needs lots of work.”
“You would not be happy if you could not grumble about hard work. I think it is easy to find that here,” Alma said. “But it will be a nice place when we get it fixed.”
“How old will we be then?”
“I don’t care,” Mark broke up their repartee. “We own part of this place. In the morning, we start shooting film for Sam.”
He liked the place. The fact that it had no road in or out didn’t bother him in the least. It was his ranch, until it was straightened out. But if Sam did right by him, he’d have a stake to do something with when this place was sold.
Snow had passed them by come morning. Mark directing and Jones with the camera, they took pictures of everything—the parked vehicles, the bunkhouse, another pack rat den, the tractor. The list went on and on. Then the sagebrush-crowded field that Hancock once had in alfalfa with its diversion gate where he turned water in on it upstream. Mark patched the roof on the house and Jones took some pictures of cattle.
Mark was getting off the roof with a tar bucket he found to help seal the holes when Jones returned. Plenty of tools were in the shop to fix anything. Jim had gathered some up and hammering echoed from the bunkhouse.
“Looks like he’s set to fix him a place to bunk. You ask him to stay yet?”
“Nope. He must’ve slept out there last night. Wonder how he stayed warm. Leave him be. We’ll know soon enough, and he is working.”
“I caught some pictures of cows and calves, but we must have a thousand bulls on this place—and not one of them is branded.” Jones carried the camera real careful—like it was a crystal glass.
Mark gave him a wolfish grin. “That’s what’s going to pay for the ranch.”
“How will we fix these rundown corrals?”
“We need those boys that you’re going to hire to cut us poles on the mountain. You can snake them down on horseback.”
“I’d damn sure rather pull them. They can cut them down.”
“That’s what I said, too. Give her the camera and let’s check the pens out. We need to get back to Lehi. Sam’ll be worried about us.”
They walked over and seriously inspected the corrals. Some gates were gone, but the iron that hung them was still useable.
“We’ll have to fix it before we start working cattle.”
Jones agreed. “I better hire them boys.”
“Yes.” Mark sighed. More delays would stall his efforts to get on rounding up cattle. “I’m going to the house to make a list of things we’ll need.”
“I saw some signs, I think from a bear. I want to check it.”
“Take the .30-.30.”
The Indian shook his head. “No. I want to see how fresh they are.”
“Up to you. Alma’ll have lunch ready for us soon. Wouldn’t do to let that bear eat you for dinner.”
“That won’t happen. I won’t miss it.” Jones waved at him and set out.
Mark reached the house and took a chair at the table. His notebook was open where he had written in several things to discuss with Sam.
“You found enough wrong to hire an army?” She laughed.
“We may need one—”
The crack of a pistol shot broke the serenity of the ranch, followed by someone yelling. Mark had the Winchester in his hands and ran out the back door. The shots and shouts came from west of the corrals where Jones had gone.
It was a voice he didn’t recognize. “Get your ass out of here, you blanket ass Indian. You ain’t squatting on this ranch—”
What the hell?
Mark located the demanding voice and stepped from behind a shed to see someone on horseback pointing a pistol at Jones.
The intruder shook the gun at Jones. “Gawdamn you! You ain’t listening.”
Mark aimed the rifle at the man. “I am. Now drop that gun or you’re dead.”
The armed rider turned and sagged in the saddle. Looking sullen, he lowered the pistol and dropped it to the ground. The decision saved his life, because Mark’s trigger finger was at the pressure point on.
He edged closer, keeping the rifle on the newcomer. The man was about his age, tall and thin. “Who in the hell are you?”
“Gipson. Clay Gipson. And just who the hell are you?”
“Me and this Indian own this ranch. Where do you get off shooting at us?”
“I—I thought the Hancock family estate still owned it.”
“Not anymore. Gipson, you came within an inch of dying just a second ago. Who gave you your authority to decide who can be here?”
“My family owns the next ranch over. I didn’t aim to allow some gypsy Indians come and squat on this place. We plan to buy it when the estate’s sold.”
“You can’t buy this ranch. It’s not for sale. We own it. You aren’t a deputy for this county, are you?”
“No.”
“Then you were taking the law in your own hands?” He caught the flash of the bridle on the intruder’s horse. “Did that bridle come from this tack room?”
“No, why?”
Mark nodded toward the horse. “I’m missing a bridle just like that from the inventory. Did you help yourself to one of those bridles?”
“No.” The man looked around, nervous-like.
Mark gestured to Jones. “Go find him a bridle. I’m taking that one back. It matches ours, doesn’t it?”
“Same bridle bit,” Jones said, looking it over.
“Listen, there might be a mistake here,” Gipson said.
“I think we know that. Jones, find him an old bridle to get home. Gipson, we’re taking over this ranch. You’re barred from coming here again, for any reason. Leave that gun on the ground—and if you ever threaten a member of this ranch again I’ll come find you. I’ve spent the last four years killing Germans. One more dead bastard won’t bother me none.”
Jones came back and refitted the horse in an old bridle. He took Gipson by the collar. “Next time you shout at me, I’ll jam a sock down your throat.”
Gipson never answered him. He swung on his horse and charged away. Mark picked up the Colt pistol, then turned back to Jones. “We better hide those bridles before we leave—or take them with us.”
“I could have killed him.” Jones shook his head, casting a scowl at the retreating man’s back. “He was damn sure about to start a new Indian war in Arizona.”
“I don’t blame you. We better go eat lunch.”
Jones stared after the dust trail. “He ain’t wasting any time getting out of here.” The sounds of his hard-pressed retreat echoed over the mountains.
“I wonder if this pistol was stolen from the house, too?” He stuck it in his waistband. “We are going to have to watch ourselves out here.”
“What was the shooting about?” Alma asked when they hurried inside.
“We met our neighbor.”
“Who was shooting?”
Mark gestured toward Jones with a grin. “He didn’t like Indians moving in here and squatting on this ranch.”
“Huh?” She blinked in disbelief at him.
A wide-eyed Jim hustled through the door. “I was off down in a pasture when I heard the shooting. What happened?”
Mark told him while they sat down for lunch. He then asked, “You fixing up the bunkhouse?”
A spoonful of beans on the way to his mouth, Jim answered. “Hope it’s okay. You said you were hiring
men and I’d like to work for you up here if you don’t mind. I don’t get much work guiding folks around. Maybe someday, when tourists pick up again.”
“Be fine with me. It’s fifty and found. Like the others.”
“Fine. I’ll stay. Tell me something to do.”
“Get that bunkhouse in shape while we’re gone back down, unless you need to go back to Lehi for something.”
“Nope, can’t think of a thing.” He put the beans in his mouth.
Mark turned back to the earlier conversation. He hugged Alma’s shoulder. “Well, good thing that feller didn’t see my pretty Injun. He’d a wanted to steal her away.” He loved to tease her, and she liked it mostly. “He had also stolen one of the bridles. We got it back. Said he lives next door.”
Jones laughed. “He nearly joined the dead Germans, too.”
After lunch, Jones went out about his own business and left them alone. Jim went with him.
“Will he be any threat to me when you two are gone?”
He rocked her in his arms, standing in the main room. “No, he won’t come back. Besides, Jim is staying. He wants to work for us. He’ll be down at the bunk house if you need him.”
She squeezed him. “I am so glad you brought me up here. I love this place. Lots of work but it is so nice. Only the magpies and blue jays to scold me.”
He agreed with her, still wondering about Gipson. The worthless spoiled boy could be dangerous and backstabbing.
He held her close, sniffing the sweet wild smell of her hair. She fit so closely, tucked under his arm. How lucky could he be? He had a loving woman and a ranch. Two things he dreamed so hard about having after his discharge. He could hardly believe it had happened.
Reluctant to leave her, he kissed her on the nose and joined Jones working on the far corral to make it useable. They used some good rails from another one to fix a larger one. When they came back, they’d need them to hold more horses than they would hold at that minute. He dreaded going back to town, leaving this peaceful place, but he’d told Sam he would go with him to close the deal. They had more decisions to make, too. Hire two more cowboys, get some things packed in—lots to do.
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