Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006)

by Youngblood, Carlton

  ‘Now why would I shoot your pa? He treated me—’

  ‘Yes,’ the young man interrupted, ‘he treated you as a guest in our camp and you paid him back by trying to kill him.’

  ‘What have we here, Sheriff,’ Hugh Hightower had ridden up unseen, stopping his horse slightly behind and to one side of where Buck stood.

  ‘This killer is about to get run out of town, Mr Hightower.’

  Buck, after glancing back at the horseman, returned his attention to Navarro. ‘Why do you think I was the one who shot your father? I rode out of your camp day before yesterday.’

  ‘You’re another of those cattlemen who don’t want sheep on the land, that’s why.’ He was no longer yelling, but his words came hard and fast. ‘First you or your men take shots at me and shoot into my flock, trying to scare me off. Now you’ve gone one step too far, trying to kill my father. But it won’t work. I have as much right to run my flocks on that land as anyone. You’ll have to shoot me too, to get rid of my sheep.’

  ‘What’s this about shooting into your flocks?’ the sheriff asked, his voice still loud enough to carry to the growing crowd of towns people. Election must be coming, Buck thought.

  ‘I was chased away by a bunch of cowboys a few days ago. When I got out of their range, the bastards started shooting my sheep.’

  ‘Because I was the next cowman you saw, you blamed me for that,’ Buck said disparagingly. ‘And now, because I was the last person in your camp you’re going to blame me for shooting your pa. Man, I don’t have any gang and if I did they certainly wouldn’t be the kind that’d bother your sheep.’

  ‘Hey, wait a minute.’ Buck looked up to see the bartender, Henry. ‘Didn’t you say last night that you had left your crew out where you’d found that herd of rustled stock?’

  The sheriff’s shotgun came up, pointing it at Buck.‘That’s all I need to hear, Mr Armstrong,’ he said, the sneer back in his voice, ‘we’ll just take your Colt. The judge’ll be riding in later this month and we’ll let him decide what to do with you.’

  ‘Nope, Sheriff,’ Buck said, stepping back and grabbing the bridle of Hightower’s horse and jerking its head around. Now behind the horse, he pulled his six-gun and aimed up at the rider. ‘Don’t think about taking part in this, cowboy,’ he warned. Calling out to the sheriff he shook his head. ‘OK, Sheriff, you’ve shown how brave and officious you can be and the town’s voters are impressed. But I’m not. Now point that short gun somewhere else.’

  Cursing, the portly badge-toter lowered the shotgun.

  ‘Sheriff, if I remember right,’ Buck continued, still holding the bridle, ‘you don’t have any jurisdiction outside of town. And as for this man’s pa, I don’t know anything about it, so it’s my word against his. Now, I’m going to go see just how bad the old man is, and I don’t recommend that you or any of your friends try to stop me.’

  Holstering his revolver, Buck released his hold on the bridle. ‘Now you listen to me, stranger,’ the lawman said, still holding his shotgun at his side. ‘You’re right. I can’t do much about what you did outside of town. But my recommendation to you is that you get your horse and ride out of our town. We don’t want your kind here. Ride out and don’t come back.’

  Buck saw that the round-faced sheriff had the backing of those people standing in the street behind him and nodded. ‘All right. I can’t fight the entire town. Navarro, I’m sorry about your pa and hope the doctor can help him. But I want you to know, I didn’t have anything to do with shooting him or your sheep.’

  Backing up, before turning to the stable, he nodded to the sheriff, ‘Good morning, Sheriff.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Buck hated to tell Matilda about his shooting the rustler and didn’t mention his planting the running iron in the man’s saddle-bag. But he had to explain how he came about finding the cattle and knew that if he didn’t talk about the gun battle, someone would. Hearing this news didn’t make the young ranch owner feel better and only seemed to add to her troubles. He understood when she explained that she’d had a visit from the banker, Harvey Blount.

  ‘He had the loan paper and I recognized Virgil’s signature. Buck, I don’t have the money and won’t until I can get a herd to the railhead. Hank says that won’t be for another month at least. The bank loan is due in just a few days. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

  Buck frowned. ‘We can get around that loan if you can get into town and send a telegraph. The professor will send you the money. I’ll have him take it out of my account. I can’t go back into town so you’ll have to do it.’ To explain why, he told her about Navarro’s charge that he’d shot the elder sheepherder and the sheriff’s banning him from town.

  They were sitting around the big kitchen table and didn’t hear anyone ride in. The first Matilda knew she had company was when someone pounded on the front door. Hurrying to answer, she quickly returned followed by Hugh Hightower.

  ‘I hurried out, Matilda,’ he said, glaring at Buck, ‘hoping I’d get here before he did. Stranger, get on your feet and ride out,’ he ordered, stepping closer and letting his hand fall on a gun butt.

  ‘Hugh! Stop that. This man is a guest in my home and I’ll be the one who decides who stays and who goes. Now, either behave like a gentleman or leave.’

  ‘Matty, this man’s a killer. He’s killed at least three men since coming into the valley. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have a hand in the rustling that’s been bothering you.’

  ‘Why would that matter to you, Hugh?’

  ‘This gunny is bad news and I want to protect you.’ He softened his tone. ‘Matty, I keep telling you that you need a strong man to help you during these hard times. Keeping trash grubline riders like this one away is what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Mr Hightower,’ Buck smiled and, pushing back his chair, stood. ‘I don’t know who you think you are, but calling a man names won’t get you anything but a bullet or a broken jaw.’

  ‘Stop it, both of you! I won’t have it. Now, Hugh Hightower, this man is my guest and was sent by a friend to help me. I trust him. On top of that, my name is Matilda Randle, not Matty.’

  ‘Friend of a friend or not, this man’s a killer. If you won’t listen then I can’t help you. But remember, I’ve always been your neighbor and am willing to give you all the help you need. I can help you with men or money. Yes,’ he said at her look, ‘Blount mentioned the bank loan that Virgil had made and I also heard about the IOUs that Hubbard is holding. If you don’t have the money, I can clear that up for you. All I want is to help you. This ranny won’t be here long and I will. Think about it.’ Jamming his hat back on his head, he stomped out of the kitchen and, slamming the front door behind him, stepped into the saddle. Jerking the reins around he galloped out of the yard.

  Buck wrote out a brief message to the professor and while Matilda rode into town to put it on the telegraph, he thought he’d ride out to tell Hank about the penned cattle. Saddling up his black horse and throwing the rig on Matilda’s dun, he was relaxing on the porch waiting for her when he spotted a small party of riders coming up the road. As they neared the ranch yard, Buck could make out that these were not cattlemen. Nearly all were wearing bibbed coveralls and straw hats, their heavy work boots were not suitable for stirrups. For that matter, all of the horses were of a big heavy strong breed better cut out for pulling a plow or wagon than wearing a saddle.

  Coming to a halt, they lined up facing the porch and sat silently staring at Buck. The big cowboy took his time, looking them over each in turn neither smiling nor giving any other indication of welcome. Buck didn’t have the typical viewpoint of most livestock ranchers; he treated them just as he would any rider, as neither friend nor foe until they proved themselves. This bunch, however, didn’t hide their feelings … they didn’t like Buck.

  ‘Why Mr Cooder, gentlemen,’ Matilda said, coming out of the house, pulling on a pair of thin leather riding gloves, ‘I didn’t hear you all ride in. Please, s
tep down and have a cup of coffee.’

  The men nodded to the woman and most even removed their hats. ‘Miz Randle, we thank you for the invite, but we’re not here on a social visit. There is a matter we wish to discuss with you.’ The speaker was the oldest of the group, his shoulders once broad and square had taken on the droop common to a man who had worked hard for too many years. His clothes, like most worn by the others, were clean although the knees of his pants were a shade or two lighter than the rest of the cloth. Blue eyes shaded by overgrown eyebrows were the brightest part of his weatherbrowned face. The man’s forehead was white and almost pasty looking from where his hat sat. Below that his sunbrowned lined face was marked by creases and age-wrinkles, some, Buck thought, deep enough to hide a buggy in. His hair was thinner on top and where it had once been mousy brown now had lots of white showing up.

  ‘Mr Cooder, please step down and tell me what brought you all out here today?’ Matilda smiled, her words showing real friendship.

  ‘Miz Randle, the problem is men like the one sitting there on your porch,’ the farmer said, making no attempt to soften his words and pointing at Buck. ‘For as long as we’ve been in the south valley, you ranchers have treated us fairly. Lately, however, things have changed. We can’t take much more of it.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mr Cooder. However I will say that Buck is here to help me, not cause my friends trouble. You are my friends, aren’t you?’

  ‘We thought so. Your father, unlike some, welcomed us to the valley and was always a good market for our wheat and oats. More than once he paid for a crop before it was even planted, just so we could afford to buy the seed. But that’s changed since he passed on. Now we have cattle being driven through our crops, our irrigation chutes at the river destroyed and salt blocks thrown in our ponds. The worst, though, was having our women afeared to come to town, afraid of being harassed by saddle tramps and other riffraff. We have complained to Sheriff Holt but all he can do is tell us there was nothing he could do. We are bringing the problem to you.’

  ‘What can I do? Why are you laying this at my door?’

  ‘Because it is your cattle we find in our fields in the morning. The cowboys who yell and make rude comments to our women may not be yours, but they certainly ain’t farmers.’

  ‘Mr Cooder,’ and anger clipped her words, ‘I guarantee you that none of my hands have run any of my beef onto your fields. And not one of my men is the kind to hassle any woman.’

  ‘Yes, I expected you to say that but it is just possible that this is happening without your knowing it. But it is happening. The cattle are from your ranch.’

  ‘I swear to you that none of this is coming from the Rocking C.’

  One of the other farmers, a younger version of Cooder, scoffed at her words. ‘We’d find it easier to believe if that killer wasn’t sitting so calmly and quietly on your front porch, ma’am,’ he said with disdain.

  ‘Young man,’ Buck said, standing, and looking eyeball to eyeball with the mounted man. ‘You’re coming awfully close to calling Mrs Randle a liar. And naming me a killer is dangerous talk, isn’t it? I mean if it is true.’

  The young man’s face paled and he carefully put both hands in view. ‘I’m only saying what we was told by the sheriff.’ His voice had lost all traces of bravado.

  ‘Miz Randle,’ Cooder went on as if the boy had not spoken, ‘we’ve said our piece. From now on we’ll be trying to protect our crops. Any of your cattle that come onto our land will be shot. When we need to go to the market, we’ll take our women into Brisby. Until we get some honest law in the valley, we’ll have to protect ourselves. That goes for your gunmen, too,’ he said, glaring in Buck’s direction. ‘C’mon men, we’ve said what we came to say.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Nothing was said between the widow and Buck as they rode out to the holding ground to find Hank. After telling the ranch foremen where to find the penned-up beeves he stood back and listened while Hank gave his boss an update on the round-up. Getting a herd to the railhead and waiting buyers, he said, would take another week. Far too long to make it possible for Matilda to meet the payment on the loan and satisfy Blount.

  Riding to town, Buck wondered if the ranch’s credit was sufficient to get an extension. ‘I doubt it,’ Matilda shook her head. ‘We’ve always made it a point to pay for things as we go along. Even when we needed to borrow, we’d go to the bank over in Brisby. The banker there is an old friend of Pa’s and he’d always done his business with him. That didn’t sit well with Mr Blount. I doubt he’d think it was in his best interest to extend the loan payment.’

  ‘Well, there’s enough in my account to cover this month’s payment and your herd should be delivered by the next due date.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be able to pay that note off, once the herd is sold. I still can’t believe Virgil would take out a loan without telling me. I really appreciate your advancing the money. Thank you.’

  ‘What do you plan to do about the gambler’s IOU? I doubt if that kind of debt is legal, if you just wanted to tell the gambler to forget it.’

  Matilda rode for a while without speaking. ‘I suppose I could turn my back on it, but what would that do to the ranch’s reputation? No, I guess I’ll have to make good on it. By the way, what are you going to do about the sheriff telling you not to come back into town?’

  ‘Oh, I guess I’ll just ignore it. That wire has to be sent and I think I’ll ask about having the state send a marshal over, a real lawman,’ he said with a bark of laughter. ‘Anyway, this big footed horse of mine has a shoe that needs replacing.’

  The telegraph office was in the hotel and while Buck sent his two messages Matilda sat at a table in the restaurant having a late lunch. Joining her, Buck ordered a cup of coffee and sat back to enjoy her company.

  ‘That should get delivered this afternoon or maybe tomorrow morning. Your note is due when – Friday? That’ll give us three or four more days. I’ll have to come back in early Friday morning and pick up the draft. Somehow I don’t think Banker Blount will like it much, but he’ll have to accept it.’

  ‘You’ll be repaid once the herd is sold,’ she smiled, and then looking over Buck’s shoulder let the smile fade. ‘Here comes Sheriff Holt, Buck.’

  ‘Well, you don’t care who you are seen with do you, Miz Randle?’ Holt said self-importantly as he came close to the seated couple. ‘Didn’t I tell you that you’re not welcome, cowboy? The good people here don’t want killers and backshooters dirtying up their town.’

  Buck finished taking a sip of coffee and then, placing the cup carefully in its saucer, looked up at the round-faced lawman. ‘Sheriff Holt,’ he said, his voice hard and loud enough for others to hear every word, ‘this is the only warning you’re likely to get. Call the wrong man a killer or a backshooter and you’re liable to have to eat the words. Now, if you can prove your statement, let’s have it. If not, be careful.’

  The man’s face blanched at Buck’s words, his small, beady eyes standing out in his soft-looking face. Before he could respond, Buck stood up, towering over the man, his eyes cold. ‘Can you back up your words, or not? If you can’t, you’d better be making tracks out of my sight before I get real mad.’

  Buck’s fierce look convinced the sheriff who quickly turned and all but ran for the door. Matilda laughed at the sight of the pompous man’s departure. The other customers in the place, smiling or not at the sheriff’s retreat, hastily turned back to their own business.

  ‘You have made an enemy, you know. Holt has been the town’s sheriff for a long time. I think it’s because nobody else will take the job. He may be ridiculous, but he is a proud man. Watch out for him, Buck.’

  ‘I guess I’m a little irritated that someone like him has any authority. His not bothering to look into your husband’s death should have the voters checking their hole card. One of the telegrams I sent was to the governor’s office asking for a marshal to be sent in. That may make our sheriff
even angrier.’

  Paying for the lunch and his coffee, Buck left Matilda who wanted to make some purchases at the general store. Untying the big black horse, he swung into the saddle and headed down the street to the stable and the blacksmith’s forge behind it. The smithy was hard at it, hammering with strong blows the red-hot end of a horseshoe against the massive anvil. Sweat poured off the man as he swung the hammer with a clang, flattening out the shoe. Not quite as tall as Buck, the black-haired smith was bigger in almost every way. His chest, only covered by a black leather vest, was broad and muscular. Arms the size of some men’s thighs flexed as he raised the five-pound hammer only to bring it back down with great force. Holding the shoe with a pair of tongs, he returned the metal to the fire as its color cooled from a cherry-red to a rosy gray.

  ‘Morning.’ Buck had paused until the hammeing stopped and the smith waited for the shoe to heat up. ‘Do you have time this afternoon to check the shoes on my horse? I think the right front is wearing a little thin.’

  The blacksmith looked up as Buck swung down. ‘Yeah, I can get to it soon as I replace the rim on that wagon tire there. Leave the nag tied to the fence and I’ll get to it.’

  ‘Well, I’d do that, but this old horse has a bad habit of biting anyone who gets too close. It’d probably be better if I hung around to make him mind his manners.’

  ‘Naw. Any horse tries to take a bite of me learns quickly how bad an idea that is. This hammer between his eyes’ll teach him who not to mess with.’

  ‘And then I’d have to teach you not to mess with my horse. That is if he let you get close enough to do him any harm.’

  ‘You’d teach me? Little man, the sun hasn’t come up on the day that’ll happen. Say, wait a minute. Ain’t you the fellow that shot that sheepherder? You hardcase cow nurses think you can do just anything you want, don’t you? Maybe it’s time for someone to teach you what’s what.’