Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006)

by Youngblood, Carlton

  ‘They tied you up and then beat you? And then took you out into the sand blow without your hat or water?’ Jose was sitting up now, asking his questions with unbelieving bluntness. ‘Why would they do that? They are one of the old families here in the basin. All you people have always stuck together. Why would they turn against you like that?’

  ‘I can only guess what Hightower is thinking, but his reason for the beating and leaving me to die out there is probably because his son, Hughie, was shot by a group of farmers. You can’t put all the cattle ranchers and horse breeders together and say they are all alike. No more than anyone can lump all the farmers or the sheepherders together.’

  Juan laughed softly. ‘I’ve tried to tell him that but he would not believe. Now,’ he went on, turning to his son, ‘with the evidence in front of you, maybe you will open your eyes and your mind and begin to see.’

  ‘Hey, this is the young man who saved my life. Don’t be too hard on him,’ Buck smiled, only to wince as his lips cracked.

  ‘Ah, you need more salve. I have been putting a lot of special salve on your bruises and cuts. It is a mixture that makes things heal quicker. Your face and hands were very sunburnt but this salve takes that away very fast.’

  Smelling his hands, Buck frowned. ‘It smells like something I can’t quite identify. Familiar but somehow strange smelling.’

  His words brought more laughter from the old sheepherder. ‘Yes, to you it would be a different smell. The salve is made with the oil from the sheep’s wool. So you will smell like a sheepherder for a while,’ he laughed.

  Jose didn’t join in but continued to stare into the fire with a serious look on his face. ‘Tell me,’ he finally asked, looking across at Buck, ‘if you what you say is true, that the horse rancher Hightower beat you up and left you to die out in the blow, and he was behind the damage to the framer’s crops, then it might be that he was the one who shot my father. Does that make sense to you?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t make sense, but, yes, it’s likely he is behind all those things.’

  ‘Then my father is right. I have not been treating you as I should. I offer my apologies and welcome you to our home.’ A bare smile crossed his face with his stiff and stilted words.

  ‘So, my friend,’ the old man smiled, ‘there is at least one goodness to come from your pain: my son learns a lesson.’

  For the next four or five days Buck Armstrong rested and, feasting on the delicious meals that Jose cooked in the big pot, regained his strength. Each day as he and the old sheepherder sat by the fire, drinking coffee or, more often, cup after cup of strong black tea, they discussed a variety of topics. All the time Buck worked at flexing his hands and, during the last day or so, his legs and back. Slowly the pain faded and, by the end of a week in the sheep camp, was mostly just a bad memory. Only the recollection of thirst still disturbed his sleep.

  Each day, Jose walked the flock out in a different direction from the camp. Once, before starting the morning fire, he hitched up the wagon and with Buck and his father sitting inside and the big black horse tied to the tail gate, moved the camp a few miles.

  At the end of the fifth day, after yet another delicious stew of mutton, potatoes and strange smelling spices, Buck told the herders that he’d be riding out early the next morning.

  ‘Yes, I have been watching as you prepared yourself. Still you must take care. Although your face has a good start to heal, it could frighten any innocent young person,’ Juan joked. This time even Jose joined in with a chuckle. ‘Seriously though, you must take care. The men who did this to you will not take kindly having you turn up again.’

  Buck’s smile lost its humor and became hard. ‘I’m counting on that. My showing up ready to collect on the debt will be my little surprise.’

  The sun was barely up when he saddled the black and swung up. Once again thanking the Basque herders for their hospitality, he gigged his horse into a brisk walk and headed to the Rocking C ranch house.

  ‘Let’s see what kind of welcome the good Widow Randle will have for us, old boy.’ As usual the black horse didn’t react to the soft spoken words.

  CHAPTER 26

  ‘Buck!’ she hollered, catching sight of him riding into the ranch yard a few hours later. Running to him, she threw her arms around him as he climbed out of the saddle. ‘They said you were dead.’ She blushed, dropping her arms and looking his face over. ‘What happened to you? Are you OK?’ The questions came fast and furious as, taking his arm she pulled him up to the porch.

  ‘Hugh came over once a week or so ago, and said he’d heard your horse had been found out near the big sand blow. He thought you’d probably thought you could ride across and ran into trouble.’

  Laughing at her excitement, he nodded. ‘Well, part of that is true. I was out in that sandy piece of hell and I did run into trouble. As far as finding my horse? No. Jose Navarro found it. Jose found me, too, and saved my life.’

  ‘Tell me all about it.’

  Sitting in the rocking chairs, he told her what had happened. How Hugh and his son had beat him up and left him out in the desert and how the Navarros had helped him back to health. He didn’t mention the pain and suffering, thinking to spare her.

  ‘Buck, I’ve been out there and I’ve seen what happens when someone dies out there. I know what a full day in that sun would do. You’re darn lucky to be alive.’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t just go away without saying a word to you, now could I?’ he smiled. ‘Anyway, I don’t think your friend should get away with making me lose my best hat. Which reminds me, I think I’ll ride on into town and take care of that little business.’

  ‘When Hugh came out, he was riding with Mr Blount, the banker. It appears that the bank, which is Blount,’ she said disgustedly, ‘has decided that the loan has to be paid in full right now. The reason he gave was that you had become a part of the picture and, as a suspected killer and stage robber, the bank couldn’t allow the loan to continue.’

  ‘Now that doesn’t surprise me. How long did they give you?’

  ‘Oh, I simply stood up, walked right up to that self-righteous fool and him to suck eggs. According to Hugh, the big bad killer was gone so there was no cause for him to call in the loan. He huffed and blustered a little but finally turned his buggy around and left. I had to laugh, which didn’t please Hugh very much. He warned me again that I didn’t know what I was doing, that I needed a strong man to help me run the ranch. I couldn’t help it, I laughed at that too. He cursed and rode out. I felt sorry for his horse, he jabbed his spurs into the poor beast’s sides pretty hard.’

  Buck laughed. ‘Well, I guess we’ll just have to stick a spoke in Mr Hightower’s wagon. I don’t think he’ll expect me to show up. Now, what’s the chance of this poor old grubline rider getting a bite to eat?’

  ‘Oh, you poor old man. You are in luck today. Both Cookie and Freddie have gone out to the holding ground with the chuck wagon. Hank and the hands are starting the drive in the morning. That means for the next couple of weeks any cooking done here will come out of my kitchen.’

  Laughing, he followed her through the house and out into the sun-filled kitchen. ‘As long as there’s no mutton in the pot, I’ll be happy. That’s about all the Navarros fed me. Pot after pot of one kind of mutton stew after another. I think that’s about all they eat.’

  ‘Well, you’re not in a sheep camp now. This is cattle country so you’ll get a nice big steak.’

  It was hard to leave the ranch a couple of hours later. Maybe, he thought as he tightened the cinches and, with a wave, rode out, there’s been too much lying around lately. ‘You don’t think we’re getting lazy, do you?’ he asked. Patting the thick neck he warned, ‘That means you, too, you know. Don’t think that hanging around a sheep camp doing nothing for a few days is going to become a habit. No, I expect we’ll have to run a little of that sluggishness out of your system.’ Getting no response, he nodded. ‘Maybe later.’

  The afternoon sun wa
s starting to lose its heat but Buck nonetheless felt the heat. That feeling might be more of a memory of his days and nights in sweltering temperatures out in the desert, but he still found himself reining the black toward the shady side of the road when possible. Just like his almost unquenchable thirst, it just wouldn’t go away. When he thought about his recent experience, however, he felt a great joy just to be here today, riding quietly through the countryside. Stopping on the bridge and looking down at the river, he looked around to make sure nobody was coming up behind him. Then, remembering the trout pool, he leaned over and looked down. There, just behind those rocks, he saw the gentle back swirl. A perfect safe place for a wise old trout to lurk. Possibly, if he was still on his feet once this was over, he’d dig up a few earthworms and see how smart that wily trout really was.

  Coming into town he knew his first stop would be the general store. A man couldn’t go without a hat. Dropping the reins across the hitch post in front of the false-fronted store, Buck held the door for a matronly woman carrying a cloth sack of groceries, and walked in. Standing just inside the door for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the gloom, he saw a tall, thin man behind the counter. Nodding, Buck asked about hats. Wordlessly the clerk pointed toward the back. Walking toward the back of the store, past the canned food section and tables piled high with men’s pants and shirts, he spotted his goal. At the very back of the store, on shelves built against the back wall, were stacks of hats. Mostly Stetsons and mostly black, although some were a soft gray, but all with wide brims that would protect the wearer from any type of weather. Conscious of being watched by the clerk, he slowly went through the piles until he found one he thought he might like. It was a flat-topped black felt hat and when he gently set it on his head was pleased as it seemed to be a comfortable fit.

  ‘I think this one will do just fine,’ he said bringing his choice to the counter and reaching into a pocket for cash.

  ‘Just got those unpacked this morning. The price for that one’ – he said looking at the little tag tied to the thin brown leather hatband – ‘is twelve dollars.’

  Out on the boardwalk, Buck stopped and adjusted his new Stetson, all the while looking up and down the street. The hitching rail in front of the saloon was full with half-a-dozen horses standing hipshot and asleep. Strolling down the street he inspected the rumps and saw that all but one carried the H Bar H brand. Well, as someone had said, that wasn’t surprising; the Hightowers sold a lot of good horses in this area. It is just possible that he’d be lucky and find both Hugh and Frank Hightower inside having a drink.

  Buck stopped before pushing through the swinging doors and looked the place over. The long mahogany bar lined the left side of the long room with shelves of bottled goods against the wall. Tables, each with a scattering of chairs around them filled the rest of the space. The bartender, dirty white apron and round derby hat letting everyone know he was a professional, stood at the far end of the bar slowly drying a glass as he listened to one of the men on the other side of the barrier. Four or five men lined the bar on that side. Most of them, from their clothing, were townsfolk, only a couple wore typical range outfits of denim pants, high-heeled boots and gunbelts. One of the cowboys, the one doing the talking, was Frank Hightower.

  Dusk had started darkening the sky while he was in the store buying his hat and the light was about the same as the smoky inside of the saloon. There was no need to let his eyes adjust so he placed both hands on the double doors and shoved. The noise of the doors swinging open caused the bartender to look up. More interested in whatever Frank was telling them, Buck only got a glance before the barkeep’s attention shifted back to the speaker.

  Settling his gunbelt comfortably on his hips, Armstrong took the few steps to the mahogany and leaned one elbow on the bar. ‘Is that load of bull so entertaining that a man can’t get a drink in here?’ he asked loudly. Frank’s voice stopped and the bartender jumped and started down to the new customer.

  ‘By Gawd, you can just wait for your drink until I’m through talking, stranger.’ Frank was drunk. Standing squarely he faced down the bar toward Buck.

  ‘Stranger? Why Frank Hightower, I’m no stranger to you,’ Buck challenged, causing Frank to take a closer look. Surprised, he paled and then yelled, ‘Damn you. You’re dead!’

  CHAPTER 27

  ‘Well, not yet. I’m a very lively man looking for a coupla skunks, and you call me a stranger. Don’t you remember holding me under the guns of you and your pa, tying me up and then beating me unconscious? I’m that stranger you and your pa then tied to my horse and took out into the sand blow and left with no water. Even taking my horse. Why, I had to come into town today just to replace the hat you didn’t let me keep out there. Is that the tall tale you’re telling these good people?’

  ‘Don’t think you can make any such claims. Not here. I’ll have you know this is my town. You’re nothing but a killer. It’s because of you my little brother was shot. Damn you. You’re nothing.’ Frank’s angry ranting made his face flush. Taking a step or two closer, he didn’t notice the men who had been standing around him move away, out of the line of fire. The bartender had stopped and when Buck glanced his way, carefully placed both hands flat on the bar in front of him.

  Frank’s breath came in great gulps as he tried to speak over his rage. ‘My pa is the head honcho of this basin. Once he gets control of that damn Randle woman’s range he and I will be the power that everyone will have to deal with. And you think any of these people care about your little trip into the desert? They’d better only care about keeping the Hightowers happy. Damn.’ He swung a fist against the bar in frustration, ‘This wouldn’t have happened if that stupid brother of mine had done what Pa told him and killed you before you even got here. Oh, you’re lucky, I’ll give you that. Pa had no trouble finding those rustlers. All he had to do is point out where they’d find a few bunches of cattle nobody was close to. Their greed took over from there until you butted in. We set up a stage robbery and who says you didn’t do it? That dinky little snot Paul. He didn’t even know enough to keep his mouth shut.’ Without knowing it, with each statement he took a step or two closer and banged his fist on the wood.

  ‘Yeah, you’re lucky. Why you didn’t die in the desert, I don’t know. I tried to tell Pa that I should just go ahead and put you out of your misery, but oh, no, he wouldn’t listen to me, would he? No. He had to get cute and run you out into the desert. So here you are, about to lose out after all. You can’t stop us. How can you? We own this town. Don’t you know the sheriff is ours? Hell, we even own the bank. You don’t think that old fool Blount is smart enough for that, do you? Right now Pa is out at the widow’s ranch, getting her to sign that place over. That’s when things’ll really happen. When we take over this valley, fools like you won’t last an hour.’

  Smiling through the man’s haranguing, Buck reached up and carefully removed his new hat. Placing it squarely on the bar by his elbow, he turned to face the blustering horse breeder. Thumbing the thong from the hammer of his Colt, he chuckled.

  ‘Frank, I think I’m going to give you a chance. Tell you what, we’ll both unbuckle our gunbelts and go at it with our fists and boots. You’ll lose, but I’m looking forward to paying you back for what you did while I was strung up. That’s the only way someone like you can win a fight, having the other guy helpless. Well, come on, I’m not helpless now. Let’s see what kind of man you really are.’ He used one hand to slap the bar top and let the other drop causally to the butt of his .44.

  ‘Damn you,’ Frank swore, reaching for his Peacemaker. Those watching said later that Buck waited until Frank’s gun cleared leather before pulling his own six-gun but nobody really saw his Colt Dragoon come up. One instant the pistol was in its holster and the next it was out and flame was shooting from the gun. Three shots were fired, Frank got his off first, but he’d been eager. His lead dug a hole in the floor as Buck’s two shots, so close together they sounded like one, punched holes in Frank
’s chest, slamming his body back and against the bar. Dead on his feet, he slowly collapsed to end up sitting with his back against the bar. For a time nobody moved.

  Watching the men, Buck waited to see how it would go. Finally, one man exhaled. ‘Jesus. Did you hear all that? Damn.’

  Nobody was looking at Buck, all were staring down at the dead man. Slowly, one at a time they glanced up at Buck and then at each other. The silence that covered the saloon like a blanket was broken when the doors were smashed open and Sheriff Holt came running in waving his double-barreled shotgun.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ he bellowed, slightly out of breath from his run down the street. Sliding to a stop when he saw Frank’s body, he looked quickly up at Buck. Before he could raise the shotgun, Buck’s Colt was pressed against the lawman’s plump stomach. ‘You! I might have known you’d be here, shooting up the place. Boy, you did it this time. That’s one of the local rancher’s sons you’ve killed this time. And before witnesses, too.’

  ‘No, Sheriff. Those days are over. Frank was kind enough to explain just what he and his father, and you, were up to. Now, slowly hand that scattergun over to one of those men.’ Startled, Holt did as he was told. The shopkeeper who reached out to take the shotgun didn’t hesitate and looked the sheriff right in the eye.

  ‘I’d say your time of wearing the badge is about over, Holt,’ Buck shook his head. ‘My advice is for you to leave that star on the bar and go find yourself a fast horse. I’m on my way down to the bank and after that I’ll be riding out to the Rocking C. Don’t be here when I come back through.’

  Looking from face to face, the chubby man let his shoulders droop. Unpinning his badge from his shirt he dropped it on to the bar and without another word, walked out dejectedly. Again nobody commented and the silence grew.