by Braun, Matt;
And then there was Trudy. Every night he lay awake thinking about his daughter, but thus far there were no answers, only tough questions. Her involvement with Roberto—and the boy’s hasty departure—was a constant reminder that he hadn’t a moment to spare. Though he was certain Angela suspected—or knew—the thought of discussing it with her made him acutely uncomfortable. As a result, they both pretended it hadn’t happened, and never once had the incident been mentioned. But he was aware it could happen again, perhaps with disastrous consequences; he realized now his daughter had the appetites of a woman, and no more regard for convention or temperance than he himself possessed. Before it was too late, he had to take whatever steps necessary to preclude another ... escapade ... which meant removing the temptation once and for all.
What he had in mind would have to be performed with discretion and craft, and no one, especially Trudy, must ever have a clue. Yet he hadn’t the faintest notion of where to start, or at least he hadn’t until this morning. Now, though he wasn’t fully committed to the idea, he was determined to explore the possibility of killing two birds with one stone.
Laird paused before a building, studying the neatly lettered sign on the ground-floor window. He’d thought to broach the idea tomorrow, but he saw the glow of a lamp inside, and it occurred to him that tonight might be better all the way round. It would be private, with no distractions, and he’d have an opportunity to test the man’s character before making a firm decision. He walked to the door and knocked.
Several moments later the latch clicked and Ernest Kruger opened the door. A fleeting look of puzzlement crossed his face, then his expression became flat and guarded. “Good evening, Mr. Laird.”
“Evening. I was out for a walk and happened to see your sign. Thought we might have a talk.”
“Actually, I think tomorrow would still be best, Mr. Laird.
As a matter of fact, I’m working late tonight trying to finish the Kelton documents.”
“It’s not Kelton I want to discuss. We’ve already agreed to terms, so that’s water under the bridge.”
“I see.” Kruger considered briefly, then nodded and stepped aside. “Come in.”
Laird moved through the doorway and followed him to an office in the rear of the building. Kruger offered him a chair, crossed behind a desk littered with papers, and took a seat. Though he was barely thirty, there was something impenetrable about the young lawyer. His composure was monumental, and he possessed a sort of personal insensitivity regarding other people’s opinion of him, either as a lawyer or a man. Only his eyes moved, alert and penetrating, and he studied Laird with a look of clinical appraisal. Finally, he folded his hands across his vest and settled back in his chair.
“Very well, Mr. Laird, how can I be of service?”
“First off,” Laird said shortly, “you can answer a question. Why’d you say all those things about me in court this morning?”
“I had a case to win”—Kruger shrugged, eyebrows raised —”besides which, they were true.”
“True! Have you ever set foot on Santa Guerra? Have you talked to any of my people and asked them whether I’ve set myself up as some sort of tin god?”
“No, I haven’t. But before we brought suit, I made it my business to investigate you and your ranch quite thoroughly.”
“Now, is that a fact? Suppose you tell me where you got your information ... Joe Starling ... that crowd of backbiters in Brownsville? Is that how you collect your dirt?”
“Mr. Laird, my sources are confidential.” Kruger opened a drawer, removed a sheaf of foolscap, and tossed it on the desk. “If you care to examine it, there’s a list of nearly all the vaqueros employed on your ranch. By a curious coincidence, the same family names appear over and over again. And unless I’m mistaken, those families are now into their third generation of service on Santa Guerra.”
“Aye, that they are, and I’m damn proud of it.”
“No doubt, but it nonetheless constitutes peonage. Oh, granted, you give them houses and every family a little plot to garden, but you pay them practically nothing, and we both know it. That’s precisely the way the feudal system operated during medieval times, Mr. Laird. So I wasn’t exaggerating this morning. You’re lord and master, and you operate Santa Guerra like it was a sovereign kingdom beyond any law but your own.”
“Who has a better right?” Laird demanded. “I took land nobody wanted and turned it into the biggest ranch in the state of Texas. Of course, now that the herds are built up and all my people sleep with their bellies full, every spoiler this side of Kingdom Come wants a piece of the pie. If they were so bloody set on becoming ranchers, where were they when I was fighting off Comanches and pouring a fortune into improvements? You’re a bright young fellow, so answer me that.”
“The difference,” Kruger observed neutrally, “is that you took part of the land. That’s no fine distinction, Mr. Laird. You took it rather than bought it. And anyone with valid claim is entitled to legal redress. Years ago, might made right, but that’s outdated now. Today, no man is above the law, not even Henry Laird.”
“Aye, and I’ve that little runt of a lawyer to thank for one grand headache.”
“Come now, Mr. Laird. Warren Pryor was as much a serf as any of your vaqueros. Unless I miss my guess, he simply did as he was told and tried not to get trampled in the process.”
“Judas Priest! You believe in drawing blood, don’t you?”
“No offense intended, merely a statement of fact.” Laird pulled in his neck and stared across the desk with a bulldog scowl. “How’d you like to work for me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re not deaf. I said, how’d you like to be my lawyer?”
Kruger pondered the question, then slowly shook his head. “Nothing personal, Mr. Laird, but I don’t believe it would work. You see, I don’t take orders from my clients, and I suspect that would put us at loggerheads from the very outset.”
“Suppose I gave you a free hand, no strings attached?”
“You know, of course, that I would insist on searching out every derecho holder and land claimant, and paying fair market value for their rights.”
“Aye, and you’d have a blank check to do your buying. I can afford it now, so we’d not squabble over money.”
“I wonder.” Kruger gave him a blank stare, finally dismissed it with a gesture. “No, really, I don’t think it would work. If nothing else, I’m opposed to your system of ... operation ... and that would always intrude on our business relationship.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Suppose you came out to Santa Guerra for a visit? Suppose you talked to my people and found out you’re not so almighty right as you think? Would that change your mind?”
There was a moment of calculation while Kruger studied him. The silence grew, stretched. Laird stared him straight in the eye, challenging him, and at last the lawyer nodded.
“Yes, I’ll agree to that. But only on the conditions you’ve just stated.”
“God’s teeth! Then it’s a deal. And let me tell you something, young fellow—you’re in for a helluva surprise!”
“I hope so, Mr. Laird. I genuinely hope so.”
Chapter 21
A swollen ball of orange dipped westward toward the horizon. Laird and Kruger reined to a halt some distance from the holding ground, and their escort fanned out to the rear. Without a word, Trudy rode ahead into the dusty, bawling melee of men and cows. She was lost from sight for a moment, then appeared at the branding fire where she was greeted by the vaqueros with good-natured shouts and a rapid exchange of insults. Kruger understood the gibes, and knew by now that it was her customary way of greeting everyone on the ranch. But he felt a sudden twinge of resentment at her easy, carefree manner with the vaqueros. She had studiously ignored him since his arrival at Santa Guerra.
Their day had begun with an inspecti
on of the compound. Kruger was impressed by the rows of clean, substantially built adobe houses, and even a bit startled by the rigidly enforced sanitation system. Laird explained that cholera had been eliminated on Santa Guerra, and bragged at some length on the low infant-mortality rate among his people. Yet it was Los Lerdenos themselves who dispelled any lingering doubt. Laird allowed him to wander freely throughout the compound, and Kruger was pleasantly surprised by his conversations with the people. He found them fiercely loyal to El Patron, and voluble in their praise of all that had been done to provide the good life for them and their families. Despite himself, he had to admit that their condition was better than that of other Mexicans. It went against all his preconceived notions, especially those regarding peonage, but there was no denying that Laird’s people lived very well indeed.
Operation of the ranch itself was equally revealing. The vaqueros worked from dawn till dusk, with an enthusiasm and spirit that belied all Kruger’s suspicions. Like spurred centaurs, they herded Laird’s cows as though Santa Guerra were their own hacienda, and it was obvious even to an outsider that they took immense pride in their work. By late afternoon, when he’d seen several herds gathered for spring branding, Kruger was slowly forced to the conclusion that he had misjudged both the man and the vitality of his people. It was a kingdom and Laird ruled it according to his own standards, but there was no hint of peonage or servitude. Los Lerdenos looked upon themselves as part of Laird’s family, and while the word of El Patron was law, no one was under obligation of any sort. The people remained on Santa Guerra because they considered it their home.
Kruger’s greatest surprise by far, however, was Trudy Laird. She was unlike any girl he’d ever seen, and not at all what he had expected. People in Brownsville and Corpus Christi spoke of Angela Laird as a grand lady, and he’d thought to find a daughter of the same mold. Instead he found a young hellion with tawny hair and smokey eyes who looked through him as though he weren’t there. She was polite but distant, utterly immune to even the slightest compliment, and he was fascinated.
Several times during the day Laird had caught him sneaking peeks at the girl, and now he tried to concentrate his attention on the branding. It was difficult, for Trudy seemed to be everywhere he looked, but he kept his expression bland and directed his remarks to Santa Guerra.
“Very impressive, Mr. Laird. Of course I know little or nothing about the cow business, but if you’ll overlook the pun, you run a tight ship.”
Laird smiled, pleased by the choice of words. “Aye, it’s taken a while, but we’ve got ourselves a profitable operation. Matter of fact, I sent close to thirty thousand head up the trail this year.”
“Evidently you have faith that the economy has recovered.”
“Not a matter of faith. My banker in New Orleans keeps me advised, and I’m satisfied the financial panic’s run its course. People back East want beef, and if I’m any judge, the market will be higher than ever this season.”
“That’s curious—about New Orleans, I mean. I’m surprised you haven’t opened your own bank.”
“Bank! By the Saints, why would I do a thing like that?”
“Well, for one thing, it appears you have a heavy influx of cash every fall. And I suspect the return on your money would be greater by extending loans in Brownsville than it is by merely drawing interest in New Orleans.”
“I’ve no wish to be a moneylender. Besides, as you’ve just pointed out, the logical place would be Brownsville, and I’ll not lift a finger to help those ingrates.”
“Yes, of course.”
Kruger nodded, smiling to himself, and Laird gave him a narrow look. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking of something I heard in Brownsville.”
“Don’t be bashful, I’ve a thick skin.”
“Well, people there apparently feel you drive a hard bargain when it comes to business. They’re fond of saying that beggars throw down their crutches and flee at the sight of Hank Laird.”
“Bloody fools!” Laird chewed at his lower lip, thoughtful. “Maybe I’m hard but there’s none that’ll say I’m unfair. You’ve seen that here today, or if you haven’t, then you’re blind as a bat.”
Kruger understood he’d been asked a question. “It’s tempting, but I can’t truthfully say I’ve made up my mind as yet.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“I’m the type of person who looks before he leaps, Mr. Laird. Let’s just say that certain situations require a longer look than others.”
“I’ve nothing to hide, so look all you please. But I’ll expect your answer before you leave in the morning.”
Kruger’s reply was cut short. A commotion erupted near the branding fire, and Trudy’s voice rose to a pitched yell. “Sangre de Cristo! Gently, you butchers. Gently!”
Several vaqueros were struggling with a yearling bull that had somehow escaped last fall’s roundup. Although the bull was thrown and tied, four men fought to hold him still while a fifth tried to castrate him with a small knife. Trudy was hopping about, shouting instructions, urging the knife-wielder to take care with his blade. At last, with dope smeared on his scrotum, the new steer was released and Trudy clapped her hands as the vaquero displayed a bloody pair of testicles.
All eyes, Kruger sat motionless, his jaw popped open. Laird watched him a moment, wondering if perhaps he hadn’t seen too much, and quickly signaled Trudy with his hat. She swung aboard her horse, hurling a final insult at the vaqueros, and rode toward them.
“If you’ll allow me to say so—” Kruger paused, cleared his throat, “—your daughter seems a most remarkable girl, Mr. Laird.”
“Aye, there’s not another like her. Got more grit than most men could handle, and that’s a fact.”
Kruger merely nodded, his gaze fastened on the girl. Her face was radiant, glistening with sweat and excitement, and as she joined them Laird turned his horse into the falling dusk. Their escort fell in behind and they rode toward the compound.
Angela laid out an elegant table that evening. Her husband seldom invited guests to Santa Guerra, and Kruger’s presence at dinner was a festive occasion. Her family silver and the crystal were arranged on a lace tablecloth, and Cook had been ordered to prepare roasted squab with honeyed wild rice. Oddly, Laird made no comment on the arrangements. Any other time he would have scoffed, remarking on his wife’s grand airs, but tonight he was uncharacteristically quiet, almost an observer.
Under soft candlelight Angela appeared somehow younger. She was vivacious and animated, utterly charming in her role of hostess. And she was very inquisitive. Sipping wine, her eyes warm and guileless, she directed her conversation almost exclusively to Kruger.
“Oh yes, Ernest,” she said in wistful remembrance, “I knew your mother and father quite well. Of course, I was much younger then and, sad to say, we lost track of one another over the years.”
“You do yourself an injustice, Mrs. Laird. My parents spoke of you often, and their recollections were always with great fondness.”
“Imagine that! Of course in a way it was quite natural. You see, when my father brought us to Texas there were so few people of breeding and culture. I suppose we were attracted by mutual interests, exiles in a foreign land, you might say.”
Kruger smiled. “I recall Mother expressing those exact sentiments. She never quite resigned herself to Texas—or Texans, for that matter. Even at the end, when she lay dying, she hadn’t forgiven my father for dying first and leaving her behind.”
“How sad. But then, she must have been very proud of everything your father accomplished. And I’m sure her last days were brightened knowing you would follow in his footsteps.”
“Not really. I’m afraid I saw too much of politics when I was a youngster, and it’s never interested me. You see, even a county judge has to strike a balance between compromise and princip
le. I prefer to be my own man.”
“Mercy sakes!” Angela laughed, quite spontaneously, and wagged her head. “Now you sound like Henry. He’s forever grumbling about the state of affairs in Austin.”
“And with reason,” Laird informed her. “They’re a pack of rascals! The only reason one of ‘em would die a saint is if he hadn’t been offered the right price.”
“Times do change,” Kruger noted. “Perhaps with the scalawags gone and a new governor in office, we’ll see less corruption in government.”
“Aye, and perhaps we won’t. Coke’s a good man, but it’s still too early to tell.”
Kruger glanced across the table at Trudy. “What about you, Miss Laird? Do you think we can expect reforms now that there’s been a housecleaning in Austin?”
Trudy had merely listened throughout the meal, picking at her food. Now her face remained expressionless, her eyes impersonal. “I try not to think about it, but I agree with my father. Politicians aren’t worth the powder it’d take to blow them to ... Hades.”
“God’s blood!” Laird rumbled. “Mind your tongue, young lady. We’ll not have a guest leave our house thinking we’ve no manners.”
“No, it’s quite all right, Mr. Laird. I not only share the thought, but I endorse the verdict as well.”
“Well now, we’re of a mind.” Laird made an expansive gesture, grinning. “You’ll oblige me, though, and pardon her manner. She’s blessed with her mother’s looks, but the Good Lord slipped up somewhere. As you can see, she’s got my temper.”
Angela fixed her husband with a curious look. Never before had she heard him excuse Trudy’s behavior, not even to her. He felt her gaze and their eyes met for an instant. Something unspoken passed between them, almost as though he were reading her mind, then his chin moved in an imperceptible nod. She quickly collected herself and turned to Kruger.
