Back at the end of February, eight bred heifers had been stolen from a pasture not far from the ranch buildings. The heifers would have started calving two weeks after the theft, so in effect, that was sixteen head of cattle gone, amounting to several thousand dollars on the hoof. The story had made the front page of the Medicine Creek Clarion. Folks in town had speculated about it for weeks afterward. But then the sheriff had found no leads on the culprits. The talk had died down. Zach hadn’t mentioned anything about the theft in a while.
Tim said, “Well, we don’t know that it’s rustlers, ma’am. Zach just wants that detective to have a look.”
Tess thanked the old man just as Jobeth called, “Mom, Mom, look!” She reined in the gelding. He stopped smooth and easy.
Tess waved. “Real good, honey. He’s coming along just fine.” She thanked the old man and went back inside.
Tess watched for Zach’s return. He was gone about two hours. She managed to catch him alone for a moment just before dinnertime. “I saw you leave in the sheriffs car. Tim said there was some problem out by the Crazyman Draw.”
Zach shook his head. “It’s just tire tracks. And a bad feeling. Don’t worry about it. The detective says he’ll write a report—and dig up the pictures of the tracks from the incident in February for comparison.”
“Did the tracks look the same?”
“I thought so.”
“Oh, Zach...”
“It’s probably nothing.” The words didn’t match the disquiet in his eyes.
The next day was Saturday. At breakfast, Zach said he thought both Jobeth and her new horse were ready for a little ride around the horse pasture. It was near noon when the big event occurred, so Tess came out to watch, thinking she’d call them in for lunch once Jobeth and Callabash had trotted around a while.
Jobeth rode out smiling, her head high. Callabash looked pretty proud of himself, prancing a little, but not too much. And Jobeth seemed to have him under control.
But then, about halfway to the far fence, something spooked the gelding. He rose up, letting out a neigh of fright and pawed the air. Tess’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest. But Jobeth kept her seat as the horse’s hooves hit the ground.
Tess almost allowed herself to breathe. Then the horse reared once more, tossing his head. Jobeth slid backward, twisting as she fell. The horse raced away, leaving the child in a small heap on the hard ground.
Chapter Seven
Zach was already halfway there when Tess jumped the fence and started running, too. Tim followed close behind. Tess could hear the old man’s heavy footfalls, though all her mind and heart were focused on the little lump that lay so still and defenseless on the ground.
And then the little lump moved. Tess heard a groan. Jobeth sat up. She blinked and looked around.
Zach reached her. He knelt beside her.
When Tess got to them, Jobeth was cradling her left arm, her dirt-streaked face way too pale. Her eyes locked with her mother’s—and she immediately began defending her horse. “It’s not Callabash’s fault, Mom. There was a snake. I swear, there was a snake.” She turned her wide, anxious eyes on Zach, who was already searching the rough pasture ground.
Zach rose, took a few steps, then knelt again. “Here it is.” He held up a brown-spotted snake with six neat little rattle buttons at the end of its tail. The head had been crushed, no doubt by Callabash’s heavy hooves.
A prairie rattler, Tess though. Not as deadly as a diamondback, or as the sidewinders that basked in the Arizona and New Mexico deserts—but deadly enough to make a child very sick at the least. Tess dropped to her haunches beside her daughter. “Honey, did it bite you?”
Jobeth gazed back at her mother in stark fear—but not for herself. “It didn’t get me, I swear. But we’ve got to check Callabash, see if he—”
Tim Cally spoke from behind Tess. “I’ll see to the horse.” He started off across the pasture to the far corner, where the gelding had backed himself up near the fence and now regarded them all with a look of edgy disdain.
Zach dropped the snake and knelt beside Tess. Tess glanced over at him, all at once aware of him, of the steady grace of his lean body, of the inner calm that seemed to radiate from him. At that moment, she felt like glass, like something that shouldn’t move too fast, or she might shatter into a thousand pointed, ugly shards. Gently she smoothed her daughter’s hair. “What’s the matter with your arm, honey?”
Jobeth held the arm closer, wincing as she did it. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” The pain in her eyes gave the lie to her brave words.
Zach stood. “We’ll have to take her in. Might as well go right to Buffalo. They’ve got an X-ray machine at the hospital there.”
Jobeth whimpered. “No. It’s not broke. It can’t be broke.”
Zach looked down at her, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re gonna live, Jo. And you’ll be riding again, as soon as that arm heals.”
She stared up at him in open yearning, willing his words to be true. “You promise me?”
He looked at Tess, deferring to a mother’s authority. Tess realized they both feared she’d change her mind about Callabash. Some part of her longed to do just that, to make sure that she’d never again have to live through a moment like the one when Callabash had reared up for the second time and she’d seen her only child go bouncing off toward the ground.
But she would live through such moments again, especially with a daughter like Jobeth, who would take a lot of physical risks in the process of making herself into a bona fide cowhand.
“Of course you’ll ride again,” Tess said.
Jobeth wanted more reassurance than that. “But soon,” she cried. “Will I ride again soon?”
Tess felt a flare of irritation. Jobeth needed a doctor. It was no time to negotiate the question of when she would be allowed to get back on a horse. “I’ll tell you this. You won’t ride ever if you don’t get that arm taken care of.”
Jobeth let go of her injury and grabbed her mother by the shoulder. “Say you won’t take Callabash away from me.”
Tess met her daughter’s eyes, amazed at the fierceness she saw there. Jobeth had always been such an easygoing child, a child who took things as they came. Tess had thought that her daughter’s composure was simply Jobeth’s nature. But maybe more than nature, it had been resignation. Jobeth had known she’d never have the things she really wanted, so what was there to get all fired up about?
Now, she was fired up but good. “Mom. Please. Just say it. Just promise you me you won’t take Callabash away.”
Tess realized she’d get nowhere fighting her daughter’s new fire. She tried a more soothing tone. “All right. I understand that this accident wasn’t your fault, or the fault of your horse. You can ride him again, as soon as your arm is okay—as long as you take care of him, and as long as you can handle him.” And as long as Zach and I stay married, she couldn’t help thinking. Shoving the ugly thought away, she smiled at Jobeth. “I promise you.”
Jobeth let out a long, relieved breath. And then she gave in and allowed herself to consider her injury. Her brows drew together in a grimace of pain. “I guess it kind of does hurt. A lot.” But then she thought of Callabash again. She turned, looking for Tim. “Tim!” she yelled, when she spotted him, with the gelding, over by the fence. “Is he—?”
Tim made a high sign. “He’s okay! Don’t you worry none!”
“Come on,” Zach said. “Let’s get that arm immobilized.”
Zach improvised a splint with a piece of board, some newspaper and some strips of cloth, then Tess made a sling using a dish towel. They piled into the Suburban and started off, Zach driving, Tess cradling Jobeth against her side in the seat behind. Long before they reached the hospital, the shock of the accident had completely worn off and poor Jobeth was in considerable pain. But she tried to be brave, huddling against Tess, doing her best not to cry.
At the hospital, the X ray revealed a closed fracture
of Jobeth’s left arm, midway between her elbow and her wrist. The doctor set the bone, put on a lightweight plastic cast, gave Tess a prescription for pain medication and said Jobeth could go home.
Even woozy from the anesthetic she’d been given when her arm was set, Jobeth had her eyes on the prize. “When will I be better?” she demanded of the doctor. “I mean, better enough to ride a horse?”
The doctor, a gray-haired woman whom Tess had never met before, looked at Jobeth over the tops of the half-glasses she wore. “Barring complications, the cast should come off in about six weeks. Please stay off all four-legged creatures until that time.”
Jobeth threw her head back and let out a frustrated moan. “Six weeks! That’s forever....”
The doctor chuckled. “Come back in four. I’ll take a look at it, and we’ll see, though I’m not promising anything.”
Jobeth remained far from pleased. “Four weeks is like a month.”
“Yes, it is,” the doctor agreed. “Four weeks is very much like a month.”
“I can’t stay off Callabash for a month.”
“Jo.” Zach, watching from the corner, spoke quietly. Jobeth looked at him. He shook his head. She said no more.
Seney’s Rexall was open till five-thirty on Saturdays. They made it just in time to fill Jobeth’s prescription. On the way home, Jobeth stretched out in back. Tess took the wheel and Zach sat in the front seat with her.
Halfway there, Zach whispered, “She’s asleep.”
Tess glanced over her shoulder to see her daughter slumped in the seat, dead to the world. Zach caught her eye as she turned to face the road again.
“She’s a helluva kid.”
“Yeah. She is.”
“Aren’t you glad we took care of the insurance?”
She nodded. Having health insurance did ease her mind. During her marriage to Josh, she’d lived in a kind of numb dread of some major illness or injury.
But those days were over now, she told herself firmly.
Outside, the sun still hovered above the mountains, though the shadows had begun to claim the coulees and draws. Here and there in the rolling sea of grass and sage. Tess could pick out the shyly drooping heads of yellow bells and the white, starlike blossoms of sand lilies. Oh, yes. Spring had truly arrived at last.
And Tess felt really good. Jobeth would be fine in a matter of weeks. And Zach had been so wonderful, right there with them through the whole ordeal. Tess had always known he would be a man she could count on. But never had she seen that so clearly as today.
In the great room that night after Jobeth had been tucked into bed, Tess sat reading her favorite book on high-yield gardening techniques. She heard Zach come in and listened to his footsteps moving toward the stairs—and then turning her way. He entered the great room, carrying a load of wood, the way he’d done the night he asked for Tess’s answer on the matter of the horse.
Zach tossed the wood into the wood box, put some in the fire and then rose and came to stand over her shoulder.
“Today, it was a real spring day.” He spoke in a warm tone that had her smiling blindly down at her open book. “Did you notice?”
She kept her gaze on her book, though if anyone had asked, she couldn’t for the life of her have said what she was looking at. “Yes. I noticed. I saw wildflowers in the pastures while we were driving home.”
“But tonight...” He let his words trail off.
Tess sent a quick, questioning glance back at him.
And he finished his thought. “Tonight, we’re getting another last taste of winter.”
As if to punctuate his statement, the wind outside rose up and rattled the windowpanes. Tess spared a moment’s concern for her garden, hoping it wouldn’t get too cold, and wondering if the precautions she’d taken would be enough to protect the tender plants from the biting force of the wind.
“Hmm,” Zach said. “Pixie. Early Girl. Beefsteak. Rushmore. Whoever would have guessed there were so many different names for a tomato?”
She realized he was reading over her shoulder and shut the book, shooting him another quick look as she did it. “How about a beer?” The suggestion came to her lips so naturally, she was glad she had made it—even though the minute the words were out, she felt certain he’d decline.
But a miracle happened. He shrugged. “Sounds good.”
She almost blurted out, “Honestly?” in frank surprise, but managed to compose herself in time to keep her mouth shut. She stood. “I’ll just get it, then.”
Instead of waiting for her, he followed after.
They ended up sitting at the kitchen table, a couple of longnecks in front of them, talking at first about Jobeth and what a little trouper she was, and then later about the mysterious tire tracks Zach had seen on Rising Sun land.
He said, “The sheriffs office left a message on the answering machine while we were gone.”
“What did they say?”
“The tire tracks from the Crazyman Draw match the ones from February.”
“Oh, no.” -
“Yeah.” He fiddled with the label on his bottle of beer. “I’ve seen tire tracks before, more than once, in the past few months.”
“Did you report them?”
“No. Each time I would tell myself it was nothing.” He’d peeled the label loose at the corner. Now he smoothed it back in place over the sweating bottle. “We’ve got a few mining companies who have legal access. And other local ranchers are always free to come and go across Rising Sun land. I told myself it was something like that. I guess I wanted to believe that what happened in February was an isolated incident. But I’ve been suspicious for a while now.”
“Because cattle have turned up missing?”
He looked up from fiddling with the bottle and met her eyes. “You have to know how it is. With twelve hundred head of cattle, there’s no way I can remember them all. But they do get familiar. I close my eyes, I can see them. Individual animals. For example, I remember a big red cow, mostly Hereford, with one white foreleg and a speckled udder. And a certain black-baldy with a bad attitude and a half sliced-off ear. I haven’t seen either of them in months now.” He let out a weary breath. “And I remember which pasture we put them in. And I know they aren’t in those pastures anymore. But that’s about all I’ll ever know, unless they turn up in another pasture—or we find a carcass somewhere. This is not like those heifers we lost back in February, a clearly identifiable group of animals, in a certain place for a certain reason. Most times, when they disappear, it’s like a murder with no corpse. Just a few pitiful little clues. Like where did that black-baldy with the cut-off ear go and what are those pickup and trailer tracks doing out in the Crazyman Draw?”
She asked, “Has the sheriff found out anything at all about those heifers?”
He shook his head. “Come on, Tess. Those heifers have been on somebody’s table by now. And the calves are born and branded, part of some other man’s herd. It’s not like the old days, when a rustler had to try to doctor a brand right out on the open range. Not like when a brand had to pass muster in a local stockyard—a place where the brand inspector knew all the brands. Now, sometimes they butcher them right out in the pasture, and load up that beef in the trunk of a car.”
Tess had heard such stories. Still, the thought appalled her. “You think that’s what’s happening on the Rising Sun?”
He waved a hand. “This is smoother. This is modern-day rustling at its smartest. It’s somebody who knows the routines around here. Knows where we’ll be and when we’ll be there. Somebody with a good pickup and a stock trailer—and a stock dog to get the cattle loaded up with a minimum of effort. They’re taking under ten head at a clip. And except for those heifers back in February, which they probably just couldn’t resist, they’re taking stock out of the biggest pastures, where we’re keeping lots of animals. Once they get on the road, they’re riding the freeways out of state. And unless we catch them red-handed, we’ll never know for sure who the h
ell they are or how they’re getting away with it.”
She repeated his words. ‘“Somebody who knows the routines around here...”’
Zach nodded. “More than likely, it’s one of our own.”
Tess thought of Beau and Lolly and Tim. Of Angie, who’d seemed so dependable. Could it really be one of them? “But wouldn’t you know, if it was one of the hands? I mean, they’d have to have an opportunity, wouldn’t they? They’d have to be gone for a while, to do the job.”
He shook his head. “You know how it is. We’re not always all at the same place at the same time. And anyway, whoever it is, he’s probably only on the lookout. He makes a phone call, that’s all. And someone else actually does the job.”
“Back in February, the sheriff came out and talked to all the hands, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. They interviewed everyone here at the Rising Sun—and everyone working the nearby ranches. They came up with zip.”
“But maybe now that you’ve found tracks to match the ones from February, the sheriff will send someone out to do some more interviewing. Maybe this time they’ll find out something that slipped by them back in February.”
“Tess. This time, I’ve got no real proof of anything. It’s tire tracks and a bad feeling and that’s about all.”
“Well, why else would those tracks be there, except that more cattle were stolen?”
“Good question. But I still wouldn’t expect a lot of action from the sheriff’s office. They need more to go on, and that’s a plain fact.” He sounded tired and discouraged. Tess wanted to reach out and put her hand over his, in a gesture of support and reassurance. But she stopped herself. It seemed a big step, a touch like that.
And they were doing so well. Why court rejection?
She kept her hands to herself and reasoned, “Still, the brands would have to be inspected before the cattle could be sold, wouldn’t they?”
He took a pull off the beer. “Sure, though it’s a real good possibility they’re taking them somewhere and butchering them right off. But say they did sell them on the hoof. It’s a damn sight easier to get away with an altered brand if you took the cow in Wyoming and you’re selling her off in Chicago.” He set the beer down and looked at it as if he couldn’t figure out how the label had gotten peeled halfway off. “I heard somewhere that there are over 57,000 brands registered today—in the state of Montana alone, I think it was. Multiply that by all the beef-producing states. They keep track of them by computer. They do what they can, but it’s just not enough.”
Practically Married Page 8
