Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01]

by Valley of Dreams

  She smiled and shook her head. “Say, that venison was the hit of the party.”

  “Nothing but the bones left.” Lucas stretched his arms above his head. “How come Miss Suzanne wasn’t here?” he asked, grinning at his brother.

  “Don’t know and didn’t ask.”

  “She went to visit an aunt somewhere.” Gretchen turned from sitting on a pillow in front of the fireplace and petting Benny.

  “How do you know all that goes on?” Lucas asked.

  “I listen. People forget that kids have ears too.”

  Lucas looked over at his mother. “How’d we get such a bright kid?”

  “Hmm?” She yawned. “Think I’ll go on to bed. Thanks again, all of you for all your help. Even the lanterns looked nice.” She half smiled at Ransom, dropped a kiss on Gretchen’s head, and left the room.

  Ransom looked at his brother, who stared back at him. Mor was always the last one to go to bed. Something was going on.

  CAMPSITE

  Cassie stared into the dying fire. Tomorrow was another day. Midmorning would be a good time to go. Let them finish breakfast first. Her stomach roiled again, sending a bad taste to her mouth. Please, Lord, help me get through this, whatever this is.

  27

  Cassie’s hands shook as she gathered her reins.

  Sleep had eluded her, and when it did finally come calling, it brought nightmares. Her stomach threatened to erupt at any time. Perhaps she was getting sick. She grasped the saddle horn and stuck her foot in the stirrup, only to miss and get a good jarring when it hit the ground. What a dismal way to start a morning.

  She could feel Chief watching her, the others as well. When she returned, she’d have to apologize for being so cranky. She leaned against the stirrup leathers and forced herself to take a deep breath. Swinging aboard, she followed Chief out the lane to the road and turned right.

  “This is road to Hill City.”

  Maybe they should go back, get the others, and drive on to Hill City. At least she might find a flatiron to use there so she wouldn’t have to wear a wrinkled shirt. She tried to watch the scenery, but every second her heart pounded harder.

  “How much farther?”

  “Not far.”

  They had gone down a hill and around a bend when Chief said, “That road up there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “You see in a minute.”

  As they drew closer, he pointed toward the hills on the skyline. Three huge rocks, nestled right next to each other, pointed toward the sky. The lane led straight toward them. Two silvered tree trunks held another across the lane, the ranch name, Bar E, carved into the horizontal log. I Engstrom was carved in smaller letters off to the right.

  “Ivar Engstrom was your father’s best friend.”

  “Best friend? Why would he take over my father’s valley, then?”

  “Don’t know whole story. Will learn it.” He turned his horse into the lane and rode up to the buildings. “You coming?”

  “Yes. No. Yes.”

  Wind Dancer snorted and pulled against the reins.

  My father’s valley, but someone is living here. His best friend. Her heart thundered. Her throat went dust dry. Did she dare ride up this lane? She could see bits of a log house through the trees. She loosened the reins and let Dancer catch up with Chief. They jogged up the lane, fenced on both sides. Narrow rocky ridges, studded with pine trees, came to matching points on either side of the road, as if once there were a natural gate there. Past those points, the valley opened up, leaving the three rocks marking the far end of the valley. No wonder her father dreamed of this place all those years. A log house nestled at the foot of a low hill with a barn and corrals ahead on the flat. Cattle grazed off to the left, and ahead, beyond the buildings, they could see fields that had been harvested.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Chief grunted.

  Cassie turned Wind Dancer up toward the house. At the hitching post she dismounted and, taking all of her courage in hand, along with ordering her stomach to behave, mounted the steps and knocked on the door. She waited. A dog growled at her from the edge of the porch. No sound from inside the house. She knocked again, harder this time. Maybe they were out back.

  When there was no answer, she turned back to Chief and shrugged.

  Not home. “What day is this?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Of course. They are at church. Reverend Brandenburg said they were faithful members and fine folk.”

  But did he know they had stolen her land?

  ARGUS

  “Order. Order! Let this meeting come to order.” Reverend Brandenburg rapped on the wooden podium in front of him.

  Amid shushings and whispered orders, the crowded room finally quieted.

  “Now, we’ve called this meeting, as you know, because some folks have had fences cut and cattle stolen. So let us bow our heads and pray. Heavenly Father, we thank you for this lovely fall day, for all the folks gathered here from both congregations, because this issue concerns us all. You know what is happening, for nothing happens that you don’t know. Today we ask for wisdom and clear thinking as we talk about what we need to do. Thank you for your presence here. Your Word says that where two or more are gathered in your name, you are in the midst. We thank you for your promises. In your Son’s holy name we pray. Amen.”

  When the folks settled again, he continued. “Today, our sheriff, Edgar McDougal, will chair this meeting. Sheriff?”

  Wearing his badge on his Sunday coat, the sheriff took the podium. He glanced across the now silent room. “I hate to be standing here like this with the news that we have to talk about. We’ve never had any rustlers here, at least none that we know of, and I’m sure sorry it has happened now. The interesting thing is that only a couple of head were taken from each of the three ranches. Had the fences been repaired again, it most likely wouldn’t have come to anyone’s attention until roundup next spring. I’m willing to bet the cattle thieves were counting on that.”

  “Call a spade a spade, Sheriff. They’re rustlers!”

  “Now, let’s not go getting all riled up. We know this must have occurred within the last three weeks. I know that’s pretty general, but most of us don’t check the fences every day unless the cows get out.”

  Nods of agreement answered him.

  “So my first question, and one I want you to think on, is this: Have you seen any strangers around here recently?”

  “That fancy wagon with the trick rider and the Indians.”

  “That was this week, and they are no more thieves than I am.” Brandenburg shook his head. “We mean weeks ago.”

  “We’ve checked with the freight trains in both Hill City and Rapid City, and no one has reported shipping any cattle lately. We gave them the list of brands and asked them to watch for those brands or any doctored brands.”

  “If they butchered them out, they could ship hanging halves, and we’d never know. Or sell them to meat markets or even to private customers.”

  “Thanks, Swen, we thought of that too, and the law officers are on the lookout.”

  “They could have driven them farther out,” someone else added.

  Ransom wished he had sat in the back so he could see who was talking. He glanced at his mother, who looked as perplexed as he felt.

  “What I am asking each of you to do, and I know this just adds to your chores of getting ready for winter, but could you please send someone out to check your fence lines.”

  Someone groaned from the back.

  “I know, but it would help to know if this is widespread. And keep a close watch. If you can, move your stock closer to the house at night.” More groans. “The sooner we catch these cattle thieves, the sooner we can all relax.”

  “When you catch ’em, string ’em up,” someone called out. “Make an example.” Someone else muttered an agreement.

  “When we catch them, they will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.” The sheriff s
tared down the man owning the voice of inciting viciousness. “We’ll have none of that here. Not in my region.”

  The man frowned and looked to the floor.

  “So, everyone, keep your eyes open. If your dog barks at night, check it out. Hear any strange noises, see if you can figure them out. You see or hear anything, let me know immediately. Anyone have anything else to add?” He scanned the room. “Then, Reverend, please close this meeting.”

  Brandenburg stood up. “Let’s all stand and say the Lord’s Prayer and then you are dismissed.” He waited and then closed his eyes. “Our Father which art in heaven . . .” On the amen, folks began moving around, greeting one another and talking in hushed tones.

  “You think Benny tried to warn us and we ignored him?” Gretchen asked her brothers.

  “If he did, we owe him a big bone for an apology.” Lucas turned and greeted Betsy Hudson, standing with her folks in the row behind them, waiting their turn to get in line to leave.

  “So your place was one of those hit?” Her smile would make one think she was inviting him for dessert.

  “Sad to say, yes.” He smiled back. “Did you have a good time last night?”

  “I most certainly did. We all did. That venison was delicious. You throw the best parties.”

  Plenty of people congratulated the Engstroms on their party the night before as they all made their way out the door. The consensus was a return engagement.

  “Did any of you catch the last name of those people who camped by the church?” Mavis asked on the way home.

  Both Lucas and Ransom shook their heads.

  “I looked at that wagon, but I don’t remember what the lettering said.”

  “All he remembers is how pretty the girl was.” Gretchen gave Lucas an elbow in the ribs. The two of them were sharing the bench behind the wagon seat.

  “I do hope the dinner isn’t all burnt up by now,” Mavis said. “We have a lot of cleanup to do, even though folks helped us with some of it. That’s the only thing I dislike, the cleaning up afterward.”

  “Getting ready runs a close second,” Ransom muttered to himself. When will I ever get back to making my beams?

  Monday morning. Maybe today he could get back up to the pine trees and cut off all the branches so the logs would be ready for the sawmill. Ransom was still amazed that Lucas had gone ahead and not only asked about the mill, but brought it home. Was his good deed a possible apology for the lecture Ransom had delivered? If only that would be true. It would sure ease both his and his mother’s minds.

  He poured himself a second cup of coffee and raised the pot to see if Lucas wanted a refill too. At his nod, Ransom brought the coffeepot back to the table and, after filling Lucas’s cup, set the pot on an empty plate on the table. He’d set a hot pot on that table years ago, and the burn ring still showed—one way to learn a permanent lesson.

  “What are you two planning today?” Mavis asked from the counter where she turned out the risen dough onto a floured board to be kneaded again. The thump and swish of her hands kneading the bread dough was the only sound until Lucas poured hot coffee into his saucer and slurped it.

  “I’d like to get back up the hill if Lucas will ride the fence line and then come and help me.”

  “You two all right?”

  They both shrugged. “Why?” Ransom asked.

  “Because you’re tiptoeing around each other like two tomcats meeting for the first time.”

  The brothers both shrugged, and Lucas smiled at his mother. “Don’t worry, Mor, all will be well.”

  “All I have to say is you better come to some kind of understanding. And soon.” She flipped the dough over and dusted more flour on it.

  Ransom gave a short nod and pushed his chair back. Setting his dishes in the dishpan, he checked both woodboxes and shook his head. Filling woodboxes was a never-ending job.

  “I’ll saddle the horses.” Lucas shrugged into his sheepskin coat. “Don’t count on us back for dinner.”

  “Hard to work on an empty stomach.”

  When Ransom finished hauling in the wood, she handed him a flour sack. “That should hold you.”

  “Thanks, Mor.”

  CAMPSITE

  Cassie dithered about when to leave. After breakfast? No, after dinner. She nursed a cup of coffee, trying to talk herself into going back to that ranch house. What more did Chief know that he wasn’t telling her, and why was he being secretive?

  It was midafternoon when Chief brought the saddled horses to the wagon. “You ready?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “Get it over with.”

  She nodded and mounted up. She’d smoothed some of the wrinkles from her shirt with a hot rock, but cold as it was, she needed her coat buttoned up anyway. Maybe out here a wrinkled shirt wasn’t so bad.

  The ride wasn’t nearly long enough. When they turned in under the tall sign, she brought Wind Dancer to a stop and stared at the valley and the hills surrounding it.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Chief grunted.

  Catching up with her guide, she tried to memorize all she could see. Today the cattle were on the other side of the lane. Some of them raised their heads and stared, as if not much caring for strangers.

  Cassie turned Wind Dancer up toward the house. She heard a horse’s hooves behind them and looked over her shoulder to see a young girl galloping her horse up the lane. She waited.

  “What a beautiful horse you have,” the girl called, bringing her horse to a stop a few feet away.

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you come to see my mother?”

  “Is your father here?”

  “No. He died a long time ago.” The girl pointed toward the house. “Go tie up your horses there. I need to put mine away, and then I’ll be right up. Ma must be home. There’s smoke from the chimney.”

  Cassie and Chief looked at each other, shrugged, and did as the girl said. A long porch covered more than half of the face of the house, which looked hunkered down, like it had grown up there with the rocks and trees. A stack of split wood took up a good portion of the wall to one side, while two rocking chairs waited on the other. They dismounted and flipped the reins over the rail.

  Cassie’s feet felt nailed to the ground. She looked at Chief, who was looking up the valley, where two riders were crossing the far field.

  Come on, feet, move. This can’t be any worse than entering an arena surrounded by spectators. She took one step and then another, keeping her feet going forward instead of turning and running back to Wind Dancer and riding at top speed out of this valley, whether she owned it or not. She felt in her pocket for the envelope with the deed in it. Still there.

  She mounted the two steps to the porch and half turned to leave, but Chief was right behind her. Trapped. Cassie swallowed and crossed to the door of wide pine boards. Her hand had to be commanded to knock, just as her feet had been to walk.

  Chief reached around her and rapped on the door with his knuckles.

  “Coming,” called a female voice. The door opened and a tall woman, her hair in a bun and her dress covered by a floured apron, smiled at them. “Come on in.” She stepped back and beckoned them in.

  But you don’t even know me. Don’t look so welcoming. Cassie nodded and stepped forward.

  “How can I help you?” The woman’s voice felt as warm as the heat from the rock fireplace across the room.

  “I . . . I am Cassie Lockwood.”

  Her eyes widened, and a smile creased her face. “Cassie Lockwood. Is your father Adam Lockwood?” Her voice softened.

  “Yes, he was—is—my father, but he died five years ago.”

  “So they are both gone.” She left staring at Cassie and looked to the man slightly behind her. “John Birdwing, is it really you?”

  Chief nodded. “Hello, Mrs. Engstrom.”

  “So I am no longer Mavis?”

  “That might be impolite. Is that your girl we met?”

  “I
f you nearly were run over by a girl on a galloping horse, that would be Gretchen.” Mavis reached out one hand to Chief and the other to Cassie, her smile as wide as the blue Dakota sky. “Welcome home.”

  Acknowledgments

  Whoever knew we would have something called Facebook as a getting-to-know-you place and also as a research tool. When I got stuck on something, like the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota, I posted my cry for help on Facebook, and those with great information and contacts got right back to me. I, of course, lost the list of names. I think the computer ate them, but here is my public expression of gratitude to all who helped me.

  Melinda and her family drove us through the Black Hills and shared the history of the area at the same time. What a fun way to do research—fun rock picking too. We found the valley for this series on that drive, all but the three rocks at the end of the valley. They were somewhere else, but for the story I moved them.

  As always, I ask people that I meet to tell me their family history. What great tales I hear and often use them in my books.

  My Round Robin writing buddies brainstormed in characters with me, quirky being the key word, and then helped with the research at the Cowboy Museum in Oklahoma City. What an incredible adventure that place was. The statue of a drooping Indian on his horse in a storm took my breath away. I’ve dreamed of a story for George for many years. We do love buffalo.

  I met Rebecca on Facebook. She’s written devotional books using her experiences with horses to illustrate spiritual truths. She has a mule named Wind Dancer and graciously allowed me to use his hame for Cassie’s partner in trick riding and shooting. Wind Dancer so fits the striking black and white pinto we saw on our travels.

  I work with the most incredible team at Bethany House Publishers, a division of Baker Publishing Group. So much of book publishing takes place behind the scenes—editorial, art, marketing, and all the rest. You give your all, and I can never thank you enough.