by Nathan Jones
He hoped this wasn't the time when things didn't go his way, forcing Bob to send them word of his death. Although ideally, if these squatters did decide to shoot at him he hoped they aimed for his chest and his flak jacket was enough to block the shots.
Just out of shouting distance Skyler raised his fingers to his lips and whistled loud enough to wake the dead. Through the trees he spotted men in the camp scrambling to their feet from around a fire, popping out of tents, and spinning this way and that to figure out where the whistle had come from.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ho, the camp!”
Well, they didn't immediately reach for their guns. That was something.
“Something you need?” one of the squatters with a Hispanic look called in a heavy accent. After meeting the Ruiz family and so many other decent, hardworking Mexican refugees, Skyler was ashamed that his first impression immediately jumped to Sangue deserter. Especially since he'd often been viewed with unwarranted suspicion himself in his travels.
But there was a world of difference between a farmer or homesteader and the roughly dressed, mean looking drifter in front of him. Hard experience had taught him to hope for the best in people but be ready for the worst.
Other squatters were trickling through the trees to get a better look at him, for the moment more curious than hostile. Skyler decided to get talking before that changed. “Just coming round to say hello!” he called back. “I'm from the ranch just downstream.”
One of the squatters abruptly cursed, and Skyler recognized one of the men who'd hassled Adalia, Tram. The man obviously recognized him as well. “This is the little pissant that drew on us yesterday!” he snarled. The men with him rumbled dangerously, and a few reached for their weapons.
Skyler didn't lift his rifle, although he shifted his grip to be ready to as he spoke more calmly than he felt. “I'd think twice about that, gentlemen. I've got three people with rifles trained on you, waiting for you to make trouble.”
That made them pause, at least for a few seconds. Then a big ugly SOB emerged from the trees and spat off to one side. “You think your buddies can save you if we decide to put you in the ground?”
The squatter reminded him of Rich Bradshaw, which was another mark against him. Skyler smiled, or at least showed his teeth. “Probably not. They can take out the first of you to shoot at me, though, then get to work on the rest.” He lifted his hands from his AK-47, holding them out harmlessly. “Seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble when I've just come to talk.”
The oldest of the bandits, around fifty, had remained in camp long enough to mount up on a mare far finer than the other animals. Now he rode out and reined in his horse beside his ugly friend, barking derisive laughter in response to Skyler's statement. “You heard him, boys. We're not the sort to shoot the messenger, are we?”
As the old man finished speaking he shot Skyler a smile that raised his hackles. There was something strangely familiar about him. His voice, his features, and the way he held himself. He was tall, well built for a man his age, hair shot through with silver that left only a few streaks of red so dark it was almost brown. His few wrinkles didn't diminish rugged features most women would likely find handsome, even at his ag-
Recognition hit Skyler like a thunderbolt, at the memory of a woman who had found this man handsome, in spite of all his deficiencies in morals and personality: his own mother, half a lifetime ago during that disastrous journey to Newpost. With the man who'd led their convoy.
Simon Randall.
What was he doing here, after all this time? Was it a coincidence?
If so, the years couldn't have been kind to the former leader who'd disappeared in disgrace a decade ago. His clothes were nice enough, as was his horse, and the weapons he carried were fine and well maintained. Added to the fact that he'd aged well, and in any other company he might be considered distinguished.
But he wasn't in any other company. He was with a bunch of squatters with a mean and hungry look about them. Speaking of which, now that Skyler looked closer at that fire in the camp he could see meat roasting on a spit. Haunches of goat, looked like, meaning they'd already rustled livestock and likely planned to do more. And at least a few of them had no qualms about verbally abusing and threatening vulnerable girls.
So no, Randall looked as if he might be the leader of this gang, but the leader of scum was still scum.
The man had noticed his reaction and cocked his head quizzically. “Well, kid, what is it you're here to say? Cat got your tongue?” Before Skyler could answer he continued. “If you're here to try to convince us to leave, you're wasting your time . . . we're not on anyone's property and we're not causing any trouble.”
That claim was directly contradicted by the goat roasting on the fire. And something about the man's oily, almost smug demeanor suggested he knew exactly how full of it he was, and thought Skyler was buying every word. Or even if he wasn't, it didn't matter because what was one kid going to do?
Well, Skyler had been underestimated because of his age for most of his life. And it was about time he wiped that smirk off Randall's face. “Don't recognize me, Simon?” he asked with a cold smile. “Guess you were too busy pawing at my mom just months after my dad died to pay much attention to anyone else.”
The old man stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then his eyes widened and he gave a low curse and burst out laughing. “No kidding, Kristy Graham's kid? Shoot, isn't it a small world.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the ranch to the southeast. “This place yours, then? Thought you folks were living big on Trapper's unearned reputation down in Utah.”
Before Skyler could respond Randall smiled wide. Or more accurately leered. “You know, I was planning on paying the ranch another visit anyway, so maybe I'll pop in and say hi to your mom, see if we can rekindle the old flame. She has to have seen past the old mountain man's BS by this point. Or not . . . she always was a bit gullible.”
Skyler clenched his teeth, and it was an effort not to drop his hands down to grip his rifle again. “I see you're still the same upright character who slinked away from your own convoy in disgrace, Randall.”
The redheaded man's amused expression vanished. “And here I was trying to keep this neighborly, kid.”
He barked a laugh of grim amusement, loud enough to be heard across the distance separating them. “Exactly how?”
Randall's eyes narrowed. “I don't want you to get the mistaken impression that just because I've been friendly to this point, things are going to go well for you and everyone else at that ranch if you get on my bad side. Look at my men and tell me you think that.”
Skyler didn't think that; he knew trouble when he saw it. “I'm looking, Randall.”
The squatters' leader didn't seem impressed by his response, although his annoyance vanished as quickly as it had come. He glanced back towards the men clustered behind him, as if to reassure himself, then shrugged. “Heh, you always were a sullen, mouthy little brat,” he said with a wide grin that didn't touch his eyes. “But what's with the hostility, kiddo? We were good pals back in the day, weren't we? And you know your mom was more than a little sweet on me, at least until Trapper got everyone but you three captured so he could have her for himself. In another life you might be calling me Papa.”
The ragged men with him laughed derisively, and fury once again washed over Skyler. Did this old POS really believe any of these outrageous lies he was telling about Trapper, or was he just trying to tick him off? Had a decade of stewing on old, completely unjustified grievances twisted the past into a fiction of the man's own making?
“In another life, I might be breaking your nose for the vicious bile you spat at my mom after she gave you the boot,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I'd definitely like to do it for you ignoring my dad's warning about the approaching bloodies, and being the cause of some of the people I love most going through hell in Newpost.”
Randall's phony grin vanished. “Your dad as
in Trapper?” he spat, eyes dangerous. “That yellow glory-snatcher. Bet he snuck up between your mom's legs the moment I was out of the picture, huh? She was quick enough to spread 'em for me, so it'd be no surprise she'd let that disgusting old coward climb on top of her next. He probably had her kno-”
Skyler wasn't even aware of raising his rifle until it was leveled at Randall's nose at twenty yards, making the man freeze, eyes widening. “My mother outran a Sangue army at nine and a half months pregnant,” he said through gritted teeth. “Then she stopped to give birth, got up, and kept right on running with my baby brother in her arms.”
He tightened his finger on the trigger, a hairsbreadth away from pulling it. “You don't know the meaning of courage, Randall, and you sure as the blazes don't know honor or integrity. But my mom does, and my dad does, and so do I. Which is why this is the last time you lie about dishonoring her. The last time you so much as mention her. Ever. Just a courtesy warning.”
The old man didn't budge an inch through his entire tirade, although after a few tense seconds he slowly glanced around to his men, whose hands had begun drifting towards their weapons. “Got nothing against you, kiddo,” he finally said, licking his lips. “This really how you want to end our little chat?”
“Seemed to be going this way anyway,” Skyler replied, although he was having second thoughts about escalating things. Not just the consequences for himself, but for Lisa's family and their ranch.
“Wherever it might've been going, you sure seem in a hurry to get us there,” Randall shot back. “You really want to turn to bloodshed over a goat, maybe a few cows? Might be better to leave us be until we finish our business here and move on.”
That was all but an open admission about stealing the Hendricksons' goat, and that they planned to come back for more.
Had Randall really sunk so far, to the common bandit he appeared to be? Skyler had never particularly liked the former convoy leader, since the man had outright been trying to replace his recently deceased dad and usually ignored him unless his mom was around, at which point he tried to play the perfect stepdad.
Newpost had broken better men than Randall, on top of which most people had blamed him for them being captured in the first place. That, plus his vicious breakup with Skyler's mom, had led to him skulking off in the night in disgrace, and nobody had expected him to come to a good end.
But even so . . . stealing goats and menacing ranchers? Had this gang and their leader done even worse? What were they planning to do here?
Skyler kept his rifle trained on the old man as he nudged Junior, who began backing away the way he'd been painstakingly trained to in situations like this. At another nudge the stallion could be off like a flash, weaving to avoid fire as he carried his master to safety. “Stay off the nearby ranch, or better yet leave Lone Valley, and this is the last we'll have to talk,” he called as he finally lowered his rifle.
“We'll see how things go!” Randall hollered after him. “Got to take care of my men, and they get awfully peckish at times!”
Well that wasn't what he'd hoped to hear.
Intimidation had never been Skyler's strong suit, mostly because of his age. And even over the last few years before leaving home, when he'd shot up past six feet with inches to spare before he finally stopped growing, his physique had always tended more towards wiry than bulky. Folks said he took after his dad, even though they had no relation and looked nothing alike.
Maybe they meant in temperament.
Anyway, if this gang and their disgrace of a leader thought they were going to threaten Lisa's family, they were about to find out just how much like Trapper he really was.
Skyler met up with the others, who'd gathered at Jared's position in the middle. Their expressions were grim at the fact that the discussion had ended at gunpoint, and even more so that he'd been the one pointing the weapon.
Maybe he'd loused up, lost his cool and made the situation needlessly confrontational, but he didn't think so; Randall had been trying to push his buttons, get him to make the first move. Probably so it'd be easier to justify going after the ranch again, to his men if not to himself. Even if Skyler had kept his head it wouldn't have changed anything.
Once he repeated the entire conversation to the others they seemed to agree.
“Notice their fire?” Bob asked quietly as they rode away.
“You mean the one they were roasting an animal haunch over?” Skyler shifted uncomfortably, feeling like he had a target on his back. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, making sure none of the seedy men in that camp were taking aim at him; from the looks of it they'd all gone back to their ill-got feast. “Yeah, I noticed. Guess that solves the mystery of the missing goat.”
Lisa nodded in sorrow. “Daisy was a good milker, too. What kind of fool butchers a milker? There were even a few wethers in the pen with her that they could've taken!”
“I have a feeling they'll get to them soon enough,” Jared said, spitting to one side and shifting his rifle across his knees. “Although more likely they'll be after the cows next. To drive someplace else and sell, not to butcher.”
“They're fools, then,” Bob growled. “The next League patrol would hunt them down like dogs. They're not a fan of their trade being disrupted, in transit or at the source.”
“Expecting one anytime soon?” Skyler asked. The expressions on his friends' faces was answer enough, and he grimaced. “Then it doesn't much matter what the League will do, since if we sit on our hands waiting for them to save the day we won't be around to see it.”
Jared bristled. “No one said anything about sitting around!”
Lisa leaned out of her saddle to put a hand on her fiancé’s arm, although her expression was grim. “We should get back to the ranch and decide what to do next.”
✽✽✽
The mood at the ranch was grim as they delivered the news about Randall to Aunt Vicky and the newly arrived ranch hand, an older man named Jeb.
“I always wondered what happened to Simon,” Vicky said, shaking her head in distress. “What must he have gone through to become such a wretch?”
“Others suffered way worse than him without turning to banditry,” Bob growled.
His wife nodded slowly, eyes turning sorrowful. “Simon always was the sort to blame everything but himself for his problems. And once he shifted responsibility from himself, he'd stop making even the slightest effort to change the situation, no matter how bad it got for him.” She sighed. “From the looks of things he chose to wait until his circumstances got truly dire, then used it as an excuse to begin preying on others.”
Jared spat off to one side. “Men like that deserve to be six feet under.”
Bob shook his head. “Maybe so, but I'd settle for him being a few days' ride off, and well on his way to someplace far away from here.”
“He dropped enough hints to suggest he wasn't satisfied with just one goat,” Skyler said.
“Was that before or after you pulled your gun on him?” Jared snapped.
“Both,” he said calmly, not rising to the bait. “That standoff was a personal issue, and he was deliberately trying to goad me. He's looking for trouble.”
“He's looking for a fortune's worth of cows,” Bob corrected. “The trouble's likely just a bonus. A chance to settle old scores.” He paused thoughtfully. “I didn't think to ask before . . . does he know who owns this ranch?”
Skyler shook his head. “I didn't tell him, but seeing me he got the idea it was mine or my family's.”
“Well, since he seems to blame Trapper for his woes, that's probably not a good thing,” Aunt Vicky said, sighing again. She glanced at her husband. “We should bring the animals inside for the time being, and double check our defenses.”
“Good thinking,” the older man agreed. “Although first off I should probably ride out to the other ranchers, let them know trouble's in the area. They might even be willing to band together to fight.”
“Or they'll h
unker down to defend their own land and hope the bandits come after us instead of them,” Jared grumbled. He almost sounded like he was speaking from experience.
“Maybe they will, but they still deserve to be warned.” Bob turned to Skyler. “You've seen your share of fighting. While I'm gone, maybe you can look at what we've done and give us some pointers.”
Skyler nodded his assent, although he noticed Jared looking sour about the older man leaning on him and his expertise. Well forget the surly SOB. They had bigger issues to worry about at the moment than petty jealousy.
As Bob rode off to visit the neighbors, Skyler and the others got to work.
It was obvious the Hendricksons had done a decent job of planning their defenses. They had a good eye for identifying the most vulnerable approaches to their house and had accounted for them, and seemed to know exactly what they most wanted to protect and had taken measures to defend those things.
But at the same time, their lack of fighting experience was readily apparent in a few ways. Some of their positions sacrificed visibility for a more secure position, a tradeoff Skyler didn't agree with. Even more worryingly, most positions only defended against a single approach, or at most two, while providing solid protection from all other directions.
That couldn't be helped in some instances, but the family had overlooked good spots that allowed a sentry to see and fire in most or even all directions, viewing them as not protected enough. Even worse, most of the prepared positions didn't cover other positions and weren't covered themselves, so sentries wouldn't be able to come to each other's aid without abandoning their spot.
Considering it was a handful of defenders against thirteen enemies, they couldn't afford to give up those sorts of advantages.
Skyler immediately got to work preparing the best of the overlooked spots, while pointing out the best of the positions that had already been built up as spots where sentries could defend from all directions and provide at least some cover to each other.
