by Doug Bowman
“Well, yeah, if it had some cows on it. Fellow put some cows on it, I reckon it’d be a good place.” He stared across the river for a few moments. “We got lots of cows over there; got lots of money, too. Yessir, my brother’s got plenty.”
Hunter dashed his coffee grounds into the yard. “I’m sure he does, Buster. I suppose I’ll be meeting him if I buy this ranch.”
Peabody was on his feet now. “I know you’ll be seein’ him if you move in here. John likes to visit, jist like I do. Well, gotta be goin’ now.” He mounted and rode down the slope, never looking back.
Hunter left his pack animal in the corral, and his pack and bedroll in the house. Mounting the bay, he crossed County Line Road to explore the south section of the ranch. He rode along the river for a while, then turned east. The short, rolling hills were separated by wide, fertile valleys that produced perennial grasses in abundance. Though tall pecan trees grew in places where moisture accumulated, most of the area was treeless, with only a few short bushes growing in the valleys.
Zack zigzagged the south section for most of the morning, then took a seat on a fallen log and allowed his horse to graze on the lush, green grass. He was pleased with everything he had seen and knew that if he was equally impressed with the northern section, he would probably buy the ranch. Three sections of prime grazing land was at least as much as he had ever dreamed of owning and he felt that he should buy it now, while he had the money.
He remounted at noon and pointed his animal toward the house. When he reached County Line Road, he encountered a man sitting astride a gray stallion a hundred yards east of the river. Tall and rangy, with most of his head poked into a high-crowned Stetson, the man had stopped his horse in the center of the road. He appeared to be in his early fifties.
“Just rode over to meet you,” he said, kneeing his horse alongside Hunter for a handshake. “My name’s John Peabody; I own the Circle P across the river.” Zack took the man’s outstretched hand and introduced himself.
“Zack Hunter, huh? Seems like I’ve heard your name somewhere before.”
“Maybe somebody else has the same name,” Zack said, “’cause it sure wouldn’t have been me you heard about. I’m new in Texas.”
John Peabody nodded. “Might have just been my imagination. The older I get, the more trouble I have with names. Anyway, my brother, Buster, told me that you’d bought the Franklin Place, so I just wanted to say hello.”
Zack smiled. “Your brother’s a little ahead of me, Mister Peabody. I told him I was thinking about buying the ranch, just looking it over.”
Peabody chuckled. “That’s Buster, all right. Sure ain’t the first time he’s got his facts mixed up.”
“No harm done,” Zack said, shaking his head. “I enjoyed talking with him.”
Peabody dismounted, then Hunter did likewise. They led their horses to the shade of a large pecan tree and stood talking for more than an hour. When told that Peabody’s Circle P encompassed more than fifteen thousand acres west of the river, Zack was more than a little impressed. “Seems like an awful big place to me,” he said.
“Maybe so, but even that ain’t enough sometimes. A man has to keep a close eye on his herd. Left to their own devices, they’d overpopulate in one year, two at the most.” He moved farther into the shade and leaned against the tree. “Now old Ned Franklin didn’t have that problem over here; the Indians stole him blind. A few times they even stole his wife’s wash right off the line.”
“He didn’t try to do anything about it?”
“Not much. He didn’t have enough help, and I guess he was just glad they left him and his family alone. Hell, the Indians weren’t about to kill him, ’cause then they wouldn’t have had nobody to raise beef and crops for them to steal.
“They hit me a few times when I first came here in sixty-two, but I damn sure didn’t throw up my hands. Sometimes I had as many as twenty men on the payroll, hunting them down like coyotes. They treated them like coyotes when they found them, too. The Big Battle in seventy-three put a stop to it once and for all. Ain’t nobody seen an Indian in these parts in ages.”
Zack changed the subject. “How many cattle will this place support?”
“Aw, coupla hundred head wouldn’t hurt it. If you start with a hundred head of cows and three bulls, it sure won’t be long before you got two hundred.”
“How many men would I need?”
“If it was me, I’d put out three line riders to start with; one north, one south, and one on the east. The river’ll pretty well hold the herd on the west. They can swim like fish, of course, but they don’t like to. They won’t cross the river unless they’ve got an awful good reason.”
Zack stood quietly for several moments, then continued his questioning. “I should hire three men, then? How much should I pay them?”
“Pay scale around here runs all the way from twenty-five to thirty-five dollars and found. If it was me, I’d pay thirty-five dollars a month. You pay a man top wages, he’ll stay with you. Since you don’t seem to know much about ranching, I’d hire me at least one man that knows the business. I’d pay that man forty dollars a month and put him in charge of the others. Fact is, I’d hire my foreman first, let him separate the wheat from the chaff.
“It ain’t just any man you run across that can carry his weight on a ranch. It’s been my experience that if you hire a man in a saloon, that’s where you’re gonna find him the next time you start hunting him.” Peabody moved to his horse and mounted, adding, “If you decide you need my help in choosing a foreman, let me know. I know most of the capable men in the area.” He turned his horse. “Don’t let that banker rob you. Ned owed less than a thousand dollars on this place.”
Hunter stopped in the ranch-house yard for a drink from the spring, then continued north. He followed the river for a mile, then turned east for about the same distance, his eyes surveying the entire area. The north section was no different from the land south of the road, with the exception that it was a little higher in elevation. And the grass was just as good.
He rode south to the road and returned to the house two hours before sunset. He fed his horses, then built a fire in the fireplace and put on a pot of beans. He would wait till his supper was done before making coffee.
He sat on the porch daydreaming, watching the setting sun creep closer to the western horizon. He had decided to buy the ranch, for he liked everything he had seen. Though he knew it would never make him wealthy, for there was only so much a man could do with three square miles, he believed he could make a living here. Anyway, he had to have a home whether he prospered or not, and this place looked as good as any.
Peabody had said that Ned Franklin owed less than a thousand dollars on the ranch, yet banker McGrath was asking almost twice as much. Asking and getting were two different things entirely, Zack was thinking. He would not speak to the banker again himself, he would let Slick Rollins close the deal.
Hunter was back in Lampasas at noon the following day. He stabled his horses, then walked to the White Horse Saloon. Failing to find Rollins there, he continued on to the hotel. He knocked on the door several times before it finally opened. Bret stood there in his bare feet, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I played poker most of the night,” he said. “Didn’t get to sleep till daylight. It’s good to have you back. Did you find anything you like?”
Zack took a seat on his bed. “Found something I like a whole lot, Bret. It’s the old Franklin Place, over on the Colorado.” He described the ranch in detail, then told Rollins of his conversation with John Peabody.
“Peabody says old man Franklin only owed a thousand dollars on it?” Bret asked.
“Said he owed less than a thousand,” Zack said. “McGrath didn’t say so, but I suppose his bank holds the mortgage. He did say that he was authorized to sell the ranch. Maybe he’s trying to overcharge me because he figured I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Of course he is, Zack. He’s the typical banker. He upped th
e price as soon as he found out you’re new in Texas and that you have some money. Tell him to kiss your ass and keep looking around till you find something reasonable.”
Zack took a sip of Bret’s whiskey, then placed the bottle back on the table. “I want that ranch, Bret. I’d just like to buy it at a little better price so I’ll have some money left over to fix it up and stock it. On top of that, I’d have to buy furniture for the house, a team and wagon, harness, tools—”
“And a hundred other things,” Rollins interrupted. He took a drink from his bottle. “You want me to go over and explain to McGrath how the goat eats the hay?”
“I was coming to that, Bret. You’re awful good at putting a new light on things, and I never was much good at dickering. Even old man Davis, back home, told me I was a lousy horse trader.”
Rollins put the cork back in the bottle and chuckled loudly. “The old man told you right, Zack. Arguing the price of merchandise is not one of your strong points.” He began to put on his boots. “I’ll talk to McGrath later this afternoon or in the morning, see if I can shake him loose from that nineteen-hundred-dollar price tag.”
Rollins was in the banker’s office the next morning at ten and had been talking nonstop for several minutes. “Every dollar Zack Hunter has in the world is in your bank, Mister McGrath,” he was saying, pacing back and forth across the room, “so you know how much it is. And even if you cut the price of the Franklin Place in half, it’ll take everything Zack has to put it in good shape and stock it. I also happen to know that Ned Franklin owed less than a thousand dollars on the ranch, and I believe you should let Mister Hunter pay off the mortgage and take charge.
“You see, Mister McGrath, Zack’s been poor all his life; he’s never had access to large sums of money, the way I do.” The banker leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, giving Rollins his undivided attention. “I’d never be satisfied with anything as small as the Franklin Place, myself,” Bret continued. “As soon as the rest of my money gets here, I intend to buy up property in all directions, build the biggest spread this area’s ever seen. Might even build another good hotel; give the Hartley a little competition.”
The banker was all ears. “You … you say you’re expecting to receive more funds, Mister Rollins?”
Bret nodded. “As soon as the family business is sold. A Northern firm has agreed to buy it, and I suppose the deal might be going through even as we speak. My brother has the authority to close out the sale, then the two of us will split the proceeds. Since Pa and Ma died, neither of us boys has any desire to continue with the business.”
The banker drummed his fingers against his desk, appearing to be in deep thought. “What kind of business are we talking about, Mister Rollins?”
“Textiles. Pa built a string of cotton mills in north Georgia, then bought three more in Tennessee. The Northern firm will be buying sixteen mills. Pa left the seventeenth to one of my cousins, and it’s not for sale.”
McGrath drummed his fingers on the desk again. “Sixteen mills,” he said softly, as if talking to himself. Then he began to speak in a normal tone. “You have any idea how much your share of the proceeds will amount to?”
“Of course I do,” Rollins said, smiling. “I was there when the price was agreed upon.”
“Of course,” McGrath said, casting his eyes to his lap, appearing to inspect one of his fingernails. Then he was on his feet, speaking with authority. “I’m the only banker in the area who is the sole owner of his bank, Mister Rollins. Therefore, I can offer you more services and a better rate of interest than any of the others, and none will appreciate your business more than I. If you will allow me to, I can also help you acquire the property you desire, including an ideal location for your new hotel.”
Rollins nodded. “We’ll see, but first we’ve got to get Zack Hunter into a home of his own at a reasonable price.”
McGrath reseated himself behind his desk. “I had already decided to give Mister Hunter a break on the price,” he said. “I was looking over the records yesterday afternoon when I noticed that Ned Franklin only owed nine hundred eighty-six dollars on the ranch.” He raised his eyes to meet those of Rollins. “Tell Mister Hunter that he can pay off the mortgage and I’ll give him a clear deed.”
Though he knew that the banker was lying about having a change of heart, Rollins shook the man’s hand and left the office in search of Hunter. Right now was the time for Zack to buy.
7
Hunter bought the ranch two hours later. The old Franklin Place was no more. If the people of the area wanted to call it the County Line Ranch, Zack would do likewise. He would register his brand under that name.
At midafternoon he was at the livery stable discussing his needs with Oscar Land. “I see that wagon you’ve got for sale out front is already ribbed, Oscar. Do you have the canvas?”
Land nodded. “Yep. I’ll put it on at no charge if you buy the wagon. I’ve got a good team and harness for sale, too.”
Zack bought the team and the wagon within the hour, along with a turning plow and a few other things. “I guess you know that the hardware store would have charged you twice as much for a pick and shovel,” Land said, dropping the tools into the wagon bed. “Yessir, you caught me on a day when my heart’s right.” He began to load a wheelbarrow onto the wagon, adding, “Where else in the world could you buy one of these things for ninety cents?”
Hunter paid the hostler, saying that he would return for his purchases early tomorrow morning. At the hardware store he bought an ax, saw, hoe, hammer and nails, and had the man set aside a stove and several joints of pipe. At the feed store he made arrangements for several sacks of grain and a few bales of hay. He would pick up all of these things on his way out of town tomorrow. He expected to make a round trip to the ranch every day for the next week, for the place needed almost everything. He would wait till the last day to haul out a table and chairs for the kitchen. Sometime between now and then he would buy a good bed, and some curtains for the windows.
He visited one merchant after another for most of the afternoon, buying everything from socks to cookware. Shortly after sunset he had supper at Toby’s T-Bone, then headed for the hotel. As usual, Bret’s unmade bed gave sign that he had slept some during the day. He was probably off at this very moment trying to shortchange somebody in a card game, Zack thought.
He read a newspaper for a while, then blew out the lamp and lay on his bed thinking. He had his own ranch now, and he owed it all to Bret Rollins. And Slick had probably saved Zack enough money on the price of the ranch to pay for stocking it. He had no idea what Rollins had said to the banker, but the man had cut the price almost in half. Zack decided that he would never ask. Rollins had his own way of doing things, sometimes ethical, sometimes otherwise.
Zack still did not approve of the tactics Bret had used on Mrs. Lindsay, but living with the deception had become easier. Maybe with a man like Rollins, certain things were excusable. He had certainly gotten the job done, and probably in the only way it could possibly have been pulled off. Who in the world but Bret Rollins would have guts enough to lay down such a story, knowing full well that he could be exposed for the imposter that he was within hours? Knowing that his friend had dozens of schemes that he had not even tried yet, and that he was surely one of the world’s most believable liars, Hunter chuckled into his pillow. He was asleep quickly.
* * *
Zack spent a week moving onto the ranch and furnishing the house, then gave several days over to improving County Line Road, cutting bushes out of its center and filling in holes with pick, shovel and hoe. After the sixth day, he decided that the road would be passable for the next few years. Then he headed home to a soft bed, for he had slept in the wagon the past three nights.
Next day at noon, he had just completed an unproductive fishing trip to the river and was walking back up the hill when Rollins drove a rented wagon into the yard. Taking hold of a bridle, Zack led the team to the hitching rail.
“Good to see you, Bret,” he said, then pointed to the wagon’s cargo. “I see you brought your bed. You gonna be around for a while?”
Rollins smiled. “Unless you run me off.” He motioned toward the bed. “I hired a fellow to build that for me last week. I’ll set it up in your spare bedroom if you don’t mind.”
“Glad to have you, Bret. I wish you’d just move out here and stay.”
Rollins stepped into the yard. “I’ve done about as much as I can do with this thing in a hotel room,” he said, patting the Colt that was buckled around his waist. “I need to practice with live ammunition, and I can’t do that in town without drawing a crowd.”
“I should think not,” Zack said. “Plenty of room out here, though. Burn as much ammunition as you want. I’ll feel better just having you around.”
Rollins lowered the tailgate of the wagon. “Help me unload this bed, then I’ll get the team back to Oscar. I’ll ride the roan out here later tonight. Might be past midnight when I get here, so don’t shoot me.” They set up the bed and hung an extra blanket across the doorway to add a little privacy. Then Bret pointed the team toward Lampasas. “Sure is a nice place you have here, Mister Hunter,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be back some time before morning.” Zack stood in the yard watching till the wagon disappeared, then headed for the kitchen to prepare his noon meal.
Rollins did not return during the night. It was close to noon the next day when he rode into the yard. “Met somebody who was interesting,” he said, smiling broadly as he dismounted. “Decided to spend the night in town.”
Zack nodded. “I figured that was the holdup,” he said, motioning toward the kitchen. “There’s a big pot of rabbit stew on the stove that turned out to be pretty tasty. You’ll find a bowl on the shelf and a spoon in that box at the end of the table.” Zack led the roan toward the corral while Bret headed for the kitchen.
