The third one was smooth-mouthed. Ed looked over at Unita. “How old’s Jude here?”
She looked aloof and nodded. “He said maybe ten. But he was sound.”
“Mules can live forever, but he’s older than ten.”
She nodded, looking seriously at him. “You don’t think he’s worth what the others are?”
“No. He may be fine, but he’s an old mule.”
“He’ll replace him. All I have to do is send him back.”
“In that case, if it was up to me, I’d get a younger one.”
When he finished and nodded his approval, she said thanks and hurried to the house. He went with the boys and helped them match up a harness from the assortment in the saddle shed. Adjustments were made as he studied the fit, then gave instructions to them to shorten or lengthen straps. He checked each collar until satisfied they fit and would not scald the wearer’s shoulders. New buckle holes were bored in the leather straps and, by the time the supper bell rang, the mules had their individual sets of harness.
“You must have worked lots of mules,” Sparky said, sounding impressed as they went to wash up.
“I did a little farming before Dave Ivy came by my jacal one rainy fall day.” He wet his lips and nodded. “He brought over two bottles of bond whiskey. It was cold and had been raining, so my roof was leaking, of course. I had all these tin cans set around on the floor catching the drips. Sounded like an orchestra he said, all that plunk, plink going on. We made a deal that night—I had to find and break eighty mustangs for a remuda that winter, and he was bringing the cattle and the grub for our first drive to Joe McCoy’s pens.”
“Eighty horses?”
“Hell, Sparky, I had all winter.”
“How did you ever do it?”
“One at a time.” He smiled over at the boy, who was hardly out of his teens.
Supper was the usual friendly feast. Talk was about a dance on Saturday. Unita brought by a platter of extra biscuits and leaned forward to put them on the table in front of him.
“You still dance?” she asked as she straightened.
“I guess . . .”
“Good, you can go too,” she said, and just about laughed.
He felt his face light up. Damn, she could get under his skin. He had her permission to go to the dance. By damn, if his ribs were healed, he’d leave her and this bunch. ’Cept he knew riding a horse would make him suck up his breath at the first jar.
Saturday night, the boys put on their other shirts. Earlier in the day, Rosa had given him a starched white shirt, a pair of striped pants, and suspenders.
“They were Sam’s, but he can’t wear them,” she said softly.
He nodded and thanked the sweet gray-headed woman. Before supper he put them on and then Sparky helped him harness Unita’s buggy horse.
“You’re still sore, ain’t yah?” the boy asked.
“It shows?”
“I can see it.”
Ed thanked him and let him finish the harness business, then he drove the rig around in front and parked it. He dismounted with care. Why was he still there? His brain was so scrambled, maybe he was losing his mind. All he wanted to do was get drunk and stay that way. He hadn’t had a drink in over a week. Didn’t change his wants and needs. Still, with his sore ribs and all, he hung around the Bar U feeling as worthless as he had ever felt in his entire life.
He sure didn’t owe her anything. His foot wasn’t nailed to the floor. She wanted him to drive her herd north to Kansas in the spring, a task that looked so revolting to him that he wanted to throw up at the very notion.
After supper, they climbed in the rig and he drove it to the Plain View Schoolhouse. Neither spoke much, and he caught a faint hint of lavender. She had on a blue checkered dress that must have been her best, and looked very nice. Her shoulder-length hair shone in the setting sun and she’d stir a fire in any man’s guts, including Ed’s. But he was so far down, thinking how to escape her and finding no good way to get away, that the trip was a grim one for him.
When they came in view of the clapboard-sided building, she motioned for him to stop. “You can turn around here and take me home. I can see you’re not going to have any fun. I am concerned about your ribs.”
He looked at the reins in his hand. “I think the best thing for me is go back to my own outfit.”
“And fall back in the bottle?”
“Yeh. When a man can’t stand his own company any longer then he needs a shield from it. Mine’s whiskey.”
“At least you’re honest.”
He nodded, not looking at her. “That’s cheap—being honest. I know you want those cattle up in Kansas. Drunk or sober, I don’t think I can face going back up there. Been too much dying and bad things in my life.” He stared off at a tall cottonwood bathed in the bloodred of sundown, the yellow leaves twirling in the wind.
“Could a woman make you forget them—those bad things?”
He turned and blinked at her. “I had no ambition to blackmail you.”
“Ed Wright—I must get those steers to Newton. It’s not, do I want to. It’s not, it would be nice. If I don’t get those steers up there, I’ll be through—busted. All I have worked for since the war is to hold this ranch together. All I’ve done to keep the Bar U together will be like sand and sift through my fingers.”
“You’re a helluva woman, Unita. I respect you, but I don’t think—” He chewed on his lower lip.
“Name your terms, Ed Wright.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head without an answer for her. There’d been a day he would have given all he had in this world for a woman like her. Looking at the whitewashed schoolhouse bathed in blood, with her beside him on the leather seat, the only thing he could think about was finding a drink. He must be plumb mad.
Chapter 5
She offered to go back home. He agreed. They turned around and headed back to the Bar U. Crickets creaked in the warm night. A coyote or two barked at the rising half moon. Ed felt relieved that they hadn’t gone to the dance. He wouldn’t have to explain to anyone why he was staying at her place, for one thing. Probably enough rumors and gossip in the country about what he was doing at the Bar U to fill a big trunk anyway. They must have been the talk of every tea party. It didn’t bother her on the outside, but she had a hand in what she’d put all her chips on, including her reputation.
When they drove up in the starlight, he noticed a horse at the rack, and a boy came from the porch before they could dismount the rig. He recognized Ramon, who worked on his place.
“Oh, Senor, they said you were at the dance. I waited for you. Senor, the rustlers, they have taken your stallion Ten Bears and some of the mares.”
Ed dropped his chin. Rustlers had Ten Bears. How would he ever go after them in his condition?
“I need to borrow a gun, a horse, and some grub. I can pay you.” He turned to Unita.
“You won’t pay me and I’ll go along.”
Taken aback, Ed blinked at her. “No. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Or how? I’ll get some things. This boy can help you find some horses and a pack animal. There is a star-faced horse with one white sock; he’s mine. You know where the rest are. Take a dusty saddle; they’re the ones that belong to me. The others are the boys’.”
Ed started to protest. “Unita, I can’t ask you to go along.”
“I asked myself. Go and saddle the horses. What is your name?” she asked the boy as she moved to the front of the seat.
“Ramon.”
“Ramon, please help him. He is still very sore,” she said, getting down.
“Sίί, Senora, I can help him.”
Then she turned back to look at Ed. “I’ll bind you up again when you get the horses. You’ll need it to ever ride a horse.”
Shaking his head in defeat over her decision to go along, Ed drove the buggy horse up to the corral and they unhitched him. Unharnessing him, he asked the youth all about the discovery an
d what else he knew. By Ed’s calculations, the rustlers had at least a two-day head start. The trail would be cold. Still, he wanted his horses back and the thieves punished. He’d earned Ten Bears from the Comanche—he’d earn the horse back from this outfit.
Ramon carried the harness in the tack room. Ed lighted a lamp and picked out Unita’s saddle, and another for himself. Ramon moved him aside and told him to go find the horses.
“I will carry them.”
“Thanks,” he said, lighting a second lamp. With it in hand, he headed for the corral in a yellow ring of light.
“I can rope them,” Ramon said from behind him.
“You Jorge’s cousin?” Ed asked, recalling the young men’s relationship.
“Sίί.”
“You rope them. I’ll pick them out.”
Ramon agreed, set the saddle down, and took a reata from the corral post. In the deftness of the way he handled the braided leather, Ed knew this boy had the makings of a real one. He pushed open the gate on the new hinges the boys had installed, and smiled. It didn’t drag. The gate shut again and he held up the lamp. Awakened by the light and their presence, the spooked horses milled around. Unita’s star-faced one was obvious with his dish face. Ramon singled him out and threw a loop over his ears. Caught, he settled down like a real broke horse, and Ed let the two out of the gate.
The youth hurried back, making a new loop in the rope on the run, leaving Unita’s bay hitched to a rack.
“Catch that blue roan with all the black mane and tail. He’s a desert horse and should be tough.” A slight ewe neck from being a stud a while, he was stout and wide set. Not over thirteen hands, he still looked impressive enough for the long haul to Ed. Be easier for him to mount, too. Rope singing over his head, Ramon tossed it, and cinched the deal with a swift backhanded jerk to tighten the noose.
Caught, Blue blew some boogers out of his nose at them and the light. But Ramon ignored him and led him out of the pen. Ed tried to find a horse in the milling bunch that he thought would lead well. He hated a head-slinging packhorse.
“Let’s try that black for a packhorse.” He held up the lamp and ignored the sharpness in his side. “He leads good, we’ll use him.”
“Sίί, Senor.”
The black, on a lead, came on the trot after Ramon. Ed nodded his approval. Those boys might be mad he took horses from their strings, but there wasn’t the time to worry about that. With a currycomb, he brushed the dirt and dust off the roan’s back. The effort was not easy, but he forced himself. No more baby stuff; he had a situation that needed handling. Pain would not be a consideration, so he hurt. Too damn far from his heart to kill him. But he wasn’t certain, as the boy tossed the saddle on the horse he chose, how having Unita along would work. Chasing down rustlers was like his old days as a ranger—tough, hard riding, dry camps, and miserable days spent in the saddle. He didn’t know if he was up to it, let alone with a woman tagging along.
“Rosa is packing the food,” Unita said, coming from the house dressed in a divided skirt, a long-sleeved man’s shirt, and wearing a cowboy hat.
He must have blinked in the starlight at seeing her in that garb.
“Here, you will need this, I can tell.” And she shoved a tin cup in his hand.
His left eye shut, he stared at her in disbelief over his gift, and exchanged a nod with her in the lamp-light. He knew what the cup contained even before the vapors reached his nose—whiskey. The holy grail. A man had to be plumb stupid to worship damn juice, but when he raised it to his mouth, his molars were flooded with saliva in anticipation. Just a sip. It slid across his tongue and cut through three days’ worth of dust slipping down his throat. Then he felt it disappear and his ears warmed. Damn, that was good.
So involved was he in his present, he hardly noticed that Unita and the boy were busy cinching down saddles. He didn’t care. He wanted to savor the experience as long as he could. She broke his solitude.
“Get that shirt off and I’ll rebind you,” she said.
He tossed the rest down his throat and let out a breath. Then he tied the cup on his saddle for later usage and undid his shirt for her.
“Thanks,” he managed.
“Might help you. I figured.” Her fingers fumbled with the knots. “Ramon, take the packhorse up to the kitchen. Where the light is. Rosa will have two panniers to put on that pack saddle, plus three bedrolls.”
“Sίί, Senora.”
“Thanks for the whiskey,” he said softly and straightened against the sharpness when she drew on the straps.
“You sure you can ride?”
“I’ll make it.”
“Sure, and fall off your horse somewhere.” She pulled harder on the next one. “You can’t hardly stand for me to tighten this.”
“Damn it, I’ll be fine.”
“Enough whiskey, you may make it.”
He nodded and sucked in his breath. “I will make it—”
“Where you figure they’ve taken him—this stallion?”
“Lord, I have no idea. Have to find the tracks.”
“There; you’re bound tight as I can get it. I’m going after some slickers in case it rains.” She left him in the cool night air to put on his shirt and button it. She’d thought of everything—he was impressed.
She, Ramon, and the packhorse returned in the starlight. In her arms she carried two long guns. “One’s mine. It’s a shotgun. The rifle is a .44/40. Figured you’d need it.”
He thanked her and jabbed the Winchester in the scabbard. She put the scattergun in a boot under her right stirrup. Then she unslung a holster from her shoulder. “It’s an Army .44. It was Sam’s. All they brought me back of him. It’s been oiled and kept clean.”
“You better—”
“No, you wear it. I have bullets, caps, and powder for it in the pack.”
He looked at the weapon and nodded, impressed. Unita wasn’t leaving any stone unturned. From the packs she took the slickers and tied them on each of their saddles. Slowly he examined the cylinder, and the smooth surfaces shone when he pointed them at the light for his inspection.
When he looked up, ready to strap on Sam’s gun, she and the boy already had the tarp over the packs and were tying it down. What was wrong with him? The rest of the world whirled around him and he moved like a tortoise.
She came leading Star and Blue over to him. “Ready?”
He nodded and considered getting on. His teeth clenched, he took the reins and climbed aboard, grateful he’d chosen a short horse. In the saddle, he let the waves of hurt run up both cheeks. Barely aware of her riding in close and putting a blanket over his shoulders, he blinked at her.
“You were shivering,” she said, and then reined Star away, ready to ride.
“Thanks.” His mind focused on the roan. He wondered what the shaggy horse would try to do when he booted him out. Nothing, just a stiff walk like he was trotting on eggs, but no head hiding. Ed remained on his guard, just in case. He looked around and Ramon nodded at him in approval. They were set to go. Simple enough, but he still dreaded the whole thing—but he wanted Ten Bears back.
At dawn they reached his place. Jorge rushed out to meet them and invited them in to eat some food. The foreman looked concerned at his boss when he stiffly dismounted.
“Yes,” Unita said to Jorge. “He’s sore, but that don’t matter. He has to find the rustlers.”
Jorge nodded. “Sίί, Senora, I know him well. I would have tried to track those men, but I don’t know what I would do with them.” A pained look on his face, he shook his head.
“Ranger Ed will figure that out,” she said, and dismounted.
Ed shook his head. “I haven’t been a ranger in years.”
“Once a ranger always a ranger, they say.” She herded him toward the jacal. “Better eat this woman’s food. It will be much better than any you eat on the trail.”
“I’m going to borrow Ramon,” he said over his shoulder to Jorge.
�
�Sίί, he is a good hand to go with you.”
Ed agreed and greeted Tina. “Sorry we have busted in on you.”
“No, Senor.” She blushed and nodded. “You and the grand lady can come any time. This is your casa.”
“I know, but we are your guests.”
While they ate her beans, scrambled eggs, pork, salsa, and tortillas, Jorge explained that the tracks went west. Maybe four or five riders.
“Were their horses shod?” Ed asked.
“Sίί.”
“What does that mean?” Unita asked from behind the napkin that she wiped her mouth on.
“Shod horse could mean white men, or Indians riding stolen ones. Barefoot I would think they were Indians.”
She set down the cloth napkin. “But all the Indians are on reservations.”
“They still make raids. Horse stealing is part of an Indian’s blood.”
“So who stole these?”
“I would think, first, Mexican bandits. Breeding stock like Ten Bears and those ten mares would bring a high price at some hacienda.”
Unita raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think Indians had such great horses.”
“They did before the army shot them all.” He clutched a hot cup of coffee in his hands. “They shot every great horse the Indians had and left them the plugs.”
“McKensie do that at Palo Duro?”
Ed nodded slow like to answer her. “And—the Comanche have known Ten Bears was here.”
“At any price,” she said as if she understood.
“They have no price. Imagine returning to their village with such a famous stallion and the mares; that would be the maximum thing. This would be the highest rank that any buck could ever attain.”
“He was spoils of war to you?”
Ed smiled and laughed. “He was all the wages I ever got as a ranger. Texas sure never sent me a dime. I found those mares to match him to later, scattered over the land, and bought them. They were among the ones that others had picked out of the Comanche herd before the slaughter. Some were with the Tonka army scouts who took them as their pay before the army shot the rest.”
“How will you know who has him?”
Trail to Cottonwood Falls Page 4
