Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch

by Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

by way of the dam. She wasn’t complaining. He stayed at her house

  most of the time, and when she wanted to get away, they spent time at

  his modest cabin, with no Internet or cell phone reception. There were

  days, too, when they went separate ways in search of their own needed

  space. It was comfortable, it was convenient— it was perfect. They en-

  joyed an exclusive relationship, yet retained their independence. What

  an oxymoron, she thought. She didn’t know who was fooling whom.

  Someday they would marry, she hoped, if she could ever talk herself

  into taking the plunge again. Her track record with men hadn’t exactly

  been stellar, but for now, she loved having Lance in her life.

  Sadie waited for the crowd to disperse before joining the rest of the

  cars as they slowly crept out of the cemetery. Most of the cars turned

  north toward Highway 20, but she turned southwest, toward her place.

  As she drove, she couldn’t shake thoughts of the grieving family.

  The Walkingsticks had lived near Tahlequah all their lives. Wanda,

  Lucy’s mother, had told Sadie that Lucy had met Jason Clyborn at

  Northeastern State University, fallen in love, and gotten married shortly thereafter. Two years later, they had moved to Eucha to live with Angus

  and Camilla, and Angus had helped Jason build a cabin on a corner of

  the Clyborn ranch. Lucy got a job in the customer service department

  at First Merc State Bank in Sycamore Springs, but when Jason couldn’t

  find work, he’d decided to join the military. It was the only way he

  thought he could provide for his wife in a sour economy. He’d left Lucy

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  with her mom and dad, joined the U.S. Army, and volunteered to go to Afghanistan. Wanda said Lucy had been devastated, yet determined to

  wait for him to come home from war and start a family. Now, cold real-

  ity had set in. He’d come home all right— in a box.

  Sadie didn’t know the Clyborns personally, but she’d seen them

  around town and had heard stories about them. She knew that Angus

  and Camilla had moved from Texas into the Eucha area several years

  ago, after buying a large ranch, and that Angus had begun to build a

  reputation as a land baron of sorts, taking advantage of every opportu-

  nity to buy property, especially land surrounding his ranch. She couldn’t imagine what he was going to do with all of it. The profits from running

  cattle had dried up along with the grass and the ponds— all casualties

  of the latest drought— except for the parcels that had been blessed with

  plentiful springs, like hers. Most of the land in the county wasn’t fit for growing crops, and oil and gas production was nonexistent in this part

  of the state, but there were those, she surmised, who just loved dirt.

  Sadie didn’t much care for Angus Clyborn’s abrasive personality. He

  talked in a loud voice, drove like he owned the road, and strutted like

  a rooster down the sidewalk. He continually chewed on a half- smoked

  smelly cigar, wore a Rolex watch and a gold ring, and he combed his

  thin, unnaturally black hair over a balding head, which was why, she

  supposed, he usually wore a western hat. She hoped he would be good

  to Lucy now that Jason was dead.

  Sadie drove slowly and for some reason decided to drive past her

  own place, toward Lake Eucha Dam, which would take her past the

  Clyborn ranch. When she reached what she guessed was the edge of the

  Clyborns’ property, she was surprised to see some very tall, heavy- duty

  fencing, with electric wire strung across the top. Why in the world would Angus Clyborn put up a fence like that?

  When she reached the entrance to the property, she let her car roll

  slowly to a stop as she took a quick breath. “Please don’t let this be what I think it is,” she said quietly, staring at the sign on the large rustic logs arching over the open entryway that read, “The Buffalo Ranch.”

  Tall fencing flanked the long driveway into the property, dividing

  the house, barn, and other buildings from the pastures of the ranch. In

  the distance, she could see three bison— two adults and a calf— grazing

  on short grass.

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  “Yanasi,” she whispered to herself. Buffalo.

  Why was Angus Clyborn running buffalo? The landscape in Eucha

  seemed impractical for it. It was too hilly, not enough grassland. She

  knew bison meat was a healthy alternative to beef, much leaner, but it

  was also a lot more expensive.

  She regained her focus when a car sounded its horn as it flew by

  on its way toward the lake. She turned her vehicle around and headed

  home. What Angus Clyborn was doing on his ranch was none of her

  business. She had enough of her own problems without taking on some-

  one else’s.

  She drove the short distance back to her own house, and, when she

  turned off the road, she discovered Lance’s truck and a county sheriff ’s department car sitting next to her house. She quickly parked, got out,

  and looked around. Where was everybody?

  “Sonny?” She whistled for her wolfdog and then walked around

  the house, from where she could see Lance, Sonny by his side, walking

  through the pasture toward her house.

  Sonny had come to her as a pup when he was only a few weeks

  old. Her Uncle Eli had seen the mother killed by a car and, realizing

  she had pups somewhere, had searched until he found them. He gave

  one pup to his wife’s relative and took the other one to Sadie. She

  named him Sonny and bottle- fed him until he was old enough to eat

  meat. She had no idea how much wolf blood flowed through Sonny’s

  veins, but it was enough to keep her on her toes. His size intimidated

  most people who came around, his combination of silver and black fur

  stole her heart, and his sky- blue eyes reminded her of her own. She

  loved Sonny and was quite sure that, if the occasion arose, he would

  die for her without hesitation.

  When Sonny caught a glimpse of Sadie, he ran ahead to greet her.

  Lance followed and gave her a kiss.

  “Lance, what’s going on?” Sadie said, concerned. “Who’s in the

  deputy car?”

  “Deputy Jennings is securing the crime scene, along with your Uncle

  Eli. Eli found a man at the edge of your property. He’d been shot.”

  “What?” Sadie exclaimed. “Is he okay?”

  “No,” Lance said in a matter- of- fact tone. “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Sadie grabbed Lance’s arm. “Who is it?”

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  “Don’t know. I didn’t recognize him, and he didn’t have any identification on him. Did you know someone was building a new fence at the

  northern edge of your upper pasture?”

  “No, I haven’t been up there in ages.” Sadie pushed flighty hair out

  of her eyes. “I’m sure Uncle Eli would have known if something was

  going on, though. He’s never said anything.”

  “Whose land is that, do you know?” Lance asked.

  Sadie bit on her lower lip while she thought. “It used to belong to

  George Washington Chuculate. He was disabled and never got around

  very well. I think he’s dead now, but his son’s name is Grover, and he

  lives on Eucha Road between the cemetery and Highway 20, close to

  the forest service road. He’s a real nice gu
y.” She thought for a moment.

  “He’s probably in his late sixties and walks with a limp. My dad told me

  one time he’d been wounded in Vietnam.”

  Lance nodded. “I know who you’re talking about. I met Grover a

  couple of years ago at a veterans’ gourd dance.”

  “I remember his daughter from high school,” she said. “She was

  nice too, younger than me.” Sadie thought for a minute and then con-

  tinued. “The land is not that far from where Grover lives now,” she said.

  “They never built on it that I know of, and I’m not sure if there’s even

  a road into it, or not. They never asked for a right- of- way through our property . . . which we would have gladly given,” she said, as if thinking aloud. “I think the forest road runs on the back side.”

  A cool mist formed in the air, chilling Sadie, and she pulled her sweater close around her neck. “Do you suppose it’s one of Grover’s relatives?”

  Lance shook his head. “I don’t know. Hopefully, we can identify

  him before too long.”

  “Did Uncle Eli say if he heard anything?”

  “Nothing to hear. Said he saw Sonny hanging around up there.”

  “I thought you said he was shot.”

  “I did,” he said. “But it was with an arrow. Looks like it went right

  through his heart.” Lance looked toward the road. “Here comes the

  medical examiner. Can you control your dog until we can get this taken

  care of ?”

  Sadie stared into space and held Sonny by the scruff of his neck as

  Lance waved the medical examiner’s SUV down the lane and toward

  the house.

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  Death and the circle of life. Had this mystery man been ready to die? Everyone would face death, Sadie thought, yet she knew of no

  one anxious to experience it. He had left home, wherever that may

  have been, to build fence that morning, with no idea he would never re-

  turn. Did someone have dinner ready, waiting for him to come home?

  Did he have a lover somewhere waiting next to a phone that would

  never ring?

  Lance disrupted her thoughts. “Lock your doors and keep Sonny

  close,” he said. “I’ll be back to check on you later.” Then he climbed into the vehicle, and the two men drove slowly into the pasture to retrieve the body.

  ★

  Lance directed the medical examiner on a worn path through the pas-

  ture, and when they had driven as far as they could safely navigate, they got out and walked the rest of the way, carrying the doctor’s medical

  pouch and an empty body bag. Sadie’s Uncle Eli and Deputy Drew

  Jennings stood talking near the break in Sadie’s fence. Eli’s buckskin

  horse, still saddled, stood grazing not far away, his reins resting on the ground. Eli raised his chin to acknowledge Lance’s return.

  The medical examiner placed the bag on the ground, pulled on a

  set of rubber gloves, and went to work on the arrow protruding from the

  dead man’s back. The other men watched for a minute and then turned

  away, easing into conversation.

  “Well, if this was a hundred years ago, I’d say this cowboy pissed off

  some Indian,” Jennings remarked.

  The ME laughed. “Looks to me like that might still be the case.”

  Lance glanced disapprovingly at both men, and then looked at

  the body on the ground. He pulled a notebook from his front pocket

  and made notes about the clothing— the dirty work jeans and gloves,

  the worn cowboy boots, and the blood- stained shirt. Rolls of wire fenc-

  ing and a stack of posts were piled nearby; fencing pliers and a fence

  stretcher lay on the ground closer to the body. Lance couldn’t be sure,

  but the victim looked like a white guy to him— a white guy with no

  identification. He’d know more as soon as they could run fingerprints

  through the system.

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  “Can you put that arrow in an evidence bag for me, Doc?” Lance said.

  “Sure thing,” he said as he carefully extracted the arrow.

  Lance turned his attention to Eli. “Tell me again how you found

  this guy, Eli.”

  “It was the horses.” Eli rubbed his chin on his upper arm as if trying

  to wipe away the death in the air. His face reflected a lifetime of working outdoors, and his slim body appeared to be made up of only sinew and

  muscle. “They were acting up, and when I saw Sonny I knew something

  wasn’t right. It didn’t take me but a minute to saddle up. Sonny was

  standing guard over the body. It was real quiet.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  Eli looked at the deputy and the medical examiner and then down at

  the ground. He backed away, creating some space between him and the

  others before he spoke again. Lance followed.

  “I thought for a minute I did see something,” Eli said. “But I’m not

  sure.”

  “Who was it?”

  Eli looked around at the surrounding area. “It was hard to make

  out, but I thought I saw a black- and- white paint horse.”

  “With a rider?”

  “Maybe. I couldn’t tell.” he said. “It was too far away in the trees.

  There one minute, gone the next.”

  “Where? Did you try to follow them?”

  “No, like I said, it was there and then it wasn’t.” Eli turned away

  from Lance and pointed at the abundant oak trees and thick underbrush

  that covered the hillside before trailing off into a deep ravine, away from Sadie’s property. “There,” he said, as he pointed with his hand.

  Lance walked in the direction Eli had indicated. Even though the

  hard ground held moisture, he could make out only a few deer tracks.

  It would be easy to hide in these woods, he thought, and with the large

  number of the popular black- and- white paints in the county, the rider

  could have been anyone. This was going to take some digging.

  Lance returned to where Eli stood. “I don’t see anything,” he said.

  Eli nodded toward Sadie’s house. “Sonny saw him, too,” he said, as

  if the dog could corroborate his story.

  “And Sonny didn’t go after him?” Lance asked, surprised.

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  “He started to, but I called him back. Took him with me when I rode back down to the house to call it in.”

  “You mean that dog minds you?” Lance said, grinning.

  Eli smiled, but didn’t respond.

  “How do you suppose this fellow got this fencing material in here

  by himself ?”

  “I don’t know.” Eli shrugged and shook his head. “Probably a

  four- wheeler.”

  Lance searched Eli’s strong face for a moment before he spoke

  again. “Thanks, Eli. If you think of anything else, just give me a call.”

  Eli nodded.

  The medical examiner and Jennings had already zipped the victim

  into the body bag. “Let’s get him loaded before it starts raining,” the ME

  said.

  All four men grabbed the body bag and carried it down the hill to-

  ward the ME’s vehicle.

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  Chapter 2

  After Lance got in his truck and drove toward town following the med-

  ical examiner and the other deputy, Sadie went inside and traded her

  black dress and sweater for a worn shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and boots.

  Ignoring Lance’s advice to lock her doors and hunker down, she walked

 
; to the barn and whistled for Joe, her paint horse stallion.

  Joe always stood out in a crowd with his brown- and- white mark-

  ings: a spot on his forehead centered right between his ears, the long

  fluid marking covering his throat, chest, belly, and flank, cresting just short of his backbone, and a brown tip punctuating his long white tail.

  Joe raised his head, nickered, and calmly walked to the side of the barn, accompanied by his new best friend, Sir William, the billy goat.

  Sir William had appeared in the pasture a few weeks ago, and his

  mischievous personality immediately stole Sadie’s heart. He was a per-

  fect match for Joe with his own brown- and- white markings— a snow-

  white beard, brown head and ears, and a brown tail. Joe seemed to

  barely tolerate the goat at first, but now they were inseparable. It wasn’t until Sadie saw the gleam in her Uncle Eli’s eyes that she’d known exactly where Sir William had come from. Everybody gets lonely, Eli had

  said, including Joe. Sadie agreed to keep Sir William until such time as

  he started causing trouble, and then he would have to go live with his

  benefactor— her Uncle Eli.

  She opened the gate to let both animals into the corral. She patted

  Joe’s neck and Sir William’s rump. In a few short minutes, she had Joe

  saddled and rode him into the pasture behind her house, leaving an un-

  happy Sir William behind.

  Sonny ran out front across the open field, sniffing the ground and

  marking a scrub oak before returning to Sadie’s side. Together they

  slowly climbed the hillside that led to the upper pasture where someone

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  had lost his life earlier that day. Sadie felt a need to see where it had happened, as if that would help her understand, and she felt sure that, with all the activity by Lance and the others, whoever had shot the man with

  an arrow several hours ago would be long gone. The sun began to sink

  behind the treetops and the dampness in the air intensified as they rode.

  As soon as she could see where the fence had been breached, she

  stopped and slid off Joe’s back. To her left stood newly placed fence

  posts, familiar- looking wire hanging at one end. It looked identical to

  the fence she’d seen earlier that day at Angus Clyborn’s Buffalo Ranch.

  That couldn’t be a coincidence, she thought. How in the world did some-

  one get these posts and wire in here? And if they had a truck, how did