Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch

by Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  tried to remember the lessons of his youth, rekindle his knowledge of his Cherokee heritage. But it was too late. He hated what he had become.

  The decision he was about to make to save himself would completely

  destroy the last shred of what he knew about being Cherokee. Sacred or

  not, the white buffalo calf was simply going to have to disappear. And,

  the quicker the better.

  Hawk parked his Lexus in front of Ginny’s house, got out, and let

  himself in through the side door with the key she’d given him six months

  earlier. He liked Ginny. She was always available for him, for whatever

  he wanted. A nice arrangement.

  She slipped up beside him and ran her hand up his back. “I heard

  you drive up. Why did you have to leave in such a hurry like that?”

  “Lots going on,” he said and pushed her away. “Honey, I need to

  pick up that rifle I had you store for me. Is it still in the hall closet?”

  “No, I moved it. It’s in a box under the bed.”

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  “Under the bed?” Hawk frowned. “I hope it’s not getting dusty,” he said. He headed down the hallway toward Ginny’s bedroom.

  “I taped it up,” she said.

  “What about the box of ammo I left?”

  “It’s all there,” she said, sticking her lower lip out. “Aren’t you going to stay?”

  “I’d love to, hon, but I don’t have time.”

  He got down on his knees and retrieved the long cardboard box, slid-

  ing it out from under the bed with his hand. Ginny helped him peel back

  the tape and open the box. Hawk carefully pulled the vintage Winchester

  30.06 bolt- action rifle out of the box and instinctively moved the bolt

  back to verify the gun was still loaded. He stood and pointed the gun out the window and stared through the attached scope with his right eye.

  This rifle didn’t have the power of the Remington 243 Model 700 he’d

  had to leave behind with the obstinate deputy, but he could lay down any

  animal at a hundred yards with this rifle— including a white buffalo calf.

  He kissed Ginny’s cheek. “I’ll be back later. Okay?”

  She gave him a pouty look as he walked out the door. He placed the

  rifle on the back seat, got in, and drove off.

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  Chapter 32

  Sadie picked up the phone and dialed. Beanie answered on the second

  ring.

  “Hi, Beanie. How’s business going this morning?”

  Sadie listened while Beanie responded on the other end of the line.

  “Quiet,” she said. “Squirrel called a while ago. She’s going to bring her lunch over around noon and we’re going to eat here at the office. She

  won four dollars this morning.”

  Sadie could hear the excitement in Beanie’s voice, and it was appar-

  ent the news about the Clyborns hadn’t reached her yet. She decided to

  let the local gossip spread at its own pace. She didn’t feel up to going into it on the phone.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Beanie said, “you got a call back from that

  woman about her pet buffalo this morning. She said to tell you one of

  her ranch hands is on his way to pick it up. He left yesterday and should be here this evening.”

  Sadie bit on her lower lip before she spoke. “Did she say anything

  when she found out she was calling a travel agency?”

  “She did. But I figured out who she was right away and told her the

  Cherokee Nation had its own travel office.”

  “Oh, dear. What a tangled web . . . okay, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Do you need me to do anything?” Beanie asked.

  “No.” Sadie balanced the phone on her shoulder while she washed

  her hands in the kitchen sink and stared out the window at the exact spot where she’d first found the metal ear tag. “I’m going to check on that

  buffalo,” she said. “I’ll be in later.”

  “Okay, boss. Later,” she said and hung up.

  Knowing that Lance would be busy most of the day, Sadie grabbed

  her hat, closed the door shut behind her, and whistled for horse and dog.

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  Joe walked around the corner of the barn and snuffled. Sonny and Sir William followed.

  A few minutes later, Sadie, Joe, and Sonny left a bleating Sir William

  behind and ambled into the pasture. She could see her Uncle Eli work-

  ing with one of his horses near his corral. He waved and she acknowl-

  edged by taking off her hat and holding it in the air for a moment before continuing on toward the newly installed fence where Kenny Wayne

  Sanders had been killed and the property where she hoped she would

  find Sandy and her white calf.

  Having had her unsettling moments here in the last few days, she

  admonished Sonny to stay close and he complied. When she got to the

  fence she reined Joe to the right, since that appeared to her to be the

  direction the men had been working. Her intuition told her that with all

  that had gone on at the Buffalo Ranch in the last few days, the workers

  had probably left Angus’s fence- building job and moved on.

  She proceeded cautiously for about a mile when she found what she’d

  been looking for. The tall fence halted abruptly, and a short section of

  the old fence lay on the ground. Tools lay beside it as if the workers had instantly disappeared. “Look, Sonny. Scotty beamed them up.” The visu-alization made her chuckle. “I don’t think this is going to keep too many bison secure,” she said aloud. “It’s a good thing Sandy is a tame buffalo.”

  She slid off Joe’s back and guided him through the opening, making

  sure there were no nails for the horse to step on. She noticed horse hoofprints in the soft soil, probably made when it had been raining. Bending

  down, she saw that one of the hooves had a unique print, with a chip

  missing on the outer edge. Dismissing the hoofprints, she climbed back

  onto Joe’s saddle.

  She tried to remember the map in the county clerk’s office. She

  thought she was still on the Chuculate property that Angus had so art-

  fully stolen. She pondered on Angus and all his shenanigans. It was no

  wonder someone had killed him. And with him dead, who would take

  care of his buffalo? She didn’t exactly have the right to hand over the buffalo known as Sandy to anyone to haul off, and there was the question

  about the calf. Was it really a white buffalo, or a mixed- breed Charolais?

  What a mess.

  She continued to think as she rode into a steep ravine, dodging thick

  brush and low- hanging tree limbs. Of course, if the woman had sent

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  papers with her ranch hand showing she owned Sandy, they would have to give the buffalo to him, right? But the metal tag with the identifying number on it wasn’t attached to Sandy anymore. Sadie had it. Of course,

  the ranch hand would probably know to look for the tattoo on the ani-

  mal’s lip. This was getting more and more complicated.

  When she reached the bottom of the narrow valley, she found a

  small meadow. Suddenly, she realized Sonny had disappeared. She

  whistled and heard him bark. Maybe he’d found Sandy. She rounded a

  thicket of scrub oak and found Sonny lapping water from a clear water

  creek. She slipped off Joe’s back to look around and let Joe have a drink, too.

  She heard pounding hooves and looked up to see Sandy and her

  cream- colored calf. The sight mesmerized Sadie for a moment, but then

  s
he realized Sandy was not happy. The crack of a rifle caught Sadie

  off guard and a bullet whizzed by her ear. She fell to the ground when

  Joe reared. Another shot sounded and Sonny yelped. She tried to catch

  her breath, her heart beating so loudly she could hardly hear. It was

  her nightmare coming true. She twisted around and saw Sonny on the

  ground and Eugene Hawk aiming at the calf.

  “No!” she screamed. Joe backed away as she ran toward Sonny, not

  caring whether she was in the line of fire or not. Sonny was already on

  his feet and hurling himself toward Hawk, teeth bared. She could see

  blood on his fur, and so much adrenaline ran through her veins that she

  screamed and ran headlong toward Hawk and Sonny. She heard another

  round go off, only this time it was a different, louder boom. She could

  see Hawk falling backward, the rifle in his hand falling away, and heard

  her uncle screaming in Cherokee.

  She got to Sonny just as he clamped down on Hawk’s arm and be-

  gan to shake the man’s upper body back and forth like a rag doll.

  “Alewisdodi!” she yelled. “Stop, Sonny!”

  Hawk screamed. “Get him off before he kills me!”

  Sonny let go, stood over Hawk, and snarled.

  Eli rode up, jumped off his horse, kicked the rifle out of Hawk’s

  reach, and kicked Hawk in the side. Sonny yelped again.

  “Are you hit, Sadie?” Eli yelled.

  “No,” she cried. “But Sonny’s bleeding.”

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  Eli retrieved a rope from his saddle. “Get up Hawk! You’re not hurt.”

  “My hand is bleeding,” Hawk cried. “You shot me in the hand!”

  “If we’re lucky, maybe you’ll bleed to death,” Eli said.

  Sadie pulled Sonny back and stroked his head, trying to calm him as

  her uncle tied Hawk to a nearby oak tree.

  With Hawk restrained, Eli knelt beside Sadie and the wolfdog.

  Sonny leaned hard against Sadie and began to pant wildly, but remained

  still while Eli ran his hands along the wolfdog’s body from his head,

  down his legs, and to his tail.

  “I don’t think anything’s broken, but he’s losing a lot of blood.” He

  pulled off his shirt and tied it around Sonny’s hindquarter.

  Sadie watched her uncle work carefully, but with purpose.

  “What do we do?” she said. “Do you think we can get him on Joe’s

  back so he doesn’t have to walk all the way back to the house? He’s too

  heavy to carry that far.” Joe stood not far from the buffalo cow and calf.

  Eli got up, walked over to Hawk, and backhanded him. “Where’s

  your vehicle?”

  Fear crossed Hawk’s face as he pointed with his head. “Through the

  gate,” he said. “It’s parked on the forest road.”

  “Where’s the key?” Eli said as he started emptying all of Hawk’s

  pockets until he finally found what he was looking for. He returned to

  Sadie and threw a ring of keys to her. “Come on. You’re going to take

  Sonny to the vet in Hawk’s car. Can you hold Sonny’s head? I don’t want

  him to bite me when I pick him up.”

  Sadie talked to Sonny quietly and held his head, and together they

  carried him toward the road.

  “Wait!” Hawk yelled. “You can’t leave me here!”

  Sadie and Eli ignored him as they made their way to the car. Once

  they got to Hawk’s Lexus, Sadie opened the back door and urged Sonny

  to climb onto the back seat.

  Sadie’s shock turned to rage when she heard Hawk screaming. “You

  can’t let that dog bleed all over my leather seats!”

  She started toward Hawk, but Eli grabbed her arm and motioned

  her back toward the car. Then he walked back to the tree where Hawk

  was trying to wiggle his way free.

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  “Jalulogv.” Hawk spit out the Cherokee word and then repeated in English. “You’re crazy.”

  “If that dog dies,” Eli said, “I will show you crazy.” He put his

  hands firmly around Hawk’s throat. “I will kill you with my bare hands.

  You got that?” He picked up his rifle, then turned to Sadie, and spoke

  deliberately. “Send the law, but don’t wait too long. I’m not sure if I can control myself.”

  Sadie jumped into the driver’s seat, started the Lexus, and directed

  the air conditioning toward the back seat. Gravel flew as she and Sonny

  raced toward Doc Cody’s.

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  Chapter 33

  Two and a half hours after Lance caught Hawk trying to walk away

  from the Clyborn home with evidence, the team from the lab arrived.

  Lance handed over the crossbow and the Remington 243 Model 700

  rifle that he’d confiscated from Hawk, explained the importance of each

  to the lead man, and pointed out that they would most likely be cov-

  ered with Hawk’s fingerprints. He explained that he had already gone

  through every room in the house, but he would appreciate their going

  through it again. He pulled out his notebook and made a note to re-

  mind the ME to send a copy of Angus’s fingerprints to the lab, then he

  instructed Jennings to keep the crime scene sealed until the team had

  finished. He needed to get moving.

  Lance sped away from the Buffalo Ranch and headed toward his

  office. He had taken notes all evening as well as this morning, but sooner or later he had to fill out the obligatory reports. He decided on later.

  First, he would pay a visit to Roy Carter.

  As he drove past Sadie’s house, he fought the urge to stop. He could

  use another cup of coffee, but knew it would cost him valuable time, so

  he continued to drive. He promised himself he would make it up to her

  later. Then he began to organize his thoughts.

  If the medical examiner could retrieve a bullet from the body of

  Angus Clyborn, and he felt confident that he could, the ballistics report would throw the investigation into high gear. It would either convict or

  eliminate Roy Carter. Roy had made a lot of threats to kill Angus, and

  right now he appeared to be the prime suspect. Losing his herd of cattle

  to Bang’s had done more than put Roy in a bad mood, but Lance found

  it disheartening to believe a man would murder someone in cold blood

  for something like that.

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  Then there was the question of why Hawk was trying to abscond with the Remington rifle. Hawk had presented himself to Lance as

  Angus’s lawyer and business partner. From Hawk’s reputation, if money

  was involved and he was benefitting from the arrangement, it didn’t

  make sense for Hawk to cut the head off the golden goose, so to speak.

  However, if the bullet that killed Angus matched the Remington, Hawk

  would have a lot of explaining to do.

  Lance remained puzzled about the conduct of Angus’s wife,

  Camilla. Why did she flee like that? Did she know who killed Angus?

  Lance thought it unlikely she’d done it herself, but it would have been

  easy enough for her to hire it done. She certainly had the means, and

  his behavior with women could have sent her into a rage. Did she sud-

  denly have buyer’s remorse and run from fear of being found out? Most

  likely, she’d been driving too fast and simply lost control in the loose

  gravel. If she’d swerved to miss an animal, which was a good p
ossi-

  bility, she could have overcorrected and easily hit the concrete bridge

  abutment, causing the Cadillac to flip into the water. Nevertheless, un-

  less she’d left a note behind that he hadn’t been able to find yet, she was no help to him now.

  Then there was Eli. Eli could be an angry Indian with a bad temper

  or a stalwart member of the community. He would give you the shirt off

  his back if you needed it, but if you tried to take something without asking, he wouldn’t think twice before breaking your arm. No one pushed

  him around, including Angus, and Eli had proven that by blasting out

  the taillight and back window of Angus’s truck. Granted, Angus had

  provoked him, but in pure textbook theory, some would have consid-

  ered that attempted murder. Eli had threatened to kill Angus, and most

  people took him at his word. If Eli had killed Angus, that was going to

  create more problems than Lance cared to think about at the moment.

  He would put Eli on the bottom of his list for now.

  Lance wondered who else hated Angus enough to kill him. Becky

  flashed into his mind. She certainly had reason to kill Angus after he

  raped her. Then Lance wondered how many other women he had

  raped.

  Lance had told Becky a trial could be rough, and he wondered if

  that comment had provoked her into taking things into her own hands.

  But then, he had a pretty good handle on people’s character, and he

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  didn’t think Becky had it in her to kill Angus, or anyone else for that matter. Instead, she, like most rape victims, was more likely to simply

  suffer in silence.

  Then there was the possibility it was an accident. He’d caught

  more than one poacher on this road. Someone could have taken aim at

  a deer, shot from the window of his truck, and missed. If the rifle and the ammo were high- powered enough, the bullet could have traveled

  past the intended target of a venison dinner and hit Angus instead. If

  that were the case, the shooter might not even know what had hap-

  pened, and if it had gone down that way, there would be no weapon to

  compare to the ballistics report. Out of the realm of possibility? Not

  completely.

  Lance’s thoughts moved on to the crossbow. The arrows in the at-

  tached quiver looked suspiciously like the arrow that had killed Kenny