“Yes, that’s a possibility,” she said.
“Anything else you need?” he asked.
“No, Michael. Thank you. That’s all.”
Annie’s official training began early that Monday morning. Miss Walker insisted she no longer needed a nursemaid and that it was time Annie learned the ropes if she had a mind to ever become a rancher.
Annie was given a brown mare named Caper. The horse had a thick mane and a star on her forehead. She also had a gentle disposition.
“We’ll see how you do with Caper before we put you on a horse with more gumption,” Ruckus said.
“I can handle any horse you give me,” she said.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He stood over her like an old mother hen while she saddled her horse and mounted.
“Well, what do you know?” he said with a nod. “You’d be surprised how many women are helpless as a cow in quicksand around horses. One of Miz Walker’s past heirs didn’t know how to ride nothin’ but sidesaddle. A steer sees you on one of those cockeyed saddles, he’s likely to laugh his hide off.”
Holding on to the reins, she grinned down at him. It felt good to be on a horse. Riding with the ranch hands afforded her a chance to observe and perhaps get to know them better. A person could tell a lot about a man when he didn’t know he was being watched.
She adjusted her hat’s stampede string. Miss Walker insisted she dress properly in a divided skirt and man’s shirt, and told her to take whatever she needed from the wardrobe.
It took needle and thread to make Miss Walker’s clothes fit and a snip with scissors to create a false pocket for her weapon. Though all the ranch hands packed guns, she had no intention of letting anyone know she did too.
Ruckus raised his arm and gestured for Branch. Branch rode over on a black steed.
“Miss Beckman,” he said with a slight dip of his head.
“You two stay with me,” Ruckus said. “Still got some soon-to-be mamas out there. Keep your eyes and ears open for any of ’em in distress and we’ll pull ’em in. Let’s go.”
Stretch and Wishbone took up the lead and the others fell in line. They followed cattle trails across the desert, kicking up dust and sending prairie dogs diving for cover.
Ruckus explained the different cattle. “That’s a weaner,” he said, pointing to a young grazing bovine. “He and his mama recently parted company. And that there is a first-calf heifer.” He pointed to a brown-and-white animal whose sides stuck out like saddlebags. “Looks like she’s about ready. Heifers about to give birth are called springers.”
Ruckus’s depth of knowledge amazed her. He knew his cattle like most people knew their children. He had the observation skills of a private eye and only his trusting nature made him unsuitable for the job.
“What you see out here is God’s hand at work,” he said.
She glanced at his profile. “Do you ever have doubts?” she asked. “About God?”
He glanced at her. “I reckon everyone has doubts.”
“There’s so much I don’t understand. Like, for example, why God allows evil to exist.”
Whenever she asked such questions of her pastor in Chicago, he made her feel guilty. “You must have faith, child.” That was his answer for everything.
“If God was small enough to understand, I reckon He wouldn’t be big enough to worship,” Ruckus said.
She smiled. “You should have been a preacher, Ruckus.”
His expression grew serious. “I would have been if it weren’t for my feet.”
She blinked. “Your feet?”
He nodded. “Years ago I appeared before a church committee in Texas and asked to be considered for the preacher job. Back then you didn’t need no special training. All you needed was a call from God. The committee quoted Romans 10:15, which talks about the beautiful feet of those who preach. Then they made me take off my boots, took one look at my ugly dogs, and sent me on my way. Fortunately, my son has his mother’s feet.”
Annie shook her head. “I never heard anything so ridiculous.”
“Ignorance of God and the Bible ain’t unusual. The world is full of misinformed Christians.” Ruckus shrugged. “Anyway, who needs a pulpit to preach? I can do all the preachin’ I want from right here in my saddle.”
He sounded optimistic but she detected a note of regret. “Maybe this is what God wanted you to do all along.”
“Maybe so. Maybe so,” he said, his voice wistful.
Stretch called to him and Ruckus galloped away. Without Ruckus’s ongoing commentary, it was even harder to ignore Taggert, who rode just ahead. Her gaze swept across his broad shoulders and strong back. He looked perfectly relaxed and in tune with his horse, yet he managed to exude a restless power that both excited and intrigued her.
He looked over his shoulder. Heat rushed to her face but she forced herself not to look away. He reined in his horse, allowing her to catch up to him.
“How are you enjoying the . . . scenery so far?” he asked.
She glared at him. He couldn’t possibly read her thoughts, could he? “I’ve seen better.”
He grinned and her heart skipped a beat. There should be a law against handsome thieves.
“Are you referring to GTF?” he asked.
The reference to her “God the Father” file startled her. If only he knew . . .
“No one can even come close to GTF,” she said. “Especially you.”
Ruckus stopped ahead next to an enormous steel windmill. “All right, men. Spread out.”
Taggert flashed his white teeth. “I believe he means the lady too.”
“I know what he means.” Tugging on her reins, she pulled away from him and turned her horse in Stretch’s direction. If anyone could still her rampant thoughts, it was the lanky cowpuncher and his tall tales.
Away from the others, Caper showed more spunk, but the mare had a smooth, even gait and needed very little direction.
Annie pulled alongside Stretch’s gelding. He gave her a nod and pointed to a calf wobbling on spindly legs. “Can’t be more than an hour or two old,” he said.
She had no fondness for cattle, but the young ones never failed to make her smile. The mother eyed them with suspicion, then nuzzled her calf with her nose as if trying to steer him away from them.
Annie waited until they were a distance away from mother and babe before asking her question. “I heard that some of the married men live in cabins.”
“That’s right. Why? You planning on getting married?”
“No, it’s just that sometimes at night I see a light.” She pointed in the general direction.
“Ruckus is the only married man, and his cabin is that way.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder.
“Then what do you think I saw?” she asked.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Maybe you saw the Red Ghost.”
She should have known Stretch would launch into one of his tall tales. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Years ago there was something called a U.S. Camel Corps. The army imported the animals to help forge a way to California. After the war, the camels were sent to carnivals and zoos, but some have been spotted roamin’ this here desert, including the Red Ghost.”
She glanced around. Camels in Arizona? Could that possibly be true? “Why is it called the Red Ghost?” she asked.
He spit out a wad of tobacco juice. “Because of its red fur. Some farmer supposedly shot him dead a few years ago. ’Course, there’re still camel sightings from time to time, but I haven’t seen any myself.”
“That still doesn’t explain the lights,” she said.
“I reckon not.” He tugged on his reins to study a group of cattle peacefully grazing. None appeared to be distressed.
Spotting Feedbag ahead, she pressed her knees in her horse’s sides and took off in his direction. Something caught her eye, a movement. She veered off the trail and over to a patch of sage.
A bovine staggered around dragging its hind legs.
The animal appeared to be blind, or maybe just confused. Pressing her head against a boulder, the critter threw her head back, teeth grinding. She then fell to the ground with a strange strangling noise.
“Oh no!” Annie waved frantically for help and Taggert was the first to arrive. He quickly dismounted and leaned over the fallen animal.
He pulled off his hat and grimaced. He didn’t say a word. A shake of the head said it all.
Annie and the cowhands stood in a circle around a fly-covered carcass while Ruckus checked it over. Hats had been removed out of respect and everyone spoke in low tones.
So far that morning, sixteen dead cattle had been found, all within a short distance from the windmill the men called Job, after the biblical figure.
O.T. dipped his finger in the water trough and raised it to his lips. “Salt!” He spit out the word with a stream of saliva.
Annie looked from one man to another. No one moved and she was the first to speak. “What does that mean?”
Stretch slammed his hat on his head. “It means that someone poisoned the cattle on purpose.”
Poisoned? Annie felt sick to her stomach. “I don’t understand. Don’t cattle need salt to live?” They had passed several salt licks so far that morning.
“Yeah, but too much salt will kill ’em,” Feedbag explained.
“Who’d want to go and do a thing like that?” Taggert asked. He looked every bit as shaken as she felt.
“I don’t know, but let’s stop jawing and get to work.” O.T. spun around and walked away, issuing orders. “Bury these bodies and keep the live ones away from that water.”
Stretch thrust a shovel in her hands. The sound of spades hitting the soil reminded her of the day her father had been buried. It had been cold and rainy that morning, a fitting atmosphere for a sorrowful event.
Today, in contrast, the sun blazed merrily overhead and the unrelenting heat made her feel lightheaded.
“Here.” Taggert held out a canteen of water. “Better drink this.”
Perhaps it was the shimmering air rising from the desert floor, or maybe it was the stench of death all around her. Suddenly she had the craziest feeling that Taggert wanted to take her in his arms. She was equally positive that had he done so, she wouldn’t have objected.
It was a dangerous notion and not one she could afford to entertain. She did not dare think about anything but putting him and his cohorts away for good.
She stood her shovel upright and took the canteen. The water soothed her throat but did nothing to banish her dark thoughts.
“Thank you,” she said in a shaky voice and handed the canteen back.
“Maybe you’d better sit,” he said.
She shook her head. An operative never backed down from a job, no matter how unpleasant. Right now her job was to make the others believe she was capable of becoming Miss Walker’s heiress. “I’m all right.”
He stepped away without a word but the concern on his face spoke volumes. Looking at him, she felt as if her breath had been cut off.
He hung the canteen from his saddle, rolled up his sleeves, and reached into the back of a wagon for a shovel. From beneath lowered lashes, she watched him dig, admiring his power and strength.
Stop it, she screamed silently. Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze away.
A glance at a nearby carcass turned her stomach. She gripped the handle of her shovel tight. It was times like this that she wished she’d followed her father’s wishes and had become a teacher. Or married what’s-his-name, the law student her father liked so much. She hesitated momentarily as she remembered something Ruckus said. “It’s not my son’s job to please me. It’s his job to please God.” Why his words came back to her at that particular moment she had no idea.
With grim determination, she plunged her spade into the soft sandy soil and tried to put her troubled thoughts to rest.
Chapter 19
Wells Fargo Detective Agency: We never forget.
A half-moon lit the nighttime sky, but it was warmer than in previous weeks. For this, Annie was grateful. She shifted in her saddle and Caper nickered. She had been sitting on her horse for the last two hours, waiting. Stakeouts were her least favorite part of the job. She preferred action to sitting around and hoping for something to happen.
Of course, stakeouts in the city were far different from stakeouts in the desert, where there were so few places to hide. She stayed in the shadow of the barn so as not to be seen from the bunkhouse, but should Miss Walker happen to look out the window, she might well wonder what Annie was doing.
It had been a horrible day. It was late afternoon by the time the corpses were buried, the salt water replaced with fresh, and the other water outlets checked.
Miss Walker had taken the loss of cattle in stride. She blamed the other ranchers in the area. “I install and maintain windmills and they want my water,” she said by way of explanation.
It didn’t seem that far-fetched to think that some mean-spirited rancher might have dumped salt into the water trough. The fight for water rights was not new and the recent drought had made things progressively worse.
Still, something about the whole affair didn’t sit right with Annie. For one thing, the location of the windmill seemed all wrong. An outside rancher would have had to pass two windmills before reaching the one called Job. It made no sense. Why not poison the water closest to the property line? Why take a chance on trespassing and being caught?
Her guess was that the perpetrator was someone from the Last Chance and she intended to find out who that person was—if it killed her.
A light flashed in the distance and her thoughts scattered like field mice. Feet pressed hard into the stirrups, she rose half out of the saddle. Another light flicked on and off, followed by a steady glow. She lowered herself. Someone was out there.
The question was, did that same someone poison the water? And if so, what, if anything, did it have to do with the Phantom?
Mr. Pinkerton’s voice echoed in her head. “I mean it—you’re to take no unnecessary chances.”
She hesitated, and as if sensing her indecision, Caper whickered and bobbed her head.
The pinpoint of light beckoned like a beacon and the temptation grew too strong to ignore.
Making up her mind, she jerked on her horse’s reins and kicked her sides. “Gid-up!” Caper sprang forward and carried her swiftly along the dusty trail.
She traveled for about a mile before the light went out. “Whoa.” She brought her horse to a standstill, her gaze focused straight ahead. Caper gave a low whicker. “It’s okay, girl.”
The stars were bright, the half-moon orange, and the air still. The lone cry of a wolf broke the silence, followed by a cattle’s long lowing as if to warn the herd of danger.
At first, she thought the pounding was her heart. She then realized the sound was coming from behind. Stretch’s tale of a red camel came to mind but she quickly pushed the thought away. Unless camels wore iron shoes, the racing hooves belonged to a shod horse.
Not wanting to be caught out at this time of night, she slapped the reins and Caper took off. The light in the distance flashed again and she headed straight for it.
She urged her horse to go faster but the horse behind her still gained. Spotting the dark outline of a windmill a short distance away, she made a quick decision. She veered off the trail and made her way through the milling cattle and reached the windmill without mishap. Dismounting, she hid in the shadow of the water tank, though it probably wasn’t necessary since several cattle stood between her and the trail. With luck, the horseman would whiz by too fast to notice her or her horse.
She got her wish. The black steed shot past, and though she only got a glimpse of the rider’s dark form, she knew it was Taggert. No question.
So what was he doing out here this time of night? Who was he in such a hurry to meet?
She slid her gun into the holster at her thigh and mounted. She then followed in Taggert’s wake.
/> Taggert dismounted and pulled his Peacemaker out of his holster. This was where he thought he saw the light, but maybe not. It was hard to tell. Distances could be deceiving at night, especially in the desert. He staked his horse and circled the granite wall rising from the desert floor. The jagged spires stood out against the star-pocked sky. The shadows of the lower buttes looked like animals ready to spring.
He crept forward slowly, cautiously, stopping from time to time to listen. Every desert creature seemed to be holding its breath. He stayed in the shadow of the granite peaks and was just about to turn back when he heard something: the slow, steady drip of water.
He holstered the gun and reached into his pocket for safety matches. Striking a match on the sole of his boot, he held it shoulder high. The flickering flame revealed what looked like the mouth of a cave. It was hard to tell how deep the cave went, but he guessed it was deep enough for a hideout. Was this where the Phantom lived? He would know more tomorrow when he checked out the cave in the light of day.
He blew out the match before it burned his fingers.
The crunch of gravel made him reach for his gun again.
Something or someone was coming from behind. He pulled his Peacemaker from his holster and whirled about.
Staying close to the rocky wall, Taggert walked ever so slowly. Something snapped beneath his boot and he froze. Whoever was on the trail had obviously heard it, too, and stopped moving.
Taggert’s ears strained to pick up the softest sound. From a distance came the muffled beat of hooves. Someone was getting away but there was nothing he could do about it. Someone else stood between him and his horse.
He gripped his gun, but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. Come out, come out, whoever you are.
At long last the shadow moved forward and stepped into the stream of moonlight.
Taggert practically dropped his gun. “Miss Beckman?”
Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) Page 16
