Beyond the Broken Road, page 32
"There was no other way?”
"There always is. I could have let him ride on into Tucson. By now we'd have a posse and the marshal back with a warrant this time. At that point, people probably would have died, me at the least."
"Because the marshal would have accused you of the stage robbery."
"I won't be locked up, Abby. I won't go to that hellhole of Yuma for something I didn't do."
"Good lawyers--"
He cut her off with a sharp laugh. He thought about what he had hidden in his barn now, the proof that was all the marshal would need. "We can't win talking about this. We've lived different lives. Seen different worlds. You'll never understand the way I have lived, how I think, and I'm damned glad of it."
"I want to."
He shook his head. "No, you don't. Give it up, Abby. We're a mismatched pair of mules, trying to pull a wagon, but it won't work."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you need to think about what you want, about what's good for you in the future. I don't think it's me." He limped out of the room, knowing she was following, and he wouldn’t turn her away.
Sam walked down to the bunkhouse before first light, his mind made up as to what he had to do. Ollie was yawning and putting on the coffee when he walked into the long, narrow room.
"You're up early," his old friend commented needlessly.
Sam straddled one of the chairs by the long table. "We're short some men. I'm going to Tombstone in a couple of days to hire what we need."
"Need for what?" Ollie asked, frowning.
"To move a herd. We've lost the last two--one way or another. It's time to make up the difference."
"I thought we weren’t going back," Joe said, crawling out of his bunk. "It's been good, working the cattle, building fence."
"Any of you want to quit, that's your choice," Sam said, his voice cold and emotionless, his heart shut off from what he was doing. It had to be this way. He wouldn't let himself consider anything else.
"Miss Abby know about it?" Bull asked.
"Miss Abby isn't part of this ranch."
"She won't like it," Ollie said.
"I'm not asking her permission. You boys think about what you want, but this ranch is mine. I don't want to work it. If you aren't interested in picking up cattle in Mexico, you can find something else. It won't be here."
Ollie cursed. "I don't like it. Them wide open days down there is done. You know it. What are you’re really sayin’ here?"
"I'm telling you what you need to know." Sam rose, in no mood to argue. "Don't say anything to Abby until I do.”
“I know what this is about. I never took you for a coward, Sam.”
"No man but you could say that," Sam said as he walked out the door. At the stable, he moved Satan from the stall and threw the saddle blanket over his back.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Ollie said from the doorway.
Sam turned to look at him. "Maybe it is cowardice, but she doesn't belong here. The one way to convince her of that is when she finds out I'm going on with the rustling."
"Are you? Or is that just a dodge?"
"It doesn’t matter."
"There are easier ways to commit suicide. You know this country's getting too civilized to keep going the way we were."
"I hear you." Avoiding the stallion’s attempt to take a nip at his arm, Sam adjusted the bridle over his head. "I won't ask you or any man to go with me.”
"I just wish you'd tell me what's going on. You ain’t never been a man to use up all your kindlin' makin' a fire, but it seems lately you been closing up tighter than a clam." When he saw Sam throw the saddle over Satan's back, obviously not going to reply, he said, "You know if you go south, I'll go with you."
"We’ll see about that when the time comes," Sam said, tightening the cinch. Mounted, he said, "I won't be back 'til late. You can tell her that."
Ollie stared up at him. "She deserves more from you than that. She loves you, boy."
"Does she?" Sam spurred the stallion into a hard run and left the barnyard in a cloud of dust. He felt a reckless need to ride and fast enough to leave behind the devils that tormented him—if that was possible. The big horse was eager to give it a try.
He rode across the open grasslands, heading south. Because the land had been grazed lightly over the last five years, the grass was high and thick--rich land for cattle, good country for a cattleman. It lay in undulating hills, surrounded by higher land, forested land, but the valley itself was wide and free of restrictions. As far as Sam could see, the land was his. The cattle grazing here and there were his.
Heading up into the low-lying hills, into the scrub oak country, Sam halted the stallion at a vantage point and turned to look at his home. He felt his heart swell with the feeling of pride at knowing this piece of ground belonged to him or maybe him to it. There hadn't been much in growing up that he'd been able to call his own. This land was the first concrete thing. It wasn't that the ranch was so huge--not by Western standards, but there was still room around him to expand, then he cursed himself for what he was thinking. Foolishness. It wasn't possible. There were no second chances. A man couldn't change, couldn't turn around after he'd gone too far down certain roads.
He dismounted and put a rope around the big horse’s neck, securing him to a juniper where he could graze. In the distance, Sam saw the thunderheads building up and hoped they'd come his way. The land was dry. It needed rain. He needed rain. He sat on a ridge of rock and stared out at the mountains in the far distance.
Trust. She kept talking about trust. Trust was for fools. This business of love was throwing him for nearly as big a loop as all the other things Abby talked about. He hadn't seen many examples of love in his time, even less of trust.
Use, convenience, lust. Those things there’d been plenty but not love. Abby claimed she loved him, but it wasn't possible. How could a woman like her love a man who couldn't read, who was ignorant?
Even the feelings she did have for him would be easy to turn and twist until they became hate. He'd seen her anger, knew how easy it would be to arouse that again. He would use that knowledge to do exactly that. She would leave him in Tombstone. He couldn’t walk away from her, but he could make her leave him when she saw him for all he was.
He heard the bleating calf then. At first, he thought the mother would see to it, but he heard nothing but that calf. No answering bellow. Irritated at having his bout of admitted, self-pity interrupted, Sam slipped the bridle onto Satan's head, winding up the rope and securing it to the saddle.
He rode toward the sound of the distressed calf, convinced that when he saw it, it would be fine with its mother nearby grazing and ignoring it. The sound led him farther into the hills, to a rocky ravine. Overhead Sam saw the vultures, not a good sign. He found the mother's bloated body by the smell, but the calf wasn't beside her. He dismounted and examined the dead animal, deciding it was something internally that had gone wrong. The only outer marks were those of the scavengers.
Back on Satan, he no longer heard the calf. Great, finding it without its crying would be near impossible in all the rock and brush. He kept the big horse quiet. Nothing. Was the calf dead? That didn't seem likely, as its cry had sounded strong moments before.
He headed in the direction from where he thought the bawling had come and heard a rustle of rock. Dismounting, he walked to the edge of a narrow ravine and looked down. There in a natural hole was the calf.
"And they say sheep are dumb," Sam said staring at it, knowing the smartest thing he could do would be to put it out of its misery. He almost got his rifle, but instead tied Satan to a scrub oak and reached for his rope.
He secured one end of the lariat to a large tree not far from the lip of the crevasse and let himself down. Rock, dislodged by his boots, bounced from the wall, bloodying his forehead with a sharp slap. Now he knew he'd gone crazy.
At the bottom, Sam looked at a week-old heifer. She made a protesting sound, not seeming to regard him as any savior. It was probably right. There was no way she could survive without her mother. He nearly pulled out his Colt, but then the calf looked him in the eye.
"So," he growled, "you think you've fought to live and deserve a chance. I don't know why." It would be a female causing him trouble again.
The calf bawled. Still looking for an excuse to end its existence, Sam ran his hands over its legs and found nothing broken, nor any blood. However, it had gotten into this spot, being in a virtual hole had protected it from predators.
Getting the little critter up the wall of that cliff wasn't going to be easy. He could carry it, but it looked to weigh a good sixty pounds. Hefting it on his shoulders would make them both vulnerable to falling if Sam lost his grip on the rope. The best way would be to tie the rope around the little one, climb up himself, then pull the animal up after him. It would also leave the calf most vulnerable to rock slides and being hit as Sam had been.
He debated a moment. The baby already had a lot of strikes against her for survival. Without considering it further, he tied the calf’s legs together and put her over his neck to rest against his shoulders. "You lay still," he ordered, not expecting his command to carry much weight, but as he worked his way up the rock fall, the little one didn't move.
On the top, untying her legs, he lifted the protesting calf to his saddle, ignoring Satan's skittishness. Mounting, he headed for the ranch, knowing he was going to feel like an absolute fool riding in with this worthless scrap of flesh over his saddle. Big tough man, real outlaw type. He only hoped Abby wouldn't see him.
Ollie looked up as Sam rode into the yard below the barn. Sam had hoped to see no one, but he guessed that was wishing for too much.
"What ya got there?" Ollie asked, obviously able to see what it was.
"I picked up this mountain lion cub," Sam said, putting his right leg over the pommel and sliding down. "Who's milking Tildy these days?"
"Most of the time Miss Abby. Sometimes Joe or me though. Why?"
"Why? Because if this thing is going to have a mother, it'll have to be her. Does it look big enough to you to be eating grass?"
Ollie chuckled. "Reckon not. Tildy will feed it?”
“She’d more likely kick it to death. It’ll take rigging a kind of bottle from one of you to keep it alive.”
“On her excess milk?"
"More likely all the milk before it's finished," Sam said setting the calf on the ground. She shook herself, and then looked with big expectant eyes up at Sam.
"Reckon she figures you're her mama," Ollie said. Sam saw him suppress another chuckle and was grateful for small favors.
"You think we can keep Abby from seeing it?" Sam asked, knowing he had no right to ask favors from Ollie after the way he'd talked to him before he'd ridden out. Ollie grinned and looked past Sam's shoulder.
"Not too likely," she said from just behind him.
Damnation. He turned to face her, knowing his expression was probably chagrined.
"It's cute," Abby said, kneeling to lift up the head of the calf. "What happened to its mama?"
"I am not sure. It happens that way sometimes. She looked to be a first timer."
"Its legs are scraped up." She glanced up at Sam and saw the dried blood on his forehead. "Did you two get into a fight?"
"Not quite. She was in a hole. I had to go after her."
"Had to?" Ollie asked with a wider grin.
Sam ground his teeth together. "Are you two going to stand there and laugh or get this squirt some milk?"
"Laugh first, then milk," Abby said, running off with a giggle.
Sam watched her go and felt his heart go with her.
"I'm looking for a woman," Drago Sinclair said looking around the dirty, little Tubac bar.
“This ain’t the place,” the barkeep said with a smirk.
Drago felt what little patience he had begin to fray. “Don’t get smart with me.” He pulled from his vest pocket a by now worn picture of Abigail Spenser and showed it to the bartender. “Seen her?” He bit off the end of his cigar and lit it as the barkeep looked at the picture.
"Nope."
Drago cursed. “Give us a beer.”
“Us?”
A small man walked into the bar, dusting off his pants.
“Find somebody to tend to the horses?” Drago asked.
Monk nodded.
The bartender set two beers on the bar, resuming wiping down the other end of the badly scarred bar surface. "What you want with the woman anyway?"
"A man with too many questions doesn’t last long out here."
The bartender smiled and glanced toward his shotgun, which lay on the shelf behind the bar. “I’ve noticed that.”
Drago had been aware of a man sitting at one of the three tables but had paid him no mind until he heard him clear his throat. "Mind if I look at the picture?" Drago shrugged and tossed it to him. The man smiled after looking at it. He was large. His body seemed to fill the chair in which he sat. "What you want with her?"
“What’s it to you?”
“That was my next question."
Moving to sit at the man’s table, Drago signaled Monk to bring the beers over. He set a double eagle on the table. "What’ll this get me?"
The man laughed. "That’s just burial money around these parts."
Drago took a swallow of his beer. "How do I know you have something worth more?"
"You want the reward, don’t you?”
“If you know that much, why haven’t you claimed it?”
“Reasons."
"Craven ones?"
The big man straightened in his seat. "I been up against him. If I go back, I'm a dead man."
"Him?"
“Forget I said anything." Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Drago had him by the front of his shirt. He lifted him almost from his chair. For a wiry man, Drago was strong, and the big man’s eyes showed his fear.
"Now, we can talk," Drago said dropping him into his seat.
The bartender had his shotgun in his hand. "I’m not having no trouble in here."
"There won't be. Will there, whatever your name is," Drago said with a smile.
“Buck Russell.” When the barkeep was gone, Russell managed a grin. "It'll take three of those."
Drago pretended to consider. He looked at his partner. "You think this scum knows anything, Monk?"
Monk's smile was nearly toothless. "Don't make no never mind to me."
Drago put two coins on the table. “That’s what it’s worth to me; and if you don’t know anything, you’ll find I’m a man who doesn’t take to game playing well.” Actually, Drago thought smiling to himself, he did like game playing when he set the rules.
"I was riding with some fellas two months ago. We were the ones that woman rode off with."
"Rode off?" Drago questioned. "I heard she was kidnapped."
Russell laughed. "Not hardly. She was hot after the boss, and she got him. Bad luck having a woman on a ranch, having a woman ride with a crew. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. That's when we split."
"What's your boss’s name?"
"Sam Ryker."
"Ryker? What’s the man look like?” He’d come close to finding him before. He would hear the name, but then it’d be someone else. He felt a surge of elation that maybe his search was at an end.
“Big man, black hair, Jesus, I don’t know. What the hell does it matter?”
“It matters because I asked.” Drago puffed on his cigar, his thoughts turning over again and again. Maybe this was the one. “And the woman is with him? At this ranch?"
“Hell, she’s his wife.”
Drago hid his surprise. “What would you want to take us there?”
Russell gave a snort. “Not doing it. Ryker’s a gunman.”
Drago smiled and blew out the smoke. This was sounding promising. “He got blue eyes, kind of unusual ones?”
“Maybe. Guess so.”
“Want that other double eagle?"
Russell signaled for a whiskey. When the shot glass was in front of him, he swallowed in a gulp. "Money don't do a dead man no good,” he said wiping his mouth.
"A lot of men talk a good line," Drago said. “Most don’t walk it.” Monk chuckled.
"It's more than that with Ryker. He just killed a man in Tubac. Snake was going to claim that reward."
"Snake, huh?”
“Real name Bill Smith-- maybe. You know how it is.”
“Fair fight?" he asked although he knew what the answer would be. If Ryker was his man, it didn’t matter if he let a man draw first. No fight with him was fair. Not for most men anyway.
"So, I heard. I didn't see it, or I wouldn't be alive to talk about it. Guy who did said Snake was dead before he hit the ground. Ryker's fast, and he don't mind killing."
Drago stared into the distance. "I’ll make it worth your while. One way or another, you will go with us.”
Russell stared at him seeming to be assessing before he nodded. When he left to get his gear, Monk sighed his disapproval. “I hoped you’d let that go.”
“Not when I’m this close,” Drago said remembering the different identities he had used in Tucson, the watcher, the Wells Fargo agent and finally his own. It had all been a game then. If this was the Ryker for whom he had been looking it would all be worthwhile. He smiled.
CHAPTER 26
Circle R
"I don't see why we have to go to Tombstone," Abby said, all the while stuffing clothing into the saddlebags Sam had handed her. "That town is wild and full of saloons, outlaws and gunfights and--" Rahab leaped onto the blouse Abby was attempting to pack and tried to get hold of it with her teeth. Sam scooped her off and onto the bed.
"And men. I told you, I need more men," Sam said. "You don't have to go if you don't want. You can stay here with Rock and--" He considered a moment. "I'll leave Joe. Milking that cow and feeding the calf isn't something Rock's leg is up to yet. Two's plenty to take with me."
"I'm glad Ginger is doing so well on Tildy's milk." She didn't like thinking about Tombstone. Sam hadn't said why he wanted more men, but it wasn't hard for her to guess. How could she deal with his continuing to rustle cattle, to risk his life? She had believed that it would change. What if it wouldn’t?
