Chaparral Range War (9781101619049) (7 page)

Noble was already in the corral, shaking out a loop. “What horse you want?”

“The white one. He looks stout.”

Noble tossed the loop over the horse's head and the animal stopped. He was a veteran cow horse, Guthrey decided as Noble dragged his saddle blankets and rig over to saddle him.

They both had their mounts ready in a few minutes and turned the rest out to graze. In the saddle, they rode west to cross over the hills and headed north to where Guthrey had found Dan. They checked several groups of scattered cows and calves plus some resting roan, shorthorn bulls that rose and stretched their backs at the men's approach. There was no sign of the Whitmore brand on any of the calves they looked at.

Noble proved to be a real hand at circling cattle to bring them out of the brush so they could be examined without a lot of unnecessary riding for them. At midday, Guthrey and Noble watered at a tank fed by an iron pipe from a spring. The cool outflow of the spout wet down their mouths and throats as the day's temperature warmed. Their canteens full again, they gnawed on some jerky that Guthrey had brought along.

“This country has some good water,” Noble said. “Bridges developed lots of it. Whitmore hasn't done a damn thing but load more cattle on these ranges.” Disgusted, he shook his head over the deal.

“Why do the work yourself when you can crowd folks out of where they've done theirs?”

“You've got it.” Noble remounted with a little more effort, but he still looked as solid as anyone once his boot soles hit the stirrups.

There was no sign of the wrong-branded calf, though they were searching in the same country where Guthrey had found Dan. “We better go home. There's still tomorrow to go look for him again.”

Noble agreed and sat his hipshot horse. “Oh, he'll show up.”

Guthrey agreed. They rode back to the ranch talking about the range. A good drenching rain would help the forage, but in the southwest the rain gods were always stingy. Not much difference between west Texas and this part of the desert country in that respect. But this region had a small edge on moisture that came out of the gulf in the monsoon season, according to folks Guthrey had talked to about it. More brush growth and forage than the same latitude in Texas, which he knew would mean there might be better soil out here as well.

In another month, those rains were expected, but the good Lord knew when they'd come. After dark, back at the house, he made coffee and they ate leftover cold biscuits and a jar of canned pork sausage balls heated up.

Noble stood in the doorway as the twilight settled on the land. “When do you reckon Whitmore will try another strike on you?”

“Let him come. I'm ready.”

“I don't doubt he will, but next time I figure he'll send six dummies instead of three. By grabs, there's comfort in numbers among a damn lot of cowards.”

“There sure is. We can eat now, it's ready. If they come, they better be in their Sunday clothes.”

Noble nodded and took his place. “They won't be as easy the next time.”

“No, but he ain't hired any Mexicans so far, has he?” Guthrey asked, pouring them some fresh coffee.

“No, why?”

“He hires some of them tough ones, we may need to barricade up somewhere.”

“Guess you ran into them as a Ranger.”

“They call them Tigres down there. They aren't the easygoing peons that come from south of the border to find work up here.” He took his chair. “I think they can bite barbed wire in two.”

“Where do they live in Mexico?”

“Sierra Madres.” Guthrey filled his plate, recalling the raid that he and his fellow Rangers had made far below the border to bring back a vicious killer. “Our unofficial invasion of Mexican territory to arrest the bandit chief Gilbert Antago was an international upset deal that Mexico told Washington, D.C., was clearly warlike. But in reality, the
federales
helped us locate him and we caught him hiding in a privy before dawn. We handcuffed and leg ironed him, then put him belly down over a stout mule and headed for Texas. No one was able to hinder us getting him out of that country. In the El Paso jail, we put a ball and chain on him so they couldn't break him out.

“On the way back from Mexico, we finally stuffed some dirty socks in his mouth, we got so tired of his filthy language, threatening us and bitching.”

“Did they hang him?” Noble asked.

“Yes, they did, for killing an entire ranch family in one of his many raids above the Rio Grande.”

* * *

W
HEN THEY RODE
out the second morning, they both had loaded Winchesters in their scabbards and cartridges in their saddlebags. By then Guthrey really had begun to miss Cally and her cooking. She'd spoiled Dan and him both with her great meals. Their private conversations had somehow been more of a hit with him than he had thought. Things would be better when she returned. Wednesday, he planned to go in and check on her and Dan. He certainly would be grateful to have her cheerful voice back again. And her cooking.

Over the next few days, there was still no sign of the calf they were searching for high and low. They range roped a steer and a yearling heifer to treat them for signs of screwworms. The old man was great on the heel catches. He could effortlessly rope one horse out of a bunch in a pen or wind his reata around a stock cow's hocks and then stretch the animal out.

On Tuesday, they went back in the foothills where they had looked the first day. Noontime found them at the same spring-fed water hole. Eating some apple turnovers Guthrey had made in the skillet that morning, Noble was bragging on him.

“You're a pretty good hand at this cooking business.” Busy eating the treat, Noble looked to be enjoying them.

“They taste good enough, I guess. You know we ain't seen a soul all week. Whitmore don't have any range hands?” Guthrey asked.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his liver-spotted hand, Noble shook his head. “They travel in groups of three or four when they do come through. That's part of his bluffing folks with his forces. Most of them act like they own all this ground, and the small guys don't belong here.”

Guthrey turned his ear to the wind. “I heard someone talking on the wind. We may meet some of his men this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I just now saw a black hat over the chaparral coming down that draw out of the west.”

When Guthrey stood up, he brushed the dirt off the seat of his pants, reset his holster, and saw a different colored hat bobbing above the spiny vegetation.

“Two of them now,” he said to Noble.

The old man rose and stretched. “May be more that that.”

Another rider coming off a hillside whistled to his partners when he spotted Guthrey and Noble. It was a loud, shrill whistle and the two in the draw soon appeared on top of the bank still a good distance away.

Guthrey moved to his bay ranch horse and jerked out his rifle. In moments Noble did the same.

“I can handle them,” Guthrey said.

Noble nodded. “When I work for a man, I ride for his brand.”

“Thanks.” He had his eye on the first two.

“Howdy.” One of the hands stood up in his stirrups with his hat cocked back and waved at them. “We ain't looking for no trouble.”

“You're close enough.”

“Hey, me, Jake, and Bob are just out checking on the cattle for our boss, Mr. Whitmore. We ain't borrowing no trouble, mind ya. My name's Howard.”

They looked like simple young ranch hands, but Guthrey wasn't taking any chances. “There aren't many of your cattle up here, Howard.”

“I know that, but we have orders to check this country. We saw a few head of our stock. We're going to pick up and drive them back south when we go home tonight.”

“Good enough. Leave ours up here.”

“Oh, we will. You mind if we get a drink? Kind of a hot day.”

Guthrey told them to go ahead, sharing a nod with Noble. Then he slid the rifle back in his scabbard. These weren't the hard cases he expected.

When the blond-headed youth who called himself Howard dismounted, he nodded again at Guthrey. “You must be that ex–Texas Ranger?”

“I am.”

“Been a lot of talk about you around here. How you beat up that deputy in Soda Springs.”

“He was drunk and going to arrest me. He got what he deserved.”

Howard held his hands out. “I ain't saying he didn't deserve it, mister. Just repeating what I heard. How do you like working for a woman?”

The working for a woman line about threw him. “Fine, me and Noble here like working for her just fine.”

Howard made a face. “Guess I could too, as cute as she is.”

“Miss Bridges is a fine young lady.” Were they trying to get his goat? If they said one wrong word about her, he'd peel some hide off of them.

The other two looked like the cat had got their tongues, drank, watered their horses, and left the talking to Howard, who Guthrey figured was in his early twenties. The others weren't out of their teens.

In a short while, the three mounted up, tipped their hats, and rode on.

“I thought that Howard boy was going to say too much,” Noble said under his breath.

Still watching them ride off, Guthrey nodded. “Let's work north some more today. That calf may be up that way.”

“You still ain't talking.” Noble chuckled and swung in his saddle. “That youngest one, sitting quiet, I thought would piss in his pants when you confirmed you were the Ranger they'd heard about.”

Guthrey agreed. “I guess he was afraid of something. He never said a word the entire time.”

“Having a reputation like yours ain't bad, by golly.”

“It helps sometimes. The way things are going we'll be getting in late tonight, so let's move.”

“No problem. I've enjoyed it all, even trading words with them kids.” Then he laughed. “They sure might have done that branding as an order from their boss. That young one sure did amuse me.”

“What's that?”

“How close he come to pissing in his pants.” Noble stood in the stirrups and trotted his horse, chuckling all the time.

* * *

P
AST SUNDOWN, THEY
could hear the Jersey cow complaining as they came over the pass. When they reached the corrals, the light left was just enough for them to see their latigos and peel the saddles and pads off their horses. Turned loose, their mounts went to roll in the dust. Noble headed after a milk pail, and Guthrey started the stove. They were soon in their evening routine.

Guthrey made pancakes and syrup for them along with coffee. He was about ready to serve it when the milker came in with his pail. After Noble covered the pail with cheesecloth to keep the flies out, he went to wash up. “That is a good cow. I was raised with kicking cows that clubbed me many times when I tried to milk them as a boy.”

“Me too,” Guthrey agreed. “We had one we called Blasting Powder, and I finally had four bucket-calves suck her instead of milking her. Mom complained, said she had the richest milk of any of our cows. I told her that she could milk her, then. Never heard another word about that cow's milk again. I halfway expected Dad to jump on me about talking to her like that, but he knew the cow well.”

“I guess, by golly, in the morning you're a going to town and check on them kids.”

“Yeah, we'll eat early and I'll go in and ride back tomorrow night.”

“Good. I sure hope Dan is better.”

“Me too. I'm tired of cooking.”

Noble slapped his legs. “Ha! That's what not having a wife puts on a feller.”

Guthrey agreed. Except he simply missed Cally's company more than he'd ever dreamed he would. Her absence made him impatient with himself as the week had worn on. The pancakes even tasted blah. Noble bragged on them, but Guthrey figured the ole man would brag on anything he didn't have to cook.

* * *

W
AY BEFORE DAYLIGHT,
Noble nudged him with his boot toe as he slept in his bedroll.

“Get up. I've got breakfast ready.”

Guthrey set up. Was something wrong? It wasn't even light yet.

“Come on, it'll get cold. I knew you wanted to start out early today. I'm going to water Cally's garden today and hoe in it.”

“You didn't have to do this.”

“By grab, I know what I have to do.”

Pulling on his emptied boots after he shook them out—in case there was a critter got in them overnight—Guthrey laughed. “Noble, you make a dandy guy to batch with.”

“You tell Dan and Cally I said for him to get well.”

“I'll do that.”

“And leave those dishes for me to wash. You get on up there and find out how that boy's a-doing.”

“Noble,” Guthrey said, “you keep your guns handy. Since you've sided with us, they'd shoot you as quick as any of us.”

He nodded. “You're probably right. I'll do that.”

On his own horse, Lobo, Guthrey left the ranch before the sun even came up. The horse was fresh and acted tough when Guthrey boarded him. He intended to push his mount. On the road to town before dawn, he spooked some mule deer grazing beside it. They bounded away in the starlight. Unlike their cousin, the whitetail, who simply ran, the black-tailed ones had a four-legged bouncing-like gait that got them their name.

Guthrey arrived in Steward's Crossing still half-asleep and never stopped. Then he went west up the steep hill on the Tucson road toward Soda Springs. He hadn't heard much news about the Apaches who had broken out from the San Carlos Reservation, but his isolation on the ranch cut him off from the rest of the world.

Had Whitmore sent those three men he met the day before up there to eliminate that calf? If they had done that, his momma would have been bawling to find him—a sure sign they'd taken him. But since they never heard or saw her, chances were good that he was still up there somewhere.