Hard Country (33 page)

“I’ll be there after I take care of my ponies,” Patrick said as he led Cuidado and the gray to the barn.

Cal watched Patrick walk away, wondering why he acted hard done by. He’d hoped for Patrick’s return for a long time, but it sure wasn’t the happy occasion he’d imagined. He decided it wasn’t worth trying to read Patrick’s mind. He was here, the ranch was half his, and that was that.

At the ranch house, Cal told George that Patrick was back and went to find the bill of sale.

32

M
onths before Patrick returned to the Double K, Cal had signed a contract with the Indian agent at the Mescalero Apache Reservation to deliver one hundred and fifty head of beef to a place called Pine Tree Canyon after the fall works. With a bank loan, he’d restocked the ranch with whiteface Herefords, running three hundred head of cows, yearlings, and a few newborn calves in the high-country pastures. Proceeds from the sale would pay off the loan and leave enough profit to carry the outfit to next spring.

In August, Cal rode out with Patrick and George to gather the cattle for the drive to the reservation.

“There’s one loco longhorn bull up yonder we haven’t been able to corral,” Cal said as they entered the canyon above the west pasture, the ranch headquarters a far piece in the distance.

“Last of a breed, soon not to be seen hereabouts again,” George added with a chuckle. “He’s a mean old brindle bull.”

“We should shoot it and mount the horns,” Patrick said. The ponies and the pack animals slowed as they clambered over the rocky canyon bottom.

George cleared his throat and spit. “Can’t say I agree with that. I’d miss the critter.”

“He’s eating Double K grass,” Patrick replied. “I say shoot it.”

“I like seeing that old-timer every now and then,” Cal said. “I vote to let the brindle live.”

George chuckled. “Two to one, the vote goes in favor of the bull.”

“When did you become a partner in the Double K?” Patrick snapped.

“You know I ain’t,” George replied. He gave a yank on the rope to the packhorses trailing behind him and fell silent.

“George has got a voice in how things get run around here,” Cal said quietly.

“Is that a fact?” Patrick asked.

“It is for me,” Cal answered.

Patrick shrugged. “Have it your way.” He loped ahead to where the canyon widened near an arroyo and curled up another draw.

“He ain’t the same since he came back,” George said grumpily once Patrick was out of earshot.

“He’ll come around,” Cal replied for the umpteenth time, although he was starting to believe his prediction was wishful thinking.

Patrick hadn’t set foot off the ranch since his return. He worked hard, day herding the cattle in the mountain pastures and looking after the outfit’s small remuda of cow ponies and pack animals, but he sure didn’t make good company. Unless they were talking about ranch business, he had little to say.

Cal figured something bad had happened to Patrick but didn’t see a way to ask about it. All he knew was Patrick had drifted into Arizona Territory and worked as a top hand for a big outfit east of Tucson. There had to be more to it than that, but he’d never met a man with a secret to be kept who appreciated folks meddling in his business.

They reached the first pasture by midmorning, a stretch of land that wandered through gaps, draws, arroyos, and slot canyons in the middle of the mountains. The gathering went off without a hitch. At dusk they built a brush fence to keep the cattle contained in a small canyon and hunkered down over a Dutch-oven meal of beef and potatoes fixed by George.

“This has been about the easiest day gathering in these mountains I’ve known,” Patrick said.

“Herefords are a mite more peaceful to manage,” Cal said. “They’re not half as cunning as longhorns.”

“That’s the truth of it,” George said as he ladled more beef on Patrick’s plate. “But that pony of yours sure makes forking cattle look easy. I’ve never seen a cow pony cut as good as that one.”

“I trained Cuidado myself.”

“Well, watch out for Cuidado, I say,” George replied with a forced chuckle, “because he sure takes the cake.”

“That’s quite a moniker you gave him,” Cal said as he reached for the coffeepot. “Is it a warning about the horse or the rider?”

Patrick smiled thinly. “Maybe both. How come you stopped raising horses?”

“When the army shut down, the market died.”

“I’d like to start back up again,” Patrick said, “this time finishing cow ponies. As long as there are cattle outfits, there’s gonna be a need for top horses.”

Cal refilled his coffee cup. Good cow ponies brought top dollar, and Patrick was right about ranchers always wanting to add some to their remudas. “How many ponies do you have in mind?” he asked.

“I figure twenty-five or thirty could be ready by next fall, if I can round up some good-looking stock after we’re done trailing these cows to Mescalero.”

“There are a couple of wild mustang herds on the south end of the basin nobody’s laid claim to. Fifteen hands mostly, with some Spanish blood from what I can tell.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“Last spring,” Cal replied, “when we trimmed the last of our longhorn strays during Oliver Lee’s works. I’d say those ponies would do.”

Patrick’s smile widened a bit. “Then, let’s do it.”

It took three more days to gather all the livestock and drive them to the west pasture near the ranch. There they cut out and corralled the cattle for the trail drive to Mescalero and spent the rest of the day preparing for an early start in the morning.

After George cleaned up the dinner dishes and jingled his way to the casita, where he now bunked, Patrick unexpectedly appeared in the front room. He sat in a chair next to the desk where Cal was doing some figuring in a ledger book and didn’t say a word.

“Do we need to talk business?” Cal asked as he closed the book.

Patrick nodded. “Is my name on the ranch account at the bank?”

“It is,” Cal replied.

“I can get money out under my name?”

“You can, if we have a balance and it’s under five hundred dollars. Otherwise, it takes both of us to sign for it.”

“Do we have money?”

“Some.”

“How much?”

“Three hundred thirty-seven dollars, but that’s loan money I’m hoping not to have to use.”

“You’re keeping the four hundred I gave you?”

“I am for now.”

“Can I see all the papers the bank has about the spread?”

“Yep. But your name isn’t on the loan I took to buy the Herefords.”

Patrick shrugged. “That doesn’t matter to me.”

Cal pushed the ledger across the desk. “This shows all our costs and earnings for the year so far. Take a gander if you’ve a mind to. The books for earlier years are in the bottom drawer.”

Patrick took the ledger. “I’m thinking we should let George go after he helps us trail the cattle to Mescalero.”

“With ponies to train and cattle to watch over, that would stretch the two of us real thin.”

“I’ll pick up any part of the load you can’t.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. Maybe he’d lost a step, but he didn’t cotton to the idea of Patrick calling him an old man. “I’ll do my fair share and we’ll keep George on.”

Patrick opened the ledger, leaned forward, and paged through it under the lamplight. “What are we paying him?”

“Thirty a month. He’s worth forty-five.”

He looked up from the ledger. “We could use that money other ways.”

Cal shook his head. “We can always use money other ways, but that old boy stays. For three months, he worked for his keep and didn’t draw wages at all.”

“Well, that was right charitable of him, but I say he goes.”

Cal shook his head. “Nope, he stays. We’ve got rustlers roaming the basin and have lost eight cows already this year. I’m not about to let go a good hand who knows how to handle a gun and cares about our brand.”

Patrick chewed his lip. “If you’re that mule-headed about it, fine.”

Cal patted the left side of the desk. “In this other bottom drawer you’ll find the ranch deeds, land titles, government paperwork, and the legal documents about our partnership. Now that you’re showing interest in the business end of things, it’s best that you acquaint yourself with the details.”

“I’ll start right now if you’ll give up your seat,” Patrick said.

Cal pushed back the chair and stood. “If you have any questions, we can talk about them on the trail.”

“
Bueno,
” Patrick said as he came around the desk.

Cal said good night and went to his room thinking Patrick’s newfound interest in the operation of the ranch was something he needed to get used to and pronto.

33

O
n the first day of the trail drive, Cal expected Patrick to talk more about the business of running the ranch, but the subject never came up. Nor did he have anything to say about the legal papers, which included Cal’s will naming him as his heir.

They reached Tularosa after resting the herd overnight at Malpais Spring and made camp outside of town on the road to Mescalero. George stayed with the herd while Cal and Patrick paid a visit to Ignacio. They found him in the courtyard of his hacienda sharpening axes and saws for his annual firewood trip to the mountains.

He put down a saw, grinned, and clasped Patrick’s shoulder. “Tell me, did you see the ocean?”

Patrick shook his head. “Never got west of Arizona.”

“Ah, how sad. I would like to see the ocean before I die. All that water, it must be
maravilloso,
and the sound of the waves. But tell me about Arizona.”

“It’s a lot like New Mexico, except hotter and not as pretty most places. Can’t say I favored it.”

“Where will you go next?”

“I’m sticking right here,” Patrick said with a tight smile. “I had a touch of being dull brained for a time, but I wised up before old Cal could hornswoggle me out of the Double K.”

Ignacio shot a questioning look at Cal, who showed no reaction.

“Let me go and get Teresa and the children,” Ignacio said. “They will want to see you after so long a time.”

“I’m hankering for a drink to wash down the dust,” Patrick said. “Maybe later.”

“Where are Teresa and the children?” Cal asked, ignoring Patrick’s hurry to get away.

“At her mother’s. All the aunts are together making clothes for the young ones. Stitching and talking, for days now.”

“Isn’t that the way of women?” Cal said with a laugh.

“Are you two gonna dawdle and jawbone?” Patrick asked impatiently.

“For a time,” Cal replied softly.

“Then I’m gonna mosey to the cantina for that drink.”

“But you must tell me more about Arizona,” Ignacio pleaded.

“Nothing more to tell,” Patrick replied as he gathered up the reins to Cuidado. “I hired out for a while, trained some cow ponies, and rode home.”

Ignacio looked quizzical. “
No más?
”

“No more than that.”

“What happened to your old pony?”

“I had to shoot him,” Patrick said. “Adios.”

“Adios.” Ignacio turned to Cal as Patrick rode away. “I got coffee and some of Teresa’s
bizcochitos
inside.”

“I’m your man,” Cal said.

In the big room where the family cooked and ate, and the two oldest children slept on the
bancos
near the fireplace, Ignacio and Cal sat at the long table, drank coffee, and ate Teresa’s sugar cookies.

“My cousin Edmundo saw Patrick in White Oaks,” Ignacio said. “He said Patrick was working at the Old Abe Mine.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “Not just passing through?”

Ignacio shook his head. “He saw him on Sundays riding that black pony, or buying supplies at the general store on paydays.”

“First I heard of it. He hasn’t had a hankering to tell me much about his time away. Came back hell-bent to make a go of the ranch.”

“That’s good, no?” Ignacio said.

“I hope so, but he sure ain’t good company. But then, he’s never had an overly friendly way with people.”

“Edmundo said he was using a different name in White Oaks.”

Cal reached for another cookie. “A go-by name usually means a man is hiding something.”

“
Qué?
”

“I don’t know, except he lost everything he left home with, right down to his rain slick, bedroll, saddle, and guns. He said his saddle got stolen, but I don’t know any cowboy worth his salt who’d let that happen. It sure wouldn’t have happened around decent, honest folks. And for a man to lose his guns without so much as a fight makes no sense unless he had to give them over to the law.”

“He became bandito perhaps,” Ignacio speculated, “running from the law.”

“Could be, but I’ll fault no man for that without knowing the whys and wherefores.”

“I used to think Patrick would be like his father, but not so much anymore.”

“Well, he’s a loner for sure, but that’s no crime,” Cal said. “Besides, who’s to say he won’t find his way to being a good man?”

“But maybe not an easy man,” Ignacio said. “Teresa prays for him every night. She says he has a troubled soul.”

“Well, that’s a fact.” Cal finished his coffee and stood. “I plumb forgot how good Teresa’s coffee is.”

“Maybe you’ll come back for more.”

“Count on it.”

In the courtyard, Cal said good-bye to Ignacio. On his way to the cantina, he spotted Patrick’s pony hitched outside Coghlan’s saloon and stopped. Inside, Patrick was nowhere in sight, but Dick Turknet and four tough-looking hombres were at a table near the end of the bar. In spite of his agreement with Coghlan to stay out of his establishment, Cal wasn’t about to turn his back on Dick Turknet and leave. He ambled to the bar and ordered a shot. It didn’t take Turknet long to mosey over.

“Are you gonna pester me?” Cal asked.

Turknet shook his head. “You look dusty. Let me buy you a drink.”

“That’s mighty generous, but your boss might not appreciate such a friendly gesture.”

“I ain’t working for Coghlan no more.” Turknet called the barkeep over and asked for glasses and a bottle.