Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (23 page)

“How do you know about the loan?” She was blustering, stalling for time so she could think. Of course Tipton knew about the loan. He knew everything that went on in town.

Jasper smiled. “Well, you see, our company just bought the bank, so it's kind of my business to know.”

“Tell her the rest,” Buck said.

“Not wishing to upset you, Miss Maria, but word has it that your stock didn't make it to market in such good shape. You know how it is on even a short trail drive. I heard there was some screwworm that slowed 'em up and separated 'em from the rest of the herd. Then Turnbull pissed off some renegades, and they retaliated by stampeding your herd. Thing is, by the time your boys got that stock to Yuma, word had spread about the screwworm, and…”

With each word out of the man's mouth, Maria felt her insides cramp until she was sure she would throw up. “Get off this land,” she managed, and behind her, she heard Juanita cock the rifle.

“I understand,” Jasper replied as he gathered the reins and turned his horse. “You need time to consider. Talk things over with your mama. There's time. My offer is good until eleven o'clock tomorrow morning.” He nodded to her, and then he and his brother started across the land, riding slow as if they already owned it. He had set his deadline for one hour before the bank note came due.

So, the men had not been paid—Bunker did not get to order his boots nor Rico his suit. Chet could not buy Loralei a ticket. Unless…

She hurried back to the house. “Nita, have Javier saddle my horse—and put that gun away.”

Juanita stuck the rifle back in its place and then followed Maria down the hall. “What are you up to,
mi
hija
?”

“I am going into town,” she said as she threw off the dress and pulled on a pair of her brother's canvas trousers and a cotton shirt. “It's past time I got Marshal Tucker involved in this.”

“You got nothing to show 'cept your word against the Tiptons,” Juanita argued. “At least wait till the men get back, then—”

She pulled on her boots and headed back toward the kitchen, where she grabbed her father's hat. “According to the Tiptons, that may be too late.”

“You gonna believe those
ratos
? You aren't thinking straight, Maria. Stop before you…”

Juanita continued her tirade as she followed her to the corral, where Maria saddled a horse and mounted it. “If it gets late, I'll stay in town with Addie. You are not to worry Mama or Amanda with any of this, understood? If they ask, tell them I went to town to see Addie.”

“They'll not believe me,” Juanita protested, “the way you been pacing around here like a skittish colt these last two days.”

“Make them believe you,” Maria shouted and took off. As she rode, she mentally calculated how she might juggle the money they'd make from supplying beef, milk, butter, and cheese to the fort for the coming months to cover paying the hands and repaying the loan. She could maybe sell that bull George Johnson kept asking to buy, and maybe some cows to the other small ranchers looking for breeding stock. Maybe that would be enough to get them through the winter. Of course, she'd have to do something about the dam or find another way to get water onto her family's land. Chet would have some ideas.

The two hours it took to ride hard and reach town flew by, and by the time she tied up her horse outside the marshal's office, she was no closer to knowing what she would tell the lawman than she'd been when she'd left the ranch.

Marshal Tucker met her at the door, but instead of inviting her in, he took hold of her arm and led her to a nearby chair. “Why, Miss Porterfield, has something happened out your way?”

Just before he'd closed the door to his office, Maria had noticed someone sitting in that office—someone comfortable enough to have propped his boots on the marshal's desk. She recognized those boots. She'd been eye-to-leather with them just a few hours earlier. They belonged to Jasper Tipton. Her mind turned to a mush of doubts.

“You're busy, Marshal. This can wait. I'll just…” She fingered the bolo that she had tucked inside the pocket of her vest. “I was just worried about my men,” she said. It was only a half lie. “They're overdue, and according to Jasper Tipton…”

She did not miss the way the marshal glanced nervously at the window of his office. The Tiptons had not only bought the hotel and saloon and bank in this town. Apparently, they also owned the law.

“Word has it they had some trouble that delayed them. I'm sure they'll be along anytime now,” Tucker assured her. “If they don't show up by sunup tomorrow, I'll ride out to the fort and ask them to organize a search party.”

His offer sounded halfhearted at best. “I'm sure that won't be necessary,” she replied and smiled. “We can't have the marshal running off on wild goose chases because of my silly nerves, can we? After all, it's hardly your problem.”

Tucker grinned, and all of a sudden Maria thought about Oscar trying so desperately to tell her the name of her father's killer. “T-T-T,” he had managed. Was it possible he had not been trying to say “Tipton” or “Turnbull” but rather “Tucker”?

She had no idea who she could trust.

“I won't keep you any longer, Marshal Tucker,” she said. “I need to make a stop at the bank before I stop by to see the Wilcoxes.” She edged away from him.

“Nobody sick at your place, I hope? Mrs. Porterfield doing all right, is she?”

“Yes. Everyone is fine. I just want to say hello. Thank you again, Marshal.” She practically ran across the street, dodging wagons and potholes as she went.

It came as no surprise to her that Clyde Cardwell was unavailable to see her, and she decided not to argue the point even though she could see the man sitting at his desk. What good would talking to him do? Was she going to beg for more time? Absolutely not.

As she left the bank, she nearly ran into Eliza McNew, who was washing the window of the mercantile.

“Whoa!” Eliza quickly moved the bucket of soapy water before Maria tripped. “Where's the fire?”

Relieved at last to see a friendly face and a person she knew she could trust, Maria poured out the story of how the hands had not yet returned from Yuma.

“Come inside, out of this heat,” Eliza instructed. She led Maria to a chair. “Sit. I'll be right back.” She returned after a minute, carrying two glasses of lemonade and handed one to Maria. Then she sat in the chair next to her. “Now, the store is empty. There's no one around. Tell me what's got you so upset, and do not say it's that you're worried that your boys haven't come home.”

“Well, I am.”

“But there's more, so let it out.”

With relief, Maria poured out the story of the loan and the visit from the Tipton brothers, and their “offer,” and the deadline set by them and the bank that she was going to miss unless she could find a way to come up with the money.

“All right, now let's think about this rationally,” Eliza said. “You have until tomorrow at noon, correct?”

“For the bank.”

“The bank's deadline is the only one we are considering here, Maria. The Tiptons are just trying to scare you.”

“They're doing a pretty good job of it,” Maria moaned.

“Yeah, they're good at that all right.” Eliza glanced around the store. “I've had some experience with their scare tactics, but just because they own just about everything else in this town, it doesn't mean they need to own every single business.”

“So how did you fight back?”

Eliza shrugged. “You have to beat them at their own game. They make threats and set deadlines. You meet or beat those deadlines. For you, that means coming up with the money to repay the bank.”

“Whatever money we got for the stock has to first go to pay the men,” Maria reminded her. “If what the Tiptons said is true, then—”

“Rule number one when it comes to the Tiptons, honey: do not believe a word that comes out of those two lyin' mouths.” She grabbed a pencil and tore off a piece of wrapping paper at the counter and waited. “Okay, so how much do you have in cold, hard cash right now?”

Maria named a figure. “But half of that is the money from the loan and the rest comes from what we made from supplying the fort.”

Eliza wrote down the figures separately. “And payroll is what?”

Maria told her and continued to answer her questions as Eliza jotted down figures, added, subtracted, crossed out numbers, and then sighed. “We need to know what you got for the beef at market.”

“Yeah. That is, if we got anything at all.”

Eliza patted Maria's shoulder. “We'll find a way, honey.”

Voices outside caught their attention. “That sounds like Roger,” Maria said as both women hurried to the door.

Roger looked exhausted and defeated and somehow much smaller than the man she'd known. He was tying his horse up at a hitching post outside the saloon.

“Roger!” She ran down the boardwalk past the mercantile, the bank, and the saloon. “Where are the others?”

“What are you doing here, Maria?” he asked wearily.

“I was worried, so I came into town to—”

“I sent the others on to the ranch.”

She was afraid to ask her next question, but she had to know. “Did you—were you able to get enough to pay them?”

“Yes. Now go home, Maria. I'll be along as soon as I take care of some business here.”

“Just tell me how much you got for our stock.” She had memorized the number that Eliza figured she needed to repay the loan.

“Don't worry about it, okay? I'm going to work it all out.”

“With the Tiptons or the bank?” she challenged, her temper rising. “Or are they one and the same, Roger?” She pulled the bolo from her vest pocket and showed it to him, fingering the rough edges of the chipped stone then fitting one of the pieces in its place. “Like you handled my father, Roger? I found the pieces where he died, and the bolo where you'd hidden it. How could you? He trusted you, believed in you…”

He took hold of her elbow and steered her to the side of the building. “I know how this looks, but I swear to you, I had nothing to do with that. I've been trying to protect your family by pretending to work with the Tiptons, but they caught on and…” He kept glancing over his shoulder as if at any minute he expected someone to attack him. “Maria, I have to leave—tonight. If I don't get out of here, they're gonna kill me the same as they did Joker.”

“And my father?”

“I can't help you, Maria.” He started backing away.

“What about the dam?”

His eyes widened. “That wasn't my idea. I tried to talk them out of it, but they started getting suspicious—kept asking me where my true loyalties lie. I always figured I could sabotage the dam once we got back from the cattle drive, but…”

“Why did you hide the bolo, Roger?”

“I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. Your father believed in me, Maria. He was maybe the first man who did. That bolo meant a great deal to me. I tucked it away one day because I saw you coming to the office, and I…I guess I didn't want you to be hurt when you saw the reminder of your father. I always planned to go back to the office and get it. I swear to you, Maria, I had nothing to do with your father's death.”

She was starting to believe him—there was no faking the pain in his voice. “Then who did? If you didn't attack my father, how did the stone get chipped?”

Roger sighed. “Your pa was worried about his meeting with the bank, so on the ride into town, I tried to reassure him. I suggested maybe the bolo would bring him good luck. He laughed and accepted it. He was wearing it when you came across his body. You just didn't notice so that's when I took it.”

“Why?”

“I don't know—I just wanted something to remind me that this man had believed in me. Maria, you have got to stop trying to figure this out. If you keep on trying to solve this, you're gonna lose everything.” He turned to go. “I can't help you, Maria.”

“If you're innocent, you can testify. You can help me find the real killer and defeat the Tiptons.”

“No, they won't let me make it that far. You don't know what—”

“Everything all right, Miss Maria?”

She turned to see the marshal coming toward them. His question was directed at her, but his eyes were on Roger.

“Just fine,” she said. “No need to trouble yourself.” She held out her hand to Roger. “The money please.”

He dug in his pocket and produced a small wad of bills—bills she took the time to count, her heart sinking as she did. It wasn't nearly enough. When she looked up, she saw that Roger looked miserable, but Tucker seemed to be struggling to find an expression of concern.

“I'll see you back at the ranch,” she said, peeling off a couple of bills and handing them to him. “You look like you could use a bath and decent meal.” She walked away.

“Maria, I didn't take any for myself,” Roger called.

Maria kept walking.

Chet and Bunker rode on either side of Trey as the men covered the last of the trail that would bring them home to the ranch.

“There's Amanda,” Trey said, his voice solemn and raspy. “What are we gonna tell her? She wants this party she's been planning bad.”

Bunker sniffed. “We'll let Miss Maria handle the family, Snap. But have to say, I don't think any of us are gonna be in a mood to party.”

Chet was only half listening to the conversation. His mind was on the trail drive, the incident with the renegades and Turnbull. The thing was that the foreman seemed pretty upset as things continued to go sour, and when they finally reached Yuma, no man had ever fought harder to sell stock than Turnbull had. On top of that, he'd apologized to the men as he paid them the rest of their wages. Apparently in the past, Porterfield would always sweeten the pot and give the men extra pay, but not this time. According to Bunker, who recorded the entries in the ledger Turnbull would take back to the ranch, the foreman took nothing for himself. On the other hand, if he was in cahoots with the Tiptons, he hardly needed Maria's money. Still, there was something genuine about the way the man had fought hard for every dollar.

Once they'd been paid, only a couple of the hands chose to blow off steam in the local establishments of Yuma. The rest of them had no appetite for new boots, suits, whiskey, or women, and headed back to the ranch. Chet had the money he needed to buy a ticket for Loralei but not enough left over to pay Ezma to care for Max. At least he could finally resolve one problem. On the other hand, the mystery of who had killed Joker—and Maria's father—remained just that. He'd been so certain the culprit was Turnbull. Now he wasn't so sure.

As they came closer to the ranch, Chet saw Amanda standing in the courtyard, and then Juanita came outside, said something to her, and Amanda ran back inside. All of the men except Eduardo headed straight for the corral. Eduardo left his horse tied up outside the courtyard, gave Juanita a peck on her leathered cheek, and followed her inside. There was no sign of Maria.

“You should go on and let your mama know you're home safe, Snap,” Bunker was saying.

Trey trudged to the house without a word.

“Might want to work up a smile, Snap,” Bunker shouted. “No need to worry her.”

Trey nodded and straightened his shoulders a little.

“Can you join us in the bunkhouse, Hunt?”

He'd intended to go find Loralei and get things settled there, but a few more minutes wouldn't make much difference. “Sure.”

Once all the men were inside, Bunker closed the door. “This won't take long, boys,” he said when the men began grumbling about needing the door open to catch whatever breeze there might be. “Some of us has been thinking.”

One of the cowhands cracked a joke about that being something new, and the others snickered.

“I guess we don't need nobody to tell us that Miss Maria is in trouble financially speaking. She's got a loan coming due and the Tiptons breathing down her neck, and well, me and some of the others was thinking maybe we could forego our wages…”

The grumbling about the stifling heat in the crowded room turned to outright shouts of protest. Bunker held up his hands. “We worked out an idea for giving her some help, so hear me out.”

Rico let out a sharp whistle through his teeth, and the room went still. “We're talking a freewill offering here. Nobody's to know who gave and who didn't. That's on you. Only you know what you need that money for, so nobody's gonna judge. We're gonna put a box in the privy.” He grinned. “Only place we could think of where a man's got real privacy.”

Bunker took over. “You decide. You want to make a donation, put the money inside, but you gotta decide today. According to what Snap told me, that loan comes due at noon tomorrow.” He reached up to the shelf above his bunk and took down a small wooden box. “Here's the box.” He demonstrated opening and closing the hinged lid. “I'll collect the box at nine this evening and deliver whatever's there to Miss Maria.”

“How do we know you'll not skim some for yourself?” Slim asked.

“Fine, Slim, you collect the box and take it to her. Don't really matter as long as she knows what she's got before sunup.”

Chet was surprised at Slim's challenge. He was a regular in the bunkhouse card games and had always seemed to admire Bunker as much as any of the men did. “Maybe you should both collect the box and take it to her,” Chet suggested, watching Slim closely.

The man apparently noticed that several of the men were staring at him so he grinned and then laughed nervously. “I was just joshing with you, Bunker. You know I trust you.” He looked around at the others. “Hell, I've played enough poker with this old cowboy to know he don't cheat.”

“No hard feelings, Slim,” Bunker was saying, then he stretched and grinned and added, “I feel nature calling, boys, so if you'll excuse me.” He took the box and headed outside.

Through the rest of the afternoon as he went about his chores, Chet kept an eye out for Maria, but his mind was on that box in the latrine. He wanted more than anything to do what he could to help Maria and her family, but he'd already spent his pay for that ticket for Loralei. He still had his savings, but what if things didn't work out with Maria the way he hoped and he had to move on?

First
things
first, Hunt. Settle it with Loralei and then figure out the rest.

He headed for the bunkhouse, where some of the men were on their bunks writing letters or napping, taking advantage of the fact that other than normal chores, the hard work of the last several months was over. He pulled the ticket he'd bought for Loralei out of his vest pocket. Before leaving Yuma, he had taken the letter she'd written to her father to the local telegraph office and dictated the contents to be sent to Florida. The clerk had assured him that his message had gone through and would be delivered by the next day. But just to be sure, he had gone to the general store and mailed Loralei's letter as well. If her father saw the words in her own handwriting, he could hardly question the truth of them.

A few minutes later when Chet knocked on the door of the anteroom, it sounded like somebody was ransacking the small room, so he didn't wait to be invited inside. He ducked just in time to miss a shoe sailing toward his head and saw Loralei frantically stuffing her belongings in the carpetbag and small trunk she'd brought with her on the stage.

“Loralei?”

Startled, she wheeled around, then immediately glanced out the small side window. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I came to bring you this.” He held up the ticket.

“You owe me two tickets,” she countered. “I'll need one for Ezma.”

“Ezma and the kid are staying here with me,” he reminded her.

“I changed my mind. And do not try to stop me, Chet. That child is my flesh and blood, not yours. You have no say in this.” She held out her hand. “And how do you know where I want to go?”

“You should go home to Florida, Loralei. This part of the country is no place for a woman on her own. This ticket will carry you back to Florida. You can change it, I reckon, but I wouldn't recommend it.” He picked up the shoe, found its mate, and handed her the pair. “Ezma has agreed to go with you?”

She ignored that and instead snapped her fingers. “The ticket.”

He handed it to her. “It's for tomorrow's stage that'll take you to Tucson, where you can get the train east.” He picked up a shawl and folded it and in the process noticed that Max's belongings were still neatly stacked on the small shelf next to his crib. Ezma's doing, no doubt.

Loralei was tapping the ticket against her thigh. “I need two tickets, Chet.”

“Can't help you there. I've got no more money to give you.”

“Oh, that's right—you and the other fools are going to try to pay the Porterfield debt.”

“How do you—”

“Never mind how I know. I hear things, and I'm a lot smarter than you ever gave me credit for. Poor little Maria and her family. Have you seen the inside of that house? They have more than enough money to pay off their debts. Handing them your hard-earned pay is just—”

“As opposed to handing it over to you, Loralei?” He glanced around the room. “You have no intention of taking Max, do you? What's really going on?”

She hesitated—and then suddenly broke.

To his surprise, she ran to him and grabbed his shoulders. “You have to help us, Chet.”

“I'll do everything I can for your son, Loralei, but—”

She shook him hard. “Will you stop thinking about the kid for five seconds? This is about me—my life, my future. A life is at stake here, Chet.”

“I hardly think your life is on the line…”

“Not my life, you idiot. Roger's.”

Now he took hold of her shoulders and backed her away. “Turnbull? What's he got to do with any of this?”

She slumped down onto the unmade cot. “He's in trouble, Chet. I know you two have had your differences, but if he doesn't get away from here tonight…”

“You're running away with him? And taking the baby and Ezma as well?”

“No,” she admitted softly. “I thought you would give me more money if I said they were going. Roger says we can head east to Kansas City or even St. Louis. He has a friend who runs a riverboat on the Mississippi, and he thinks we could—”

“Where's Turnbull now?”

“I don't know. He was here but left after he told me to be ready as soon as it gets dark.” She looked around the room at the overstuffed luggage. “What do you think I should wear?” She sounded like a lost little girl.

“Loralei, I can't let you do this. Turnbull is not the man you think he is. He's using you.”

Her nostrils flared as she stood up and faced him once again. “You're a fine one to talk about somebody not being the man I thought he was,” she growled as she returned to her packing. “Now get out, and I am warning you, Chester Hunter, if you say one word to that woman about any of this…”

“That woman paid for your ticket out of here, Loralei. And I'd be real careful how you talk about her when you're with Turnbull. My guess is that as much as he's capable of caring for anybody other than himself, he's in love with Maria Porterfield.”

“Get out,” she screamed, flinging clothes and her hairbrush at him as he left.

“With pleasure,” he muttered.

The sun had set over the distant hills, and the shadows made it hard to see what was going on around the ranch. Light spilled into the courtyard from the kitchen, and he saw Juanita standing at the window, but she was focused on kneading dough, not him. From the bunkhouse he heard some of the men reminiscing about the drive, and as he passed by the corral where saddles lined up along the fence, he saw a figure emerge from the latrine set back in a cluster of cottonwoods.

The man's actions were odd, and that made Chet pause and watch. He recognized the man, saw him fumbling with something in his hands when he should have been tucking in his shirt or adjusting his trousers.
The
money
box.

Chet closed his hand around the hilt of his whip and eased it free of the saddle horn. Slowly he advanced, circling around until he was behind the cowhand. He hesitated when it occurred to him that maybe Bunker had asked the man to collect the money so they could take it to Maria. But when he saw Slim take a handful of bills and stuff them down the front of his shirt, he had no more doubt about what was happening. He let the tail of his whip uncoil on the ground as he moved closer.

“Evening, Slim,” he said, and when the man whirled around, that's when Chet struck.

* * *

As soon as Maria rode up to the courtyard and gave Javier her horse to unsaddle and brush down, Amanda came running. “Please tell me we can still have the party. Everything is arranged, and Mama is all excited about it and—”

“Sure, let's have the party,” Maria said as she kept walking toward the house. She was so drunk with exhaustion and worry that she would have agreed to anything as long as it did not prevent her from getting a glass of Juanita's lemonade and pulling off her boots.
We
can
make
it
a
farewell
to
Clear
Springs
Ranch
party,
she thought and had to swallow hard to keep the tears of bitterness and defeat at bay.

Amanda squealed, gave her a hug, and then ran back inside. Juanita waited for her to sit on one of the benches in the courtyard and pull off her boots, then handed her the lemonade. “You took your own sweet time getting home,” she fussed. “We do worry, you know.”

Maria drained the glass in a most unladylike way and held it out for more. “Is Roger back?”

“Haven't seen him. The boys came back earlier. Eduardo told me about the sale.” She refilled the glass and handed it back to Maria. “What are you going to do?”

“What can I do short of robbing a bank?” She laughed. “I could rob the bank that we owe a good deal of money to that is due at noon tomorrow and then hand the money back to old Clyde.” Her laugh turned to a cackle and then to tears. “Oh, Nita, we are going to lose everything, and it's all my fault.”

Juanita set the pitcher down and knelt next to Maria. “Now you listen to me,
mi
hija
. You have done everything you could to keep this place going. If you lose it, then that's the way life goes sometimes. We will all find another way. Now come inside and clean yourself up and have some supper.”

Juanita was giving her what she needed most—she was giving her normalcy. In the worst of times, it had always been easy to believe that everything would be all right once Juanita started giving orders. “Well, come on,” the housekeeper said, and when Maria pushed herself to her feet, Juanita linked arms with her and headed back inside.