Pinto Lowery (8 page)

That was, indeed, the case.

“Pa's got close to every man in Wise County out here,” Jared explained as they rode. “Times's been tough lately, and we all got our hopes pinned on sellin' these steers for a high profit.”

“You got de jump on de south Texas crews,” Pinto said. “Bet you'll get yer price.”

“Trailin' cattle's a regular adventure, I hear.”

“Can be,” Pinto admitted. “I recall a high time or two. More'n one nightmare, though. Near got drowned once and trampled twice.”

“Done it, have you?”

“Twice.”

“How come you ain't signed on with somebody this year?” Jared asked.

“Nobody's been fool enough to take me on,” Pinto said, laughing. “Truth is, I hoped yer pa'd have a place.”

“Won't even take me,” Jared grumbled. “But it might be different with a full-grown man.”

“You look man aplenty to me,” Pinto replied. “Likely yer pa wants somebody to watch over yer brothers and sister.”

“He says that,” Jared muttered. “But he's taken along others littler with mas and brothers barely past diapers.”

Pinto tried to think of something to say to the boy, but after all, words weren't much of a tonic for hurt insides. Besides, the camp appeared on a nearby hill. Jared nudged the chestnut mare into a trot, and the two of them ushered the other horses between them.

“Son, what's brought you out here?” asked a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a tan stiff-brimmed hat.

“Pa, I brought Mr. Lowery along,” Jared explained. “You remember Bob Toney talkin' about him. He's got three horses to sell off. Thought you could use 'em maybe.”

“Thought right,” the rancher responded. “Lowery, I'm Ryan Richardson. Slide along down and let's dicker. These three, huh? What of the chestnut Jared's ridin' ?”

“She's special,” the boy answered as he dismounted. “Mr. Lowery's also lookin' to sign on with a trail crew.”

“Well, Mr. Lowery and I'll do business on the first count anyway,” Richardson announced.

“Ain't no mister to me,” Pinto said as he climbed down from the big black. “Call me Pinto.”

“I'm Ryan,” Richardson said, accepting Pinto's proffered hand. “These three look sound. I pay twenty-five for saddle ponies, but I judge you'll want more.”

“Forty's fair,” Pinto answered. “If you want to dicker, best call it fifty. Make you feel you got me down some when I sell 'em fer forty.”

“Forty's fair,” Richardson agreed. “I'll count out the cash.” While Richardson walked off a moment, Jared stepped over and stared longingly at the chestnut.

“If you'd sell her, Pinto, I'd see she got treated easy,” the boy whispered. “I got seventy dollars saved up. Come by honest, too. Ask Pa. Mostly from workin' deerhides or helpin' neighbors get in their corn.”

“I figured to breed her,” Pinto explained.

“Know that,” the boy confessed. “But I'd see you got a colt by and by. Seventy dollars ain't much of a price, I merit, but it's what I got in my boot.”

Pinto turned from the boy to the horse. The two were a pair. There was no denying it. Sometimes a horse ought to go to a man who had wildfire in his heart. Jared sat down and pulled off his boot. He held out a fistful of crumpled notes, and Pinto grinned.

“Done,” the mustanger agreed, taking the money and gripping the youngster's hand.

“Hear that?” Jared asked, hugging the chestnut's neck. “You're mine, girl.”

“What?” Richardson asked as he rejoined them. “You bought that mare, son? You must be a better haggler than me.”

“Oh, I wouldn't wager that,” Jared replied. “It's just I watched him with those horses. He knew I wanted her bad.”

“You'd never make a proper rancher,” Richardson said as he paid Pinto for the mustangs. “No love o' hagglin' and too much heart. Still, I thank you for makin' a youngster happy.”

“You could return de favor,” Pinto said, stuffing the money into his pocket and scrawling his name on two bills of sale. “I had in my mind headin' north dis summer.”

“I got a full crew,” Richardson said, sighing. “Look out there. Two thousand head. A third's from neighbors, and they'll slow us down fattenin' up. Look around at my outfit now. Lord, I got near every boychild with chin whiskers for fifty miles around. And a few without.”

“Some o' those boys won't make it pas' de Nations,” Pinto said sadly. “I know. I been dere. Look yonder at that one. Cain't even get his toes in his stirrups!”

“I made promises to my neighbors,” Richardson explained. “Joe Bill Trask there's as close to a man's that family's got. Wages he earns'll keep hunger from his door. People hereabouts have had it hard. Money's needed to pay taxes and buy seed. Their kids want shoes and such. Can't take a stranger and leave a friend to suffer.”

“Unnerstand that,” Pinto muttered. “But a man needs a purpose to put himself too.”

“Sure, he does,” Richardson agreed. “Tell you what. I've signed on Tully Oakes and his boy Truett. They've got a nice enough place, and they put in a good crop of corn. Could be they'd favor havin' a man around to keep watch over that corn.”

“Ain't a farmer.”

“Likely Tully could do with a man to watch Elsie and the little ones, too,” Richardson added.

“That makes a difference, do it?”

“Let me sketch you a map that'll get you to the Oakes place,” Richardson offered. “You tell Tully I sent you over.”

“Pa, I'll take him,” Jared offered. “Be good to visit a hair with Tru.”

“Don't you jaw the night away, son. I've got words to share with you tomorrow. We'll be headin' north directly. I have things to tell you and Arabella.”

“Sure,” Jared agreed.

“Be best not to send you ridin' out that way by twilight,” Richardson said, turning back to Pinto. “But tomorrow the Oakes men'll be busy. Time to make a bargain's tonight. Set you a fair price, too, Pinto. In writin'. Tully's never been one to recall his agreements.”

“I'll write it up myself,” Jared promised. “By way o' returnin' a favor.”

“Get along with you now,” Richardson ordered his son. “I've got a final word for Pinto.”

“Sure, Pa,” Jared agreed as he turned toward the horses.

“Don't need to say it,” Pinto whispered. “It's on yer face and in yer eyes. I'll give a look after 'em.”

“It'd be appreciated,” Richardson said, shaking Pinto's hand in a firm farewell grip. “See you get everything written down. Only way to deal with Tully Oakes.”

“Sure,” Pinto said, releasing Richardson's hand and heading back to where the big black stood restlessly pawing the ground. Then, with the packhorse trailing along behind, Pinto Lowery followed Jared Richardson out of the cattle camp.

“Pa's done you no favors, sendin' you out to see Tully Oakes,” Jared declared as they rode. “I never knew another man half as contrary as ole Tully. Truett, he's as good a friend as you'd want, and Miz Oakes's just fine, too. Ole Tully's one to watch, though. He's back-slid on so many promises to Tru, well, it's hard to see why the either of 'em bothers comin' to terms. Tully'll only break 'em. Last summer Pa advanced Tully money against what the steers would bring at market. Never saw a dime of it again. Ben Moorehead put a roof on the Oakes barn, but did he get paid? Not as I heard.”

“Knowin' yer pa to feel such, I wonder he steered me here,” Pinto said as they approached a small picket cabin standing beside a clapboard barn. “Or why he'd take dis Oakes to Kansas with him.”

“That's on account of Elsie Oakes bein' kin. Ma's cousin. As to takin' Tully, I'd guess Pa figures to get some o' his money back for the trouble last summer. He thought to leave 'em to get their own steers north, but then Elsie, Tru, and the little ones'd only starve. You ask me, it'd be better all 'round to leave Tully and take little Ben. He's nought but twelve, but I wager he'd be more use.”

“Have to be a mighty hard twelve to make it to Wichita,” Pinto said, frowning. “Sometimes hardship gives a man backbone, too. Maybe dis Dully Oakes jus' needs a chance.”

“Maybe,” Jared said. He wasn't half convinced.

Shortly Pinto was to have a chance to judge matters for himself, though. A shaggy-haired boy, lean and hard for fourteen, stepped out from the house and called a friendly hello.

“What's got you out here with dark on its way, Jared?” the boy asked as he trotted over. “And where'd you come by that mare? She's too fine for you by half.”

“Meet Pinto Lowery, Tru,” Jared replied. “He's a horse chaser from out west a bit. Bought this mare off him.”

“I could use a horse, Jared, but you know we got no cash to spare. Sorry, mister, but you won't find much market here.”

“Sold my string,” Pinto explained. “Mr. Richardson bought de las' three off me.”

“So what brings you to our place?” Truett asked anxiously.

“Mr. Richardson advised it,” Pinto explained. “Said yer pa might could use a hand do watch over his acreage while he was off to Kansas.”

“Tru's goin', too,” Jared added. “Nobody full-growed to look after things.”

“Ben and Brax can do what chores need doin',” a gruff voice announced from behind. Pinto turned in time to see a big, broad-backed giant of a man march out from the barn. With a bearlike paw Tully Oakes pushed back tangles of oily black hair from his forehead.

“They won't be much help if Comanches happen by,” Jared announced. “Nor for seein' the corn gets water if we have another dry June. Pa figured somebody ought to think about Elsie.”

“Meanin' I don't?” Tully stormed.

“That'd be for Pa to answer,” Jared answered coldly. “Anyhow, Pinto's here. You hire him or not as you like. I'm headin' home. Pa expects you at his camp early tomorrow. Ain't altogether pleased you didn't help with the brandin'.”

“Was busy here,” Tully insisted. “Headin' out tomorrow?”

“With or without you,” Jared said as he turned the chestnut mare southward. “Good luck to you, Pinto. Might be you'll need it. And don't forget what I said.”

Pinto waved young Richardson farewell. Then the weary mustanger rolled off his horse and eyed Tully Oakes.

“Don't know I'd bother gettin' down,” Tully barked. “You ain't stayin'.”

“Den I'll get back on top and make some miles,” Pinto said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Hold on, Pa,” Truett objected. “He's come this far. Cousin Ryan and Jared never would've sent him without a reason. We'll have money once we sell off our beeves, but it won't build a new house nor be much of a swap for a scorched corn crop.”

“Look at him, son,” Tully argued. “I seen these drifters. They hit their horse runnin' first chance that comes along, so I wouldn't figure him to help much if Comanches came raidin'.”

“I never run from trouble yet,” Pinto said, staring hard at the big farmer. “If you'd care to try me, roll up yer sleeves and have at it.”

“Look there, Pa,” Truett said, grabbing Pinto's hand and showing the old scars. “That's a bullet done that, I'd bet.”

“And put the sad in the eyes, too,” Elsie Oakes said, stepping out to join her husband and eldest son. Two smaller boys and a girl of eight kept to their mother's shadow.

“Many a cattle thief's been shot,” Tully muttered.

“I'd judge that uncalled fer,” Pinto said, squaring off.

“Was it the war, mister?” twelve-year-old Ben asked from his mother's side.

“Sharpsburg,” Pinto announced. “Maryland campaign under General Bob Lee. Firs' Texas Infantry. Never collected myself any bullet holes in de back, nor'd I leave a friend on de field if I could drag him along with me. I was ready do fight den and I am now. I'll do it, too, if I've further cause.”

“You won't have,” Elsie insisted. “I lost my only brother at Gettysburg.”

“Got myself plucked at that place, too,” Pinto said, grinning. “Dem Yanks took it particular bad me crossin' de Potomac.”

“Tully?” Elsie asked, a hand planted on each hip.

“I'll agree that's a high recommendation,” Oakes confessed. “Tie off yer horses and let's have ourselves a talk. Either way you'll stay the night. I feel a storm comin' on, and I never sent an honest man travellin' in the rain.”

Pinto nodded, then secured his horses. Tully splashed cool water on his face and motioned to the porch. Pinto took a deep breath and walked over. As he sat beside the big farmer, Oakes began discussing terms.

“I'm not a rich man, you know,” Tully began. “Truth is, I rely on sellin' my steers at a generous profit to put by enough cash to get through winter. I never paid a man to guard the farm before.”

No
, Pinto thought.
And you won't pay me 'less I get somethin' in writin'
.

“Had in mind five dollars a week and found,” Tully suggested. “After all, you won't have much to do.”

“I wouldn't chop wood fer five dollars a week,” Pinto remarked. “A good hand makes fifteen. Seein' you face hard times, I'll dake ten. But takin' short wages, I'll be passin' some time ridin' 'round, runnin' in a range pony or so.”

“I'd be payin' you to watch my family.”

“Wouldn't be so far off as not to smell trouble,” Pinto assured the farmer.

“We'll be gone a month.”

“Six weeks more likely.”

“I ain't got sixty dollars foldin' money do leave Elsie, much less to pay you. We'll settle up when I get home.”

“Dat's a long time to wait,” Pinto pointed out.

“You can trust me, Lowery!”