Showdown at Widow Creek (3 page)

After breakfast we were issued genuine cowboy boots, hats, and a couple of bandannas.

I held up mine. “We’re not going to rob a stagecoach on the way, are we?”

Wally laughed. “No, but it keeps the sun off your neck, the dust out of your nose, and the sweat off your brow. Think of it as the cowboy Swiss army knife.”

“What about our six-shooters?” Joe asked. He mimed a quick draw.

Wally rolled his eyes. “Contrary to what Hollywood tells you, the average cowboy doesn’t ride with a gun on cattle drives. Unless, of course, they are traveling through hostile territory, which, I assure you, we are not.”

Once we were fully equipped, we got a quick riding lesson. There, we met the third ranch hand who would be accompanying us on the drive. It was Lucky, the man Joe and I had met the night before. He eyed his students from under a dusty black hat. The bright white hat from the night before must’ve been just for show.

“Now, don’t be timid,” he instructed. “These horses are all well trained. But if they think you’re a pushover, they
will
take advantage of you.” A smile spread under his handlebar mustache. “A little slow to get going here, stopping to graze there, and pretty soon, they’ll want to ride you.” Everyone laughed. “All right, let’s do a few laps around camp.”

It wasn’t quite like riding a bike, but most of it did come back to me. The only thing I forgot was to stand up in the stirrups when the horse broke into a trot. This was to keep my seat from slapping against the saddle. But a little pain helped me remember right away.

Joe, on the other hand, was a natural. He wore a wide grin as Norman broke into a trot beneath him.

When we were almost finished, Sarah rode up on Hondo. “How does everyone feel?”

“Raring to go,” Joe replied.

“Good,” she said. “Because it’s time to move ’em out.”

Once everyone was in position, the ranch hands opened a large pen and the cattle filed out. There were about one hundred of them, and twenty riders total. The ten extra cowboys were there just to help us get out of Bayport. Later, they would ride back to the stadium, break down all the equipment, and head to the next town. Apparently the ten of us would be more than enough to drive the herd back to the ranch.

With a couple of police cars diverting traffic, we drove the cattle out of Bayport along less-used side streets. I’m sure we made for quite a sight. And Joe and I had front-row seats . . . or back-row seats. We brought up the rear with only the chuck wagon rolling behind us, driven by Wally and pulled by a pair of mules.

With the extra cowboys keeping the herd in the center of the streets, we slowly made our way through less and less populated areas. Soon we were traveling down a two-lane blacktop in a more rural area just outside of town.

As we traveled farther, Sarah and Hondo waited on the shoulder, then fell into step beside us.

“How do you like riding drag?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Riding behind the herd,” she explained. “All the greenhorns start out riding drag.”

Joe jutted a thumb to himself and then to me. “That’s us. We’re the greenhorns.”

“Why do we—the greenhorns—start in the back?” I asked.

“Because you don’t have to do much, to be honest,” she said. “Just drive the stragglers forward. But on a real cattle drive, riding across the dry plains, the back is the dustiest place to be.”

“Not to mention the land mines that the cows leave behind,” Joe added.

Sarah laughed. “There is that, for sure. But don’t worry. We’re almost to the good part.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked.

“We’re about to reach the first ranch,” she explained. “From here on out, we cut through different ranches until we get to ours. That way we’ll be off the streets so it’ll feel more like a real cattle drive.”

“Cool,” said Joe.

True to her word, we rounded a bend and saw the cattle file through an open gate. The cows immediately spread out and began grazing on the lush grass.

Once we were all through, including the wagon, Dusty closed the gate and waved at the departing ranch hands, who turned and rode back toward town.

“Now, this is more like it,” said Joe.

It was pretty cool. It wasn’t quite the open plains, but the large pasture made it seem like we were in cattle country.

Joe nudged the sides of his horse. He held out his hat as his mount broke into a trot.

Then the horse began to buck. Joe dropped his hat and held on to the saddle horn with both hands. The horse bucked even more, and Joe flew off the horse!

O
NE MOMENT I’M CLINT EASTWOOD
, riding across the open prairie, and the next I’m Joe Hardy, flying off the back of my horse.

Okay, so it didn’t happen as fast as that. I kicked Norman into a trot, and then a lope, when I felt a pop vibrate through the saddle. Norman must not have liked it, because he began to buck.
That’s
when I experienced the whole flying-off-my-horse thing. Not so fun.

I hit the ground hard, landing on my hip. Even though the pain was agonizing, I was aware of my situation well enough to roll away from the jumping horse. Norman bucked his way into the grazing herd of cattle. His saddle slid to his side with only the chest straps and belly strap holding it in place. Those straps didn’t hold for long, though. Norman moved around so much that the thin straps snapped and the horse trampled the saddle under his hooves. The saddle and blanket stayed on the ground while the horse bucked away. He kicked a few more times before coming to a stop.

As I lay on the ground moaning, I heard galloping hooves approach. Sarah and Frank rode up to where I’d fallen. They slid off their horses and bent over me.

“Joe, are you all right?” asked Frank.

“Hang on!” I ordered. “Don’t touch me.” I waited for the throbbing in my hip to subside.

Sarah walked over to my saddle, then examined it. “The cinch broke,” she reported.

The cinch was the main strap keeping the saddle on the back of a horse. Only the worst thing to break.

“Hopefully that’s all that’s broken,” I grunted. The throbbing eased a bit, and I reached toward my brother. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Don’t just stand there; help me up.”

Frank helped me to my feet. I rubbed my sore hip.

“Think you broke anything?” Frank asked.

I shook my head. “But there’s going to be a whopper of a bruise.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sarah. She unbuckled the cinch and examined it more closely. “This didn’t break on its own. Someone cut it.”

“What?” I asked.

Sarah dropped the strap and raised her arms. “Everyone stop where you are,” she ordered. “Lucky! Check everyone’s cinch straps.”

“You got it,” Lucky replied. He slid off his horse and began ducking under the other riders’ horses.

Wally pulled the chuck wagon close. “Frank, get Joe to the back of the wagon,” he said. “Then help Lucky check those straps, starting with yours.”

“I can make it the rest of the way,” I told my brother. “Go on and help.”

He stared at me with worry in his eyes. “You sure?”

I smiled. “I’m fine, bro.”

I limped to the back of the wagon, wincing in pain as I climbed in. It was a good thing Frank wasn’t around to see that; I’d never get rid of him.

Wally climbed out of the driver’s seat and joined me. “How do you feel, son? Think you broke anything?”

Why did everybody keep asking me that? Now I wasn’t so sure.

“I don’t think so,” I said, twisting at the waist.

Wally chuckled. “Well, if you did, you wouldn’t be able to do that without screaming like a bobcat. Though I’ll wager you’ll be stiff as blazes tomorrow.”

Sarah, Frank, and the other ranch hands strode over to us. They each dropped a cinch strap into the back of the wagon.

“Every last one of them is cut,” said Lucky. He picked up one of the straps and pointed. Each strap was made from several rows of small, soft rope. Lucky pointed out a thin cut crossing all the strands; each rope was almost sliced in half. “I’m surprised it took this long for one to go,” he added.

“Every one is cut but mine and Lucky’s,” said Sarah. “We both have solid straps.”

“There’s a feed store about five miles from here,” Lucky said. “I can ride over there and get us some more straps.”

Wally tightened his lips and shook his head. “No, that’ll put us too far behind schedule.” He opened a nearby wooden crate and pulled out another cinch, looking it over before tossing it to my brother. “Frank, re-saddle your horse, then help Sarah and Lucky round up the cattle.”

Frank glanced at Ned and Dusty. “Wouldn’t someone with more experience be better for that?”

Wally smiled. “Fine. What’s your experience repairing cinch straps?”

Frank shook his head. “None.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Wally. “The boys will stay here and help with that while you get some on-the-job training rounding up strays. Less of a learning curve in that department.”

“Yes, sir,” said Frank. He followed Lucky and Sarah back to the horses.

Ned and Dusty grabbed a couple of straps each and strode over to Mr. Jackson and the Muellers. “Lots of things can happen on the trail, folks,” Dusty announced. “Today’s first lesson is a cowboy quick fix.”

While the ranch hands took care of the paying guests, Wally dug a pocketknife out of his pocket and began to cut the cinches all the way through. “I’ll show you how to tie these back together. There are a couple of knots that should hold enough for us to get back to the ranch.”

Wally showed me how to tie the knots; I watched him carefully, trying to mimic the same technique. But all the while, the question on my mind was the one no one had asked. So finally, I asked it. “Who would cut all the straps?”

Wally stopped working. “I’ve been pondering the same question. I know Mike and Tim tried to steal Hondo, but why would they cut our cinches, too? It’s not like we’d chase them on horseback.”

“That’s a good point,” I said. I untied my clumsy knot and tried again. “The motive isn’t clear.”

“Motive?” Wally asked. “Like in a mystery?”

“Well, sure,” I replied. “Every crime has a motive, such as money or revenge.”

Wally grinned. “Sounds like you watch a lot of those true-crime shows.”

“Not really,” I replied. “Well, I do, but that’s not why I know so much about mysteries. You see, my brother and I are kind of detectives.” I went on to give him the brief history of all things Hardy—from our retired detective father to the real reason why Chief Olaf volunteered us for the cattle drive.

Wally Welch gave a hearty belly laugh, and the whole wagon shook. “You two must have been a real bur under his saddle for him to hold a grudge that long.”

“If that means what I think it means, sir, then yes,” I said. “We’re not on the best of terms with the chief.”

“Well, you seem okay in my book,” said Wally. “And if you boys can put your heads together and find out who’s behind this mess, I’d be much obliged.”

“I’ll see what we can do,” I said with a smile of my own.

Wait until I tell Frank,
I thought. A cowboy vacation
and
a mystery!

I
COULD FEEL IT IN
the air. No, I could smell it. At the other end of the pasture, my brother was already trying to solve the mystery of the sabotaged cinch straps. We’re not twins, and we don’t have any kind of brotherly psychic link, but I could just tell.

It was a no-brainer, really. Someone had cut the straps, but no one had had time to question it because the drive had to go on. But if I knew Joe Hardy, even injured, he’d already begun asking questions and creating a suspect list. I hated to admit it, but I was thinking the same thing.

Of course, I would’ve been putting more thought into it if I wasn’t galloping after a wayward calf. The brown-and-white animal bawled for his mother as he ran into a grove of trees.

“Wait here,” said Lucky. “I’ll go after him. And when he comes out, try to steer him toward the rest of the herd.”

“You got it,” I said. I rode my horse into a gap leading to another open field and brought him to a stop. Harvey pawed at the ground with one hoof, anxious to continue the chase. “Whoa, boy,” I told him.

Lucky rode into the trees after the calf. I heard twigs snap and the sounds of hooves on dry leaves. Then, a few moments later, the little calf bolted out of the tree line and ran straight for me. If he got past me and into the open clearing behind me, we’d be chasing him all day.

I took off my hat and waved it over my head. “Hee-yah!” I shouted, trying to sound like the cowboys I’d seen in movies. The calf didn’t seem to care; he just kept coming, veering off to one side to get around me.

I was about to kick Harvey into action. Oddly enough, I didn’t have to. The horse turned on his own, blocking the calf’s escape. This just caused the calf to slide to a stop and break around the other side. Harvey wasn’t having it. The horse sidestepped and blocked his path there as well. Harvey moved so quickly that I had to grab the saddle horn to keep from falling off. After one more thwarted attempt, the calf finally turned and ran in the opposite direction—luckily, where the rest of the herd was grazing.

“Good job,” said Lucky as he rode out of the tree line. He ducked under a branch as he moved closer.

“I wish I could take credit for it,” I told him. I patted my horse on the shoulder. “But this one was all Harvey.”

Lucky smiled. “I guess I should’ve warned you. Harvey was a cutting horse in his prime.”

“A cutting horse?” I asked.

“That’s a horse that’s been trained to cut cows away from the rest of the herd,” Lucky explained. “The good ones can turn on a dime, blocking a cow as it tries to get past. A good cutting horse can match a cow’s movements, step for step.”

I patted Harvey again. “So it came back to you just like riding a bike, huh, boy?”

Lucky kicked his horse. “Come on. Let’s follow this one back to the herd and see if Sarah needs help.”