Deborah Camp (35 page)

“The herd is weak and winter is coming. Ben said it
will take a long time for the cows to be healthy.”

“Hmm.” Drew sat back and drummed his fingers on the table again. “What do you think about that, Cassie?”

“She’s right. Roe lost a lot of cows last year. He says he only lost twenty or thirty, but I’ve heard different. Some say he might have lost nearly a hundred.”

“Damn,” Drew whispered. “That’s a lot of beef.”

“Roe insists it’s idle gossip,” Cassie pointed out. “I always felt he wasn’t telling me the truth. He asked to buy some of my cattle after A.J. died, but I wouldn’t sell. A.J. would never sell to him, either.”

“He asked Pa to sell him cattle?”

“Yes, but A.J. said he wouldn’t turn over his top-quality cattle for Monroe to ruin. He said Monroe didn’t know how to treat or raise cows. He told him right to his face that he grazed them on bad pasture and fed them cheap grain and that he didn’t keep a close watch on his pregnant heifers and a lot of them died trying to calf. A.J. said that Roe wasn’t interested in raising a good herd, so he was always trying to buy himself one.”

Drew chuckled. “That sounds like Pa. I remember …” He sat up straighter, as if suddenly prodded. “Yeah, yeah, I remember that he tried to buy a few heifers and a bull from us.” His voice took on more verve. “A prize bull. Offered more money than I’d ever heard of, but Pa wouldn’t sell. He’d sold some breeding stock to Roe a few years before that, and every last one of them had died before the next winter rolled around. Roe was so mad he was cussing a blue streak, but Pa laughed at him and told him he should try farming, because he sure didn’t have the brains for ranching.”

“Could he be worse off than either of us thought?”
Cassie asked. “I figured Roe was doing fine over there in his big house. Anytime I ever went there for supper he served the best food on the prettiest china you ever saw. His clothes are always new-looking and he seems to want for nothing.”

“Except for a herd to make a rancher proud,” Drew noted.

Cassie nodded. “And we
are
in cattle country, where a man is measured by the size of his herd.”

“Oh, is that how a man is measured?” Drew said, devilment lurking in his eyes.

“Oh, and don’t forget that he had a hard time selling his young bulls,” Cassie said. “He had to practically give them away.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do believe we’ve been so busy looking for a jackass that we couldn’t see the donkey standing right in front of us,” Drew drawled. “We’ve been thinking that Roe is wanting this land, but Oleta has pointed us in the right direction. The land is icing, but our herd, that’s the cake. He has ruined his cows, and they don’t bring spit at the market. He doesn’t have any money left to buy good cows, so he’s stealing them. And since I’m already thought of as a cattle thief, I’m an easy target.”

“But what about before, when you were sent to prison,” Cassie said. “Was he behind that, too?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. The cows we lost were our best, and a couple of them were ready to calf. Then our prize bull vanished. I swore to Pa that I had checked those fences, but there were two places down, all the same. Somebody cut that wire and took our cattle and our bull. At the time Pa said he thought it was right strange that only our best were being taken.”

“If A.J. thought that, why did he let you go to prison?”

“Other cattle from other ranches disappeared, and the sheriff realized it was cattle rustlers and not just broken fences. I halfway believe Pa thought I might have been in cahoots with the rustlers. He asked me if I was doing it just to rile him, to take his most prized possessions from him. Then he said I was stealing cattle to make up for the ones I’d let wander off because I’d been too lazy to mend the fences when he’d told me to.” Drew ran a hand down his face in a weary gesture. “He grabbed at any opportunity when it came to hurting me.”

“I know,” Cassie murmured. Living with A.J. had been a colorless, loveless existence, but it had been better than being known as the town whore.

“I’m riding out to where I stashed that horse and make sure nobody bothers it,” Drew said, standing.

“I’ll go with you,” Cassie added.

“No, you stay here. When Ice comes back with the sheriff, send them out to me. Ice knows the place.”

“Okay.” Cassie slumped in the chair, not bothering to see him to the door since he didn’t seem to want her company. “Be careful out there. Remember that Wilhite can shoot the nose off a gnat half a mile away.”

Drew made a comical face. “He’s good, honey, but he’s not
that
good. Anyway, I’ll be careful.”

After he was gone, Oleta elbowed Cassie. “He called you honey,” Oleta said with a grin.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Cassie assured her, rising from the chair to pick up Andy. She hugged him, and he squirmed and pointed down at the blocks he’d been playing with, wanting them instead of her. She fought off a cloak of self-pity, but still felt spurned.

“When he called you that, it sounded natural to me,” Oleta said, ever hopeful.

Cassie let Andy slide down her body to the floor and his blocks again. “Sounds natural when he calls his horses that, too,” she noted in a tone that could have soured fresh milk.

Approaching Monroe Hendrix’s sprawling ranch house with the sheriff, Drew looked at the structure and the area around it from a new perspective. A lot of money had been poured into making this house to reflect prosperity, grandeur, and refined taste. Which was plumb silly in these parts, Drew thought. Nobody he knew was that impressed with Hendrix or his spread.

But now that he thought on it, Drew had to admit that Roe Hendrix had always been a bit of a peacock. He loved to wear nice clothes and flash his money roll. He considered himself a ladies’ man and the best catch of the county, and he was the first to buy any newfangled machine on the market. No matter how much it cost or how useless it was to his ranching operation.

Running his gaze over the six fine carriages and buggies parked under a long canopy, Drew shook his head in derision. Now, why would any man need that many vehicles? Just for show. Same as the big, freshly painted house with its polished double doors and twin chimneys. He chuckled under his breath when they passed a chicken coop that some people would be mighty glad to call home. It was certainly nothing like the unpainted, wired-together coop back at the Square D. No, this coop was a miniature version of the big house. For laying hens.

The fence wire sparkled in the sun. All of it looked
new. The place was alive with movement. It seemed that Hendrix had an army of men to work this ranch. Should be one of the most successful operations in the state, but it was far from that. Roe had spent whatever profits he’d made on building himself a castle, on making an impression, when he should have spent it on his bread and butter—his cattle.

They’d ridden out to see the dead horse, and the sheriff had agreed they needed to speak to Hendrix. Sheriff Nelson had inspected the area and examined the tracks and the stolen cattle. The steers, Drew had noted, were underweight. One or two of them had glassy eyes. Not exactly sickly cows, but not healthy either.

“One thing I was wondering.” Sheriff Nelson looked at Drew. “How did you drag that dead horse from where it was shot all the way over to where you hid it in the bushes?”

Drew shrugged. “I used my horse.”

The sheriff ran his gaze over Dynamite. “Mighty strong horse.”

“And I had help.”

“Ice, you mean?”

Drew pointed ahead. “Here comes trouble.”

Buck Wilhite rode toward them, appearing out of nowhere. A long rifle rested in the crook of his arm. He greeted them with neither a smile nor a scowl. He just stared at them as if he were a prison guard and they were his new inmates.

“What can I do for you?” Wilhite asked.

“You can’t do anything for us,” Drew answered, not liking the man’s question or his tone.

“We’re here to speak to your boss,” the sheriff said,
throwing Drew a disgruntled glance. “Is he at the house?”

“He didn’t say anything to me about expecting anyone.”

Sheriff Nelson leaned a forearm on his saddle horn and fixed a pleasant but somewhat peeved smile on his face. “Pal, I know you’re just doing your job, but you surely noticed the star pinned on my shirt. I’m here to speak with Mr. Hendrix and I doubt if he’ll object, so move aside. This is none of your concern.”

Wilhite studied the sheriff, then Drew, before he gave an almost imperceptible nod and reined his horse around in a tight circle to lead them to the front of the house. Sheriff Nelson exchanged a speaking glance with Drew, and Drew knew they were thinking along the same lines: Roe was carrying the protection of his property a mite too far.

Monroe strode toward them from the direction of the stables, leading a fine-looking chestnut mare with white socks and a blazed face.

“Just the man I wanted to see!” he bellowed with a broad grin. “Howdy, Sheriff, how you doing? Drew Dalton, take a look at this piece of horseflesh and tell me what you think. I value your opinion.”

Unable to resist the chance to admire a good horse, Drew slid from the saddle and walked to the mare. He ran a hand along her back, over her flanks, down her legs.

“A Thoroughbred,” he said. “Built for speed.”

“Indeed she is,” Monroe agreed. “Superior, I’m told, to those horses you’re breeding. What are they called?”

“Quarter horses,” Drew said. “And one isn’t any better
than the other. They’re bred for completely different things, is all.”

“How’s that?”

“This is a racer, a runner,” Drew explained. “Quarter horses are quick, but they aren’t distance runners. They go fast for about a quarter-mile is all. They’re herding horses and the best cutting horses you’ll ever see. They can cut fly specks from a can of pepper. Hell, I’ve seen saddle-bred men topple right off their backs, they turn so fast.”

“Oh.” Monroe looked as if he’d lost some of his steam. “Well, I’m thinking of breeding
this
kind of horse.” He rubbed the mare’s velvety nose. “I like the looks of them.”

“They’re pretty, and this one is a real beauty.” Drew stroked her side. “She’s already been bred, I see.”

“Yes, bred to a champion.”

That’s what he’d been told anyway, Drew thought. True to form, Monroe Hendrix was jumping into something without learning all he could about it first. He’d never bothered to learn cattle raising and now he was thinking he’d be a horse breeder when he didn’t even know what kind he had decided to raise. Drew also found it interesting that Roe had chosen horses as his new endeavor. Maybe people were beginning to talk about the quarter horses at the Square D.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to have a good look at your herding horses,” the sheriff said, interrupting Drew’s thoughts. “People in town have been telling me that you and that Mexican kid are raising some mighty fine stock. This stallion here”—he gestured toward Dynamite—“sure is fine. He’ll throw off some pretty colts, I reckon.”

Drew held out a hand, and Dynamite came over to him, as loyal as a hound. He nuzzled Drew’s palm and gently butted his shoulder.

“He’s my pride,” Drew said, stroking Dynamite’s ears with open affection. “I raised him from a newborn, still slick from his mama’s belly.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, folks in town say you’ve got some of the best horses they’ve ever seen.”

Drew beamed. So he was right. People
were
noticing, and that must have sent Roe into a fit of envy. So now Roe was going to be a horse breeder. Drew bit down on his lower lip to keep from laughing aloud.

“Speaking of horses…” The sheriff dismounted and removed his hat so that he could run a handkerchief over his balding head. “I just examined a dead one of yours over at the Square D.”

Monroe’s mouth went slack, and he stared at the sheriff, seemingly rendered speechless.

“I shot the horse by mistake,” Drew said. “I was trying to plug its rider.”

“Why the hell were you shooting at one of my men?” Roe asked, his face getting red.

“Because he was a cattle rustler, that’s why. Him and two other men were herding your cattle onto my land when I surprised them. Your cattle are still on my side of the fence, but you can have them back any time you want.”

“I’ll be damned.” Monroe shook his head and stared at his boots for a few seconds. “Two or three of my cattle ponies came up missing a couple of nights ago. I figured they must have wandered to a far corner of the property or maybe they were hiding in the tree lines. I didn’t give much thought to it. Figured they would show
up.” He slapped a hand across his thigh. “Those dirty range rats must have stolen them—and my cattle, too!”

“Looks like you’d tell me about anything coming up missing,” the sheriff said. “You know I’m trying to bust up a rustling ring.”

“You didn’t notice you had cattle missing?” Drew asked.

“No, but I would have.” Roe cursed under his breath. “I’ll have to double my efforts around here. I thought Buck would be able to patrol my property himself, but I guess he’ll have to hire some more men to help him. After all, I’ve got a lot of acres to watch over.”

“I heard he’d already hired some men to help him,” Drew said.

“Is that what you heard? Where’d you hear that?” Roe asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t recall. Isn’t it the truth?”

“The truth …” Roe smiled. “The
truth
is that I think someone is trying to point the finger at me and thereby make himself look less guilty.” Frost coated his smile. “I once stood by you, Drew. I sure would hate to think you’d repay me in this fashion.”

“Why, you—” Drew lunged, seized by sudden fury, but the sheriff blocked his path. “You son of a bitch! I ought to drive you into the ground like a stake! You know I’m not stealing any cattle. You
know
it!”

“That’s enough,” Sheriff Nelson said, giving Drew a push away from Monroe. “You settle down and let me talk to Hendrix. You hear me, Dalton? Quit breathing fire. I’m in charge here.”

Drew nodded, his body taut, his temper barely checked. He wanted to peel Roe like a rattler, but he held his ground. He didn’t have to look to know that
Buck Wilhite was close by and probably had him in his hair-trigger sights. Drew didn’t want to give the one-eyed killer any excuse to add another brag to his collection.