Showdown at Widow Creek (2 page)

The truck tried to start again, but the engine still didn’t turn over. That was good for me. The last place I needed to be was in front of that trailer when it began moving. And that’s where I was. I was busy cracking away, lowering the stand so the trailer’s tongue would be raised above the ball hitch. It’s a painfully slow process—and by painfully, I mean that the muscles in my shoulder were burning as I spun the crank.

Frank beat on the side of the truck again. “Come out for a second. We just want to talk to you.”

The truck starter whirred a final time before catching and roaring to life. I leaped to the side as the tires spun out and the truck pulled away, covering me with dirt. Luckily, I had raised the trailer’s tongue just enough so that the trailer stayed put. The horse whinnied and stomped around inside.

“If that was a thank-you, then you’re welcome,” I told the horse.

“What’s going on here?” asked a man running toward us. I recognized him from the show as Wally Welch.

“I think someone was trying to steal your horse,” replied Frank. “Or your daughter’s horse.”

We explained what had happened to Mr. Welch and a few of his ranch hands who had gathered nearby. Two of the men led the horse out of its trailer, while another went for the police. Luckily, since most of Bayport was at the show that night, the cops had excellent response time. Little did I know that one of those cops was someone we could’ve done without seeing. It was the chief of police himself, Chief Olaf.

“Well, look who it is,” said the chief as he strolled up to the scene. “The brothers Hardy. Somehow always at the scene of the crime.”

My older brother and I didn’t have the best relationship with Chief Olaf. Actually, we didn’t have the best relationship with
Officer
Olaf, way before he became chief of police. See, we’ve been solving mysteries of one kind or another since we were eight and nine years old. Our father used to be a detective, so I guess it’s in our blood. Unfortunately, it didn’t look good for the Bayport Police—or its chief—when their cases were solved by a couple of kids. Frank and I had always had an understanding with the former chief of police. But now that Olaf was in charge, we had to keep our sleuthing way,
way
under the radar.

Mr. Welch clapped a hand on each of our shoulders. “These two thwarted the plans of a couple of no-good horse thieves.”

Olaf eyed us suspiciously. “Is that right?”

I shrugged. “No big deal. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

The chief stared at Frank. “And just what were you two doing back here, at the right time?”

I caught my brother’s eye.
Dude, don’t say we were on our way to the concession stand.
That excuse hadn’t worked on me, and it sure wouldn’t work on Olaf, especially since the concession stand was on the other side of the stadium.

“I, uh . . . wanted to meet Sarah Welch,” Frank admitted.

I was surprised that he went with the truth.

“Who wanted to meet me?” asked a girl’s voice. We turned and saw Sarah Welch walk up with a couple of ranch hands. “And what’s this about someone trying to steal Hondo?”

Frank raised a hand. “I—uh—we were back here when we saw two guys trying to take him in that trailer.”

“And these boys stopped them,” Mr. Welch said proudly.

Sarah took Hondo’s halter and scratched the top of his head. She turned back to us. “If that’s true, then thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.” Frank held out a hand. “I’m Frank Hardy, by the way.”

I waved. “And I’m his brother, Joe.”

Olaf sighed. “All right, boys. Tell us what happened.” A uniformed police officer joined the chief. The woman pulled out a pen and small tablet to take notes as Frank and I retold the story.

“Descriptions?” asked the woman.

“They both wore bandannas over their faces,” Frank explained. “But the driver wore an orange plaid shirt and had blond hair. He had on a black bandanna.”

Mr. Welch screwed up his face. “You think it could be Mike Sullivan, Lucky?”

A tall, thin cowboy with a handlebar mustache nodded. I recognized him as the hero from the stagecoach robbery. “That might be him. You could spot that shirt clear across the ranch.”

“The other guy had dark hair,” I added. “And he wore a brown shirt and a red bandanna.”

Lucky sighed and shook his head. “If one’s Mike, then the other would be his brother, Tim.”

“You know them?” asked Olaf.

Mr. Welch nodded. “Two of my latest hires.”

“What about the vehicle?” asked the officer.

Frank described the old green-and-white truck.

“That’s one of mine,” said Mr. Welch. “Not only are they horse thieves, but they’re truck thieves too.”

“That makes us shorthanded for the cattle drive back to the ranch,” Lucky said. “We might have to cancel this one.”

“Cattle drive?” Frank asked. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sarah. “We drive a small herd all the way back to the Double W after every show. It’s about twenty-five miles from Bayport, so this one will be a short, two-day drive.”

“Cool,” I said. That actually sounded like a lot of fun.

“Well.” Chief Olaf peered at us. “Have you boys ridden horses before?”

“Sure,” replied Frank. “A few times back in summer camp.”

The chief grinned. “Well, Mr. Welch, I think I found a couple of replacements for you.”

Frank’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Sweet!” I said.

“Great idea,” Sarah said, turning to me. “People pay us to ride in a real cattle drive. Not only would you be helping us out, but it would be a way to thank you for rescuing Hondo.”

“I—uh—” Frank stammered.

I couldn’t believe what a great opportunity this was. As a huge fan of old western movies, I’d jump at the chance to play cowboy and pretend to drive a herd of cattle across the country. Heck,
I’d
pay for it. “We’d have to ask our parents,” I said. “But count us in!”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “Um . . .”

“Well, if it’s all right with them, we can have you back in Bayport by Sunday afternoon,” Welch said.

“You’ll also be doing me a favor, Mr. Welch,” Olaf explained. “A weekend without the Hardy boys will give me one less thing to worry about.” He turned and walked toward the parking lot.

Sarah nudged Frank. “In trouble with the law, huh? You’ll have to tell me about that during the trip.” She smiled and led Hondo away.

While the crowd dispersed, I leaned close to my older brother. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Frank shook his head. “I feel like the cowboy who has been run out of town by the local sheriff.”

A
LITTLE AFTER EIGHT THAT
night, with a trunk full of camping gear and extra clothes, I pulled out of our driveway and drove back to the stadium. The plan was to camp there for the night before heading out first thing in the morning. Of course our parents gave us permission. Joe had promised (for both of us, I might add) that we’d double up on our chores the following weekend.

“This is going to be so cool, bro,” Joe said from the passenger seat. “A real cattle drive.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yeah.”

Okay, I had to admit that I was more excited than I was letting on. It wasn’t every day that we got the opportunity to get a small taste of what it was like to live as a cowboy. I could even see why some people paid for the opportunity. I guess it weirded me out that we had been bullied into it by the chief of police.

“Hey, you wanted to meet Sarah.” Joe threw up his hands “And now you get to hang out with her for the entire weekend.”

“True,” I agreed. “As long as I don’t fall off my horse in front of her.” I glanced over at him. “Summer camp was a long time ago.”

Joe waved me away. “It’ll be just like riding a bike.”

“Sure,” I replied. “A bike with a mind of its own that can buck you off whenever it feels like it.”

We pulled into the empty stadium parking lot and parked near an open meadow on the side. That seemed to be where we would camp for the night. A few campfires lit small groups of people sitting around them. Nearby was a covered wagon and a row of horses tied to a rope that ran between two stakes driven into the ground.

We got out of the car and I popped the trunk. While Joe and I pulled our packs out, two figures left one of the campfires and walked over to us.

“Glad you could make it,” said Wally Welch.

Sarah smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“We wouldn’t miss this, Mr. Welch,” said Joe.

“You’re official ranch hands now,” he replied. “Call me Wally like everyone else.”

Sarah waved us over. “Come on. We’ll show you where to stow your gear.”

She and Wally led us to the covered wagon, and we heaved our packs over the side.

“Go ahead and stow your car keys, son,” Wally suggested. “You don’t want to lose them on the trail.”

“Good idea.” I zipped up my keys into one of my pack’s side pockets.

“And your cell phones,” added Sarah.

Joe’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

Wally grinned. “We do our best to be as authentic as possible. We can’t have the latest pop song ringtone stirring up the herd.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “And no texting while cattle driving.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I pulled out my phone and powered it down. Joe did the same. I knew that my brother would feel naked without his phone. But hey, he wanted to see what life was like in the Old West.

I opened the top of my pack. “We brought sleeping bags,” I said. “Where are we camping?”

“No need for those, Frank,” Wally said. “We’ll bring them along in case there’s a cold snap, but if the weather’s nice, we’ll bunk down just like the cowboys did back in the day.”

Now it was my turn to feel a bit uneasy. I didn’t know what the sleeping arrangements would be, but I bet not as comfy as my down-filled sleeping bag.

After stowing our gear, Wally and Sarah led us to one of the dwindling campfires. It looked as if everyone had just turned in for the night—the other two campfires had dark shapes lying next to them. As we approached the third fire, two figures stood and joined us in the firelight.

“This is Ned and Dusty,” said Wally. “Boys, this is Frank and Joe Hardy. They’re here to help us drive the cattle back to the ranch.”

Ned was a short, stocky man with black hair and a dark, bushy beard. “Good to meet you,” he said as he shook our hands.

Dusty must have gotten his name from his mop of dirty blond hair. He was a foot taller than Ned and wore denim overalls. A toothpick jutted from the corner of his mouth. “We got your bunks all laid out.” He pointed to two blankets spread out beside the campfire.

The old, thin blankets looked as if they came from an army surplus store—Confederate Army, maybe. Instead of a pillow, each spread was topped with an old saddle.

I pointed to the blankets. “This is us?”

Wally slapped me on the back. “Get some shut-eye, boys. We pull out at first light.”

“Good night,” said Sarah. “And thanks again.” She followed her father out of the firelight.

I don’t know if Sarah was thanking us for saving her horse or for helping with the cattle drive. Either way, my mind was with my soft bed back at home.

Ned and Dusty stretched out on their nearby blankets. “It may not seem like much now,” said Ned. “But after a day on a cattle drive, this is going to seem like a five-star hotel.”

“That’s the truth,” agreed Dusty.

Joe and I took our places next to the campfire. I propped myself up on one elbow and watched as Joe tried to get comfortable on the hard ground. “Still living the dream?” I asked.

Joe adjusted the saddle under his head. “What’s not to like?”

I lay back on the saddle and shifted enough that I hoped I wouldn’t wake with a stiff neck. I looked up at the sky. A few stars winked above. Wally was right. The weather was warm and breezy, and it was a perfect night to sleep under the stars. It wasn’t the first time that my brother and I had been camping without a tent. However, when I finally drifted to sleep, I dreamed of my sleeping bag just a few feet away in the covered wagon.

“Rise and shine!” said a voice in my dream as a rude clanking noise sounded nearby.

My eyes popped open. Wally strolled through the camp, clanking a spoon against a blackened coffeepot.

“It’s still dark,” Joe said as he rubbed his eyes. “Didn’t we just go to sleep?”

“Nope,” replied Dusty as he tied his rolled blanket to the back of his saddle. “It just seems like it.”

“I thought we were getting up at first light,” I said.

“Wally said we’re
heading out
at first light,” said Ned. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “And first light is coming up fast.”

As my eyes adjusted, I saw that it wasn’t as dark as I had thought. The sky was indeed lighter in the east.

Ned and Dusty showed us how to roll up our blankets and attach them to the back of our saddles. After that, they introduced us to our companions for the weekend—our horses.

Ned pointed to a brown horse with patches of white on his feet. “Frank, this’ll be your horse—and he’s a good one. This is Harvey.”

“Harvey?” asked Joe.

“That’s right,” replied Dusty. He removed his toothpick and pointed to the tan horse next to him. “This one’s yours. Meet Norman.”

“Norman?” Joe repeated. “I thought cowboy horses were supposed to have cool names like Trigger, Silver, or Blaze.”

Dusty returned the toothpick to his mouth and pretended to cover Norman’s ears. “Hush, now. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

Ned smiled. “Yeah, you run a ranch for so long, you kind of go through those kinds of names quick.”

After Joe and I got a crash course in saddling our horses, we joined everyone at the chuck wagon for a quick breakfast.

“How’d you sleep?” asked Sarah. She handed us each a metal plate full of bacon and eggs.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Just great.”

Sarah smiled. “You’ll get used to it.”

During breakfast, we ran into the three people who’d paid to be a part of the cattle drive. There was Mr. and Mrs. Mueller, who had just moved to Bayport from New York. And then there was Tom Jackson, whom we already knew. He was the assistant manager at the H&T grocery store in town.