Between Hell and Texas (13 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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Frye closed his eyes like he was thinking. “Roan's worth thirty, the bay twenty-five, and the mule twenty.”
“I'll give you seventy for the lot if they suit,” Chet offered.
“Oh, they'll suit. Saddle them up and try'em. I'm not afraid.”
“Seventy?”
Frey agreed.
Chet peeled the money out to the man. “Our rigs are up at the stage office.”
“I have a buckboard hitched out front. The man won't need it for an hour. Go get your things in it.”
“You're a might obliging man, Frey. They told us that down at the café.”
“I'm in business. And I want to stay in business. What's yours?” He tucked the folding money into his vest pocket.
“We're looking for a ranch to buy.”
“Good luck. And you ever need anything again, come see me. I've been here about ten years and know most folks.”
“Thanks.” Chet had judged the man to be honest as was promised, and felt in time they might build a friendship.
At last the saddles were recovered, along with their bedding and camp supplies. Chet took a lariat off the fencepost and roped the bay for Heck first. The gelding acted a little buggery on the start, but when he came up the rope to fashion a halter, he settled down. Sign of a well-broke horse, and he led him out the gate.
“He looks nice,” Heck said, coming with a blanket in one hand and a saddle in the other.
“Guess we'll see,” Chet said, and went back with another lariat for the roan with the split mane. The second loop he tossed fell over his head and he snorted, but like the bay, settled down when Chet approached him.
His legs looked splint-free, and no ringbone. The horse had some old dark scars that showed on his roan coat, but few looked serious. He took the bit and remained standing while Chet saddled him. Obviously he was ground-tie-broke, too. Chet liked that—most of the—
ranch horses had been trained when the reins were down to stay there.
“Can I ride him around a little?” Heck asked, finished saddling.
The three stable hands were standing at the wide-open back door, arms folded as if looking for something to break loose. Chet knew by the looks on their faces they were expecting some fireworks from either horse, or both.
“He may buck,” Chet said, and caught the bridle as Heck swung up onto his back.
“Turn him loose,” Heck said and spun the pony around. It was all the horse needed; he stuck his head down and went to crow-hopping down the alley. Heck rode him sitting tall, and even urged him on some. He came back pleased as punch while Chet finished his own saddling operation.
The stable men were nodding approval and joshing Heck about his horse bucking. They had no idea how much that boy had ridden. His ride must have satisfied them, but the onlookers soon turned their attention to Chet and Roany.
He stepped into the stirrup, threw his leg over and checked the horse as he found his right stirrup. Then he made him sit down and made certain the girth was tight enough. The roan had plans of his own, the realization came with the tightness of the gelding's body under him. Then Chet leaned forward and gave him some rein. Roan stepped out like he was walking on eggs, and Chet kept the reins tight enough to keep his head up. They went down the alley and back, practically dancing a jig. Stopped in his tracks, Chet patted the thick black mane on the right side. The urge to buck had evaporated from his horse.
The disappointed stable crew caught the mule, and the three men put on the cross buck saddle, and loaded the panniers and bedrolls in the shake of a lamb's tail.
Their leader, a man called Jasper, handed Heck the lead rope. “You boys damn sure know horses. Have a nice day. Come back and see us.”
The mule did some braying about leaving his friends, but otherwise they jogged up the steep street headed east. The road let over the pine-clad hills to a wide-spread valley and past the ranch gate with the LYT brand nailed on top of the crossbar. The big house and outfit sat a good quarter mile down a lane from the gate.
“We going to stop by and see her again?” Heck asked.
“Maybe later.” Chet wasn't satisfied he knew the lady's real purpose in inviting him to their place. Deep in thought, he wet his lower lip. But he'd find out sometime when he didn't have so much on his mind as finding the—
a new home. What was Kathren doing that day?
They rode east and saw several range cattle doing fine. Most of the outfits they passed, he decided, were hundred-and-sixty-acre homesteads. A few had planted orchards; others had large gardens, by his observation. He wanted a ranch, not a farm. But he might change his mind—he had both back home.
Chet and the boy put off dropping down into the Verde River Valley until they had more time. But Chet was glad to be back in the saddle, and knew Frey had sold them some good mounts.
 
 
By late afternoon they returned and stabled their horses. He sent Heck off to buy some candy and told him they'd meet at that one-row-of-stools café around five.
He chose the Palace Saloon in the middle of the block of saloons facing the courthouse called Whiskey Row. He entered the two-story room and saw the ornate wooden bar and brass rail on the left. A lot of art and taxidermy was hung on the walls. The sawdust floor under his soles, he ordered a beer and took it to a table to appraise things. The beer was cold. They must have ice, Chet decided. In Texas, they imported some ice in places like San Antonio, but most of it was gone by May.
The barmaid came by with a towel over her arm. Still in her late teens, short too, she had a hardness about her that even her smile could not erase. Her name, he learned, was Jane, and she rubbed off the table with a towel and told him she didn't get off till midnight, if he was interested.
He said, “I'll pass, but thank you. Are there any land agents in here?”
She cut a glance at the men at the bar and then nodded. “Yeah, Bo Harold. The guy in the brown suit with the small-brim hat. Wanta talk to him?”
“He honest?”
She gave him pained look. “Honest as most men.”
He smiled. “Tell him, if he gets time, to come over and talk to me.”
“Sure, bet he'll be glad to. I never caught your name?”
“Chet Byrnes.”
“Nice ta meetcha, Chet Byrnes,” she said, and in a swish of her skirt headed for Harold.
The man soon joined him with a “What-may-I-help-you-with ah, Mr. Byrnes?”
“Have a seat, Mr. Harold. My name's Chet.”
“Well, Chet, Bo's mine. What brings you to Preskit?”
“I need a ranch.”
“Aw.” Bo seated himself, pushed the felt hat back on his head, exposing blond hair, and nodded. “I have some listings. How big?”
“How big you got?”
“You must come from Texas?”
“I live in the Texas hill country.”
Bo sat back in the chair. “I have a large ranch for sale down in the Verde Valley. Three sections of deeded land—that's big in Arizona. I can show it to you tomorrow. Good water rights, some irrigated land, and set up where you can run a thousand cows. What do you think?”
“Let's go see it tomorrow. I have horses at Frey's stable. What time?”
“How does six
A.M.
sound?”
“We'll be saddled and ready to go by then. Meet you at Jenny's Café.”
“Very good, I'll meet you there. You'll love this ranch.”
“What do they call it?”
“Quarter Circle Z. Best ranch in this country. Let me buy you another beer.”
Chet shook his head. “Thanks, but I have to meet a man.”
He left through the swinging doors and realized it would soon be sundown. Mid-April, it still went down early. Heck might worry that he had forgotten him. What did they price the ranch for? It could be more than he could afford. Still, he wanted to see it. Regardless of the asking price, he'd look at it anyway.
He spotted Heck waiting in front of the café. “How did things go?”
“Fine, Chet. You learn anything?”
“We're going to the Verde River tomorrow with a land agent named Harold and look at a large ranch.” He held the door open for the youth to go inside.
“We going to buy it?”
“Look at it. Lordy, it may be too costly for us to afford.”
“How much is that?”
“We'll see.” He motioned for him to get on a stool.
The same broad-shouldered woman with her thick blond hair braided and coiled on her head waited on them. “Well, what did you two see today?”
“All the country we could see east of town,” Heck said. “We must have rode a hundred miles.”
“Where do you plan to go tomorrow?”
“Verde Valley,” Chet said.
She nodded. “That should be interesting.”
“You know anything about the Quarter Circle Z?”
“Hoot knows, he used to work down there.” She waved to a short, nearly crippled cowboy for him to come over. “Tell my new friends here from Texas about Talley's ranch.”
After introductions, the man took a stool beside Chet and nodded. “They've got it for sale?”
“A land agent told me they did. Why?”
“They don't live here. A bastard named Ryan runs it for them. He's a crooked sumbitch and I hate him.”
“Where do the owners live?”
“St. Charles, Missouri. They seldom come out here. Ryan does what he wants out there. I'd sell it, too. They must be afraid to fire him.” Hoot chuckled. “I bet that's why. He's a tough hombre. I broke my leg in a horse wreck doing my job. One of the boys brought me in here to the doc's and left me. Next day, Ryan came by Doc's office where I was in bed and fired me. Said if I couldn't keep from having wrecks he didn't need me.”
“Did he pay the doctor bill?”
“Hell, no.”
“Sounds like a real nice guy.” Heck and Chet both agreed.
“What's the ranch like?”
“They've got forty acres of alfalfa. It's a good crop. And that much timothy, plus another forty in corn.”
“Who farms it?”
“Some Mexican folks work for a guy who does the farm work. His name's Chandler.”
“What else?”
“Ryan ain't supposed to, I know that much, but he still lives in the big house with some Mexican woman. They moved out of the house when the Talleys came out here last time. But as soon as they left for Missouri, he moved right back in. I heard old man Talley say for him not to live in the main house when he was gone. Ryan's ornery as a bull, I tell you. He may not even let you look at the place.”
“Let me buy your supper,” Chet said. “I appreciate you. I may hire you to show me all that place, if we like it.”

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