Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006) (12 page)

For a long time there was nothing but brightness. His world was no more than a glaring intense unmoving brightness that would gradually fade away into black nothingness. Once, when coming up into the bright shimmering he thought he could see a gray shadow moving by. Trying to figure out what this was, he gave up and once again let go and let the thinking grow fainter as he slipped into
unconsciousness
.

A cool wet cloth pressing lightly against his lips brought him by easy stages to awareness. Feeling weightless, he tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. Comfortable coolness made him accept his stillness. Hazy, he could hear voices far away. Not wanting to move he fell back to sleep.

It was the movement of light and shadow playing on his eyelids that woke him up. Opening one eye, he saw a dirty white canvas tunnel curved overhead. The dark skeleton shadow of a tree limb swaying played on the other side. His world exploded into bright sunlight as a canvas curtain was flung back at the end of the tunnel.

‘Well, so you finally decided to wake up and join the living, huh?’ The man climbing into the tunnel was a dark shadow with the sunlight behind him. ‘You are alive, aren’t you?’ Buck tried to figure out where he was. The last thing he remembered was intolerable thirst, a pain-filled world
and putting one foot ahead of the other. Turning his head to see where he was, brought a groan and a stab of fire.

‘Ah, well, I would not be moving around too much too soon, young man. Somehow you’ve gotten yourself in
trouble
and it’ll be a while before you are completely out of it. Now, rest and in a little while I’ll have food brought to you.’ Softly chuckling the man turned and, moving very carefully, climbed down. It was Juan Navarro. That meant the tunnel was more than likely the sheepherder’s wagon. Wondering how that came to be, he dozed off.

Hunger and the smell of coffee roused him the next time. For the first time the dull ache in his stomach was hunger, not from the beating he’d taken. Moving very slowly and carefully, he pulled the thin blanket away from him and tried to set up. Wearing only his long johns, he looked down to see that his upper body was a mass of greenish-tinged black and blue blotches. Moving even that little bit caused each one to throb.

Getting out of the bed and making his way to the end of the wagon took a long time, but the smell of cooking food helped him along. Pushing aside the curtain he looked out on the sheepherder’s camp. The old Basque sat on a
blanket
, leaning back against a log on one side of the cook fire. He looked up when Buck stuck his head out. His son, Jose, had been stirring something in a big fire-blackened pot hanging over the fire but now stared up at the man crawling out of the back of the wagon.

‘Here,’ Juan cried, motioning to his son, ‘help him, Jose.’ The young man didn’t move and Buck stumbled over and lowered himself to the ground, leaning back against the log with a sign.

Glowering at the young man, Juan commented, ‘You should probably stay lying down for a while longer.’ His son said nothing but went back to stirring the pot.

‘I couldn’t stand it,’ Buck’s voice sounded more like a
frog croaking than his normal gruffness. ‘The smell of food cause my stomach to raise such a noise that I couldn’t sleep any more. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying around, but I’ll be surprised if my belt still fits.’

‘I guess a cup of coffee would be the place to start. Since we brought you in, you’ve been drinking nothing but water. No wonder you’re hungry.’ Pouring a cup he handed it across to Buck. Gratefully, the big man sipped the hot liquid and nearly dropped the cup.

‘Yes, your lips are still a bit raw. I should have warned you.’

‘Raw lips and from what my chest looks like, a face that is one big blister, I’d say. You’re moving around a bit more since the last time I saw you. How’s that wound coming along?’

‘Ah, it takes an old man longer to heal. Slowly, yes, slowly I am getting better. Thankfully, for all his bad manners, my son is making things better for me. On the other side, you look a lot worse and move like you hurt a lot more, but, no, you are not as bad as one would expect. Losing your hat out in that sun wasn’t a good idea. But from the marks on your body I have a feeling you didn’t just lose your way or your hat.’ Juan didn’t ask questions outright, but it was clear he wanted to know.

‘It certainly wasn’t my idea of a good way to see more of your country. How did you find me?’

‘It was Jose who found you. First he found your horse and then when he went looking for you, thinking you’d maybe fallen off or been bucked off or something, he found you. You were unconscious and looked dead but let out a groan when he tried to turn you over. He put you on your horse and brought you here to camp. That was three days ago. We’ve been giving you a little water every so often.’

‘Well, I owe you my life, Jose. I don’t know how far I came or how long I was without water, but I don’t think I’d have
made it another day.’ Jose didn’t respond. Tapping the big spoon on the side of the pot, he set back from the fire and watched Buck.

His father frowned at the young man’s discourtesy and glanced at Buck. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get in such a state? It looks like you’ve been in a big fight and didn’t do so good.’

‘I let a couple of hard men get the drop on me,’ he explained, and went on to tell about the beating and the ride out into the sand blow. As he talked, Jose’s attitude began to change. ‘That’s where I got to, where you found me, Jose,’ he finished his story.

‘They tied you up and then beat you? And then took you out into the sand blow without your hat or water?’ Jose was sitting up now, asking his questions with unbelieving
bluntness
. ‘Why would they do that? They are one of the old
families
here in the basin. All you people have always stuck together. Why would they turn against you like that?’

‘I can only guess what Hightower is thinking, but his reason for the beating and leaving me to die out there is probably because his son, Hughie, was shot by a group of farmers. You can’t put all the cattle ranchers and horse breeders together and say they are all alike. No more than anyone can lump all the farmers or the sheepherders together.’

Juan laughed softly. ‘I’ve tried to tell him that but he would not believe. Now,’ he went on, turning to his son, ‘with the evidence in front of you, maybe you will open your eyes and your mind and begin to see.’

‘Hey, this is the young man who saved my life. Don’t be too hard on him,’ Buck smiled, only to wince as his lips cracked.

‘Ah, you need more salve. I have been putting a lot of special salve on your bruises and cuts. It is a mixture that makes things heal quicker. Your face and hands were very
sunburnt but this salve takes that away very fast.’

Smelling his hands, Buck frowned. ‘It smells like
something
I can’t quite identify. Familiar but somehow strange smelling.’

His words brought more laughter from the old
sheepherder
. ‘Yes, to you it would be a different smell. The salve is made with the oil from the sheep’s wool. So you will smell like a sheepherder for a while,’ he laughed.

Jose didn’t join in but continued to stare into the fire with a serious look on his face. ‘Tell me,’ he finally asked, looking across at Buck, ‘if you what you say is true, that the horse rancher Hightower beat you up and left you to die out in the blow, and he was behind the damage to the framer’s crops, then it might be that he was the one who shot my father. Does that make sense to you?’

‘No, it doesn’t make sense, but, yes, it’s likely he is behind all those things.’

‘Then my father is right. I have not been treating you as I should. I offer my apologies and welcome you to our home.’ A bare smile crossed his face with his stiff and stilted words.

‘So, my friend,’ the old man smiled, ‘there is at least one goodness to come from your pain: my son learns a lesson.’

For the next four or five days Buck Armstrong rested and, feasting on the delicious meals that Jose cooked in the big pot, regained his strength. Each day as he and the old
sheepherder
sat by the fire, drinking coffee or, more often, cup after cup of strong black tea, they discussed a variety of topics. All the time Buck worked at flexing his hands and, during the last day or so, his legs and back. Slowly the pain faded and, by the end of a week in the sheep camp, was mostly just a bad memory. Only the recollection of thirst still disturbed his sleep.

Each day, Jose walked the flock out in a different
direction
from the camp. Once, before starting the morning fire,
he hitched up the wagon and with Buck and his father sitting inside and the big black horse tied to the tail gate, moved the camp a few miles.

At the end of the fifth day, after yet another delicious stew of mutton, potatoes and strange smelling spices, Buck told the herders that he’d be riding out early the next morning.

‘Yes, I have been watching as you prepared yourself. Still you must take care. Although your face has a good start to heal, it could frighten any innocent young person,’ Juan joked. This time even Jose joined in with a chuckle. ‘Seriously though, you must take care. The men who did this to you will not take kindly having you turn up again.’

Buck’s smile lost its humor and became hard. ‘I’m
counting
on that. My showing up ready to collect on the debt will be my little surprise.’

The sun was barely up when he saddled the black and swung up. Once again thanking the Basque herders for their hospitality, he gigged his horse into a brisk walk and headed to the Rocking C ranch house.

‘Let’s see what kind of welcome the good Widow Randle will have for us, old boy.’ As usual the black horse didn’t react to the soft spoken words. 

‘Buck!’ she hollered, catching sight of him riding into the ranch yard a few hours later. Running to him, she threw her arms around him as he climbed out of the saddle. ‘They said you were dead.’ She blushed, dropping her arms and
looking
his face over. ‘What happened to you? Are you OK?’ The questions came fast and furious as, taking his arm she pulled him up to the porch.

‘Hugh came over once a week or so ago, and said he’d heard your horse had been found out near the big sand blow. He thought you’d probably thought you could ride across and ran into trouble.’

Laughing at her excitement, he nodded. ‘Well, part of that is true. I was out in that sandy piece of hell and I did run into trouble. As far as finding my horse? No. Jose Navarro found it. Jose found me, too, and saved my life.’

‘Tell me all about it.’

Sitting in the rocking chairs, he told her what had happened. How Hugh and his son had beat him up and left him out in the desert and how the Navarros had helped him back to health. He didn’t mention the pain and suffering, thinking to spare her.

‘Buck, I’ve been out there and I’ve seen what happens when someone dies out there. I know what a full day in that sun would do. You’re darn lucky to be alive.’

‘Well, I couldn’t just go away without saying a word to you, now could I?’ he smiled. ‘Anyway, I don’t think your friend should get away with making me lose my best hat. Which reminds me, I think I’ll ride on into town and take care of that little business.’

‘When Hugh came out, he was riding with Mr Blount, the banker. It appears that the bank, which is Blount,’ she said disgustedly, ‘has decided that the loan has to be paid in full right now. The reason he gave was that you had become a part of the picture and, as a suspected killer and stage robber, the bank couldn’t allow the loan to continue.’

‘Now that doesn’t surprise me. How long did they give you?’

‘Oh, I simply stood up, walked right up to that self-
righteous
fool and him to suck eggs. According to Hugh, the big bad killer was gone so there was no cause for him to call in the loan. He huffed and blustered a little but finally turned his buggy around and left. I had to laugh, which didn’t please Hugh very much. He warned me again that I didn’t know what I was doing, that I needed a strong man to help me run the ranch. I couldn’t help it, I laughed at that too. He cursed and rode out. I felt sorry for his horse, he jabbed his spurs into the poor beast’s sides pretty hard.’

Buck laughed. ‘Well, I guess we’ll just have to stick a spoke in Mr Hightower’s wagon. I don’t think he’ll expect me to show up. Now, what’s the chance of this poor old
grubline
rider getting a bite to eat?’

‘Oh, you poor old man. You are in luck today. Both Cookie and Freddie have gone out to the holding ground with the chuck wagon. Hank and the hands are starting the drive in the morning. That means for the next couple of weeks any cooking done here will come out of my kitchen.’

Laughing, he followed her through the house and out into the sun-filled kitchen. ‘As long as there’s no mutton in the pot, I’ll be happy. That’s about all the Navarros fed me.
Pot after pot of one kind of mutton stew after another. I think that’s about all they eat.’

‘Well, you’re not in a sheep camp now. This is cattle
country
so you’ll get a nice big steak.’

It was hard to leave the ranch a couple of hours later. Maybe, he thought as he tightened the cinches and, with a wave, rode out, there’s been too much lying around lately. ‘You don’t think we’re getting lazy, do you?’ he asked. Patting the thick neck he warned, ‘That means you, too, you know. Don’t think that hanging around a sheep camp doing
nothing
for a few days is going to become a habit. No, I expect we’ll have to run a little of that sluggishness out of your system.’ Getting no response, he nodded. ‘Maybe later.’

The afternoon sun was starting to lose its heat but Buck nonetheless felt the heat. That feeling might be more of a memory of his days and nights in sweltering temperatures out in the desert, but he still found himself reining the black toward the shady side of the road when possible. Just like his almost unquenchable thirst, it just wouldn’t go away. When he thought about his recent experience, however, he felt a great joy just to be here today, riding quietly through the countryside. Stopping on the bridge and looking down at the river, he looked around to make sure nobody was coming up behind him. Then, remembering the trout pool, he leaned over and looked down. There, just behind those rocks, he saw the gentle back swirl. A perfect safe place for a wise old trout to lurk. Possibly, if he was still on his feet once this was over, he’d dig up a few earthworms and see how smart that wily trout really was.

Coming into town he knew his first stop would be the general store. A man couldn’t go without a hat. Dropping the reins across the hitch post in front of the false-fronted store, Buck held the door for a matronly woman carrying a cloth sack of groceries, and walked in. Standing just inside
the door for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the gloom, he saw a tall, thin man behind the counter. Nodding, Buck asked about hats. Wordlessly the clerk pointed toward the back. Walking toward the back of the store, past the canned food section and tables piled high with men’s pants and shirts, he spotted his goal. At the very back of the store, on shelves built against the back wall, were stacks of hats. Mostly Stetsons and mostly black, although some were a soft gray, but all with wide brims that would protect the wearer from any type of weather. Conscious of being watched by the clerk, he slowly went through the piles until he found one he thought he might like. It was a flat-topped black felt hat and when he gently set it on his head was pleased as it seemed to be a comfortable fit.

‘I think this one will do just fine,’ he said bringing his choice to the counter and reaching into a pocket for cash.

‘Just got those unpacked this morning. The price for that one’ – he said looking at the little tag tied to the thin brown leather hatband – ‘is twelve dollars.’

Out on the boardwalk, Buck stopped and adjusted his new Stetson, all the while looking up and down the street. The hitching rail in front of the saloon was full with half-
a-dozen
horses standing hipshot and asleep. Strolling down the street he inspected the rumps and saw that all but one carried the H Bar H brand. Well, as someone had said, that wasn’t surprising; the Hightowers sold a lot of good horses in this area. It is just possible that he’d be lucky and find both Hugh and Frank Hightower inside having a drink.

Buck stopped before pushing through the swinging doors and looked the place over. The long mahogany bar lined the left side of the long room with shelves of bottled goods against the wall. Tables, each with a scattering of chairs around them filled the rest of the space. The bartender, dirty white apron and round derby hat letting everyone know he was a professional, stood at the far end of the bar
slowly drying a glass as he listened to one of the men on the other side of the barrier. Four or five men lined the bar on that side. Most of them, from their clothing, were townsfolk, only a couple wore typical range outfits of denim pants, high-heeled boots and gunbelts. One of the cowboys, the one doing the talking, was Frank Hightower.

Dusk had started darkening the sky while he was in the store buying his hat and the light was about the same as the smoky inside of the saloon. There was no need to let his eyes adjust so he placed both hands on the double doors and shoved. The noise of the doors swinging open caused the bartender to look up. More interested in whatever Frank was telling them, Buck only got a glance before the barkeep’s attention shifted back to the speaker.

Settling his gunbelt comfortably on his hips, Armstrong took the few steps to the mahogany and leaned one elbow on the bar. ‘Is that load of bull so entertaining that a man can’t get a drink in here?’ he asked loudly. Frank’s voice stopped and the bartender jumped and started down to the new customer.

‘By Gawd, you can just wait for your drink until I’m through talking, stranger.’ Frank was drunk. Standing squarely he faced down the bar toward Buck.

‘Stranger? Why Frank Hightower, I’m no stranger to you,’ Buck challenged, causing Frank to take a closer look. Surprised, he paled and then yelled, ‘Damn you. You’re dead!’