Soiled Dove (8 page)

Clare watched the dust rise beneath the horses’

hooves and stared after them while her own horse pranced and circled around beneath her.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” a Spanish-accented voiced yelled.

Clare turned her head to see her friend and ranch foreman Ino Valdez hurrying toward her. He ran up to her and began checking her horse.

“He’s fine,” Clare said, still looking in the direction the men had fled. “Garner’s men, right?”

“Who else? We caught them driving a few head over the boundary and they disagreed where the line was,” Ino shrugged. He pointed toward the property line where a fire smoldered.

Clare pulled her horse’s reins to the side and rode him across the cut barrier between her property and Garner’s. She stopped next to the remnants of the small fire, leaned off her saddle, and wrapped her gloved hand around a branding iron. It sizzled slightly when she spit on the metal. “Still hot,” she muttered.

She returned to her side of the fence line, the Garner brand in her hand. “It’s about time Thad Garner and I had another chat,” Clare said. “Then we need to go into town. I ordered enough barbed wire to fence this whole damn place if necessary.”

Ino looked worried. “That’s not going to make you a popular woman around here. Never been any barbed wire out here. Once an animal gets tangled up it’s nasty.”

“It’s Garner’s fault,” Clare snapped. “Ever since he moved in here he hasn’t been satisfied with his own damn spread and thinks he can steal mine!

It…will….never…happen,” she said with emphasis on each word. She turned to the other hands. “I left a few head halfway to the upper meadow. Get them up there. Ino come with me. You might need to stop me from killing someone.”

CLARE REINED HER horse to a halt in front of the main entrance to Thaddeus Garner’s house and swung off the saddle. She took the steps onto the front porch two at a time and pounded on the heavy wooden door. A petite, fragile-looking woman in her forties opened the front door. Virginia Garner reminded Clare of an out-of-place southern belle.

“Thaddeus home?” Clare blurted, gripping her rifle tightly in one hand.

“Why, no. He and a few of the men went into town. I don’t expect him home for a day or two. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll find him. We need to talk,” Clare said. She nodded at the woman and turned to rejoin Ino.She bounced up into the saddle and squirmed a little to sit comfortably. “Son of a bitch is in Trinidad.

Probably setting up an alibi,” she mumbled.

“If he was here, he’d of already shot you off that horse,” Ino said.

“First thing tomorrow morning we’ll take the last of the stragglers to the upper meadow. I want the Burress boys to spend the rest of the day riding the boundary between our place and Garner’s while we go into town to pick up the wire. After the herd is settled in I want everyone to make that fence their
numero uno
job.”

“Garner’s just gonna tear it down,” Ino said, shaking his shaggy head.

“Then I want anyone who touches it shot! We’ve worked too goddamn hard to get this ranch to the brink of paying for itself without having some Johnny-come-lately think he can take it away without a fight. I won’t let an asshole like Garner stop us now.” Her eyes hardened with determination. She was no longer the woman she had been when she first came to the Colorado Territory twenty years earlier.

EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning Clare waited patiently astride her horse as Ino gripped his saddle horn and swung his thin, but well-muscled body easily onto his horse’s broad back. Nearly fifty, Ino Valdez was a Mexican vaquero who had accidentally wandered into Clare’s life. Then, like a stray cat, he simply decided to stay. He worked hard and rarely complained. She glanced over her shoulder at Caleb and Zeke Ramsey. They were young, but had stayed through the last winter and proved they, too, were willing to work hard, and endure her cooking. She had already sent the Burress cousins, Hall and Dewey, to ride the fence line between her property and the Garner spread, looking for breaks. Seldom did a day pass without at least two or three breaks in her fence line. She was certain the Garners were responsible, but had never actually caught them cutting the wire. Clare moved the reins on her horse to lead the small group away from the compacted dirt that served as the ranch house front yard.

Every spring a few head of cattle had to be driven into the upper meadow to join the main herd. Clare and her hands spent most of the winter riding to the meadows in the higher elevations to bring strays back down the mountain to the lower meadows. Not being the brightest animals on God’s green earth, they would die if caught in a sudden snowfall. They would stand in a field of snow covered grass and never use their heads to uncover the grass beneath the way buffalo did and had no clue the snow itself could save them from dying of dehydration. In the spring, when calving began in earnest, the higher elevations would come alive with wildlife. Rising temperatures and the appearance of still wobbly calves usually meant Clare would lose a few of her herd to wolves or mountain lions looking for an easy kill. The busiest months were just beginning.

In the hazy gray-blue early dawn, the four riders slowly made their way into the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos in search of wayward animals. The cowboys settled into a familiar and easy conversation as they rode toward the meadows overlooking the ranch. Clare rode silently, as she always did. There was work to be done and it never seemed to lessen.

Even though her men worked hard for their meager pay, she knew it was nothing more than a paycheck to most of them. The ranch was her life and she protected it as fiercely as a parent would a child.

Clare spotted two small clusters of cattle. She stood up in her stirrups and looked over her shoulder.

She noticed Ino slumping forward slightly in his saddle.

“Ino! Quit day dreamin’! You and Zeke get that steer over there!” she ordered. “Caleb, with me.”

Ino and Zeke reined their horses to the right and trotted toward the wayward animal while grabbing the ropes from their saddles. The steer was a big animal and ignored the two men as they approached.

Ino slapped his rope against his leg and leaned down near the steer, making a clicking sound with his tongue to get him moving. The steer wasn’t impressed and resumed its slow grazing. Zeke laughed as he let a portion of his lariat out and swung it around, striking the steer’s hind quarters with a snap.

Clare and Caleb encircled three heifers they’d located on the far side of the hill and encouraged them back on course by slapping their ropes against the chaps covering their legs. Clare smiled and pointed toward Ino and Zeke. “Looks like they have a problem,” she said.

Clare heard Ino’s voice as he prodded the stubborn animal to finally move. She watched the steer turn away again as the heifers approached. “You want me to get him for you?” Clare called out with a laugh.

Ino waved his hand at her dismissively as he opened the loop at one end of his rope. Clare watched as the vaquero swung his rope and released it, letting it fall over the steer’s head. Zeke draped a second rope around its neck. They pulled the slack from the ropes and began up the hill, dragging the reluctant steer behind them. Clare turned in her saddle in time to see the steer jerk against the ropes attempting to escape, nearly pulling Ino from his saddle in the process.

“Ino! Let’s go!” Clare yelled back at him. She was about a hundred yards ahead of him and his stubborn friend.

“Yeah, yeah!” he called back with a smile.

“Ino!” Zeke yelled suddenly as he began backing his horse up.

Clare’s eyes widened as she saw the rope in Ino’s gloved hand go slack. Before he was able to react, the animal lowered its head and charged into the side of his mount. The horse managed to stay on its feet, but reared, tossing Ino from the saddle. He hit the ground hard, momentarily stunned. Zeke tried valiantly to keep the steer under control and avoid another charge as Ino scrambled to get to his feet. In a limping run, Ino reached his horse, but couldn’t bring his leg up far enough to remount or release the rope. It was all he could do to avoid being trampled by his own horse’s hooves or hit by the angry steer. He managed to pull his rifle from its case near the saddle and chambered a round.

“Ino! No!” Clare hollered as she raced back toward him. Her rope was already in motion and Ino lowered his rifle. The steer pawed the ground and lowered its head once again. As the big steer leaped toward Ino, Zeke was nearly jerked from his saddle.

Ino grabbed the saddle horn with both hands and leapt onto his horse’s back as Clare launched her rope and caught one of the steer’s hind legs, stopping quickly and jerking the animal’s feet out from under him. Once the animal was on the ground, Ino collapsed over his horse’s shoulder for a moment to catch his breath. As soon as Caleb joined them, Clare transferred her rope to him and moved her horse alongside Ino and touched his shoulder.

“What the hell happened, Ino?”

“Dunno. Maybe he got hold of some loco weed or something, but he sure as hell wasn’t ready to go anywhere,” he answered, shaking his head.

“You all right?”

“Landed on a rock when I fell. Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.”

“Turn around and let me look.”

Ino turned slightly in the saddle and bit his lower lip as he unbuttoned his coat. Clare lifted it and sucked in a breath. Blood soaked the back of the vaquero’s shirt. Carefully she pulled the shirt out and looked under it. There was a two inch tear below his right shoulder blade.

“Might need a few stitches,” she said. “Other than this cut are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, just knocked the wind out of me, I reckon.

I’m sorry, Clare.”

“Not your fault,” she said.

She dismounted and checked the condition of Ino’s horse. She patted the animal’s neck when she finished her inspection. “Might have a bruise or two, but otherwise he looks okay,” she reported.

Ino smiled as he stroked his horse’s mane. “Sorry, fella.”

“He’ll have a couple of days to rest until we get back from town,” Clare said. “Think you can manage those heifers while we take care of this bad boy?”

“Yeah. No problem,” Ino nodded.

Zeke and Caleb both had ropes around the steer’s head and forced him up the mountain between them even though he managed to fight them most of the way. He was fast becoming one of Clare’s most disagreeable animals and would find himself curing in the smokehouse by the next winter if they couldn’t keep him calmed down. Even though he was one of her best breeders, he could be replaced.

By the time they released their strays to mingle with the rest of the herd it was well after midday.

When the riders returned to the ranch, Ino stretched out on his bunk and buried his head in a pillow as Clare cleaned his wound and stitched it up.

“You’re gonna have a pretty good bruise,” she said quietly. “Probably be a little sore too.”

“It shouldn’t have happened. I was careless.”

“You’re never careless. That steer was just meaner than you today,” she said with a smile. She patted his bare back and stood up. “Get rested up today. We’ll wait and go to town tomorrow morning. A few drinks will make your back feel better. That and maybe a few tender ministrations from Miss Mavis.” Clare knew the vaquero had taken a fancy to one of Willis Manning’s saloon girls and couldn’t blame him. With a full head of dark, copper-colored hair and twinkling green eyes, Mavis Calendar was the object of many a man’s fancy and she had taken a fancy to the vaquero.

Clare smiled as she left the bunkhouse. She figured Mavis was a couple of years younger than her own forty, but she was certain Mavis’ interest in Ino was far from daughterly.

Chapter Seven

THE TRIP FROM St. Joseph, Missouri to Pueblo, Colorado was a long one, especially for Loretta.

Without the benefit of a sleeping car, she was forced to sleep upright in her seat next to Amelia. The swaying movement of the train cars over the tracks lulled her off to sleep many times during the four day trip. But every time she drifted into a few moments of rest, the train lurched to a stop in yet another town. It seemed as if there were hundreds of stops to take on passengers or mail. The jostling of the train didn’t help the pain she still felt along her ribcage and abdomen. Occasionally, Hettie found a secluded place where she could check Loretta’s bandages and attempt to readjust them into a more comfortable position. Cyrus apologized daily for having nothing to give her for the pain. On the second day, she asked him to leave the train during a layover to purchase a bottle of whiskey. If nothing else, she would drink enough to help her fall asleep and not care about the pain. The lack of sleep, combined with the whiskey, made her nauseous, but she managed to keep enough food on her stomach to survive the journey.

She spent most of her time staring at the wheat growing in huge, seemingly endless fields across the flat prairies of Kansas, the stalks radiating sparkles of gold from the warming sun. She often thought about what she would do once they arrived in Colorado. She would certainly have to find a job to support herself.

If nothing panned out for her, she could always return to the one thing she knew how to do well. She folded the lap blanket into a pillow of sorts and rested her head against the metal frame of the passenger car window, watching the changing landscape as the train lumbered along. For three days and nights, the train made its way across flat golden prairies. On the fourth day, Loretta noticed the pale outline of mountains in the distance, as yet too indistinct to see in much detail. She watched all day as the mountains grew larger before her and she eventually saw snow-capped peaks.

“What mountains are those?” she asked when she saw Cyrus watching her.

He leaned closer to the window for a better look.

“The ones closest to us are called the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. In Spanish it means the blood of Christ.

Beyond those are the tallest mountains in the west, the Rocky Mountains.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said softly. “When will we arrive?”