The Last Chance Ranch (4 page)

"Lord, what now?” Obie heard his lover grumble. “Army?” It wouldn't be the first time a regiment stopped to buy horses on their way to Fort Union or Fort Craig, but that hadn't happened much since the rebels got pushed back at Apache Canyon.

Porter shook his head, his face a lean, scarred shadow under the black brim of his hat. “Not regular army, anyway."

"Unless they brought some goddamn lumber with them, their timin’ could be better. All right, you two stay close, might need you to cut a few out of the herd if these folks are buyin'."

With most of them traveling on foot, it took a few minutes before the visitors came into view. Leading the pack was a stiff-backed man with dark skin and a long, black moustache that curled up at the ends. He was wearing a union army jacket that had seen better days and obviously been cast off by someone with a much larger frame. A dusty cap was perched on his close-cropped hair. Obie glanced at Ben, knowing from the disapproving look on his face that his lover had already registered the slow, swaybacked mare on which the new man rode, as well as the short leather crop in his fist.

The men who straggled behind him were a motley crew, dirty and shabbily dressed. They were underfed and undisciplined, wandering behind the man on horseback almost as if they had simply fallen in with him by accident. A few of them didn't even have shoes on their feet. Unless Obie missed his guess, the men on foot were all Mexicans.

The leader drew up his horse and looked down at them with dark, watchful eyes. “I am Captain Alejandro Vargas of the New Mexico Volunteers. These are my men."

Ben nodded. “Howdy,” he offered, but Obie noticed that his body language was stiff and closed. If the captain noticed, he gave no sign.

"We are heading to Fort Union for advanced training. From there we will battle the Confederates. We invite you and your men to join us in this honorable fight."

Obie felt his eyebrow rise. He was glad Ben was in charge, because Obie himself had no idea what to say to that.

"I reckon you fellas are a little late to the party,” Ben drawled. “Confederate army pulled out of this territory last year. You boys are more likely to be sent after Navajo and Apache than rebels."

Some of the “volunteers” started murmuring. Vargas twisted in the saddle and barked a few words to them in Spanish, and they fell quiet. The captain scowled and turned his attention back to Ben. “It may be you are right,
senor
,” he conceded, dipping his head. “But my men and I will serve with honor, whoever the foe."

Ben nodded. “I salute you and your brave men. How can I help you?"

Obie found he was growing annoyed with the captain. He was the only one in this conversation on horseback, and the polite thing to do would be to dismount and talk face to face. He was obviously thinking the greater height would intimidate them. Obviously, he didn't know Ben Johnson.

"As you can see, my men have very little. They need horses for the long journey. I, myself, need a new mount deserving of my rank."

"We sell horses to the army all the time.” Ben's face gave little away, but he stressed the word “sell” ever so slightly. “Happy to do business with you."

At that moment, Lonnie cautiously led the big black stallion they all called the Bastard out of the barn. Obie saw the captain's eyes light up with avarice. “That is a magnificent animal."

"He's not for sale.” Ben's tone left no room for argument. “Every animal on this ranch is top quality. I'm sure you'll find some to your liking."

The captain stared down at him, his head held high. “We will take thirty of your finest horses for my men. We will also need pack animals."

Ben narrowed his eyes and spat in the dirt. “And how will you be paying for all that,
Capitan
?"

"Paying?” The captain smiled, revealing a mouthful of black, rotten teeth, then turned and said something to his men that caused them to laugh. “The army will pay you,
senor
."

"Army pays in silver on the spot,” Ben answered. “Unless you have silver in them saddlebags, I'm afraid I can't help you."

Vargas's smile froze and twisted into something darker. All the hair stood up on the back of Obie's neck, and his muscles tensed. The captain finally dismounted, walking slowly and stiffly in Ben's direction. “
Senor
, I am doing the work of the US government,” he intoned, fixing his glittering black eyes on Ben's face. “I have the authority to seize whatever I need to fulfill my duty. Today, I am seizing your horses. And I'm going to start with that stallion."

Obie took a step forward, fists clenched. “Like hell you are,” he growled. He could see Larry out of the corner of his eye, tense and ready for a fight. Porter, the only one still in the saddle, loosed the strap that held his rifle in its saddle holster. Ben stilled them all with a gesture.

"You heard the man, Lonnie,” he said mildly. “He wants the stallion. Let him have it."

The big man's eyebrows rose in shock, then he quirked a wry grin and held out the reins. Behind him, the Bastard snorted and pawed the ground, moving his tail in sharp, quick flicks. For a second, Obie almost felt sorry for the captain, until he remembered the man was little better than a horse thief.

Vargas smirked in triumph and sketched a mocking little salute to Ben. The Bastard let him get one foot in the stirrup before rounding on him and sinking his teeth into the captain's thigh. The man screamed and fell to the ground but had no time to recover, having to scramble out of the way of flashing hooves. The horse then walked calmly to Ben, trailing his reins, and nudged him with his big, blunt head. Ben patted his nose with a chuckle. “Don't think he likes you."

The Bar J hands were snickering, and they weren't alone. Vargas's troops were laughing at him too. The captain snarled and climbed painfully to his feet, his face flushed with fury. Between one second and the next, he pulled his pistol and pointed it at the stallion. Ben was in his face in a heartbeat, clutching the captain's wrist in a white-knuckled grip and forcing the barrel of the gun straight up.

"You harm that animal, it'll be the last thing you do, Mister."

Obie got a shiver. In a year of working for the man, living in his house and sharing his bed, he'd never heard Ben use that tone of voice. If the situation weren't so damn scary, he'd have found it sexy as hell.

The foot soldiers were getting agitated, muttering and shuffling. They stopped moving when Porter cocked his rifle.

Ben and Vargas were still locked in place, staring at each other. “I think you better be on your way, Captain. My horse don't like you. I don't like you, and that fella with the rifle? He
really
don't like you. Take your men and get off this property, before I show you what we do with horse thieves around these parts."

The captain grit his teeth and pulled his arm loose. Ben watched him, stony-faced, flanked by Obie on one side and Lonnie on the other. Vargas's eyes flicked to Porter, who twitched the barrel of the rifle toward the road. “
Cabron
,” he hissed, bending to pick up his crop. The Bastard lashed out with his teeth, narrowly missing out on a mouthful of the captain's backside. Vargas jumped back, and Obie figured he was more afraid of the horse than he was of Porter's rifle. With one last look at Ben, Vargas mounted his nag and took off down the road at a trot, his men running to catch up with him.

"Porter, make sure our guests leave.” The lean man nodded and nudged his horse, guiding it with one hand and keeping the rifle steady with the other. “That's quite enough from you,” Ben chastised as the big stallion nudged him again, hard enough to knock him back a step. “Ill-behaved beast that you are."

"Boss, I heard about that guy,” Miguel said. “He
hijo de puta
. His mother was a whore in Santa Fe. He tells everyone his father was a great
bandido,
but no one really believes him. He
un hombre malo
, though."

"Hmm. Well, he don't look strong, and God knows he ain't smart."

"He mean, boss. Sneaky mean."

"I believe he is at that, Miguel. We'll have to keep an eye on him. You figure those men of his know what they're signing on for?"

"No, boss. They speak no English, probably. Just know what he tells them."

"I figured. Think you can trail along at the back of the pack, maybe have a word with a few of them fellas? Make sure they know they'll be going up against Apache, not Johnny Reb."

"I tell them, boss, but it make no difference, probably. If that captain tells them they get food and money, they follow him. Got nothing else."

Ben shook his head. “Damn shame. Tell them the cattle ranch is hiring, the sheep spread too, I think. If nothin’ else, at least you can tell them to watch their scalps."

"Will do, boss."

Obie managed to talk Ben into postponing his trip to the mill, reasoning it wasn't the best time for him to be riding out and about on his own. Ben wasn't happy, but the whispered offer to rub his back and kiss his bruises won him over.

Miguel came back around nightfall, feeling hopeful he'd gotten through to at least a few of Vargas's men. A few days later they learned that more than half of the captain's volunteers had deserted, slipping away like shadows in the night.

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Temper settled quickly into life on the Bar J Ranch. Of course, settling in wasn't usually a problem for him. It was the staying that was hard.

He hadn't been terribly impressed when he'd first ridden into Sugar Falls, a dusty little one-street town in the middle of nowhere. At first glance, it was no better or worse than the hundred towns just like it he'd passed through since leaving Denver, driven by the old wanderlust to see what was down that road, over that mountain, across that desert. He'd been traveling the country, at least the parts that were more or less safe for his kind, for going on three years now. He'd seen a lot of things, and a few of ‘em were downright amazing, met some fine folks and some that were of no account at all. He'd herded cattle and sheep, worked the railroad, farmed some, even stayed with the Arapaho for a few months, up Wyoming way. All it had gotten him was tired and kinda lonely.

Somewhere along the way though, the nature of his rambling had changed. More and more, what drove him from town to town wasn't the old wish for adventure. It was the hope that maybe this time he'd find a place where he could settle down and rest for a spell. Sugar Falls hadn't looked too promising, but Temper had long ago learned to resist judging places—or people—too harshly on first looks.

He liked the ranch, and he liked the people, but he was afraid to get his hopes up. He'd been content in other places, but it never seemed to take for good, and after a spell, he'd always end up moving on. Now, shirtless and sweating in the stuffy barn, he continued forking out dirty hay and horse shit and decided it was a little too soon to tell.

He'd been mucking stalls for four days now, and he had it down to a system. And lucky for him he did, as Arcady had taken to skiving off after the first day. Oh, he was never so far away that he couldn't grab a fork and look busy when the foreman was around, but he made it clear that the work was beneath him. Unspoken but just as clear, was his opinion that Temper was plenty suited to cleaning up manure.

Temper supposed he could have complained about it, but it really wasn't in his nature. He couldn't control Arcady's actions or make him do the right thing. He could only account for himself as best he could and trust that his mama had been right when she used to tell him “the truth will out.” So he worked, doing whatever job was assigned to him efficiently and without complaint, and left it to the foreman to worry about James Arcady.

He finished with the stalls and took a moment to straighten the barn, as had become his habit. Arcady, who'd started the morning reclining on a bale of hay, had stretched and announced he was going for a piss hours ago, and Temper hadn't seen him since.

Temper took the pitchforks back to the tool room and exchanged them for a hammer and a sack of nails. He'd noticed a loose board on one of the stalls and thought he'd better take care of it while the wood was still salvageable. He was knocking a few nails in and thinking about the lumber problem when Snow came in to find him. The foreman surveyed the clean stalls and ran an approving eye over his repair job. “All right there, Mr. Free. Obie's taking the wagon to the north pasture to patch up the fencing as best he can. Why don't you go with and lend a hand."

"Yassir,” Temper agreed, returning to the tool room for a few more necessities. When he came out, Snow was gone, so he left the barn and walked to the waiting wagon. Dumping his tools in the back, he climbed up next to the boss's young man, who favored him with a grin.

"Howdy there, Temper.” With a quick slap of the reins, Obie sent the cart horses on their way. “Fine day today, ain't it?"

"Reckon so."

The cart bumped and bounced its way over the rutted road that led due north, bisecting the ranch. Smaller paths branched off to the left and right, leading to the other pastures, corrals and runs. One path led to an unfenced patch of land overgrown with brush, trees, and saw grass. Temper was curious enough to ask whether it was part of the Bar J.

"Sure is,” Obie replied. “Ben's always planned on expanding the ranch, but he don't ever get around to it. Changes his mind every week as to what he wants to use that tract for. One day it's sheep, next it's for planting. Last I knew, he was thinking of a second stable and more corrals."

"He's put together a nice spread here.” Temper had already figured out that, like Lonnie, Obie Watson was a talker who just needed a little nudge to warm up. Temper would likely get all his questions answered without having to ask a single one.

"Built it from the ground up,” the young man answered. “Him and his partner came out here from Kentucky with hardly a penny between them, oh, almost fifteen years ago now."

"Partner?"

"Robert was his name. Robert Barnes. That's the Bar in the name, and J for Ben Johnson."