Chapter 17

 

Maria opened the door to find Jim Butler and his friends standing there. “Señor Armstrong,” she said, bowing her head. “I have been expecting you.”

“How did you know I would be here today, Maria?” asked Jim.

“Shoot fire, Badger,” said Rusty. “Ain’t much this lady don’t know about. She’s one of them curanderas. They say they talk to spirits, got the evil eye, and such like that.”

Maria’s brow furrowed as she cut her eyes toward the red-headed cowboy, who ducked his head and averted his eyes. She winked at Jim, reached out, and took his hand. Her flesh was so warm that Jim flinched from the touch. She led him and his men into the big, sprawling kitchen. Bale Armstrong sat with his back to them, drinking coffee.

“Señor, we have visitors,” said Maria, pausing for a moment. “Your son is here to see you again.”

Bale Armstrong whipped around and leaped to his feet. He was face to face with Jim before it sunk in, what Maria had meant. “I thought I told you lyin’ piece of trash to get off of my property.” The old man began a frantic search for his cane. Maria, still grasping Jim’s hand, reached out with her other hand and grabbed hold of Jim’s father’s hand.

Bale, Sr., started to protest, but Maria held on tight. She took both of the men’s hands and placed them one upon the other. Jim stood still. Bale, Sr., ­continued to struggle, but couldn’t shake loose from the Mexican woman’s grip. Gradually his opposition to Maria’s hold lessened. Bale Armstrong looked into the eyes of the man whose hand was touching his, and found Jim’s gaze fixed upon him. All at once, he stopped struggling.

“Badger,” he said. “Bale, Jr.—you’re alive.”

Then he fainted.

Rusty and Hack lifted Bale, Sr., and carried him to his bed. The rest followed, with Maria fetching water and some clean cloths.

“Your father must rest, Señor Bale. He is not a well man and the truth that you are alive and here at home has been a great shock to him. Even a curandera would need all of her powers to heal such a sick man.”

Jim squinted as he stepped outside into the bright sunlight. “Boys,” he said to his three friends. “We got us some hard riding to do. I’ll tell you on the way what the plan is.”

Mort Quarry was concerned about how much Melissa might have heard of his conversation with Dude. He knew she wouldn’t break his trust, but still it troubled him. He decided to take a ride up into the hills. Long rides alone always cleared his mind and helped him to think straight. Without telling anyone, he went down to the livery, saddled his favorite horse, and took off for the countryside.

Many hours later, Mort stood under a thick, leafy cottonwood tree and watched a storm roll in from the north. He had ridden all day, enjoying being outdoors. It had been a long time since he had ridden on his ranch property. He was proud of his land, his cattle, and the mansion he had built for his wife.

Sarah had been such a simple person. She had never liked the house; she said it was too big and a waste of money. Mort smiled at the thought of Sarah and money. Frugality was a way of life for her, while Mort liked to spend freely. In their last argument, she had said that she was sick and tired of his grandiose ways. Grandiose, her exact words. Mort hadn’t realized she even knew what the word meant. That had been the last straw. Mort had known it was time to terminate his relationship with his wife. It had been easier than he expected, and now Melissa was the apple of his eye.

He looked up at the darkening sky. The leaves in the cottonwood above him had begun to whip like thousands of miniature green flags. The roar of the wind whistling through his ears invigo­rated him. He turned his face to the heavens and yelled out like he was speaking to God Almighty himself. “I did it all for you, Melissa, I did it all for you!”

The riders had been on Quarry land for about fifteen minutes when Jim raised his hand for them to halt. They sat four abreast staring down at the Rancho Bonita complex. There was still enough daylight to make out the buildings. The main house was massive. It was built in the majestic style of the Old South. Four white pillars stood on the porch that ran the width of the house. Three bedrooms crossed the front of the second story, each with its own private balcony. Hanging baskets of multi-colored flowers, sea-green ivies, and delicate-looking ferns decorated the front porch.

The rest of the buildings consisted of a barn, bunkhouse, blacksmith’s shop, and a smokehouse. Every building was painted bright white, even the pump house. The buildings were unusually close together.

“Whoo-ee, I ain’t ever seen a place this fancy before,” said Rusty.

“Yeah,” said Shank, “and don’t nobody live in that big house anymore, either. Ever since Quarry’s wife passed, him and his daughter have stayed in town.”

“How did his wife die?” asked Jim.

“She fell out of a carriage and broke her neck,” said Shank. “It was an odd thing. No one was with her when it happened. Quarry had expected her in town, and when she didn’t show up, he rode out to check on her. He’s the one who found her dead.”

Jim took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “So boys, do you think we can do this? That storm yonder is gonna be right on top of us when we stampede those Quarry beeves across the ranch headquarters. It’s not gonna be a picnic.”

“Aw, Badger, we can do this with our eyes closed, but there’s somethin’ I need to ask you.” Shank Halsey had ridden with a burr under his saddle ever since he learned of the plan. “Badger, I know most of them punchers down there in the bunkhouse; shucks, I’ve even rode with one or another of ’em in the past. For the most part they’re good men. They work Quarry’s cattle, and they ride for the brand, but they ain’t gunmen. They don’t get involved with what goes on in Two Bucks City. They don’t have no doin’s with Quarry’s bunch of gunnies. Son, will you let me ride down there and warn ’em to get out or face the consequences?”

Jim thought about it for a moment. “Shank, you’ve got fifteen minutes before we start those beeves to running. That doesn’t give you much time, but that’s all you’re gonna get. Tonight I’m sending Mort Quarry a message he won’t soon forget.”

Shank nodded and took off toward the bunkhouse at a gallop. Jim and the others started east toward Quarry’s largest herd of cattle.