Lockett and Renzo Clark took chairs at the table. Roxanne, after a quick glance at her brother to assure herself he required no attention, began to place the food before them—fried meat, warm light bread, several vegetables, fresh butter and honey, hot apple pie, and coffee. For Dade, a solitary man most often on the trail eating his own cooking, it was a meal he would not soon forget. Finished, he leaned back, sighed comfortably. “Sure can’t thank you enough,” he said to the girl. “For somebody like me that kind of supper comes along maybe once in a lifetime.”
Roxanne smiled, her wide-set eyes glowing from the compliment. Renzo gulped the last bit of his pie, sloshed it down with a swallow of coffee, and brushed at his mouth with the back of a hand. “Them’s the kind of vittles we get around here regular,” he said, reaching for his pipe and tobacco. Looking up through his shaggy brows at the girl, he added: “One of the real good things that comes from working for the Rakers.”
Lockett made no comment, dug into his pocket for the makings, and began to roll himself a cigarette. Across the table Roxanne took up the granite coffee pot and refilled the cups.
“You was asking about our trouble,” Clark said, striking a match to his charred bowled old briar.
“Was just wondering,” Dade said, “but I reckon I already know what it’s all about. Always the same, seems … big man trying to take over the little one.”
“That’s just what’s happening,” the girl said. “There are several ranchers who would like to have our place. It’s at the head of the valley.”
“Was we of the notion,” Renzo pointed out, “we could close off the range, keep everybody from going through.”
“Which is something we never intend to do,” Roxanne continued. “My father assured John Grosinger, and all the others in the valley, that it would never happen. That there will always be a trail to the north across our land. Clint and I have repeated that promise but they don’t want to accept our word.”
“Reckon you’re meaning he … not they. It’s John Grosinger we’re talking about,” Renzo growled. “Ain’t nobody else giving us trouble.”
Lockett nodded. “Wants the land himself so’s he’ll not only be sure the trail will never be closed but so’s he can close it himself if ever he wants. Who is this John Grosinger? Has he got the biggest spread around here?”
“Yes, the Diamond G, he calls it,” the girl replied. “When my father came here about three years ago, this ranch was owned by a man named Fedderman. He wasn’t doing much with it and my father bought him out. He started fixing up the place and brought in some cattle …”
“That’s when Grosinger and a few of the others began flirting their ears and taking notice,” Renzo broke in. “Long as nobody was doing anything special with the place, they didn’t pay it no mind. But soon as Charley Raker started making a real ranch out of it, then that there was a different pair of boots we was talking about.”
“Grosinger the only big outfit in the valley?”
“Well, no, there’s Ed Cushman,” the girl said. “He’s to the south of us. He’s almost big as Grosinger, but the two men aren’t anything alike. Mister Cushman’s an old family friend.”
“Offered to buy you out same as Grosinger,” Clark said.
“I know, but only if we finally decide to sell. He says it’s up to us, strictly, but that if we do, he’s asking for first chance to make a deal.”
“And if he gets the place,” Renzo said, “it’ll make his C-Bar-C a bigger layout than Grosinger’s.”
“I can understand why John Grosinger’s anxious to take over,” Lockett said. “Those night riders, are they working for him?”
“Who else?” Roxanne answered with a small twitch of her shoulders. “Mister Cushman would never stoop to that … and he was always a friend of my father’s.”
Dade studied the tip of his dead cigarette thoughtfully. The story was not a new one—and certainly none of his business. He had his own problem—that of tracking down Pete Dillard and settling with him. But conversation was welcome after so many empty days and nights on the move, the company pleasant, and the coffee good. “Has this been going on ever since your pa took over the ranch?”
“Just about. Actually, Renzo can tell you more about that. He went to work for Father when he bought out Fedderman. Clint and I didn’t come until about a year later. You see, after Mother died, my father left us with an aunt … back in Indiana. The town was called Frenchman’s Crossing. He came West and the plan was to send for us when he had a place for us to settle down and make a home. It took ten years but he finally did.”
“Weren’t much trouble to start with,” Clark said. “Reckon they figured Charley was just like Fedderman and wouldn’t last no longer’n a june bug in a chicken pen. But Charley fooled them. Rebuilt this shack into a house like it is now, got a garden to growing, brung in some livestock, and put some cows to grazing right fast. By the end of that first year he was going good. Then …”
The old man paused, shrugged. Lockett nodded and said: “That’s when things started happening.”
“Just about. First off, howsomever, he sent for Roxie and Clint. Was right after they got here that trouble busted loose. First there was some fires. Part of the range was burned off. Then one night a shed caught on fire.”
“Masked men, like those calling on you this evening?”
“We never knew,” the girl said. “Nobody ever saw who did it. It just happened. We lost some cattle, too, about fifty head. That’s when my father was murdered. He set out to follow the steers. We didn’t know he was going to do it, and when he failed to come home that night and the next morning, we got worried and began to search for him.”
“Found him in a dry wash,” Renzo completed as she looked down. “Danged bushwhackers’d got him from behind. Had a bullet in his back.”
“You call in the law?”
Roxanne nodded. “Reported it to the marshal at Mule Springs. He tried to run down whoever did it but failed.”
“What about the steers? They ever show up?”
“They wouldn’t,” Renzo said bluntly. “Whoever it was took them, used hisself a running iron and changed the brand. Like as not they’re wearing a Diamond G now.”
“Probably. Just can’t see a man big as this Grosinger bothering to rustle fifty cows, however.”
“Could be he just let the bunch that bushwhacked Charley have them as sort of extra reward.”
“Makes more sense. It’s been you three running the place ever since, I take it?”
“We’ve tried,” the girl said. “It’s been terribly hard and now we’re getting down to where matters are critical. We’ve only about three hundred steers left and we need to sell off at least fifty of them to pay our bill at the general store and buy other things we must have. Our plan was to drive the stock over to the Box-B, that’s Bern Pogue’s ranch this week.”
“You’re selling your beef to another rancher?”
Roxanne’s lips tightened into a small smile. “Only choice we have. Mounting a drive to the railhead is out of the question … we haven’t the crew and chances are the night riders would never let us get out of the valley. Pogue’s ranch is only a couple of days away and most of the time we’ll be on our own range.”
“Who’d be moving the cattle for you?”
“Just Clint and I. Renzo can look after the place.”
Lockett frowned. “Now, with your brother laid up …?”
“I’m not sure what we can do. I’ll try to figure out something else … another way.”
If it was not a hard drive, why couldn’t Renzo Clark handle it? Dade wondered, but kept the question to himself. There evidently was a good reason. “How much does Pogue give you for your beef?”
“Ten dollars a head.”
“Ten! The market’s paying seventeen … maybe even eighteen by now for prime stock.”
“I know, but that’s for cattle driven to the shipping point. We can’t do it that way … and ten dollars is better than nothing at all.”
Clark stirred wearily. “And I’m wondering now if we’ll even get the chance to deal with Pogue, seeing as how them masked critters are hanging around.”
“This the first time they’ve hit you?”
“Not the first time … just the first time lately. Been about three months since they rode in, called out Roxie and Clint, and give them a warning.”
“Told us that we had better move on or we’d find ourselves in a lot of trouble,” Roxie put in.
“Didn’t they tell you who you had to sell out to?”
“No, just that we’d better go, and hinted if we didn’t, we’d end up like Father did.”
“Roxie …!”
At her brother’s call the girl rose hurriedly, crossed to the bedroom, and disappeared into its dark interior. Renzo Clark watched her with doleful eyes. “Sure is too bad,” he murmured. “Them two youngsters have worked mighty hard to keep this place going. It’s all they got in the world and it’ll be a powerful shame if they lose it.”
“They’d have a pretty fair shake if they sold out to this Grosinger or one of the others, wouldn’t they?”
“Now, I don’t figure any of them wanting it will pay much. They’ll try to steal it, and if the Rakers are put down tight in a bind, they’ll be able to. But I’m suspecting that’s the way it’ll end up, no matter what. With them flour-sack-wearing skunks moving in like they’ve done, and meaning business for sure this time … and with nobody to drive them cows over to Pogue’s so’s they can raise a little cash, I reckon they’re done for.”
“No … maybe not,” Roxie said, coming from the bedroom. She was smiling and there was a brightness in her eyes. “Clint was listening to us talk and came up with an idea.”
The old cowpuncher scowled, heaved himself half out of his chair. “Now, missy, you ain’t thinking of doing it you …?”
“No … someone else. Instead of selling only fifty head to Bern Pogue, we’ll sell him fifty-five and give the extra fifty dollars to Dade for driving them for us.”