Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006) (14 page)

Night had fallen and full darkness covered Jose’s arrival at the Randle ranch house. Seeing a horse tied to the porch rail, he reined behind a corral and rode slowly and quietly behind the barn. Quickly securing his mount and taking the rifle, he stole around the corner, stopping where he could see the front of the house.

The near full moon was high enough to cast its weak yellowing light on the house and yard. From the shadows, Jose watched the house and tried to think of what to do next. Lantern light defused by curtains outlined a back window, probably a kitchen window, he figured. He had just about decided to cross over to the house and try to see into that window when a man came out of the front door.

Instinctively, Jose backed deeper in the shadow when the man, slamming the door behind him, came striding across to the barn. Scarcely breathing he waited as the man stalked by, passing within ten feet of his hidden rifle. The man, not looking right or left, went out of sight. Jose listened,
jumping
when he heard a door being yanked open.

Sounds of the man cursing as he broke one match after another, until one fired and light spread as a lantern was lit. Looking through a crack between two wall boards, Jose saw that the man was Hightower, the man he’d come to find.

Sweat broke out on the young man’s face. Here he was and all he had to do was lift the rifle and point it. Pulling the trigger would be just what the horse breeder had done to his father. Jose, watching Hightower walk quickly along one wall and then enter what was obviously a tack-room, waited. He couldn’t just shoot the man in the back.

Wiping his hands one at a time on his pants, Jose
continued
watching, one eye to the crack. Laughing, Hightower came out of the tack-room and holding the lantern in one hand and a tin container in the other, stomped out of the barn. Jose was frozen with fear as the rancher went by. Setting the lantern on the ground in front of the porch, Hightower twisted the cap off the can and started pouring liquid along the wall. The smell of coal oil filled the air and told Jose what he was planning.

Eventually tossing the now empty container aside, Hightower picked up the lantern and threw it against the wall. Instantly the fire raced up the wood. Standing back a few feet, Hightower put his hands on his hips and laughed.

Shocked, Jose stepped out of the dark and, bringing the rifle to his shoulder, yelled, ‘Hightower! Turn around.’

‘What?’ Hightower turned quickly, reaching for his
handgun
as he came around. Hesitating an instant while he tried to see who had called, he was bringing the revolver’s barrel up when Jose fired. Not waiting to see where his first shot had gone, Jose quickly levered another shell into the
chamber
and shot again. The first shot had taken Hightower in the upper chest, throwing him back. Off balance, his body tried to stay upright when the second bullet, glancing off the big belt buckle, tore up under his rib cage. Like a rag doll, the man folded.

The night was suddenly filled with sound as a big black horse came charging into the yard. Frightened by what he had done, Jose slipped back around the barn and jumped into the saddle. Racing away, he only glanced back after
reaching the safety of darkness. The glow didn’t seem to be getting any bigger. Slapping the reins against his horse’s neck, Jose was surprised to discover he was sobbing.

Earlier, just shy of full darkness, Buck found the bank’s door had been locked and shades pulled down over the windows. Shadows cast on the shades by the lantern light somewhere inside told him that at least one person was still inside, though. Knocking loudly on the door, he waited.

‘Go away,’ a man yelled from inside. ‘We’re closed. Come back in the morning.’

He pounded his fist against the door again, and once more was told to go away. A third hammering and the shade blocking the full length windows of the door was pulled aside. Buck didn’t recognize the face frowning at him. Shaking his head, the unknown man once more ordered Buck to go away. Drawing his pistol, the big man pointed it and smiled. Glancing behind him, the thin-faced man swung quickly around when Buck tapped the glass with the gun barrel.

‘Open the door or I’ll have to start breaking glass,’ he warned. Quickly taking a large key from his pants pocket, the door was unlocked. Reaching one hand to the door knob, Buck pushed the door open forcing the man inside to almost lose his balance.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, tapping the man on his thin bony chest. Everything about the man was thin, from his nearly bald head to his patent leather shoes. 

Nervously the man gulped and stammered, ‘Henry. I’m the teller. Mr Blount is back in his office. Is this a hold-up?’

‘Nope. Just want to have a little talk with the banker. You just sit over there,’ he motioned with his gun, ‘and don’t move. OK?’

‘Yes, sir,’ and he sat down meekly on the edge of the leather-covered seat.

Buck smiled and walked to the office door and pushed it open.

‘God damn it, Henry—’ Blount growled, stopping when he looked up and into the dark end of the Colt’s barrel. ‘What,’ he stammered, never taking his eyes off that black tunnel. ‘What do you want?’ Finally looking up, his face blanched as he recognized the man holding the gun. ‘You … you’re dead.’

‘Nope, you’re the second one to make that mistake tonight. The first, Frank Hightower, is, though. I wouldn’t make the same mistake he did and try reaching into that drawer.’ Blount’s hand had been moving, but at Buck’s words jerked back as if snake bit.

‘Things have been changing, while you were closing up, Mr Blount. Sheriff Holt has left town, or is trying to as fast as he can. The last time I saw young Hightower he was lying on the floor of the saloon with a coupla holes in him. And soon I’ll be out looking for the elder Hightower. I guess that means it’s your turn.’ Buck hitched one hip on the side of the big wood desk.

‘What do you mean?’ Blount’s face had turned pale but flushed as he saw Buck relax.

‘Well, from what Frank said before I shot him, you seem to have been part of his pa’s plans for becoming the big bull of the woods. Yes,’ he went on, as the banker shook his head, ‘he had been drinking which led to bragging, which led to his making his last mistake. And all those townsfolk enjoying his brag heard how you don’t own the bank, Hightower
does. I guess if you stay in town, you’re going to be getting a lot of grief. But then, once Hugh Hightower is gone, what with his two boys having been killed, I’d say that puts the bank in Paul’s hands. Somehow I don’t think young Paul will like what he hears about you. The best thing is for you to follow Holt. Get a fast horse or, if you’re brave, wait for the morning stage and get out of town. Fact is, you had better be long gone when I come back through town a little later.’

‘But I can’t just walk away. I’ve put a lot of work in making this bank profitable. You can’t expect me to just ride out and leave it. Be reasonable.’

‘Oh, but I am reasonable. You’re getting the chance to ride out without any extra holes in your measly hide. Now, where are the keys to that big black safe?’

‘Here, in my pocket.’

‘OK, be very careful and drop them on the desk.’ Looking at the firearm once more pointing at his nose, Blount obeyed quickly. Standing, Buck used the six-gun to direct Blount to get up.

‘Hey, Henry,’ Buck called, as he drove the banker out of his office by poking him in the back. ‘Did you hear all that? Good. Then listen to this. Do you have a revolver back there?’ At a nod, he smiled. ‘Better. Now, old Blount here is going to walk out and never come back. If he tries to, you get that weapon and shoot him. If you don’t and he takes one dollar out of here, I’ll shoot you. And that would make our friendly banker a thief and I’d go looking for him and shoot him myself. Am I being clear?’ Quickly both men nodded in agreement.

‘Fine. Good night, Henry. Blount, get running before I change my mind.’

Riding out to the Rocking C, Buck wasn’t in any great hurry until coming close to the ranch yard, he saw a sudden glow near where the house sat. At the same time he heard two
shots fired. Knocking his boot heels against the sides of the black stallion, he raced into the ranch yard.

A body was sprawled out on the ground, but he didn’t stop to see who it was. His full attention was on the blaze running along the side wall. Jumping out of the saddle, he ran to the water trough and, seeing a bucket, filled it and started fighting the fire. The smell of coal oil was strong, but apparently most of it had been poured on the ground,
missing
the structure. Within a few minutes, and no more than a dozen buckets from the trough, the fire had been put out. The last bucket Buck poured over his head.

Resting against the side of the house, Armstrong took a long look at the man’s body lying a few yards away. Hugh Hightower. Turning the body over on its back, he saw what the bullets had done. The only person he could think of who could have done the shooting was Matilda, but if that was the case, where was she? Faintly he heard someone calling.

With his Colt ready, Buck pushed open the front door with the toe of a boot. ‘Help me … damn it, come help me.’ Matilda’s yells came out of the dark interior.

‘Matilda? Are you all right?’

‘Buck? Is that you? Watch out, Hugh’s around
somewhere
. I think he’s gone crazy.’

Moving across the living-room Buck smiled when he found her lying on her side, still tied to the chair. ‘Now why are you just lying there? Don’t tell me you missed out on all the excitement.’

‘Excitement? What was the shooting? And where’s Hugh?’

‘Did he do this to you?’ he asked, as he set the chair upright and quickly cut her loose. ‘Hugh is beyond doing more harm. He’s out in the yard. Some one put two big holes in his chest. Fact is, that just about takes all the fight out of the Hightower family. Paul’s the only one left.’

Quickly he explained what he had been doing in town,
and after throwing a tarp over Hightower’s body and again inspecting the scorched wall, they returned to the kitchen. The pot of coffee Hugh had made was still hot and while they calmed down with a cup, she told him all that Hugh had done and said.

‘Matilda, back when the Professor’s letter came, telling you that I was going to stop by, was there anyone who knew about it?’

‘No, well, I guess Hugh knew. He brought my mail out that time and I was pretty excited about Uncle Fish sending someone to help me. Things were pretty dark and dismal then, and Hugh was just starting to talk about helping me. Why?’

‘According to something that Frank said, one of the men who tried to ambush me when I was coming into the valley was his brother Hughie. I don’t know who the third man was. Guess I never will, now.’

‘Everything that was happening then, was Hugh’s doings? He had always been a friend and neighbor; it’s hard to believe.’

‘Well, maybe not everything. I’ll go lay him out in the barn for tonight. We’ll have to somehow get hold of Paul tomorrow and let him know what has happened.’

Later, after unsaddling his horse and turning it out into one of the corrals, he carried Hightower’s body into the barn and covered the remains again with the tarp. Using the lantern, he found Hightower’s revolver. It was an old model Colt. A .36 caliber five-shot revolver, the kind Buck hadn’t seen too many of in his travels. Most all of those he had seen had been refitted from black powder to take cartridges. Hugh’s weapon hadn’t been converted. Holding the heavy firearm he thought about the long octagonal-barreled pistol. Shooting black powder, if the target was anywhere within a yard or two, the chances were good it would leave a smoke-blackened wound. Without a confession, this was
pretty convincing proof that both Virgil and Hubbard had been killed with this gun.

Matilda had argued when he said he’d drop his bedroll in one of the stalls. There were very good beds in the house and no reason for him not to take advantage of one. Giving her one of his smiles, he agreed. Now, with the tarp-covered body up off the dirt floor on a wide plank, he walked down to one of the hay-filled stalls and unrolled his bedding.

Early the next morning, after washing up in the water trough, he was on his way back to the barn to saddle up when he
spotted
a couple of shell casings lying in the dirt near a corner of the barn. Picking one up, he noticed a slight oily feel. Sniffing his fingers brought back the memory of the salve Juan had used on his sunburn. A salve made from a sheep’s oily wool. Looking out toward the far horizon, he nodded, before tossing the shells into a nearby scrap heap.

Breakfast was heavy thick slices of bacon with eggs fried in the bacon grease. Freshly made baking-powder biscuits and lots of homemade butter filled whatever parts of his stomach were left over. Matilda didn’t comment on his failure to return to the house the night before, but it wasn’t until the second cup of coffee that Buck could relax.

The sound of horses coming into the yard took both out to the porch in time to see Paul and Elizabeth ride in. Both were on fine-looking H Bar H horses. Sitting on the porch, Buck and Matilda took turns telling the couple what had happened to the Hightower family. Without saying anything, Paul got up and walked to the barn, while the other three went back into the house.

Later, over lunch, Paul asked Buck what he thought he should do, now that he was the owner of a ranch and the town’s bank.

‘You’re asking the wrong person, Paul. I’m just a hard riding cattleman without a single head of stock. Why, if you ask half the people around here they’ll tell you I’m some kinda killer. Now, Matilda here has a good head on her shoulders, a pretty one too. I’m sure between the three of you, someone can be found to help you make as few mistakes as possible.’

Finishing his coffee, he stood and picked up his new hat. ‘Meanwhile, I’ve got some business in town to finish up.’

Stepping into the saddle, he took up the reins and looked down as Matilda put her hand on his leg.

‘Buck.’ She looked up, letting her soft pale-blue eyes speak wordlessly. ‘You know there’s a place for you here. Old Hugh might have been right, I can’t run this place by myself. You don’t have to go, do you?’

For a minute he looked deeply in her eyes and then reaching up with his hand, touched his hat brim. ‘Matilda, I’m not the kind of fellow to hang around working at
ranching
. If I stayed, the time would come when one morning I wouldn’t be there. Naw, all it would take is a letter from the professor and I’d be up on this mean old stud horse and gone. You’re going to have good neighbors; the farmers are good people and those Basque sheepherders are real special. You’ll be all right.’

Smiling, he gigged the horse and reined away riding out of the ranch yard. Down the road, he turned and gave a big wave before touching the horse into a trot.