Dark Journey Home (22 page)

He seemed to like conversing, as long as he was the
one doing the talking, so Logan and Ricardo, along with the newest ‘hired
hand’, were more than willing to listen as he rattled on.  Logan had merely
asked him how long he’d been a cook at the ‘Triple-B’, and it was like opening up
the flood gates, as the words just began tumbling out.

“Well now,” Hank began, seeming to think for a moment,
then, “seems I been here just about twenty-five years, or more, prob’ly more. 
The place wasn’t much when I first hired out, no sir.  That Beckford, the
original owner, Sam Beckford that is, he was a workin’ cuss, built up this
place from practically nuthin’.  We hit it off right from the first, workin’
well together.  He had just bought the place fer a small piddlin’, then added
on more acres as the years went on, an’ hired more an’ more hands as the spread
grew in size, then when he gets it all built up nice and powerful, he just up
an’ dies.  Shame, it was.  He was sure a prince of a fella.  Now that was
more’n ten years ago.”

He paused and took a deep breath, took down a mug from
the shelf behind his work bench, poured himself a cup of the strong coffee,
then began again, just as Logan was about to ask another question, but Hank was
already talking again.  He had the attention of the men, and was not about to
give up a place in front of his small audience. 

“Now then, where was I, let me see, oh yeah, it seems
there was some kind of a will leavin’ this place to some distant cousin of
sorts, but the cousin lived over in some other country, and just didn’t want to
bother with the place, so he just up an’ put it up fer sale.  It sold to the
first offer to come around, an’ that of course was Mr. Woody Perkins, who
didn’t have much money to plunk down in the first place, as his ranch, up the
road a piece, was just a small place, with a run-down shack on it, an’ then he
got this place fer practical nothin’.  A dad-blamed steal, it was. 

“That attorney in Coyote Springs handled the sale,
wrote up the papers an’ all, gettin’ the papers signed an’ such.  Name’s
Clayborne Phillips, nice enough gent.  Some say he’s a good attorney, but a bit
snooty to suit my taste.  He’s been out visitin’ here a lot, sort of a friend
to the owner now, and seems intent on courtin’ Miss Trudy, though she has other
ideas on that.  She says he’s old as her pa.”  Hank let out a loud guffaw at
that statement, for emphasis.

“You meet the owner yet?  Mister Perkins, that is? 
His name’s Woody Perkins, though he likes us to call him Mister, makes him feel
good I guess.  Figures he’s come up in the world since gettin’ this place.  He
waren’t nothin’ afore that.”

Logan
did manage to
get in a few words then, as Hank took a breath, then a swig from his coffee
mug.  “No,” Logan began, “we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this Mister
Perkins as yet, though I do look forward to such an experience in the near
future.  We did meet the daughter.”

“Well now,” Hank joined, “don’t expect to meet with
him any time soon.  He don’t usually come around to chat with the hands, not
that he’s snooty, nuthin’ like that at all.  He’s got Holderman, an’ then Chester too, runnin’ things mostly.  I believe Mister Perkins has his hands full just with
keepin’ that daughter of his’n hand, not that he’s havin’ any success in that
area.  Spoiled ‘er too much. 

“She was just a little squirt when they come here, a
little ragamuffin then, guess she’s makin’ up for it now, but always has been a
little spitfire too, now she’s all growed up, an’ puttin’ on airs, buyin’ new
clothes all the time like some little rich gal.

“She’s eighteen now, an’ can’t seem to keep from
stirrin’ up trouble on a weekly basis.  Now Mister Perkins, her daddy, he don’t
take kindly to any of the hands being’ overly friendly to the gal. She seems to
enjoy causin’ the boys to get fired now an’ again.  It usually just takes a
little talkin’ to the men, along with a few threats, from big daddy, an’ then
they mostly leave ‘er alone.”

Logan
just wished the
conversation would turn back to the supposed sale of the ranch.   He noted that
his friend, the Texas Ranger, Jake Welby, now known as Butch Hogan, seemed to
be taking his time eating and enjoying the meal, not paying much attention to
the conversation going on around him, though Logan knew him much better than
that, and figured him to be taking it all in. 

Years before, Jake had taken Logan with him on several
cases, and Logan knew him to be a good man, and an honest and thorough ranger,
a tough opponent to come up against, and Logan was always glad that they were
on the same side, when he’d been assisting him in his capture of a few
outlaws.  But that had been years ago, when Logan had been very young; he also
remembered how accurate Jake had been with that colt .45 he carried in his
holster.  It was a part of Jake, and had seen plenty of action through the years;
Logan had no doubt of that.      

Logan
had sent
a wire to him in care of the Ranger’s headquarters in Austin, using code words
that they had used many years before, and obviously Jake had read the message right
and possibly had been in the area already, because he’d gotten here quickly. 
The twinkle in those deep brown eyes told Logan that Jake was glad to see his
friend after all these years, and couldn’t wait to hear all details of the past
years. 

If there had been a sale of the ‘Triple-B’, and
apparently there had been, illegal though it would be, with probably forged signatures
on a bill of sale or deed, why has Lord Beckford been receiving monthly
statements from the attorney?  As a cover, no doubt.  What a nice little setup
they have going here.  All good things come to an end eventually.

Hank, unknowing that he was filling in the men on much
needed information, was still rattling on, now having returned to the subject
of the early years, when he’d first met Sam  Beckford, the original owner, and
distant cousin to Claude.

Just as Hank was telling once more about the early
years, Chester stepped through the doorway, saying, “Now isn’t this a nice
little get-together?  Wish we all had time to linger over mealtime like this,
and listen to the ramblings of an’ old fuddy-duddy.  You men won’t get paid
come payday, if you don’t hightail it back to work.”  With that he stomped back
outside.  Logan chuckled, finished his coffee, figuring Chester and Jinx
Holderman sure deserved each other, two of a kind.  Well maybe.  Then again
maybe not. 

As Logan followed Ricardo out the doorway, to return
to the stable, they heard the loud clatter of a buggy being driven at top
speed, then noted a shiny black coach pulling quickly up before the walled-in
courtyard of the mansion amid swirls of dust.  The overworked grey horse was
panting and shaking, but the man in the dark brown tweed suit ignored the tired
horse and jumping down from his seat, hurried through the gate of the
courtyard.

Holderman immediately exited a small building nearby,
which Logan had figured to be his office, along with a supply room attached at
the side.  The foreman hightailed it over to follow the man in the tweed suit
into the courtyard.  Holderman’s usual mean expression was still in place. 

“Something’s up.  Wonder what it is.”  Logan spoke to Ricardo.  Jake gave Logan a curious look that said a lot, as he then walked
away heading for the stables.

Ricardo then left to go back to work at the corral,
knowing his amigo would follow when he was good and ready.

Logan
casually
sauntered over to the newly arrived carriage to then lead the over-heated gray
horse to the water trough.  He loved horses, and didn’t take kindly to they’re
being mistreated.  He waited while the horse drank his fill, hoping to hear
voices from the inside of the house, but hearing nothing, he figured the walls
were thick to keep the house cool in the heat of summer, and warm in the
winter.

As soon as the horse had finished drinking, Logan took
a hold of the halter, then led horse and carriage over to the cool shade of the
huge spreading branches of a mesquite tree, which was about twenty feet from
the two-story mansion.

He walked over to the stable for a bucket and rag, then
to the pump in the yard to work the handle filling up the bucket with cool
water, after which he returned to the horse.  Dipping the rag into the bucket,
he began the process of cooling down the horse’s sides and neck with the wet
rag, as good as possible, being as it was still harnessed to the buggy.

Holderman and the man in the tweed suit came walking
quickly over from the courtyard. 

“Say there, just what do you think you’re doing?”  The
man shouted, his wrinkled face reddening.

“Just tendin’ the horse here, sir.”  Logan drawled, as
he dropped the rag into the bucket.  He then straightened and looked the man in
the eye, adding, “If you’re to be headin’ out, with this animal in the
condition he was a minute or two ago, he’d never of made it down the road. 
You’d been stranded with a dead horse on your hands, mister, and no other
transportation around, unless you’re takin’ to hitchin’ your own self up to the
buggy, and pullin’ it the rest of the way to wherever you’re headin’.”

The irate man turned to Holderman demanding, “Just who
is this brash impertinent man?  One of your ranch hands?”  He shouted at
Holderman.

Well, Jinx Holderman doesn’t like being shouted at, he
usually does the shouting himself.  And also, mean as he usually was, he still didn’t
like mistreatment of horses either, so surprising Logan in his retort, he said,
“Now Claybourne, don’t get your dander up.  The man is just tending your
horse.  He does have a point you know.  You’ve never been one to go easy on
horses, and one of these days, you will be stranded with a dead one on the
trail.  Then what’re you going to do.?”

So this is that smart lawyer from town, Logan thought.  Well, he’s not so smart after all.

Holderman then motioned Logan away, dismissing him
altogether, as Mr. Lawyer Claybourne Phillips, jumped into the buggy, and
taking up the reins, turned the buggy around to speed off in the direction from
which he’d come.

Holderman stood there watching him leave, then taking
a puff from the cigar he’d had in his mouth, he threw it down in the dust, and
walked back towards the courtyard of the house.

Logan
headed back to
work and wished he knew what was going on.

The main street of Coyote Springs was one busy place. 
Supplies were being loaded into buckboards, boardwalks swept, flowers and other
plants watered, and ladies shopping at the mercantile, along with other shops
on the main street of the picturesque little town. The blacksmith was busy
making loud noises in his shop, while the hotel restaurant was serving late
lunches. Olivia and Maria had just exited that establishment after having had
lunch with Olivia’s uncle Claude, and were now headed across the dirt road to
do some shopping at the mercantile, then possibly check out some of the other
places. 

They entered the mercantile, walking directly towards
the counter.  Lulu spotted them immediately, and put on a smile of greeting,
hoping against hope that Maria wouldn’t recite another one of her recipes,
which she had been doing on her daily trips to the store, though maybe she would
mention where the older wealthy rancher, Olivia’s uncle, had been spending his
time.  She hadn’t seen him for a while.

Lulu put on her most gracious business smile, “Hello
ladies.  What can I assist you with today?”  She began, as they approached the
counter. 

Olivia quickly answered, “I believe I’ll just look
around for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.  I’m not at all sure of what I
need yet.”

Lulu heaved a sigh of relief, only to be disappointed
by Maria’s sudden statement, “Señora, I just remembered a tasty recipe I
haven’t shared with you as yet.  I’ll recite it, and you can just write it
down, as my friend Olivia decides what it is she is looking for.”

As Lulu rolled her eyes, grabbed a pencil, and began
writing.  Maria began reciting yet another of her favorite recipes.  Olivia
walked back around the store, grinning to herself.  Even after the long lecture
she had given Maria, it hadn’t done a bit of good.  Her friend was enjoying too
much, the discomfort of the older brash red-haired lady, who had designs on
Olivia’s uncle Claude, and was now clerking in her sister’s mercantile. 

Olivia and Maria, hadn’t noticed, as they had crossed
the main street to the shops, the skulking figure of a man standing in the
shadow of a doorway watching the two women crossing the road.