Ransom Canyon (23 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Staten

S
TATEN
MOVED
AMONG
his men inside the main barn. The sounds of horses stomping and blowing out air surrounded him, along with the rub of leather against leather and spurs jingling as his men saddled up.

Most of the guys had been working all day, but their horses were fresh and ready to run. Even the animals seemed to pick up the excitement circling in the air like a dust devil on freshly plowed ground.

For a moment Staten felt he’d stepped back in time to the wild days of the West. And maybe he had. For miles around they only had one sheriff and one ranger. Not enough lawmen to stop what was about to happen on his land. Even though both lawmen would do the legal thing, the right thing, they didn’t truly understand what the land meant to him. It was in his blood, his backbone, his heart.

Smiling, he remembered how his granny used to set the pies on the windowsill to cool. She’d always comment the wind would dust the meringue, so he’d have Double K mixed in his blood. She’d been right. Staten didn’t just own the land, he
was
the ranch.

He moved between two mares and stopped near Dan Brigman. “You going to be able to handle a horse, Sheriff? Jake and a few others are following behind us in pickups. You’re welcome to ride with them.”

“I can make it fine on horseback.” Dan grinned. “I was a Boy Scout.”

Staten nodded. He’d given the sheriff a great horse that would run with all the others. As long as Dan held on, he’d be fine.

Staten stood on one of Jake’s stools and yelled, “We leave at full dark and ride down into the canyon. It’s not the shortest way to the back pasture, but it’ll get us there unseen and hopefully, thanks to the wind tonight, unheard.

“Once we get to the arroyo, we form a single line, three or four horse lengths apart. We travel slow and silent. I don’t want any of you flushing a covey of quail from a clump of yucca if you can help it.”

The men nodded.

“Once you all clear the ridge, stand about six feet apart. When the last man clears, wait for the lead rider’s signal. Then, pull your rifles from your scabbards and stand ready. When he makes a sign, I want every rider to lock and load. Those of you with shotguns rack them loud. There is no mistaking that sound.”

Dan took over. “Remember. We’re not expecting any trouble. We want this arrest to go smooth, without any gunfire. You men will keep the peace simply by standing. These fellows tonight are dangerous. If they thought they had us outnumbered they might try to gun us down.

“Once the ranger and I have them under arrest, the two pickups will come in and back us up. Light should flood the pasture about then, and it may spook a few of the cows.”

Staten added, “When the men are handcuffed and safely in custody, I want those rifles put away, and every man on horseback will help take care of the herd. Everything you’ll need to fix fences is in Jake’s truck. I don’t want a man or a calf hurt tonight.”

Every cowhand nodded. They’d heard the orders and understood what was said, as well as what wasn’t said. No rustler would be getting away. They’d all be in jail before dawn. The trouble the ranches had with rustlers around the area would be over tonight. By using all the men, they were making a stand.

Staten led his horse toward Jake. “You drive one pickup and let Lucas follow in mine. Make sure both are mounted with floodlights.”

Jake spit into the darkness. “Lucas is saddled and ready to ride.”

Staten shook his head, hating the idea of the kid being involved so closely in this. It was too dangerous, even with the precautions they were taking. Lucas could get hurt. Anyone of his men might be hurt.

Jake stared at Staten. “He knows the canyon as good as you do, boss. He’s ridden through it all his life. Plus, he’s got a cell phone. He can keep in touch with you.” When Staten didn’t move, Jake added, “He’s a man who rides for the brand, just like all these men. Don’t make him less. It wouldn’t be the right thing to do.”

Staten nodded, knowing that if he pulled Lucas, he’d be saying the kid wasn’t as valuable as his other men or as good. “But, who’ll drive the other truck?”

“How about that new guy the sheriff brought over tonight? The one that the prairie dog gnawed on. I’ve been watching him. I may be wrong, but I don’t think he knows which end of the horse is which. I asked him if he rode and he said, ‘How hard could it be?’”

“You’re right. Tell him he’s driving the truck and keep tailing you all the way. If he fell off a horse when we cross down into the canyon, we wouldn’t find him for a month.”

Staten raised his hand and motioned for every man to be ready.

Five minutes later, forty men were riding toward the canyon wall. There was an excitement dancing with the dark shadows of men on horseback racing. Staten could feel it. Breathed it in with the wind. What they were doing tonight would change things.

He only hoped they would change for the better.

Ten minutes later, one by one they pointed their mounts down into the canyon. Lucas took the lead, raising his arm as if about to ride his first wild pony. The kid made the descent look easy.

Staten swore he heard Lucas laugh as he followed the kid down.

All his men had gone down into the canyon before to look for strays. They knew to lean back and let the horse pick his way.

Glancing back at the sheriff, Staten hoped the Boy Scouts taught him well. Dan was wobbling but hanging on. If he took a fall his biggest worry would be the horse rolling over on him. Second worry, he’d roll off a cliff. The fall might only be twenty or thirty feet before he hit rock, but the landing would probably break a few bones.

Once they leveled out on the wide canyon floor, the men rode slowly in groups of two or three. The moon was out and offered enough light to see ahead. The horses needed rest, and Staten knew they had a few hours ride before they circled around to the far pasture.

He thought it strange how all the pastures had a name. He’d heard a few of the huge ranches just used numbers, but as long as he could remember, each of his pastures bore a name not written on any post. The north pasture, the south, timber pasture, Miller pasture, named after the man who’d sold his grandfather the land. And, of course, the far pasture.

Lucas pulled his gray alongside Staten. “It’s a good plan,” he said. “One that will get the least people hurt. Too bad we couldn’t just arrest them at the gate.”

“I heard you came up with the reason men were on my land at night. Makes sense.” Staten wasn’t surprised. Lucas had a way of worrying a problem until he figured it out.

“Lauren and I were just talking about it after the concert.” Lucas paused, then added, “The sheriff asked me to take Lauren home. He seemed to have his hands full. We may have thought of the reason men were watching the land, but how’d you know it was going to be tonight?”

“The sheriff told me he had an informant who said there’s a man on the Collins place who is working with the rustlers. Said the guy has a stolen truck stashed on the place. This is a crime that has been in the planning stage for at least a month. Have you noticed any extra trucks around the Collins place?”

“Maybe.” Lucas shrugged. “There are lots of barns almost empty of hay right now. It wouldn’t be that hard to drive an empty cattle truck in the back. Collins men might not question it. But wouldn’t someone miss a truck that size?”

“Not if it was stolen across the state lines. It could already be in the barn before state troopers realized it was gone.” Staten saw the kid putting together all the facts in his head.

“When we climb out of the canyon, only the sheriff, me, and two other men will ride toward the rustlers. They won’t expect anyone coming from the canyon side of the pasture. I want you to stay with the other men and make sure they fall into line. I don’t want someone rushing in before we get the bad guys rounded up or, worse, firing to spook the rustlers or the cattle. I’ll call your cell and let it ring once when it’s time to move the men to the ridge.”

“Any advice on how I do that?”

“Start giving calm orders when you ride along the ravine. Repeat exactly what each man is to do. Tell them if they get mixed up, follow your lead.”

“Yes, sir.” Lucas didn’t sound too sure.

“Keep your voice calm and strong. Hard as a rock. They’ll follow.”

They moved on in silence, and Staten thought of Quinn. She’d be upset if she knew what was going on. In fact she’d be panicked. Even when this was all over, he knew he wouldn’t tell her the whole story.

For the hundredth time he tried to picture himself living at her house. Maybe if he knocked out a wall and built a couple of rooms on, or took all the gingerbread trim off, or went up and built a second floor.

Nothing worked. He might hate his dark house on his land, but at least he could live in it without bumping into walls. He could never relax there on Lavender Lane knowing he needed to be here. There wasn’t even an extra drawer for him to put his stuff in or a place for his shaving kit on her sink, or enough counter space in the kitchen to keep his supplies.

Funny that he was thinking about such a little problem when he was riding into what might turn out to be the biggest battle of his life.

What did the house matter? It was Quinn and the baby that he wanted. That he
needed
.

As the night aged he worried where they’d put the baby’s things in her house. A crib in a bedroom not big enough for a king-size bed. The swing, the high chair, the changing table, the toys. Quinn had never had a kid. She didn’t know that they came with a van load of junk.

Only, he couldn’t see a child in his house. Not Quinn’s child. At one time the house hadn’t seemed so bad, but now sadness seemed to hang in the corners like leftover dust.

“You all right?” Lucas broke into his thoughts.

“Yeah, why?” Staten snapped.

“You were mumbling and cussing under your breath.”

Staten wasn’t surprised. In the five years he’d lived alone, he’d caught himself talking to no one a hundred times. When it happened, he usually took the time to cuss himself out.

“I’m thinking of giving up cussing,” he said to Lucas. “Bad habit to get into.”

Staten wanted to change the subject. “You got any bad habits, kid?”

“My mom says I’m always planning for the future and sometimes don’t see what’s going on in the present. She says I might fall over today while I’m dreaming about tomorrow.”

Staten smiled. “I guess I do the same thing, except I worry about someday and don’t take the time to just walk through today.” He laughed. “Hell, kid, we sound like we’re damn philosophers.”

“You still getting rid of cuss words, Mr. Kirkland?”

“Yep.”

They grew quiet and began to watch the side of the canyon. Both didn’t want to miss the ribbon of red, sandy mud that would mark the place they’d have to climb.

Staten tasted excitement peppered with a dash of fear. He’d never felt so alive in his life.

He’d never wanted to live forever as much as he did right now.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

S
HERIFF
B
RIGMAN
PULLED
his horse to the front beside Staten when they reached the end of the ravine. The far pasture spread out before them like a midnight blanket of grass barely starting to green.

Lucas dropped back, raised his hand, and all the men behind stopped to wait for their order to ride. They’d stay behind in the shadows just below the ridge until it was time.

Staten pulled his rifle and laid it over his arm. The sheriff and the ranger did the same.

Slowly, like a thundercloud moving low over the land, Staten and the two lawmen rode their horses toward the shadow of a cattle truck backed up against the loading chutes at the corner of the pasture. Two men were running the cattle in one at a time while a third man loaded them onto the truck.

Staten heard the quick jerking movements of the cattle, their hooves clicking against the rock and metal, their low cries of complaint at being bothered. He could have been blindfolded and still known what was happening.

This was no haphazard operation. Seventy or eighty head of yearlings would be a substantial loss. These men weren’t some small-time farmer feeding his family with one stolen cow. This was an organized crime.

Staten circled in the shadows until he was behind a tall man who almost looked like a real cowboy, but his movements were too impatient. He might be accustomed to riding, but he wasn’t skilled at working cattle.

The sheriff and the ranger moved toward the truck, coming up on the back side, so the one loading wouldn’t see them until they were a few feet away.

The other two men who’d followed Staten out of the ravine took the rustler closest to the road. He was shorter, less skilled than his partners.

The click of Brigman racking a round into the chamber sounded almost as loud as a gunshot in the silent night. Staten touched his phone so it dialed Lucas. The glow of the phone drew the cowboy’s attention.

Staten wasn’t surprised when the rustler in the Stetson pulled his gun.

“Aim that weapon and you’re dead.” Staten’s voice came hard and clear as the barrel of his rifle leveled on his target.

The tall cowboy hesitated, as did the bald guy near the fence.

For a few seconds he saw the tall man’s head turn, as if he might try something. Then, like a whisper, came the sounds of rifles being racked along the ridge. Forty weapons were pointed directly at the three men in the pasture.

A line of shadows, rifles raised to take aim, stood as silent guardians.

All three of the rustlers raised their hands. They might have had a chance with the men before them, but they knew they’d be sitting ducks for the men on the ridge.

One by one they climbed from their horses. The cowboy and the man at the truck didn’t protest, but the bald guy jerked as if he thought he might pull free and run.

Dan Brigman fought him to the ground.

In a single flash of light from the pickup pulling up, Staten saw a knife reflect. Without hesitation, he slammed his boot against the hand that held the knife.

The rustler yelped in pain as Brigman pulled the outlaw’s injured hand behind his back and cuffed him.

“Thanks,” the sheriff said as he pulled the man up. “I appreciate the help.”

“Any time,” Staten answered, suddenly feeling like laughing. It was over. They’d done it. The plan had worked.

Staten didn’t take a deep breath until all three men were crammed into the back of the cruiser. A tall rustler known as Cowboy, his friend who went by Freddie and a third man who worked for the Collins ranch who only gave a first name of Arlo.

When Cowboy saw Yancy talking to the sheriff, he yelled that Yancy was one of his gang.

The sheriff leaned down by the window and said, “Wrong. He’s one of
our
gang.”

The men moved like ghosts in the night repairing the fence, removing the cattle truck and making sure none of the cows were hurt. They’d be checked again in the morning. Every man was back to doing his regular work, but this night would be talked about for years.

Staten tossed his saddle and bridle into Jake’s pickup. He turned his horse loose, climbed into the cab of his truck and looked back at the handyman from his granny’s retirement home. “How about I give you a ride home, Yancy?”

“Okay,” he yelled, just seeming to realize there was not any room in the cruiser with three prisoners in the back and a ranger riding shotgun.

As they drove back to town, they went over every detail of the night. Finally, Staten admitted, “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t tipped us off.”

“I had to,” Yancy said. “I didn’t want anyone in this community to get hurt. You know, I don’t have a family, but if I did, I think it would feel like this.”

“You’re one of this community now, Yancy, for as long as you want to be. If the job disappears where you are, you’re always welcome at headquarters. I can always use a good man.”

“Would I have to ride a horse?”

“Yep, but how hard could it be?”