Sweet Talking Lawman (14 page)

“Jory is there, also, but
I’ll go get her as soon as I hang up the phone.”  She capitulated.

“Thanks, and then would you
call me at the office so I can talk to her?”

Mesa agreed and was about to
hang up when Rafe spoke again.  “I think it’s a very nice thing you’re
planning for Rance.  Let’s just hope the weather cooperates and gives you
a clear day.”

She shrugged.  “Yeah, I
sure hope so.  He deserves it.  Are you coming?”

“I’ll at least put in an
appearance.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to spend the day.”

“I’m sure Raale would love it
if you could.”  She turned and looked out the window at the sound of
voices.  “Here’s Raale and Jory now.  Hang on and you can talk to
her.”

After a conversation with his
daughter, Rafe called the deputy he had stationed in the woods near Shirley’s
house and learned that everything there was as quiet as a church on Monday
morning.

The next morning he was at
the library when Mrs. Haskins, the head librarian, unlocked the door.  He
couldn’t believe the relief that filled him when she assured him that Mesa had
indeed been at the library and was there for well over an hour before her
mother called.  She couldn’t have been the driver that forced Shirley off
the road.

Time passed quickly and Rafe
was happy to learn that Beth had arranged work schedules so that he was off for
the entire weekend of the celebration for Rance.  Scheduling was a job
he’d quickly delegated to Beth when he became sheriff, because it didn’t take
long for him to realize that if someone else wasn’t responsible for that, he’d
never have a day off.  He knew John Montgomery would be perfectly capable
of handling anything that came up, and if he deemed it necessary, he wouldn’t
hesitate to call Rafe.

It came as a surprise that
the morning of Rance’s birthday celebration dawned clear and bright.  The
weather forecaster had been happy to predict a clear, sunny day for a welcome
change.

Arriving at the ranch a
couple of hours early, Rafe unloaded the sorrel colt he’d been working with for
the last few months and quickly tacked him up.  He cornered Bob in the
barn and asked the old cowboy if he’d ride with him and show him the place
where he’d found Rance.

“Well, I don’t see any point
in it, but sure.  Just let me tell Mesa I’m going with ya.  She’s
worried herself into a tizzy about something going wrong and ruining Rance’s
shindig.  I told her that Rance is just so damned glad that he’s home and
looking forward to seeing all his old friends again that nothing short of the
Second Coming could keep him…..hell, even if that happened, he’d enjoy
it.”  The old man wandered off looking for Mesa while Rafe quickly
gathered the equipment he’d planned to take with him and secured it to his
saddle.

When Bob appeared again, he
was leading a saddled horse and Mesa was walking with him.

The sight of her quickened
his heart.  She looked so good in a pair of snug Wrangler jeans, her
boots, a sleeveless tank top, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail that hung
out above the snap band of her pink Duck Dynasty camo cap.  He frowned at
his dog who greeted her with a wagging tail.  Traitor.

“You know Bob shouldn’t ride
for very long,” she cautioned as the two approached Rafe, absently scratching
the broad head of the friendly bulldog.

He nodded, and peeled the cap
off his head to rake through the thick ebony strands with one hand. 
“Yeah, Mesa.  I won’t keep him out long.  I just need to check a
couple of things.”

Her eyes swept over his
horse, taking in the coil of rope attached below the saddle horn and the metal
detector secured in a rifle case on the left side.  She looked back at
him, a question forming in her arched brows.

He chose to ignore it and
turned, lifting himself into the saddle with practiced ease.  “We won’t take
any longer than necessary.”

She shrugged, knowing he
wasn’t going to satisfy her curiosity.  “Can I put these other two horses
you brought in stalls?  I have several empty and they’ll be more
comfortable.”

He nodded.  “I’d really
appreciate that.”  He reined the sorrel around and followed Bob down the
driveway.  Looking back over his shoulder, he frowned again.  The
traitorous dog was standing there beside her like he had no intention of
leaving.  He whistled softly and Spur obediently fell in behind the two
horses and trotted along.

Mesa watched him ride away,
her temper held in tight control.  He should know that she wasn’t
concerned about anything but his horses!  She led his big buckskin heading
horse and the beautiful palomino mare that she wasn’t familiar with into the
barn and released them in adjacent stalls, her anger fading.  Tossing them
a small flake of hay, she smiled.  There was something almost intimate in
the simple act of tending to Rafe’s horses.  Being a pretty traditional
Lakota, Rafe didn’t trust just anyone to take care of his animals.

The two men rode at a steady
pace and after about 30 minutes Bob reined his mount to a stop.  “I found
him right there on the edge of that sink hole.  It’s just a miracle that
he didn’t go down in the hole with his horse.  If he had, don’t know that
we’d ever have found them.”

Rafe dismounted and walked to
the verge of the basin and looked over, relieved to see that the recent rain
hadn’t filled it with water.  He could see the remains of the horse Rance had
been riding laying among a tangle of roots and brush at the bottom of the
twenty-five foot drop.

“The horse was already dead?”
he asked the older man.  He could hear the squeak of saddle leather as Bob
dismounted before answering.

The older man appeared at his
elbow.  “Yeah.  I think he broke his neck when he fell. 
Probably hit that tree that had fallen over.  Shame.  That was a damn
fine animal.  Full brother to that blue roan that Mesa rides.”

“When did y’all get Rance’s
tack?”

“Me’n Gibby came back the
next day.  I lowered him with a rope and he cut the girth to loosen the
saddle and had to cut the bridle off, too.  I had to use my horse to pull
the saddle out, then I pulled Gibby up.  We ain’t been back.”  The
old man backed away from the edge, the sight of the dead animal below obviously
disturbed him.  “Just a miracle that Rance didn’t go over, too,” he
repeated again.

Rafe walked to his horse
where he removed his rope and the metal detector.  “When you were down
there, did you see blood, or anything like that?”

“You can see where a tree
broke off and penetrated the gut.  There was blood alright, and intestines
hung up on the part of the tree that was left standing.”  Bob shook his
head.  “Sheriff, why are we here?”

Rafe shrugged.  “I don’t
know, Bob.  Somehow it just doesn’t set right with me, that Rance would
get close enough to the edge of the sink, to put that animal in any kind of
danger, or that he’d just fall off and end up under that horse like he
did.  Rance is best horseman I’ve ever known.  That accident has just
never felt right to me.”

Bob nodded.  He noticed
that Rafe had slung the metal detector over his back like a quiver of arrows
and was fashioning a rapelling seat around his legs.  He wrapped the other
end of the rope around his saddle horn and backed to the edge of the drop
off.  “Just hold him still while I go down.  Hopefully this won’t
take long.”  He stepped off the edge and Bob watched as he backed down the
perpendicular side of the sink hole.  Spur trotted to the edge and whined
worriedly, watching Rafe descend.

A half hour later Rafe called
up.  “Back my horse up, Bob.  There ain’t nothin’ along the bank to
use to pull myself up, and with all the rain we’ve been gettin’ the sides are
slick as snot.”

Bob did as directed and soon
Rafe appeared and walked back up to the top.  After being greeted like
he’d been gone for hours by Spur, he quickly undid the rope and recoiled
it.  He placed the metal detector in the rifle scabbard of his saddle and fastened
the rope back in its place.

“Find anything?” the old
cowboy couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.

Rafe grinned at him.  “I
don’t think I can tell you.  It’s an ongoing investigation.”

“Aw, hell.  Now I know
you found something and it’ll drive me crazy, not knowing.”  Bob spit a
stream of tobacco juice back toward the edge of the sink.

“If I hear one word, I’ll
know where it came from,” Rafe said.  Then he held up a small, clear
evidence bag containing a piece of lead he’d dug out of the fragmented bone of
one of the rear femurs of the remains of the horse.  “Looks like it came
from a 308 caliber rifle.  Something that powerful probably knocked that
colt’s hind end to the side when it shattered the femur and caused the fall.”

Bob frowned.  “It’s a
pure miracle that Rance didn’t go over, too.  A pure miracle.”

Rafe scanned the area
surrounding the scene of the shooting and spotted a couple of places that could
conceal a gunman.  Leaving Bob and Spur with the horses, he slipped on a
pair of gloves and searched the closest place.  It was to the left of
where the colt went over the edge and consisted of a cluster of low growing
scrub oaks on a small knoll.  Moving the wet leaf litter carefully, he
found no evidence, so he moved on to the other site.  The bushes were
thick on one side and was further away and Rafe decided it would require a
pretty good marksman to accomplish the shot from there.  Again he moved
the leaf litter around carefully and found the wrapper off a granola bar
crumpled and wedged against the trunk of one of the bigger bushes.  He
slipped it into an evidence bag and cast around a bit more before he found the
brass shell casing that had been covered with fallen soggy leaves.  He
grinned and, using a stick, he lifted it from the litter and slipped it into an
evidence bag, as well.  Then he made his way back to Bob and the horses.

Rafe reminded the old man
again about the importance of keeping the information to himself.  “Don’t
even tell Rance,” and Bob nodded his head, lifting his right hand as he did it.

True to his word, Rafe and
Bob were back in less than two hours.  By then several other rigs had
arrived and some of the ropers were warming up their horses in the arena.

Gibby and Mesa’s other hands
had brought in about thirty-five of the ranch’s small herd of Corriente steers.

The Corriente breed of cattle
originated in Mexico but was quickly adopted as the premier cattle for team
roping events.  They were economical to feed, reproduced easily, were
athletic enough to run, and had horns that were just right for a loop to settle
around.  Most people who competed in team roping kept a few for practice
and the Rocking H was no exception.  The hands were running the steers
into a chute and fastening on the thick leather guards that protected the
animals head and horns from rope burns.  Bob handed his horse to a young
cowboy to put away and became the instant supervisor, making sure each horn
guard was fastened snuggly into place.  Spur trotted off looking for a
water tank so he could get a drink.

Rafe led the horse he’d been
ridding into the cavernous barn and moved his tack from the sorrel onto his
powerful buckskin gelding, Dollar.  He put the sorrel in the stall that
the buckskin had occupied and led his heading horse out to his trailer. 
He couldn’t help wondering where Raale was as he returned to the barn to get
the mare.  Rafe was glad that Levi had hesitated when he’d mentioned that
Henry Dunn had this mare for sale.  She was outstanding and once he saw
her and the way she worked, Rafe hadn’t thought twice about buying her. 
At eight years old, the beautiful palomino was a finished heeling horse, with
arena presence rare in such a young animal and enough chrome to catch every
eye.  She was one of a kind and by the time Raale was old enough to rope,
this animal would be seasoned enough to put her where she’d need to be.  A
grin spread Rafe’s generous lips as he pictured Mesa on the mare. 
Alright, he’d admit that had as much to do with him buying the mare as
anything, but he just wasn’t strong enough to resist the temptation of seeing
Mesa astride the mare, picking up the heels of the steer he’d just
headed.  He frowned.  He had to stop fantasizing, especially about
Mesa.  Good Lord, hadn’t he learned anything about the trouble that could
lead to?

“Daddy, are you in here?”
Raale’s voice hailed him.

“Back here, sweetness,” he
called back and then turned to watch her storm around the corner, rushing to
greet him, the big bulldog leading the way.

“I was looking for you and
then I saw Spur coming in here, so I followed him.  Mom said you and Mr.
Bob went riding.  Why didn’t you wait for me?”  She’d made a running
leap and he caught her in his arms hugging her tight.  “Mr. Bob lets me
ride his old horse and I’m not a’scared anymore, you know.”

He still experienced an
occasional rush of shock when he realized that he’d fathered this wonderful
child.  He sat her booted feet down on the floor and looked at her. 
“Just look at you!” he exclaimed.  “Wrangler jeans, boots, and even a Cruel
Girl snap-back cap.  You’re turnin’ into a real cowgirl.”

She grinned up at him. 
“Mom said we was gonna be cowgirls when we mubed here.”

He chuckled.  “Hey, do
you know which saddle your mom rides?” he asked conspiratorially.

“Sure, she rides Uncle
Rance’s old saddle.”  She noticed the mare and stretched her hand out to
pet the animal’s nose.  “She said deir butts are da same size.” 
There was a giggle in the child’s voice as she spoke.

Rafe couldn’t disagree with
that, but Mesa’s sure had a lot more shape to it than Rance’s boney old behind
did.

In practically no time, he
had Rance’s saddle secured onto the mare’s broad back.  He tossed Raale
into the saddle and led the mare to his trailer where he found the bridle Henry
Dunn had used on the mare.  He was buckling it in place when Raale spoke
again.  “Daddy, what’s her name?”

He shrugged, then turned and
lifted his daughter down.  “Let’s look at her papers and see.”

They unfolded the
registration papers and Rafe whistled.  No damn wonder Dunn had asked so
much for her.  With names like Doc Bar from two different lines, Skipper
W, Two Eyed Jack, and Pawnee Eagle in her extended pedigree, the animal was
carrying some of the best foundation Quarter Horse blood in the country in her
veins.  He finally focused on her name.  “It says here her name is
Gold Bar Jackie.  What do you think we oughta call her?”

Raale shrugged.  “I don’
wants to call her Jackie.  It’s…like a peoples name.”

Rafe chuckled.  “Why not
ask your mom what she thinks?”

The child’s chocolate eyes
flashed with excitement.  “Come on, she’s under the shed where Uncle Rance
and Uci are.”

He hesitated.  “Do you
think you can lead the horse to your mom?”

Raale grinned.  “You
bet!”

He nodded.  “Why don’t
you lead her over and ask your mom to ride her with you?”