Rancher's Law - Softcover

Richards, Dusty

4.21

29 ratings by Goodreads

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0312979703 ISBN 13: 9780312979706

Publisher: St. Martin's Paperbacks, 2001

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In a hot Arizona river basin, three bodies sway from ropes: three men executed by their fellow ranchers. Hundreds of miles away, in the muddy streets of ort Smith, Arkansas, a deputy marshal hunts down a killer--the first of eight outlaws on his list. Now, the manhunter is about to be chosen for a mission to Arizona territory. Major Gerald Bowen wants Luther Haskill to go undercover and find out if the Arizona lynchings were a matter of justice, or cold-blooded murder.

Bowen is on a campaign to bring law to the frontier, and Haskill is the right agent to investigate the deaths. But in Arizona, Luther comes up against a wall of silence and a family guarding a deadly secret. And in a land where some people get second chances and some don't get any, Luther Haskill must make hi sway through the good, the bad, and the damned--in pursuit of a cold-blooded killer with a plan of his own...

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About the Author:

Dusty Richards writes of the Arizona where he lived, explored, and hunted in his youth. The land of cactus, unforgiving heat, sidewinders, deep canyons, and the dark-eyed Apache renegade crouched in the greasewood. This is a territory of legends that he still explores for the untold stories of the past. Rancher, rodeo announcer, former TV anchor, and author of over a dozen books, he is a member of the Western Writers of America.

Rancher's Law
1A cloud of thick cigar smoke hung in the back room of the Texas Saloon. From the overhead wagon wheel fixture, the yellowish candlelight flickered through the haze onto the faces of four men. Behind a fan of cards, Matt McKean looked hard at his hand, then raised his gaze to study the other players. It was time, he figured, to learn where he stood with these three. Could he risk the exposure of his plans with the whole group or should he do it individually? Test them one at a time. Undecided about his next move, he made no raise, simply discarded a five of hearts and a seven of spades. Jack, queen, ace, all he could hope to do at best was pair one of them.Across the table, Dan Charboneau met his look from under his frosty brows. The older man's face was the color of leather from sixty years of being out in the blazing sun, except where his hat protected his bleached forehead. He was short and burly, with steel-blue eyes that never seemed to blink and a snowy mustache that didn't move as he held out the deck. Matt discarded two cards and drew two new ones. He left his draw on the table."What'll it be for you?" Charboneau turned and asked the youngest of the four ranchers. In his early thirties, Porter Reed always looked red-faced, his skin never tanned. He and his late father had brought their large herd of Herefords to the Christopher Basin from Kansas. Three years earlier, his father, Yancy, died in a horse wreck. Matt wondered if the son would ever be ready to fill the old man's shoes."I'll take one.""No bet?"Porter shook his head. Good, Matt decided, he had nothing.Simple enough, the fool was drawing to an impossible inside straight. Matt picked up his draw and slid the new pasteboards in the fan. The sight of two more ladies drew a smile to his thoughts.Charboneau looked across at Louie Crain for his draw. The tall, thin bachelor in his forties tossed out a fifty-cent's raise and asked for three new ones. Crain had a pair. Matt watched for a flicker of the rancher's eyes when he looked at his new cards. Not a thing--good, he probably had nothing.Everyone stayed in, though Matt wondered why Porter tossed in his four bits. Perhaps his mind was no longer concentrating on playing cards.The dealer checked the bet, drew two for himself, and made a scowl, which could mean good or bad in Matt's book. The Frenchman made a sharp hand anytime at poker. Still undecided about his next move, Matt slumped in the captain's chair and pitched in a dollar raise.Porter folded. Crain saw his bet and Charboneau tossed in his cards. Matt spread out his three ladies on the felt."Beats my pair," Crain said in disgust.Matt rose, reached for the small pot with both hands, stopped, and looked around at the three of them. "Boys, this here is sure penny ante, compared to the cattle we're losing to them rustlers.""Huh," Charboneau grunted. "What do you suggest we do about it?""We know who the three of them are.""You certain?" Porter asked, obviously taken aback by Matt's words."Sure as I am the damn sun will come up." He looked right at Porter."That's pretty sure.""Who you thinking about?" Crain asked, leaning forward. He searched around as if to be certain they were alone.Matt had no worries about the security of the back room. Lincoln Jeffries made damn sure that they were left alonewith only an occasional barkeep coming, knocking first, to take their order for a new bottle of whiskey or more cigars. These chambers strictly belonged to the Christopher Basin's Stockmen's Society on Thursday night or any other night that they wanted it."That Texas cowboy Luke Stearn," Matt began. "How did he get that many head? His S Star is all over the place on young cattle."Charboneau relit his cigar butt, drew deep, held it pinched between his fingers, and leaned back in his chair. "You figuring that Burtle is in on it, too?""T. G. Burtle. He's number two of three," Matt said, feeling more at ease. So far the men around the table acted like they were in this with him."Three? Who's the third one?" Porter asked."Ted Dikes.""Teddy Dikes!" Porter slumped in his chair, taken aback. "Why, he bought that place--""Yeah, I know, he acted like he came in here all legitimate like. Bought the KT from Earnie's widow, but boys, sure as shooting, he's fell in with those other two wolves.""I ain't so sure he's into this rustling." Porter looked half sick at the notion and dropped his chin. "Them other two, I wouldn't argue about them, but I don't think Teddy's in on that rustling business.""Ain't no maybe about any of them," Matt said, and slapped the table top with his palm, unable to control the rage inside his chest. "That upstart from New York is in with them others!"Charboneau held up his hands in surrender. "All right, but what are we going to do about them sons a bitches? The only thing that the law out of Prescott ever does when they send a deputy over here is count our cattle for the tax rolls. If we caught them boys red-handed, they'd probably turn them loose over there.""Boys, there is only one judge and jury. That's hemp rope." Matt sat back in his chair. His cards were on the table; the men were either with him or not. Made no difference,he'd get it done himself if he had to. Having them on the vigilante committee only added to the respectable appearance that it wasn't a personal vendetta on his part. Folks might start asking lots of questions, since that big spring on the Earnie Matson place joined his range. If that old bitch had sold out to him at his price--no matter, it was that damn Yankee coming in there, giving her twice what it was worth that wrecked his plans to acquire it. All that was a nevermind now, Dikes buddying around with those two lobo wolves had fixed his fate."When?" Charboneau asked, taking the stub of the cigar from his colorless lips."You all in?" Matt asked, looking around the table hazed with their smoke. The adrenaline surged in his veins. He had to suppress his excitement. Too many things counted on his plan working. He couldn't afford a show of confidence or jubilance over his victories at this point. Fighting back his own excitement, he casually began a man by man search of their faces.Crain nodded grimly, then ran his fingers through his thin black hair.Charboneau deliberately ground out the butt in the ashtray, then raised his gaze to meet Matt's. "You can count me in."Matt turned to Porter. This would be the real test. The man looked deep in thought and rubbed his palms briskly over his pants legs under the table. A visible shudder of his thin shoulder under his galluses; his Adam's apple bobbed as if he had tried to swallow something large."Damn, it Matt, I can sure agree them two drifters are probably using a running iron ... but Teddy Dikes? Hell, Matt, he's ate supper at my house a dozen times.""He's courting your sister?""Sort of. Hell's bells, I can't believe he's rustling. His folks have lots of money. He don't need to steal nothing.""Porter." Matt looked him square in the eye. "He's after some kind of excitement. Why else would some rich boy buy a damned two-bit ranch and go to wearing cowboygarb? And I say he's running with that pack and doing what they do.""Porter, that makes an awful lot of sense," Charboneau broke in. "Them three are thicker than mud. Two weeks ago, I seen them together up on the Beaver. They weren't up there looking for no butterflies. Besides, that's miles from their outfits.""You see them rustling?" Porter's voice had a high-pitched edge.The older man twisted on his mustache and nodded as if considering the matter again, then made a wry face. "Nope, but I seen two big calves carrying Burtle's fresh mark this week.""Oh, no." Porter collapsed."You want out of this?" Matt asked, sharp enough to get his attention.Porter wagged his head no. "I just hope to God we're right.""We are," Charboneau said, as if the whole thing had been settled forever. "Now, what do we do next?""Saturday at noon," Matt began. "We'll meet at the Alma Creek crossing. Wear masks. Keep out of sight. They'll be coming through there sometime in the afternoon on their way to the schoolhouse dance."Their card playing over for the night, they stood up without a word, except the dejected Porter, who remained in his chair. Matt slipped on his suit coat, satisfied his longawaited plans would unfold in the next two days. Patience. He needed lots of it. And in due time, he would control the entire Christopher Basin. Eliminating two of them homesteaders and that rich kid would be enough sign for the next ones drifting in this country with their long loops to keep on tracking."Alma Creek Crossing?" Charboneau asked, and put the weathered Stetson on his head. Matt gave him a nod. Then, like a small bear, he lumbered out the doorway into the hall. Crain followed him with a wave and shut the door behind him.Porter poured more whiskey into his glass. Still seated, he looked like a man who had lost his best friend. Matt realized Porter was the weakest link. Somehow he needed to resolve the matter before they left this very room."I sure hope you know for certain that Teddy's in on this." Porter tossed down half the glass's contents."You worried about your sister?"Porter swiveled his head around and frowned. "Yes. And I'm hoping we're dead right about Teddy being in with them other two.""If I showed you a calf with his brand on it, sucking one of my cows, would you believe me?"Porter blinked, and swallowed hard. "You've got one?""Yeah. Seen her last week up on the mesa. A brindle cow carrying lots of longhorn blood. That's why I figure we missed her last spring. She hid out. The calf weights four-fifty.""Why? Why would he do that?""Excitement. He's here for a high old time. Live dangerous. Your sister, she might be lots better off without his kind.""Oh, Matt. It will break Margie's heart."Determined to convince him of the matter, Matt pulled out a chair and sat on the edge of it. "What would your old daddy do?""Hang him." Porter dropped his gaze to the table and warily shook his head in defeat. "I was with him and two other ranchers back in Kansas when they caught this kid red-handed with three of our horses. They strung him over a walnut limb on the spot."Good enough. Matt nodded as if he understood. That lynching had left a real mark on Porter. Good thing he didn't want him to find that calf, because there wasn't one--yet--that he knew about."All right." Porter raised the glass and with another shudder of his thin upper torso beneath the snowy-white shirt, he tossed down the contents. After a great sigh, he said, "I'll do my part. I'll be there at noon.""It's the right thing," Matt said, and rose wearily. He still had a ten-mile drive back to the ranch. Taking his stiffbrimmed hat from the wall peg, he considered the Brown Hotel across the street, but dismissed the notion. No, he had plenty to do before Saturday. Best get home and make all the arrangements.He reached his ranch headquarters in the starlight. The buildings and pens set back in the tall ponderosas at the base of Loafer Mountain. At the corrals, he drew the buggy horse up. One of the hired men could put the bay up in the morning, only hours away. He fastened the lead to the hitch rack.His wife, Taneal, would be asleep upstairs. With his thumb, he rubbed the light bristle on his chin and considered the large log home. She wouldn't want to be disturbed at this hour. That's why they slept in separate bedrooms.He entered the dark house and the pine floors gave small groans under his soles. His hat and coat hung on the hall rack, he combed back his short brown hair with his fingers, then headed in the shadowy light for the kitchen. A small candle night lamp flickered in the room filled with the rich smells of spices, cooking, and wood smoke. He looked about and noticed a fresh-made loaf on the table. In passing, he tore off a large hunk of it and went to the side door. With a mouthful of the sourdough drawing his saliva, he eased the door open with a thin squeak.In the faint light, he could see Lana's shapely form under a blanket on the cot. Wallowing the sourdough around with his tongue, he was ready for her. Dessert came next, he mused, and shook her shoulder to awaken her."Se�or?" she asked in a sleep-filled voice and bolted up. "You are home?""S�," he said, and took another bite of the bread. He stepped in front of where she sat on the edge of the bed in her flowing white gown. His free hand grasped the nape of the neck and roughly he forced her to get to her knees before him. The rest of the bread stuffed in his mouth, he swiftly undid his belt and britches to expose himself."My sweet Lana," he said around the mouthful. "I have thought about you the entire ride home." He took the back of her hesitant head and forced her closer. She understood her obligations. Feet set apart and engrossed in his personal pleasure, he slowly chewed on the mouthful of bread. It had been a fruitful evening.
"Where's Randy?" Matt demanded. Seated at the great table with sun spilling through the open windows and the cool early-morning breeze lifting the lace curtains, he fumed over the absence of his son at breakfast. "Get that lazy thing up!""I swear, Matthew McKean, you act like some kind of wild bear in the morning," his wife, Taneal, said, coming into the room, wrapping the long white robe around her slender form. Her light brown hair up in a French braid, she took a cup of coffee from her place and went to look out the front door."Is he here?""I would think so," she said with a shrug, not looking back standing in the open doorway."Lana! Go upstairs and get him up!""Matthew, you don't send a young woman to wake up a young man in his bedroom.""I don't care whether it's proper or not. Lana, go get his ass up!"The Mexican girl of eighteen looked wide-eyed at him, then at his wife, who told her to stay. She wore a simple white blouse that showed her proud breasts and a full skirt that hugged her narrow waist. Her olive fingers fussed with the ties of the apron behind her back as if unsettled about what she must do next. Her dark eyes looked close to panic. At last, he shook his head at her to dismiss his order.Taneal came stalking back, her glare fixed on him. "What's got you so fuzzed up this morning?"He bolted to his feet and pointed at the table. "I want that boy's ass down here and right now. You've babied him long enough. He's sixteen. That's old enough, and heneeds to pull his weight in this outfit or get the hell out.""Matthew, he's a boy.""When I was his age--""You were the only male at home. I know, I know. The rest of the men were gone to war. We aren't at war any longer, Matthew.""He's going to think it's war, if he don't get his lazy ass down here and start doing a day's work on this ranch.""Someone calling me?" Randy entered, putting his shirt on over his head."This is not the place to dress, young man," Taneal said in disapproval and looked around for Lana, who had alre...

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