Lone Star 03 Page 3

  Twisting in his saddle, young Smith looked back toward the mesquite tree. He said, “It looks to me like they’re still laying on the ground.”

  Ki didn’t bother to turn his head, but said mildly, “I imagine they are. They won’t be after you again.”

  “What in the dickens did you do to them?”

  “It’d take too long to explain,” Ki smiled. “Just take my word that they won’t be after you.”

  Ki nudged his horse into motion and Charley Smith did the same. They’d ridden side by side for only a short distance when Smith suddenly reined in.

  “Wait a minute,” he told Ki. “This ain’t the way to the Box B. It’s in the other direction.”

  “Of course it is. And you can call me Ki, by the way.”

  “But I thought you said we were going—”

  Ki corrected him. “I didn’t say where we were going. I asked you if you’d mind going back to the Box B, and you told me you wouldn’t. When you said that, I knew you’d told me the truth.”

  “I don’t see how you could be sure.”

  “Very simple, Charley Smith. You knew Dave Martin and Brad Close would back up your story. If you’d been lying, you’d have objected to going back.”

  “What about the running iron I was carrying?”

  “I used the same test of reason. You offered to show me where you picked it up. You know the ground had a mark where the iron had been lying, for quite some time, I imagine. So that part of your story was truthful too.”

  “You figure things out pretty good, mister.”

  “Ki is my name, Charley. I told you to use it.”

  “Ki, then. And you’re really the foreman of the Circle Star?”

  “That’s where we’re going now. Would I be taking you there if I were lying?”

  “No. No, I guess not.”

  They rode on for a short distance in silence before Ki asked Charley, “How badly did the rustlers strip the Box B?”

  “Pretty bad, I guess. Mr. Close took some of the men and tried to trail ‘em, but they came back next day. He said the rustlers was heading for the Rio Grande, that they’d got such a big start they’d have his steers in Mexico before him and the men could catch up to ’em.”

  “Yes, Brad would know. He’s good at reading trail sign.”

  Charley frowned. “He said something about the Laredo Loop, Ki. Everybody but me seemed to know what he meant, and I was sorta shy about asking, even if I didn’t know.”

  Briefly, Ki explained to the young greenhorn that Laredo was the main shipping point for the ranches that lay within easy trail-driving distance of its railroad line. He went on to describe the way rustlers along the Rio Grande operated, stealing herds in Texas and getting them across the river into Mexico as quickly as possible.

  Once out of reach of U.S. law, the rustlers could alter the cattle brands whenever it suited them. Then they drove the herds in a loop through Mexican territory, moving away from the river to the railroad shipping-pens at Laredo. They had no trouble selling them there; plenty of cattle buyers were happy to pay the reduced prices that steers brought on the west side of the Rio Grande without asking too many questions about the origin of the herd.

  “So that’s where the name ‘Laredo Loop’ got started?” Charley asked after hearing Ki’s explanation.

  “That’s it. From what I understand, it’s been going on since there have been ranches in Texas and outlaws in Mexico who are ready to steal their cattle. I’d guess the running iron that almost got you lynched was dropped by some of the gang that stole the Box B herd.”

  “Well, if I ever see another one lying around, I’ll sure know better than to pick it up.” Charley looked around and said suddenly, “I never did ask you where we’re heading, Ki, after you told me why we wasn’t going back to the Box B.”

  “To the Circle Star, of course. I’m not sure just how many hands we’ve got, or whether we need any more right now, but Ed Wright or Speedy—that’s Ed’s top hand—might hire on another cowpoke.”

  “If you’re the Circle Star foreman, how come you don’t know something like that?”

  “I’m not the kind of foreman that Dave Martin is at the Box B, Charley,” Ki explained. “I’m more of a manager. Part of my job is going with Miss Jessica Starbuck when she travels, so I’m not at the ranch all the time.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about the Circle Star,” young Smith said. “And about Miss Starbuck and her daddy. I never did hear about you, though. Is Ki all the name you’ve got?”

  “It is all the name I use.” A tinge of bitterness crept into Ki’s voice. “I lost my name in my own country.” He shrugged and added, “It does not really matter to me, any more than your own real name seems to matter to you.”

  Smith stared at Ki. “How did you figure that out?”

  “You’ve given yourself away several times, Charley.”

  “Well, if you really want to know—”

  Ki quickly raised his hand and shook his head. “No. I don’t want to share your secrets. My guess is that you’ve run away from home because your parents picked a trade they expected you to follow, and you wanted only to be a cowhand.”

  “I still do, Ki. That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

  “Then a cowhand is what you should be. But even if you haven’t asked for it, I’ll give you a bit of advice.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sometime soon, write your parents and tell them you’re well. And perhaps you can say you’re happy, if there’s a job for you on the Circle Star.”

  “Well...” Charley Smith hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t guess it’d hurt me none to do that.”

  “Good. And we’ll find out about the job soon. In another ten or fifteen miles, we’ll be in sight of the Circle Star.”

  They rode on in silence then, as the sun dropped to afternoon, until the buildings of the Starbuck ranch became visible on the horizon.

  Chapter 3

  Left to herself after Ki’s departure, Jessie strolled idly around the sprawling main house to the horse corral. Sun, the magnificent palomino stallion that was her favorite mount, came prancing up to greet her. Jessie rubbed the golden animal’s velvet nose, and whispered into his ear how happy she was to be with him again. Neighing, Sun tossed his head, reared up on his hind legs, and moved with careful balance toward the corral gate.

  “Reckon he’s right glad to see you, Miss Jessie,” the horse wrangler said as he came from the hay shed to investigate the reason for the palomino’s neighs. “He’s in pretty good shape for not working such a long time, ain’t he?”

  “He looks just fine, Speedy,” Jessie replied. She gazed across the range land that stretched invitingly from the corral’s bars, and said, “Saddle him for me, will you, while I go inside and change? I think I need a little ride as much as Sun does.”

  She got back just as Speedy tightened the last cinch-straps of the saddle he’d put on the palomino’s back. At the ranch, Jessie defied the convention of sidesaddles and rode astride. She’d donned her jeans, skin-tight, with tapered legs that fitted into her ornately stitched high-heeled boots. She’d also put on her pistol belt, with the customized Colt that had been one of her father’s gifts nestled in its holster. Waving away Speedy’s cupped hands, she swung into the saddle, and, with a toss of his head, the palomino started for the open range.

  Sun had rested longer than usual during Jessie’s absence from the ranch. The big palomino pawed the hard earth and whuffled, as though to remind his mistress that he had a lot of unused running stored up in his muscular legs.

  Jessie took the hint. She turned the stallion away from the ranch house, and after walking him far enough to get the stiffness out of his legs, she let the reins go slack and leaned forward to slap lightly on his withers.

  Sun responded at once. Mighty muscles rippling under his tawny hide, he burst into a gallop. Feeling the fresh warm breeze on her face, Jessie reached up and pushed off her brown Stetson, letting it fall back
on her shoulders, held only by the thong under her chin. She shook her head to free her hair; it streamed behind her in ripples of tawny gold, a shade darker and a bit more copper-hued than the flowing blond mane and tail of the speeding palomino.

  When she judged that Sun had worked off enough of his energy for the moment, Jessie pulled lightly on the reins. The big horse shook his head as though to protest the command, but slowed obediently. Jessie straightened up in her saddle, a contented smile parting her full red lips. Then, through the thin haze of tears the warm breeze had brought into her eyes, she saw a rider ahead, and the smile gave way to a thoughtful frown.

  A short distance away, a little draw offered a place of partial concealment for a horse and rider. Jessie guided the high-stepping palomino to the shallow gully and reined in. Sun tossed his head when he felt the pull of the reins. Like his mistress, the great golden stallion chafed at restraint; he was still bursting with pent-up energy.

  “Stand, Sun,” Jessica told the horse softly. “Let’s wait and see who’s coming up on us before we go any farther.”

  Frowning into the sun, her emerald-green eyes drawn into slits, she tried to identify the rider. The sunlight in her eyes baffled recognition. Jessie could be sure of only one thing: The man riding toward her wasn’t a Circle Star hand, or she’d have recognized him when she first sighted him.

  Wisdom born of sorrow still remembered had told Jessie to be careful when she saw the rider approaching. She’d learned one bitter lesson from her father’s murder: No one who bore the Starbuck name could count on being safe from attack, even in the middle of the small kingdom that was formed by the sprawling Circle Star Ranch.

  Instinct brought Jessie’s fingers to the cool grips of the custom-made Colt .38/.44 in its tooled holster at her side as she watched the horseman draw closer. Then she relaxed and toed Sun’s flank, sending him scrambling up the sloping wall of the barranca to greet the old friend and neighbor she’d at last recognized.

  “Howdy, Jessica,” Bradford Close called to her as Sun brought Jessie near enough for his voice to reach her. “Didn’t look to meet up with you this far from the house, but I’m glad I did. I was just on my way to visit you.”

  “It’s nice of you to think about stopping by, Brad,” Jessie replied. “How’s everything at the Box B?”

  “I guess it’s still there, Jessie, but I ain’t sure of much of anything right now.”

  Jessie sensed trouble behind Close’s reply. She asked, “You haven’t been home for a while, then?”

  “No. I been on a little trip and figured to swing over to see you before I went home. I don’t guess much could’ve happened to the place, though. I ain’t really been gone long, even if it seems to me like I have.”

  Close reined in at the rim of the barranca, and Jessie clucked, sending Sun up the shallow side-to join him. She took in her neighbor’s appearance at a glance. Brad Close seemed to have aged ten years since she’d seen him last, though that had been only two or three months earlier. Now his face showed lines that had not been visible the last time she’d talked with him. His clothing seemed to hang on him instead of fitting snugly, and the spark that had always lurked in his ice-blue eyes had been extinguished.

  Glancing at Close’s horse, her expert eye noted the animal’s ribs outlined under its hide, and the twitching of its hind-leg muscles, signs of many days of rough travel.

  “You must have had a hard trip,” Jessica said. “Let’s ride on to the house together, it’s only a few miles. You’ll stay for supper and the night, of course.”

  “No, Jessica. I thank you for asking me, but I’ve got to get on home. I wasn’t aiming to stop long, just a few minutes to rest my horse and have a little visit with you. We can talk all we need to here, and then I’ll ride on to my place.”

  “I’m not going to take no for an answer, Brad,” she told him firmly. “I don’t know how long you’ve been in the saddle, but it’s time you got out of it and rested.”

  Close’s fingers were busy rolling a cigarette, and Jessie noticed that his fingers were trembling. She said nothing. He licked the thin paper cylinder to seal its edges, then touched a match to it and blew a thin stream of blue smoke before he replied.

  Slowly, nodding as he spoke; the Box B owner said, “Maybe stopping over ain’t such a bad idea at that, Jessie. Seems like I use up what little zip I got left sooner than I used to.”

  “Unless you’d rather stay here and rest a few minutes, we can start for the ranch right now,” she suggested.

  “Let’s just do that. You’re right about me having a hard trip. I was down south of the border, and the news I’m coming back home with ain’t good. Then I got to thinking about what your daddy used to say—that bad news ain’t as bad when you got a friend to tell it to—so I swung over this way.”

  “I’m glad you did. Father always valued your friendship, and I know you two spent quite a lot of time together before ...” Jessie stopped, seeking to avoid the words that had been on the tip of her tongue, and finally concluded, “When he was here at the ranch.”

  “Yes. And I miss that man mortally, Jessica!” Then Close added hurriedly, “Not the way you miss him, of course, but in my own way.”

  “We all miss him in our own way,” Jessie said. She paused for a moment, waiting for Close to begin. She could tell that he needed help, but was too proud to ask outright. She went on, “Why don’t you save your bad news until we get to the house and you’ve had a drink. We’ve still got a lot of that whiskey you and Father liked so much.”

  “Now that’s the best offer I’ve had all day. We won’t be able to move fast, though. This old hoss is tireder than me.”

  “You’d better take one of ours to go the rest of the way, then. Leave yours, and Speedy will have him back in good shape when you’ve got time to pick him up.”

  Jessie and Close talked little during the rest of the short ride to the ranch. She waited until Close had washed up and they were sitting in the big central room of the main house. Only after the old rancher had swallowed one good drink of the smooth, aged bourbon she poured him, and she’d refilled his glass, did Jessie bring the conversation back to his problems.

  She said, “If you’d like to tell me your bad news, Brad, I’m listening.”

  “Well, it’s not anything new.”

  “Father used to say there were only two things that bothered a Texas rancher, drought and rustlers.” Jessie smiled, but her face grew serious instantly and she said, “I know we’ve had enough rain this spring. Who’s been stealing your cattle, Brad?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here talking to you now, Jessica.” Brad Close’s mouth snapped into a thin, angry line.

  “I’m just riding back from all the way down to the Rio Grande and beyond. Somebody stole my market herd.”

  Jessie knew what that meant. On a spread the size of the Box B, a market herd would include virtually every salable steer that could be rounded up. A loss like that could cripple even a big ranch, and the Box B wasn’t in that category.

  Her voice showing her concern, she asked, “All of it?”

  “Every single last steer. Heads, horns, hides, and tails,” Close said grimly.

  “How long had the herd been gone before you found it’d been rustled?”

  “I don’t rightly know, Jessie. A week, week and a half. I was sorta resting the steers before I started the drive to the shipping pens. They was on that fenced half section on the south of my spread, and you’d remember that’s a good four miles from the main house. I wasn’t worried about the critters, so I didn’t set a night herder. Me and the hands was out making one last gather before we drove to market, so it was a while before anybody went there.”

  Jessie saw that Close was at the point of collapse from exhaustion and worry. She said carefully, “I don’t want to offend you, Brad, but you’re tired out. Why don’t you go up to one of the guest rooms and have a nap? Ki will be back before supper, and after we’ve eaten we can sit down
and talk things over. Maybe among the three of us, we can figure something out.”

  Close started to protest, but a bout of yawning overpowered him. He nodded and said reluctantly, “I reckon that’s the sensible thing to do, Jessie. I’ll feel better after I catch forty winks. I guess I just ain’t had enough sleep to do me, the last couple of weeks.”

  With Close settled into one of the upstairs guest rooms, Jessie stepped out on the veranda of the big house. She paced restlessly, went back into the house and to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and returned to the veranda, where she was sitting when Ki and Charley Smith rode up. Ki reined in, and young Smith followed suit.

  Ki introduced Smith to Jessie, then told the youth, “The horse corral’s just past the hay shed, over there. I don’t suppose you’ll mind leading my horse when you go. Speedy’ll tell you what to do. Then go on to the bunkhouse and find Ed Wright. If he’s not in off the range yet, wait for him. Tell him I’ve promised you meals and a bunk for a few days, and a job if he’s got one. You’ll find out fast enough if we can hire you on.”

  After Smith was out of earshot, Jessie asked Ki, “Where did you find him? Was he lost out on the range?”

  Ki quickly related the afternoon’s happenings, winding up by saying, “So, I brought Smith back with me, to see if there might be a job for him here.”

  “Which you knew there would be, of course.”

  “Of course,” Ki agreed. “A month’s work, at least, so the boy will have traveling money if we don’t keep him.”

  Jessie smiled. “Another orphan, Ki. How many does this one make that you’ve brought here just for a little while?”

  “Enough, I suppose. But remember, Jessie, I was a stray like Charley Smith when your father took me in.”

  “Yes. But there’ll never be another one like you, Ki. I can’t blame you for keeping on trying, though.”

  They started into the house. Ki said, “Smith told me about the situation at the Box B. It worries me. Brad Close’s market herd was stolen—”

  “I know,” Jessie interrupted. “Brad’s upstairs right now, sleeping. He was so exhausted—”