“Yes, Mr. Wallace told me about their deaths,” Jack put in quickly, not wanting to hear another long recital of the tale. He didn’t want the sun to get too high by the time he made it out to the herd, for he knew his drovers would be wondering about him.
“Yes, folks say the place is cursed, but I know a sensible fellow such as yourself doesn’t pay any mind to silly tales like that. Fact is, it’s prime ranch land, well-watered. And if you were to build a cabin on it to stay in over the winter, I’d probably have no further difficulty sellin’ that place come spring, once you’d gone on to Montana.” The bank president spread his hands over a slight potbelly as he leaned back in his chair. “But are you sure you want to do that? Why, you could buy the Waters place, and come spring, you could drive the herd to Kansas and be back by fall with a big profit lining your pockets. You could do worse than this pretty part of Texas.”
It was lovely, with its rolling blue hills and clear green streams, and so was a certain young woman in black, Jack thought. But she wasn’t interested in marriage anymore, certainly not to the likes of him. And he didn’t need to spend any more of his life with someone who’d constantly compare him to his brother, against whom he’d always fall short.
“I know. But my mind is made up.”
“Once you see the place, you’ll change your mind,” the banker declared.
Jack shook his head. “I just want to rent it till spring, Mr. Avery. What’ll you charge me if my men and I erect some sort of dwelling on it?”
“Mr. Collier, I liked your brother, and I was sorry to hear of his passing. If you’d promise to build at least a cabin there—a decent, sound dwelling, mind you, not some ramshackle hut that falls over when the first bad storm blows by—I won’t charge you a penny. But you really ought to buy it.”
“What does the heir want for it?” Jack inquired, though more out of courtesy than any real interest.
“Not much now,” the bank president said with a wink. “But it’ll cost you more once there’s a dwelling on it.”
Jack couldn’t help smiling at the other man’s doggedness. “I’ll think about it, but you better count on us moving on in the spring. There’s already a prime piece of ranch land waiting for me up in Montana Territory.”
But no prime ranch land in Montana could compare to a woman like Caroline, a voice within him mocked.
Chapter Five
Raleigh Masterson, Jack’s ramrod, rose from where he’d been hunkered down by the campfire when he saw Jack approach. He poured coffee into a tin cup, holding it out to Jack as he dismounted. He was the only trail hand by the campfire. Cookie was busy mixing one of his concoctions at the chuck wagon. The rest of the drovers were grooming the remuda horses, mending or cleaning tack, or riding herd. The cattle were clustered on the banks of Simpson Creek, some grazing on the lush grass that grew nearby, while others had waded into the creek flank deep and drank the cool water. It was a peaceful sight, and it gave Jack a sense of contentment, even though he knew those same placid cattle could be off in a flash, spooked by thunder or seemingly nothing, stampeding until the trailhands succeeded in turning them or until they just ran out of the need to run. Impulsive beasts, longhorns, and as dangerous as they were silly. A man never trusted their apparent docility while grazing; he always approached them on horseback because they were so unpredictable.
“You find your brother all right, and settle the girls with him and his bride?” Raleigh asked, as Jack took the cup.
“No on both counts,” Jack said, sitting on a saddle blanket someone had left lying there. Staring into the black Arbuckles’ coffee, he told Raleigh about the events of yesterday. “Miss Wallace tried to notify me. Sent it General Delivery. Don’t know why I never got that letter,” he said with a shrug.
Raleigh whistled. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry about your brother, boss.”
Jack nodded grimly. “I should have written again,” he said, almost to himself. “Pete must not have saved my letters.”
“What’re you gonna do, then?” Raleigh asked. “Now that you can’t leave the girls with your brother and his wife?”
Jack knew his ramrod was too polite to say so, but his mind had already leaped ahead and concluded that Jack would be forced by the unexpected circumstances to take girls along with them.
“Thought I’d talk to you and the rest of the men about that. And I only want to say this once,” he said, half turning and raising his voice, “so, Cookie, call the men in.” He knew the cook had been listening in on the conversation.
Cookie reached for the iron triangle that hung on the chuck wagon. The carrying jangle of metal on metal yanked cowboy heads up wherever they rode or worked, and they started drifting in toward the campfire.
“Fine, but you tell them yahoos right off that we ain’t eatin’ early jes’ ’cause you’re holdin’ a palaver,” Cookie groused, going back to kneading the biscuit dough. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready, an’ not a moment before.”
“So noted,” Jack responded, too used to the older man’s crotchets to take offense.
When everyone had assembled, he repeated what he’d told his ramrod about Pete’s death and let his mind wander as they murmured their shocked condolences.
“Now, we knew we were going to have to winter somewhere along the way,” he went on, “and I’ve been told it’d be smarter to spend the time right here than to head north and pass right by where the Comanches’re spendin’ the winter.”
“Told you that when I got thrown in th’ calaboose,” Raleigh muttered. “Told you you oughta leave me there and ride on so you’d be past the Staked Plains before the redskins made their winter camp.”
“And I told you I wasn’t leaving you behind,” Jack snapped. No one but his ramrod dared talk to him the way Raleigh had, and even he would guess from Jack’s curtness that he was treading on thin ice. Jack hadn’t heeded his advice, not only because of their friendship, but because he knew none of the other men were seasoned enough to be the new ramrod.
“That’s all water under the bridge,” Jack went on, and told them about the vacant ranch and the deal the bank was offering if they built a cabin.
Around the circle of men, some faces sparked with interest. In others, eyes narrowed.
“But, boss, it’s already October,” one of the men pointed out.
“I’m a cowboy, not a carpenter,” another groused.
It was what Jack had expected. “I know it would mean getting right to work on building, but I’m told it doesn’t get that cold around here until December or so. It wouldn’t take that long for us to put up a cabin if we don’t dillydally. The bank won’t charge me rent if we put up some kind of dwelling, ’cause it’ll add to the value of the place. Now, I know you didn’t sign on for building anything, so you men are free to stay on or not—no hard feelings if you decide to ride on. But if you stay, I’ll expect you to help build.”
Two men announced right off they were quitting. Jack wasn’t surprised. They were nephews of his stepmother, and he’d judged them as lazy
