Longhorn Country Read online

  ‘You will….’

  Lucas suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘Listen, Pa – we can boost our quality and practically guarantee top dollar.’

  ‘You can’t do that overnight, boy!’

  Lucas flushed – when the hell was the Old Man going to quit calling him ‘boy’? Damnit, he was pushing thirty and still he …

  Aloud he said, ‘We’re pushin’ it some to fill those Army contracts, Pa.’

  ‘Which is why I sent Alamo after them mavericks.’

  ‘Yeah, well, when I was in town seeing Calvin Eastbrook about the new timber leases, he told me that Don Miguel Santiago was selling his place down at San Nicolas.’

  Morgan frowned. ‘That’s near Monterrey, ain’t it?’

  Alamo looked at his boss but Lucas went on quickly.

  ‘Yeah, Pa – Calvin heard on the quiet the old hidalgo is dyin’ and aimed to spread his rancho amongst his family, but none of ’em are much interested in the workin’ side of things: all they want is cold hard cash. So to spite ’em, he’s sellin’ up at bargain prices…. We could pick us up some prime breeding stock, Pa, as well as some to sell.’

  Alamo could see Morgan was almost persuaded, but, as he expected, the rancher said, ‘Long way down to Monterrey – or San Nicolas which is almost as far. Can’t spare the men for the drive back.’

  Lucas smiled, winking at Alamo. ‘A good man could dicker so that old Miguel provides the vaqueros to get ’em back to the Border…. We can let you know when we’re there and half-a-dozen men’d be enough to drive ’em back here, take just a day or two….’

  ‘You ain’t goin’,’ Morg said flatly and Lucas’ face fell.

  ‘Aw, Pa, it’s my idea and I’d sure like to do some horse-trading with that old ranchero! After all the sneaky damn tricks he’s pulled on us Texas ranchers in general, over the years….’

  ‘Alamo can handle it – he’s good at buyin’ cows, better even than sellin’ ’em.’ He flicked his hard old eyes to the trail boss. ‘You could do it, couldn’t you?’

  Lucas frowned as Alamo nodded slowly. There was something that passed between his father and the grizzled trail boss … he had no idea what it was, but there was something there and it only made Lucas feel more put-out. But he knew once Morgan had made up his mind – well, that was that.

  ‘All right – I’ll contact the agent down in San Nicolas and tell him Alamo’s on his way…. You’ll need to take a couple men with you.’

  ‘Reckon I’ll be able to talk Don Miguel into lendin’ us a few vaqueros for the drive back to the Border….’

  Lucas’ frown deepened as Morgan shot Alamo a quick, piercing look. ‘You reckon you’re that good?’

  The trail boss nodded. ‘But just in case Don Miguel won’t give us any trail hands, maybe Blaine could call in a bunch of his cousins or whatever from the Reservation – that way, you won’t have to bother about sendin’ down anyone from here, Morg, and leave you short-handed.’

  ‘Injuns!’ exclaimed Lucas. ‘Not working our prime beeves, thanks all the same!’

  ‘I’ll be there and Blaine knows how to handle ’em.’

  ‘He ought to! But I don’t like this, Pa. Not Injuns!’

  ‘No, Blaine doesn’t go – you oughta have more sense than to suggest it, Alamo….’ Morg looked mighty angry.

  Lucas was quick to side with his father. ‘None of us can trust that damn breed….’

  ‘You go send your wire to the cattle agent while Alamo and me fix this between us….’ growled Morgan.

  That didn’t make Lucas feel any more wanted, or even that his father was grateful for his suggestion that would save the ranch money and, in effect, bring in more profit when the herd reached the new railhead at San Antonio.

  Even after all that had happened, the Old Man still seemed to be favouring that damn ’breed!

  And Lucas decided he’d just about had a bellyful.

  Alamo left two men gathering up the scattered mavericks and went looking for Blaine. The man’s trail was easy enough to follow. He hadn’t been trying to hide his tracks – had no reason to – and Alamo had no trouble following him up and over the ridge, through Big Sandy canyon and into the eroded gulch country beyond.

  There was no breeze here, surrounded as it was by high buttes and walls of large boulders, and Alamo, a man born and bred to the wilderness and who had spent his life there, smelled the gunsmoke still hovering in the air. New scars on the rocks showed him where bullets had struck and he saw the loose rocks and fresh, dark patches of earth where Blaine’s boots had found footholds as he climbed up to the boulders above.

  He took his rifle with him and climbed quietly, wary, not taking it for granted that Blaine had subdued those two murdering hardcases. He would have expected him to, but a man could never tell and it paid to take precautions.

  There were no sounds from above but he smelled tobacco smoke – and something else. Like when tracking a deer that had been shot and you were closing in on where it lay, either bleeding to death or simply playing possum.

  It was the stench of blood. And death.

  ‘God almighty!’

  Alamo breathed the words reverently, feeling his stomach lurch, and his hands gripped the rifle convulsively as he looked down on the scene below him.

  Blaine was sitting with his back to a boulder, smoking, knees drawn up, forearms resting on them, head down. If he heard Alamo – and he must have – he didn’t look up. His hands were red.

  Ames stared at the dead men lying in a welter of blood that had splashed on some of the rocks like spilled paint. He swallowed, saw the sun glint redly from a discarded hunting knife near Hardesty’s raw face. It looked as if he had been skinned alive….

  Both he and Clint Rendell had been scalped and there were other mutilations that Alamo didn’t care to dwell on.

  Then he saw that Blaine was staring at him as he drew on his cigarette, dark face blank – but Alamo thought he saw a little more peace in that single bleak grey-green eye. He thumbed back his hat.

  ‘Well, I said a little while back that you sure had a deal of Injun blood workin’ in you – I don’t blame you, but – well….’ To hell with Morgan! He couldn’t leave Blaine here with this mess … If Marsh Kilgour got wind of it, no telling what he might do to Blaine. … ‘We best bury these fellers and then you and me are headin’ down to Mexico. You ask me, it’s the best place for you right now….’

  Blaine finished his cigarette and stood, brushing dust off his trousers.

  ‘I’ll get something to dig with,’ was all he said.

  San Nicolas was a well-established Spanish town and Don Miguel’s large holdings were ten miles southeast, closer to Monterrey than San Nicolas. The rancho was typical of that part of the country, large white hacienda and adobe outbuildings, stables and corrals and a couple of windmills, an unusual innovation for a Mexican ranch.

  It didn’t take Blaine long to figure that Alamo Ames knew Don Miguel, although he could never recall the man mentioning it.

  ‘Worked for him long ago,’ Alamo told Blaine, ‘before I went to Morgan’s – he kind of took care of me after my folks was wiped out in a wagon train to the north by bandits and renegade Apaches. It was part of the country a hidalgo like him was expected to protect – a bit like the old feudal times – and he felt he’d let the folk down. Anyway, we got along well enough and then one day I followed a Mexican gal who was governess to his children back to the States where she had another job.’

  He paused and Blaine waited, patient as usual, reading Alamo correctly in thinking the man was hesitant to explain any more. But the trail boss said, with a rush of words, ‘We married – but she was trampled by a runaway hoss and crippled. Afterwards, she figured she was a burden to me and one night—’ He shook his head at the black memory clouding his mind. ‘I dunno where she got the poison, but—’

  He looked steadily at Blaine who nodded gently, but made no other sign that he understood.

  ‘Anyway – I re
ckon I can do a good deal with Don Miguel. We’d parted friends.’

  The old ranchero was in a great deal of pain from whatever ailment was killing him and he spoke in husky Spanish, gripping Alamo’s hand. The trail boss flicked his eyes at Blaine who took the hint and waited outside in the cool shade of a long tiled patio, sipping lemonade, lime and tequila that a servant brought him. It was a mighty satisfying drink for hot weather.

  When Alamo emerged from Don Miguel’s quarters he was long-faced. ‘Too bad – shame to lose a man like that. He’s done plenty for this country but seems his family’s let him down – want the bright lights, such as they are, plenty of partyin’ and the high life. Cash is all they want from him so the only way he can get back at ’em now is to sell as cheap as possible.’

  ‘Could change his will.’

  ‘Too late – the family’s got the lawyer in their pockets. He’s blockin’ the Don every whichway.’

  Blaine nodded: the old Don had been smart enough anyway. ‘You do a deal for Morg?’

  ‘Yeah – we got five hundred prime beeves to get back to Broken Wheel. Don Miguel will supply riders to help us all the way – I’d thought maybe we could call in some of your Injun friends but this way we won’t need ’em.’

  Blaine nodded, making no comment.

  ‘One favour the Don asks, though – and it’ll have to be you to do it, Blaine.’

  This surprised the breed.

  ‘Yeah, there’s this kind of orphanage or sanctuary just outside Monterrey. Don Miguel has helped them some over the years. He’s got half-a-dozen Jersey milkers he thinks they can use – called Mission Seguridad, by the way. Some Sisters from the big Mission run it.’

  ‘Nuns?’

  ‘No-ooo – I dunno. Maybe novices … Anyway, you’re elected to drive the Jerseys up there. You can take one of Don Miguel’s men or muchachos along….’

  ‘Never driven milkers before.’

  ‘They’re docile. Won’t give you no trouble – he wants you to give one of the Fathers a note, too. Think he’s gonna ask that one of ’em stays down here on the rancho with him till he – passes away. Be sure of the Last Rites I guess.’

  The muchacho’s name was Pancho and he spoke no American. His Spanish was too rapid for Blaine. So while the kid ran around with his stick, whacking the cows if they strayed too far or stopped too long, browsing on the scanty grass, Blaine let his sorrel make its own pace and he smoked as they moved along lazily through the early afternoon.

  The orphanage was set behind adobe walls and he could see the small tower of a chapel above, but had to wait until they were inside to see the buildings. There were several, mostly adobe, though a long one which he figured for a dormitory, was clapboard with a thatched roof. All seemed in good repair and he noticed several women working with bunches of children who all wore flour-sack, dress-like garments, whether boy or girl. The latter were distinguishable by their longer hair, although several had it cropped – no doubt as part of a treatment for head lice.

  One of the women came across as Pancho, obviously having been here before, drove the Jerseys towards a small corral. A bunch of yelling, excited children ran on ahead and lowered the rails for him.

  ‘Señor?’ queried the woman in nun-like garments and Blaine said,

  ‘A gift from Don Miguel Santiago – I was told to ask for Sister Maria de Gracia.’

  The woman who faced him was in her fifties, her serene face remarkably free of wrinkles, though the brown blotches on the backs of her hands gave some indication of her age. Her eyes were very blue and they squinted a little as she turned her face towards him enough so that the shadow of her stiff headpiece moved and allowed sun glare to strike her. ‘Norteamericano?’

  Blaine nodded. ‘From Texas, ma’am.’

  Her expression didn’t change. ‘I am Sister Angelica, in charge here – I will write Don Miguel a note of thanks. Sister Maria de Gracia will join you.’ She gestured to a small patio, shaded by an umbrella-like shelter of thatch on a long pole beneath which was a round table and some chairs. ‘She will bring you refreshment.’

  ‘Obliged.’ Blaine made his way there, feeling a little awkward. He didn’t really need to see this Sister de Gracia. What the hell kind of name was that anyway? Sister of Thanks? Now the cows had been delivered and he had spoken with the nun in charge, all he had to do was hand over the note to Father Gabriel and then he could go. This place made him feel – well, kind of awkward. Or was it that these laughing kids reminded him of the little Indian children who had helped him get used to walking again, steering him safely past obstacles he could no longer see on his right side … Maybe he should have done something for them before he left to pay his debts – both to Morgan and Hardesty and Rendell … Well, he could set that right when he got back….

  But right now he could do with a long, cool drink – though he figured there would be no tequila in the lemonade here.

  He was smoking, half turned away from the main adobe building, watching Pancho playing with the kids near the corrals, when he heard the small clatter of glasses and he turned slowly.

  A young woman in a habit like Sister Angelica’s, except the headpiece was no more than a scarf draped over her hair, was setting down a bamboo tray with glasses and a terracotta jug on it.

  ‘You wished to see me, señor?’

  As she spoke quietly in perfect English she picked up the jug and poured some clear, brownish liquid into the glasses. ‘I do not know Don Miguel personally so I am at a loss as to why he told you to ask for me … I am, of course Sister Maria de Gracia.’

  It was Alamo who had told him to ask for this woman, not Don Miguel – and now he knew why….

  He stood up quickly and she turned her face towards him and he saw her properly for the first time.

  ‘Thought I recognized that voice – Been a long time, Kitty … A long time.’

  The jug fell and shattered on the stone flags, cool liquid splashing over Blaine’s boots – washing away the last traces of Hardesty’s blood.

  CHAPTER 8

  HOWDY AND ADIOS

  She insisted on clearing away the mess first and he knew she was using the time to get her thoughts in order. He didn’t push her, though his own heart had an unfamiliar racy feeling to it and his stomach seemed knotted.

  Finally, she came back, the scarf removed from her hair now and he noted it was shorter than he remembered. But she looked somehow older – no, more mature, might be the better way of putting it. He couldn’t tell if she had gained or lost weight under that loose habit but she seemed healthy enough, deeply tanned, and several children ran over, crawled up into her lap and threw their thin arms about her neck. She spoke to each in gentle Spanish, set them down and told the third one to tell the others that they should play with Sister Mercia while she entertained her guest.

  Then she sipped from her glass, looking at Blaine over the rim.

  ‘You’ve suffered since I last saw you, Blaine.’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Was it – Hardesty and Rendell?’ He met and held her gaze and she sighed. ‘I know it was! Dad was raging and I knew he would sick them on to you … I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need.’

  ‘No need! Heavens, you’ve lost an eye!’

  ‘And you lost your baby.’

  She tensed but only slightly. ‘I’m glad you know and that I won’t have to explain – it – it was horrible. I – didn’t handle it very well, but Sister Angelica and the others helped me, guided me….’

  ‘You look content.’

  ‘I – am, mostly, Blaine – I love working here with the children. I’m not a nun, but a kind of unofficial mission helper, I suppose.’

  ‘Pay well?’

  And the remark surprised her: Blaine wasn’t really known for his attempts at humour. But she smiled widely. ‘Yes – it pays very well. Though I don’t earn a dime.’

  ‘I understand.’ And she knew he did: he was quick to savvy such things and it was why she had tol
d him the details of how she had become pregnant. ‘I – missed you.’

  ‘Yes – I’ve missed you, too, Blaine. But didn’t Alamo tell you where I was…? I mean, he brought me here in the first place….’

  ‘He gave his word to Morgan he’d never tell me.’

  She smiled slowly. ‘So he had you drive some milking cows up here from Don Miguel’s!’

  ‘Alamo’s a man of his word, follows his own code.’

  ‘Just like you – does this mean you’ve gone back to working for my father?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She waited, then spread her hands. ‘And…? Surely that requires some explanation.’

  He shrugged. ‘Morgan feels I owe him too much to let me go.’

  ‘I don’t understand…?’

  ‘He reared me – along with you and Lucas. Took care of me for more’n twenty years. He outlayed heaps on me.’

  Kitty was shocked. ‘You’re not serious! He – he surely wouldn’t be that – petty!’ She stood, unable to contain herself, took a turn around the patio, came back and stood beside his chair. ‘Oh! My father’s – one of a kind! And I’m being as liberal as I can when saying that! But – you. You didn’t have to do this … Oh! I’m wrong! Of course, you did, didn’t you? You wouldn’t be Blaine if you turned away from him and just rode out.’

  Blaine drained his glass. ‘I like to pay my debts.’

  She shook her head as she slowly took her seat again. Her hand slid across the table and lay across his.

  ‘He’ll keep you working for him for years – and not pay you a cent in real money.’

  ‘He’s already spent a small fortune on me.’

  ‘Oh, you exasperate me, Blaine! He spent more on Lucas and me – yes, we’re his blood-kin but he adopted you and that makes you his son in a lot more than just a name on an official paper! How dare he do such a thing! Telling you you owe him, and making you feel guilty.’

  ‘I don’t feel guilty, Kitty – I’m happy to pay him back for as long as he says it’ll take. Then I’ll be rid of this thing and I’ll be free to go my own way, make my own life.’