“That’s what you say,” Empty scoffed, still skeptical.
“I did give you back your shotgun,” Quint reminded him.
“You kept the shells, though.”
Quint smiled. “I’m not stupid.”
“Neither am I,” the old man retorted and patted the bulging side pocket of his jacket. “I got a bunch more shells right here. If I thought you were lying, I could have this loaded in two seconds.”
“In that case, you have a decision to make. Because one of us is trespassing and it isn’t me.”
Empty thought about that a moment, then ducked his head. “I guess that’d be me then.” When he looked up, there was fire in his eyes again. “But if you’re that Evans fella, you’ve done one helluva poor job of running this place.”
“I don’t know where Evans is,” Quint admitted. “My name’s Echohawk. Quint Echohawk.”
“That’s an Indian name.”
“That’s right. Now would you care to tell me what you’re doing here?” Quint asked in light challenge.
“I guess you’ve got a right to know,” Empty Garner admitted. “My granddaughter mentioned last night that Rutledge had run off this Evans guy. It got me to thinking about the livestock. I knew Rutledge wouldn’t care one whit if they starved to death. And I was right, too. When I got here, I found the horses in the pen, nosing in the dirt to find the last few scraps of hay, and nothing but nubbins for grass. So I turned them out.”
“And I have a half dozen bags of grain in my car.” Quint smiled at the irony of it. “Now I have the fun of catching them again.”
“You won’t have any trouble,” the old rancher declared. “Just rattle some corn in a feed bucket and they’ll come running.”
“Probably,” Quint agreed, turning away.
“Where’d you leave your car?”
He swung back. “Halfway down the lane.”
Empty Garner responded with a slow nod of comprehension. “When you left, I figured you’d head to the Slash R for reinforcements. Never occurred to me you might sneak back here. That was my mistake.” He paused, his sharp-eyed glance giving Quint the once-over. “My truck’s out back. Why don’t I give you a lift to your car and save you hiking all the way back to it?”
“That’s a deal.”
Leaving the gloom and musty odors of the barn, they exited through the rear door and made their way to the white pickup. Empty Garner stowed the shotgun in the gun rack mounted across the cab’s back window and hauled himself behind the steering wheel. Quint climbed into the seat beside him and pulled the creaking door shut.
At a turn of the ignition key, the engine sputtered, then rumbled to life. The way the old pickup bounced across the rough ground, circling to the front
of the barn, Quint suspected its shocks had given out long ago. The going was a little smoother when they reached the ranch yard.
Empty nodded in the direction of the pickup parked in front of the barn. “How come you didn’t haul the grain in that truck?”
“It wouldn’t start.”
“You’ll probably find that somebody dumped sugar in the gas tank.” There was no humor in the smile that twisted Empty Garner’s mouth. “Don’t bother hiring anybody around here to fix it. They’ll just drag their feet about getting it done, knowing that’s what Rutledge would want them to do. Spend the extra money and get a tow truck to haul it to a garage in the city. While they’re at it, you might as well have them install a lock on the gas tank, or it’ll just happen all over again.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I’d tell you to get a mean dog, but it wouldn’t do any good. They’d just wait until you were away from the place and either poison it or shoot it.”
Quint eyed him with growing interest. “I get the feeling you’re talking from experience.”
There was a tinge of bitterness in the grim set of the old man’s features. “I used to own the Robles Ranch south of here until Rutledge squeezed me out.” He sliced a hard look at Quint. “Mind you, I can’t prove that. Rutledge is too clever to leave any trail that’ll lead back to him. But it was his doing—and him who ended up with my place.”
“How’d he go about it?” In Quint’s experience, people rarely changed their modus operandi.
The pickup jolted over a pothole, but Empty Garner didn’t seem to notice as his thoughts turned back. “I guess the trouble started when Fred Barlow quit after being with me nearly ten years. He said he got a job in a big feedlot north of Dallas that would pay him more money, plus give him health benefits and paid housing. I didn’t see Rutledge’s hand in it at the time, but looking back, I know it was there now. After that, everybody I hired kept quitting on me. Some lasted a month or two, but most walked after a few days. Pretty soon I couldn’t get anybody to work for me. Now I grant you, my ranch wasn’t a big spread, but there was more work than I could handle by myself. If it hadn’t been for my granddaughter pitching in like she did, I’d have had to hang it up sooner than I did.”