Texas Free (The Tylers of Texas 5)

Ferg was pacing the front porch as the pickup pulled up to let Tanner off. “It’s about time you showed up,” he grumbled.

“What’s going on?” Tanner didn’t figure he owed the man an apology. Ferg seemed to forget that Tanner was only pretending to work for him.

“What’s going on is a chance to catch those cattle-thieving bastards red-handed. There’s a dozen cows missing from the west pasture that borders on Bull Tyler’s place. One of my hands reported seeing fresh tracks leading right toward the Rimrock. Follow them, and you’ll likely have your rustlers. There’s a horse saddled and waiting outside the stable. Get going!”

Tanner found the horse, a handsome dun, with a canteen of water and a pair of binoculars slung from the saddle horn. His pistol was already holstered at his hip. Not that he planned to use it in single-handed combat against a gang of rustlers. This wasn’t Hollywood. He would try to get a look at the men if they were still there, maybe hang around, out of sight, until a truck—the only practical way for thieves to transport a dozen animals—showed up. He’d get the description and license number, call Clive, and have the truck picked up with the goods on the road. With luck, the trucker would make a deal and nail his contacts on the Rimrock—if that’s where they could be found.

It sounded simple enough, but the thought of what could go wrong—from a no-show to a deadly gunfight—was always there in the back of any lawman’s mind.

So who was behind the stolen cattle?

Tanner knew better than to jump to conclusions. He knew that nothing would make Ferg happier than putting Bull Tyler away for stealing his cattle. But why would Tyler risk prison for a few cows—especially when he’d reported missing cattle, too? More than likely, someone else was responsible.

As he rode west toward the Rimrock Ranch, he kept his eyes on the trail of split-hooved cattle tracks, mingled with the curved prints of shod horses. There’d been at least two riders driving the small herd, maybe more. One of the horses had a loose shoe that was missing a couple of nails and would probably soon come off. At least that one would be easy to track.

The country here was open, the flat ground rising to the foothills of the escarpment, dotted with clumps of sage, cedar, and mesquite. Spring-hatched flies swarmed on droppings that looked to be hours old. It made sense that the rustlers would have moved the cattle sometime in the night. By now the valuable animals could already be gone, loaded in a truck under cover of darkness. He’d be lucky to find anything more than tracks.

At the boundary between the two ranches, Tanner passed a posted sign, probably one of many, facing west. He shook his head as he read the stenciled lettering:

PRESCOTT RANCH. PRIVATE PROPERTY.

TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.

The old West was alive and well in this country, Tanner mused as his gaze swept the landscape beyo

nd the sign. Here the scrub was thicker. Clumps of mesquite, which hadn’t been chained out, grew almost as high as a man’s head. At least it would give him some cover if he needed to get in close. But that wasn’t likely. By now, he suspected, the thieves and the stolen stock would be long gone.

Barely had the thought crossed Tanner’s mind when a faint sound, carried by the breeze, reached his ears. He swore in surprise. It was the unmistakable bawling of cattle.

More cautiously, he rode closer. He could hear the animals clearly now. They sounded distressed, as if they might be trapped or thirsty. Why would they still be here? Had the truck been delayed? Had there even been a truck?

Keeping to the heavy brush, he slowed the horse to a walk. A covey of quail burst out of the undergrowth and scattered in a flurry of sounds and feathers. Tanner paused, waiting for them to settle before he went on. Ahead, he could see the rugged red-and-white cliffs of the escarpment and the opening of a shadowed cleft that might be a narrow canyon—a handy place to hide stolen livestock.

Some instinct caused him to glance up. Still distant, he caught a movement in the rocks along the rim of the escarpment. Sunlight glinted on metal—could it be the barrel of a gun?

He shaded his eyes, trying to see more of what he’d glimpsed. It made sense that the thieves would place a guard on the stolen cattle. If he could see an actual person, for later identification it could help him break the case.

He reached for the binoculars and brought them to his eyes. But the horse, which kept shifting and dancing even after he halted the animal, made it difficult to focus the lenses. Tanner decided he might have better luck from the ground.

He had replaced the binoculars and was about to dismount when a rifle shot rang out. The roar of sound exploded in his head as he pitched into blackness, struck the ground, and lay still on dry, red earth.

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE TIME THE LAST WATERING TROUGH WAS FILLED AND THE BARN was swept, Bernice was calling Rose and the boys to wash up for lunch. They hosed off at the outside tap and sat down to tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and chocolate cake for dessert.

“Can we ride our horses now?” Beau asked.

Rose glanced at Bernice for approval. Bernice nodded. “Just make sure not to go too far. And you boys, remember that Rose is in charge. When she says it’s time to go back, you don’t argue. And no fighting, or the ride’s over right then. Understand?”

The boys nodded, excused themselves, and dashed out the back door. Rose got up to follow them.

“Are you sure they’ll be all right?” she asked Bernice.

“They’ll be fine, honey. They’re good boys, but they can be headstrong. Don’t be afraid to let them know who’s boss.”

“Thanks.” Rose hurried out the door. Headstrong? Of course they were. They were Bull Tyler’s sons. Why should she expect anything else?

When she got to the stable, the boys were already saddling up. Even Beau, young as he was, had no trouble putting the downsized saddle and bridle on his brown pony. Will’s red-and-white pinto was bigger but still not a full-sized horse. He handled the animal with the skill of a seasoned cowboy. Somebody—probably Jasper, since she couldn’t imagine Bull having the patience—had taught the boys well.