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Chapter Seven
With so much going on during the wake last night, Kent hadn’t been able to get a sense of the Blanchard place. Riding over with Rhine the next day, he looked forward to seeing it devoid of people and commotion.
Upon arrival, he took in the small herd of longhorns milling off in the distance and the horses running free in the large fenced paddock. Men he assumed to be the hands stopped what they were doing to view their approach and he wondered what kind of reception he’d be given.
Rhine made the introductions and Kent saw the four men sizing him up while he did the same. The elderly Farley Wells, with his white mutton chops, sun-weathered skin, and keen brown eyes, immediately extended his hand. “Pleased to meet ya.”
Kent felt strength in the shake. “Thanks. Same here.”
Buck Green, short, dark-skinned, and as aged as Wells, also shook his hand. “Welcome.”
Blond haired Matt Iler was the youngest. Kent estimated him to be no more than eighteen. There was a shyness in his blue eyes when he shook Kent’s hand. “Nice meeting you.” The last man was brown-skinned Ty Parnell. Kent’s age maybe. Thin, wolflike, unshaven face. He wore a weathered black vest with silver buckles and his jaw bulged with a wad of tobacco. He offered a terse nod but nothing more.
“Kent’s going to be the new foreman,” Rhine told them.
“The old man gave me the job the day before he died,” Parnell stated.
“I appreciate your pointing that out,” Rhine replied. “But I’m the new owner and Kent’s foreman now. Stay on or head out. Your choice.”
Parnell registered his displeasure by spitting a stream of tobacco juice just inches from Rhine’s boots only to find himself slammed bodily into the side of the buckboard behind him and pinned there by the force of Kent’s forearm across his throat. The suddenness caused him to half swallow his chaw, and with it stuck in his windpipe, he clawed at Kent’s arm to free himself in order to breathe. Glaring, Kent held him until his eyes looked ready to pop from distress then finally let him go. Gagging and vomiting, Parnell slid to the ground.
Kent met Rhine’s eyes and received a grim nod of thanks. Wells and Green were grinning but the blond-haired Iler stared at Kent as if he were a two-headed elephant.
Kent told Parnell quietly, “Get up and clear out your bunk.”
Parnell fumbled for his gun but Kent’s big Colt was already drawn. “Do you really want to die here?”
Everyone waited.
“Get up.”
The furious Parnell moved his hand away from his holster and slowly staggered to his feet. Because Kent didn’t trust him out of his sight, he escorted the man to the bunkhouse, watched him pack his gear, and waited while he mounted his horse. Seeing Parnell about to speak, Kent shook his head. “Whatever you’re going to say, keep it to yourself so I won’t have shoot on sight next time I see you. Now get off Fontaine land.”
And he did.
For the next hour, Kent, Rhine, and the remaining hands walked the property and talked about stock, work schedules, and feed. Having been told by Rhine that the two older men would be leaving in a few days, he wanted to get as much information from them as he could before they departed. He wasn’t sure what Iler’s plans were but decided he would ask him later.
A tour of the brick icehouse showed it in need of some repair as were the paddock fences. There were portions of the bunkhouse roof open to the sky. Buckets were set out in various places on the packed earth floor to catch the rainfall.
Rhine viewed the holes and said, “This needs to be fixed immediately.”
Kent agreed. “Can we get shingles in Tucson?”
Buck Green asked Farley, “Don’t we have shingles around here someplace?”
Farley seemed to think on that for a moment. “I remember MissPortia ordering them and Bailey Durham delivering them. We never got around to using them though. They’re probably in one of the barns.”
Kent asked, “Why didn’t you use them?”
Farley shrugged. “We planned to but the old man was more concerned with fishing and playing poker than keeping the place up towards the end and we just plum forgot. I remember the delivery, too, but Buck and I are too old to be on the roof and Parnell was only good for bossing folks around. The kid here can’t even shoe a horse so no sense in him trying to fix a roof.”
Matt’s face turned beet red. He shot Farley an angry look to which the older man asked challengingly, “Am I lying?”
The younger man’s lips tightened.
Kent found the interplay interesting and wondered how long Matt had been working there. He figured he’d find out soon enough. “How about you and Buck see if you can find those shingles so we can get the roof repaired. I’ll have Matt show me anything else I need to see.”
Buck and Farley walked off.
