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Even a search of an old desk in the living room failed to unearth anything of importance. The kitchen table yielded the only noteworthy items: two local newspapers folded open to the want-ad section. Circles had been drawn around ads offering hay for sale.
Boone smiled when he saw them. He’d given his foreman orders yesterday to buy up all the hay in the surrounding counties. He knew there was no longer any to be had in the area. Calder would have to truck in his hay, and that wou
ldn’t be cheap.
He lingered in the house a while longer. When no one showed up, he let himself out, climbed back in his pickup, and drove away.
It was after three in the afternoon when Quint arrived back at the Cee Bar. He had managed to switch his rental car for a black pickup that came equipped with a gas tank lock and security system. Both of which he’d left instructions to be installed in the ranch pickup once its repairs were complete.
He collected the part for the broken windmill from the pickup’s rear bed and started for the house. Sundown came early at this time of year and there might not be enough daylight left to get the parts switched and the windmill up and running before dark. He decided to give Empty the task tomorrow while he did a little fence-riding and checked on the cattle and pasture conditions.
Quint pulled the screen door open, caught it with his shoulder, and reached for the thin black cord he had shut in the door when he left. But it was lying on the threshold.
There had been a visitor at the Cee Bar while he was gone.
Chapter Five
It took Empty Garner most of the morning to get the windmill back in operation. After lunch, he gave Quint a hand replacing a long stretch of fence, using steel posts in place of old tree limbs and stringing new wire. By then, it was after four o’clock; time to call it a day.
Empty hauled his muscle-weary body onto the black pickup’s passenger seat and settled back for the ride into town. His thoughts drifted back over the day’s work. It had been months since he had felt this tired. But it was a good feeling, a kind of honest, achy soreness.
He cast a considering glance at the man behind the wheel, recalling how Quint had sweated and strained right alongside him, sometimes even shouldering more than his share. It wasn’t a trait he’d necessarily seen in young cowboys anymore—especially ones that had gotten a taste for giving orders. Those usually did more telling than doing.
It never occurred to Empty to comment on his observations. He was of the opinion you didn’t praise a man for doing what he should. When he did speak, it was as a former rancher. “I don’t know how many cattle you’re supposed to be running, but I’ve got the feeling if you do a count, you’re going to come up short.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Quint acknowledged.
“Most people think the days of cattle rustlers are long gone. Hell, it’s probably easier now than it was back in the eighteen hundreds. Back then, you stood a chance of tracking them. Today they load cattle into trucks, and those wheels don’t leave any tracks on concrete roads.”
“How true.”
Empty gazed at the road ahead of them, a thoughtful furrow creasing his brow. “I wish I could give you an idea of what Rutledge’s next move might be.”
“He might have already made it,” Quint replied.
Empty sat up, his weariness temporarily forgotten. “What do you mean? What’d he do?”
“Somebody came by the ranch yesterday while I was gone.”
“How would you know that if you weren’t there?” His frown deepened.
“There are ways. Some papers in the desk were out of order, plus some other things that weren’t in the exact place that I left them.”
Empty shook his head. “I swear those Rutledges are as bold as the most brazen hussy that ever walked the streets. Next thing you know they’ll come sneaking around at night.” He pinned a piercing look on Quint. “You’ve got yourself a shotgun, don’t you?”
“I didn’t bring any firearms with me. I thought there would be a rifle of some kind at the ranch. But if there was, it’s gone now.” Nearing the outskirts of town, Quint slowed the truck and made the turn onto the back road that would take him to Empty’s trailer house.
“I’ve got a whole gun cabinet full of weapons—shotguns, rifles, handguns, you name it and I’ve got it. Why don’t you come in with me and pick out what you want?”
“I can’t tonight.” Quint swung into the driveway and parked near the steps. “Maybe when I come to get you in the morning.”
“It’s your funeral,” Empty said with a shrug and climbed out of the cab despite the protest of stiffening joints.
“I almost forgot.” Quint leaned sideways across the seat. “I need directions to the Slash R.”
“The Slash R!” Incredulity claimed the old man’s lined face. “Why in billy blue blazes do you need that?”
A slow smile spread across Quint’s mouth. “I decided I should return the favor and pay them a call—one neighbor to another.”
