Chapter 14
The next day, Ben squinted in the midday sunlight as he stepped out of the livery stable. A carriage clicked past headed for the main part of town. The stink of manure from the livestock yards a block away stung his nose. Carried on the breeze, the bawling of a calf rang out above the moos.
Charlie plodded up. “They won’t kill the poor calf, will they?”
“Why would they do that?” Ben shifted his gun belt for the holster to strike farther back on his hip—not that he needed to be armed in town, but the road between Weatherford and the ranch was a different story.
Charlie’s brow furrowed. “I’ve heard that the ranchers sometimes kill the calves on the trail because they slow the herd down. It doesn’t seem fair.”
Ben ruffled the boy’s dark hair. “Good thing his mama birthed him here before they started out on the drive. The owner will probably take him back to the ranch and give him a chance to grow up.”
“Maybe he belongs to Mr. Goodnight.”
“I don’t think so.” Ben placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder and steered the boy toward the saddle and harness shop.
Mr. Dawkins at the livery stable had been helpful.
Goodnight had been in town a couple of weeks back, outfitting for a cattle drive.
Last Dawkins heard, the rancher had headed north by way of Elk Creek to round up more cattle.
Rumor had it Loving had amassed a couple thousand head but seemed content to sit tight.
Charlie hurried to keep up as they stepped into the rutted street. Dust flew as a mule-drawn wagon rumbled by.
“Can we go to Hammer’s today?” Charlie coughed. “The place with all of the hides. We didn’t get to go last time.”
“Maybe. If we have time before we head home.” Ben led him onto the boardwalk in front of the blacksmith’s.
“Cora sure liked the deer we brought her yesterday.”
“Yes, she did.” She’d smiled and given a clap as they’d ridden up from their tour of the ranch.
Ben’s chest had swelled. A yearling buck, already gutted, lay across the back of the sorrel.
Ben strung it up in the shed, then stripped the animal of its hide after carving a thick slice of fresh venison for Cora to fry.
“She’ll be busy brining the meat today.”
“I helped you spot it.” Charlie puffed out his chest.” Maybe next time, I can take the shot.”
“We’ll see.” Ben blinked as they stepped into the dimly lit store.
The sweet smell of leather filled his nostrils.
Harnesses, horse collars, bridles, and their various parts hung on pegs along the barn-like walls.
Saddles straddled narrow benches, and strips of leather, both wide and narrow, lay haphazardly on a long table with a draw knife on the end.
A balding man with spectacles sat on a stool on the other side of the counter. A smudged leather apron covered his chest. “Can I help you?”
Charlie halted inside the door and knelt by a long-eared bloodhound stretched out on the worn plank floor.
Ben tipped his slouch hat back and strode over to the counter. “My name’s Benjamin McKenzie. I’m helping manage the Scott place. Mr. Dawson over at the livery thought you might be able to point me in the direction of Mr. Charles Goodnight.”
“I thought I recognized the boy.” He lifted his chin toward Charlie. “Isn’t he the one the Scotts kept at their place?”
Kept? As if he were a discarded pup? “That’s Charlie Scott.” Was that really his last name? The father probably hadn’t even given him that.
“Scott? Is that so?” The man cocked his eyebrows at Ben and picked up an awl. “You wouldn’t be one of those Yankee carpetbaggers would you, trying to take Miss Scott’s land?”
“Just the opposite. Mister…?”
“Mr. Stein.”
“Well, sir, I was a good friend of Mr. Jeb Scott. Came here to help Miss Scott manage her ranch, but what I need to know is if you have any idea where I might find Goodnight.”
The man looked him over. “What business you got with him?” Stein tacked a leather strip to the wooden counter and stretched it taut.
Ben discharged a grunted breath. “That’s between me and Mr. Goodnight. It’ll be a profitable meeting for him if I find him, but if you don’t have any information, I won’t waste any more of your time.” He rolled his shoulders beneath his suspenders and turned to go. “Good day, Mr. Stein.”
“Hold up there, Mckenzie. Didn’t say I didn’t know.” Awl in hand, Stein bored a hole in the leather. “Just thought there might be something in it for me.”
Ben hooked his thumbs around his gun belt. “You give me good information, and next time I pass through Weatherford, I’ll bring you a smoked venison roast. The boy and I got ourselves a deer yesterday.”
“Did you, now?” The man looked up over his spectacles. “If I was that Scott girl. I’d send the boy back to his kind.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. “His sister isn’t going to send him anywhere.”
“Sister? Yeah, I heard that. That pa of hers…” He leaned over and aimed a spew of tobacco toward the spittoon.
Ben’s fingers curled inward. “Charlie, let’s get out of here.” He pivoted toward the door.
“What about my venison?” Stein called after him. “Goodnight rode off to find horses. I could tell you where—”
Ben slammed the door behind him as he pushed Charlie into the street.
The boy looked up at him. “I don’t like that man.”
“Never mind him. We’ll head over to the dry goods store. Dawson said Mr. Miller might know.” Ben ground his molars and steered toward the main street. With folks around like Dawson, no wonder Cora had felt less than welcome in town.
Past the town square with its two-story brick courthouse, then the doctor’s office and the attorney’s, he kept his eyes straight ahead, not daring to venture a look down the lane that led to the druggist. After a couple more blocks, Ben slowed his step to a steady pace better suited for Charlie’s shorter legs. A smattering of folks filtered by.
A carriage spurred ahead of a heavily laden ox cart loaded with barrels.
At the end of the street, three prairie schooners, filled to the rim beneath their canvas bonnets, sat lined up in front of the Carson and Lewis House.
Pioneers spending one last comfortable night at the fanciest hotel in town before heading off into the frontier?
“Howdy.” A gray-haired man with his beard down to the top of his trousers sat smoking a pipe in front of Millers’. The rocker creaked back and forth.
“Good day.” Ben tipped his hat and moved aside as two ladies stepped out of the store.
The dark-haired one wore a beautiful tapestry of a shawl over a blue cotton dress. She beamed down at Charlie. The honey-blond one, who hung on the other’s arm, smiled and dug a peppermint stick out of a small sack. “May I give it to the boy?”
Ben nodded. “Certainly, ma’am. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
Charlie grinned. “Thank you.” His fingers wrapped around the treat.
A pheasant feather dangled from the blonde’s felt hat as the two strode down the walkway, their skirts swishing together as they chatted.
Ben pushed the door open. A cacophony of aromas greeted his nose.
Wood, coffee, oil, and cigars. Barrels of brooms and ax handles stood next to the woodstove, along with kegs of nails.
Scattered offerings of potatoes, carrots, and onions lingered in other barrels.
Tin plates and cups, iron pots, and oil lamps filled the shelves alongside more feminine wares.
Mustache wiggling, Mr. Miller bustled from around the glass-fronted counter with a sack of coffee in hand.
His thin layer of sandy hair clung to his forehead.
“Afternoon, Mr. McKenzie. Busy day, busy day. Settlers coming through.” He added the sack to a wooden box, already half filled with pickled edibles, everything from eggs to beets.
“Good thing you bought your supplies the other day. I just sold the last of my coffee and sugar.”
“Not shopping today.” Ben ambled over. “Just looking for information.”
“Glad to do what I can.” Miller swiped a neckerchief across his sweated brow.
Charlie tugged at Ben’s sleeve. “Can I go outside? I want to watch the wagons.” His red-tinged lips closed around the candy.
“Go ahead.” Ben ruffled the boy’s straight black hair. “Stay out of trouble.”
As the door jingled shut, Miller sighed. “I was sorry to see Miss Scott move back to the ranch. No place for a young woman on her own. Mrs. Miller told her more than once that she needed to get herself a husband.”
Ben’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. That probably went over as well as a bag of rocks. But why wasn’t a fine-looking woman like Cora, with all her spirit, not married yet? “Was there a…?”
“Beau? There was more than one that showed interest over the years, from what I heard and saw. Frank Taylor was a fine candidate. Courted her before the war, but rumor had it that she turned him down in the end. Didn’t want to leave her ma alone with that father of hers.
Then that little Indian boy showed up. Offspring of a Comanche Mr. Scott had tucked away at some trading post. After Cora’s mother took sick, God rest her soul, Cora all but became a mother to the boy.
Taylor and most of the other young men were away at war.
” His voice wobbled. “Some never returned.”
Had Miller lost someone in the war as well? Ben wouldn’t pry. Another question loomed more imminent. “Did Taylor come back?”
“Came back a lieutenant. Fine soldier. Only, he met him a belle over in Mississippi from his time there, one who didn’t have family she was bound to look after.
They live in Dallas.” Miller tossed a bundle of tapers into the box, their wicks joined.
“After Mrs. Scott took ill, Cora didn’t have time for socializing.
Her whole household depended upon her. After her mother passed, Cora was the only one with any backbone in that family. ”
Cora working, carrying the load of her whole family, watching her mother die…
Had she loved the Taylor fellow? Did she long to have a beau, or had she given up?
He swallowed hard. His gaze drifted to a roll of violet ribbon on the counter.
Wouldn’t that look fine in her ha— No. He shook himself.
Don’t even think it. You have a girl. Besides, Cora Scott wants nothing to do with you.
And the way LeBeau looked at her that day? She doesn’t need help finding a beau.
Miller settled a bag of sugar next to the coffee.
“I would have kept her on at the store with a few hours, but finances being what they are, I couldn’t offer more.
Northern folks like you and those settlers who came in today are mostly the only ones who can afford to stock their larders.
Some of those ranchers, though, like Mr. Goodnight—”
“That’s exactly who I wanted to talk to you about.” Ben stepped closer. “I have business to discuss with him on Miss Scott’s behalf. I hear he’s putting an outfit together, planning a cattle drive.”
“You’d better believe it. He was in here a couple weeks ago—another reason my shelves are emptying out.
He’s rounded up over a thousand head and hired him a crew of men.
Even bought himself an old army wagon and had a woodworker north of here reinforce it with bois d’arc wood.
Strongest wood around. Had him build some high-falutin’ contraption on the end, like a miniature cupboard all set up for meal fixing.
So proud of it, he brought me outside to show it off. ”
Ben rubbed his hands together. “But where is he now?”
“Headed east toward Fort Worth. He needs more horses before he starts for Colorado. I’d try the Circle R or Gary’s Ranch. Either one’s a good bet.”
A few minutes later, Ben strode out of the store, directions in mind, and a can of peaches in hand. Maybe he couldn’t buy Cora the ribbon, but they could all enjoy the fruit as a treat tonight as he shared the good news. Venison, peaches, and a trip to plan.
Where was Charlie?