The Riding Lesson that Wasn’t #3
“It’s me,” the man on the horse called, coming more into focus as he approached. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”
“Montana Rider!” Maria called, her voice trembling with relief. “There’s a shed on fire and a guy with a bandanna tied around his face! And he saw me!”
“You get back to the house,” the Rider commanded. “I’ll settle this guy. Thank you.”
He rode away, his horse thundering past Maria, and Maria stopped to watch his progress until he blurred into the scenery.
That other guy wasn’t visible—he’d probably left when Maria started off in the ATV, knowing he couldn’t catch her on foot—but he had to be back there somewhere.
Hopefully the Montana Rider knew what he was doing.
Maria would hate to be the reason something bad happened to the Rider.
What had he told her to do? Go back to the house?
Maria reluctantly turned away from the smoke and started in the direction of the ranch house.
Hopefully the Rider would be fine. Where was Savannah?
She had probably gone back already, but Maria ought to look for her. Not that she could see much right now.
Hopefully Maria would get her glasses back. It had been stupid to try to investigate the fire. She should have known it had to do with the ranch sabotage.
§
The Austins were in uproar. Savannah had gotten hold of Uncle Russell, who had told her to come back to the house while he called the firemen. Maria told her story, omitting nothing, not even the Montana Rider.
“The firemen are on their way,” Uncle Russell said. “I’ll call the police. I wish I knew where Tim was! I can’t get his phone, and Elijah doesn’t know where he went.” He pulled out his phone and dialed, presumably 911.
“Don’t worry about Tim,” Grandma Austin snapped. “In the old days, the ranchers would be out there dealing with the outlaws themselves. Your father would have ridden out there with some men and his rifle.”
“Mom, this isn’t the Wild West,” Aunt Steph said, as Uncle Russell wasn’t listening. “We can’t run around shooting at people. The police will deal with it.”
“Well, the police don’t seem to do much around here,” Grandma Austin said. “They don’t know a thing about ranches. When my own daughter married a policeman, I was convinced she was out of her mind.”
That was Dad, of course. It shouldn’t surprise Maria that Grandma Austin had that attitude toward him, but it was such an unfair take.
The police did so much good. It wasn’t the fault of the police here that they couldn’t patrol every inch of the largest ranch in the area.
There weren’t enough people to do that. Maria opened her mouth, but Grandma Austin was talking again.
“At least the Montana Rider is doing something about this mess,” she said. “If my own family would keep a better eye on the ranch instead of gallivanting off all the time, we might be safer around here.”
“The Montana Rider!” Aunt Steph exclaimed. “Everybody keeps talking about him. Does anybody know who he is? Why do we have anonymous vigilantes riding around the ranch? Nobody tells me anything!”
Grandma ignored Aunt Steph, to Maria’s disappointment, who would have liked to hear more of the family’s take on the Rider.
Uncle Russell, on the phone with the police, was explaining where the shed was.
Maria didn’t have any more information to give, and the room was fuzzy without her glasses.
The family was arguing. Maria didn’t see any reason why they still needed her—she would have to give a statement when the police came, but for now, she might as well slip out.
Maybe she’d go down to the trout pond. If the police came, she’d see them coming.
It was almost dusk, the perfect time for people to sneak around unnoticed while still having enough light to see. Maria found a log by the pond and sat on it, her chin in her hands, looking out into the blurry distance. She really needed her glasses.
A black horse rode up from the other side of the trout pond.
Maria’s heart jumped. Hopefully that wasn’t the guy who burned the shed, hanging around, trying to get rid of his witness.
No, that was silly. An outlaw wouldn’t ride up where anybody could see him from the house.
It must be the Montana Rider. Maria got up.
“The guy got away,” the Rider said, dismounting and approaching Maria. “He had an ATV, and he went the opposite direction and down to the road. I lost the trail when he hit the pavement. But the fire’s out. The shed’s a loss.”
“Are you going to talk to the police?” Maria asked, squinting to try to make out the Montana Rider’s face.
“I need to be anonymous,” the Rider said. “You can tell the police everything they need.”
“Oh.” Maria hadn’t thought about that. If the police talked to the Montana Rider, they would want to know his identity. That would be awkward for an anonymous vigilante. Good thing the Lone Ranger hadn’t had to deal with that.
“Are you all right?” the Rider asked. His voice sounded strained. He was probably worrying about the ranch.