Killing Halfbreed (9 page)

She also liked his shyness.  She’d had quite enough of boisterous men on her father's ranch, thank you very much, making fools of themselves to get her attention.  Henry seemed sweet, like the kind of boy she could trust, not one she’d have to be careful around.

"Why, I was driving a team into town, and one of the lead mares threw a shoe.  Would you have a minute to fix it for me?"

So polite, so refined.  Way out of his league.  He was crazy to even think about courting her.  What would a beautiful, wealthy girl like her see in a lowly stable boy like him? 

He couldn't approach her, not with a hostler's calluses on his hands.  She was used to being provided for in a much richer way.  He might get up the courage to speak to her one day.  Maybe if he could make his mark on the world first somehow.  Until then, he only dared dream.

"Sure, Miss Logan.  Be happy to.  Let me drive them in the barn and I'll have it fixed right up for you."

Jinny dreamed he would ask her on a picnic one day, or a ride around town, or something even more romantic.  She didn't quite know how to prod him into it without seeming forward.  As is the frustration of many a young girl, she’d have to be patient and let him make the first move.

As he drove her team toward the barn, her eyes traced the movements of the taut muscles in his tanned arms.  She hoped he wouldn't wait too long.

***

Ben's cattle had disappeared with him and Jessica.  I'd covertly visited all three of the other ranches, but couldn’t find any cattle marked by Ben's brand.

It was another confusing mystery to solve.  From his letters, I knew Ben had had at least a couple hundred head.  The Big Three had all complained of cattle rustling. 
So,
where were all the missing cattle going?

You can't easily hide that many animals.  When I'd first arrived at Ben's ranch house over a year ago, a few strays with his brand had still roamed the property.  Now, there were none.  I'd searched every nook and cranny of the spread, but no luck.

Obviously, Ben's ranch was being rustled too, and in my brother's absence, the rustlers had actually made off with his entire stock.  They had to be hiding the cows somewhere nearby.  I had to find out who and where they were.

Finding the rustlers was my only hope.  I wanted to clear my brother's name —  and
my own too for that matter.  Not to mention, if I didn’t stop them, it’d only be a matter of time before they also got off with the tiny herd I’d just spent months building.

***

Carlton Andrews was the president and sole owner of the Bank of Jackson County, located in Cottonwood, New Mexico.  He was a portly man who fit the general stereotype of a banker fairly well.  He wore smallish spectacles whenever he had to read something, which was most of the time in a working day.  His suits were of fine quality, as well as his house, which was just off Main Street.  He was the wealthiest man in the area, excluding the Big Three.

However, most of the ranchers’ wealth was tied up in stock, land, and other assets.  His was in accessible cash.  His bank financed their projects, so while on paper they had more, in reality, their labor made Andrews wealthy.

He genuinely liked the people of Cottonwood.  He had from the first moment he'd arrived to set up shop.  He was not the pretentious or arrogant sort, so he got along well with most and felt they were his friends.  Still, to be successful in banking, one had to project an image of importance and wealth at all times.  To do otherwise would invite a lack of confidence, even if it set one apart from the normal citizenry or spawned envy.

The morning had been uneventful so far.  Most of his job entailed reviewing the books, moving the money the citizenry had on deposit around on paper among different investment enterprises as needed.  A banker makes his living on interest gleaned from other people’s money.

When Jacob Talbot disturbed his otherwise excellent and peaceful morning by walking through his front door, he was quietly sipping his coffee and enjoying the local paper.

A jolt of apprehension ran through him.  He didn't know Talbot very well.  He'd only spoken to the man a couple of times, but Andrews was on the town council, and he'd been directly involved in the decision to hang Miller in Talbot's place. The whole event had left a bad taste in Andrews’ mouth, one that just wouldn't seem to go away.  Talbot's reappearance could only make things worse and complicate an already very sticky situation.  No, this was not good at all.  He would have very much preferred to have never seen that man again.

Regardless, Talbot was here now, and a good business man always knows how to deal with a situation when it arises, not bury his head in the sand.

"Mr. Talbot!  It is
indeed
a surprise to see you back in town, I must say, but what can I do for you?"

He'd stood and extended his hand to Jake in welcome.  Talbot had a cool manner about him that left no doubt as to his confidence in his own abilities.  If they had met as adversaries on the street in a physical duel, Carlton would have been terrified, but here they met on
his turf
, in his business, which was an environment where he felt supremely confident.  In business, all were adversaries.

Jake sat down warily and studied the banker.  "Most people in this town hate me, Andrews.  I take it you feel the same?"

"In fact, I do not. Tom Logan was an acquaintance of mine, and while I felt a slight camaraderie with him, I do not expend my resources on ventures of a personal nature which do not pertain to business.  While his passing was unfortunate, as long as his ranch continues in operation, the bank is happy.  Neither his death, nor your incarceration were of great import in the scheme of things."

"That's cold."

"That, coming from the man who killed him, is ironic," He replied dryly.  Carlton had lied about his friendship with Tom.  They'd actually been good friends, and he'd greatly mourned his friend's death.  Nothing would have pleased him more than to have hung Talbot and been done with it, but the situation hadn't allowed it.

He couldn't afford to let people see him as a friend or a man of emotion regardless of who they were, or before you knew it they would be knocking down the door, begging for mercy on their mortgages and such.  No, he had to maintain an image of cool impartiality.  Showing concern or emotion could only lead your adversaries to your weakness.

"Well, what can I help you with, Mr. Talbot?  I take it you’re here on business."

"You're on the town council aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I was hoping you could fill me in as to what happened that day they let me go and hung that other man in my place.  I don't even know who he was, much less why they hung him and let me go."

Carlton shook his head sympathetically.

"Talbot, I'm sorry, but I just don't feel at liberty to discuss that with you.  If one of the other members of the council chooses to, that's their business.  For me, that case is closed, and reopening it can only cause further pain.  Again, I apologize for not being able to assuage your fears, but it is a very personal matter for that young man."

"It’s a very personal matter for me!"

"May be, but that does not change my position.  Was there anything else I can help you with?"

I couldn't believe the callousness of the man.  I sighed, resigning myself to the idea I wouldn’t be getting any information from him.  He obviously wasn't going to budge.  I’d have to find somebody else.

"Yes, I wanted to ask you what, if anything, you might know about my brother's ranch, his disappearance, or the cattle rustling that's going on?"

The banker smiled noncommittally, "I'm sorry, I know there's been rustling going on at all three of the ranches..."

"Four."

"Excuse me?"

"There was rustling going on at all four of the ranches, my brother's too."

"Well, as I was saying, I know there's been rustling occurring, but I have no idea as to who's behind it.  The word around town says your brother was the one perpetrating it, but I don't like to judge based on rumors, you know.  In my business, I learned a long time ago to deal only with facts.  I must tell you though, the facts of the situation do seem to point toward your brother."

"My brother was no rustler."  My eyes thinned in annoyance.

"Maybe, but the rustling did start up about the time he came to the area.  Aside from that, he owed this bank a firm mortgage on his property, and he was having trouble paying.  I gave him all the grace I could, but when he disappeared, I'd been just about ready to foreclose.  I figured he simply took his herd and left town to keep me from collecting.”

"You don't know beans about my brother then!  Ben had more honor than that!" 
Ben had more honor than that?
 I was starting to talk about Ben in the past tense as if I were sure he was dead.  I couldn't allow myself to give up like that.

"Do you have a copy of this mortgage document?"

"Why sure, it's in one of the files somewhere.  I'll have to dig it out and show it to you later."

I leaned forward and stared him straight in the eye.  "Andrews, let me be plain.  I don’t believe there ever was such a mortgage.  Seems like a mighty easy thing to claim when the man ain't here to defend himself.  I happen to know Ben came out here with a large amount of savings he intended to use to buy land and stock.  He did both, and he would have had more than enough to tide him over while he got started. Why would he need a mortgage?"

"I don't know why, and I don't think I approve of what you're insinuating, Talbot.  I will produce the document shortly and you may inspect it to your heart's content."

"Well, until you do, I'm claiming that ranch as my rightful property, at least until my brother is found.  I’m going to rebuild it for him, and I don’t want no interference."

"No objections here.  Having that ranch be profitable would of course be more beneficial to me than empty land.  If you wish, I can give you an extra grace period to get things off the ground before I start requiring payment."

"You're not getting a dime out of me, Andrews, until you produce that document showing my brother signed away his rights!"  Standing up abruptly, I turned for the door.  This had been a waste of time.

Behind me, the portly financial agent called out, "I'll bring it by soon, Talbot.  In the meantime, good luck to you!”

***

After Talbot left, the banker took a handkerchief from his desk and blotted drops of sweat from his forehead.

That had been close.

Carlton was impressed with himself that he'd been able to invent the deal about the mortgage on the spot like that.  Now, he'd have to come up with the fictional document and make it look real.

It’d been quite a risk, but that property was too valuable to let some upstart take it over without any investment on his part.  There was too much to lose.  And if forgery didn't work, there was always Plan B.

    
Meeting with the banker had not only been a waste of time, but had complicated matters even further.  I had very little doubt that Andrews was inventing the whole mortgage deal.  I knew my brother not only wouldn't have needed to go into debt, he would have been dead set against it, even if the need had been there.  We Halfbreeds had been raised to never be indebted to another man.

I’d wait and see if he produced some document substantiating his claim.  I could be wrong, couldn't know for sure, but it’d have to be well-proven to me before I could believe it.  Instinct told me this was just some desperate money grab on his part.

Once again, I found myself facing a dead end, not knowing which way to go.  The sheriff would never see me, and there probably weren't many other people in town who would either.  So, I turned to every man's last resort, the bartender.

I remembered Red Jenkins had pulled a shotgun on me when I'd shot Tom.  I also remembered him as being a fair and decent sort, not one to choose sides in an argument.  I might be able to count on him for information.  If not, I'd better watch my words because I’d bet my last dollar he still had that shotgun out of sight behind the bar.

Red kept pretty much to himself, but most people held a favorable opinion of him.  For some reason, I felt like he might be a person I could trust.

I walked into the saloon and approached the bar.  Red seemed surprised to see me, but quickly got over his shock, and reverted back to service mode.

One look at Red, and his Irish heritage was instantly apparent.  He had a bushel of bright, cardinal-red hair that resembled an untamable mop and was the source of his generic nickname.  His longish sideburns ran halfway down his jaw.

He wore dark grey slacks and a matching vest, which sported a gold watch chain linking two pockets and presumably ended with the watch itself.

The bridge of his nose was crooked.  I'd heard he'd broken it several times in pugilist matches.  A lot of Irish were boxers, and he was no exception.  No one in Cottonwood had ever seen him fight, but he was rumored to be pretty good.