Showdown at Widow Creek Read online

  “I—uh—” Frank stammered.

  I couldn’t believe what a great opportunity this was. As a huge fan of old western movies, I’d jump at the chance to play cowboy and pretend to drive a herd of cattle across the country. Heck, I’d pay for it. “We’d have to ask our parents,” I said. “But count us in!”

  Frank’s brow furrowed. “Um . . .”

  “Well, if it’s all right with them, we can have you back in Bayport by Sunday afternoon,” Welch said.

  “You’ll also be doing me a favor, Mr. Welch,” Olaf explained. “A weekend without the Hardy boys will give me one less thing to worry about.” He turned and walked toward the parking lot.

  Sarah nudged Frank. “In trouble with the law, huh? You’ll have to tell me about that during the trip.” She smiled and led Hondo away.

  While the crowd dispersed, I leaned close to my older brother. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  Frank shook his head. “I feel like the cowboy who has been run out of town by the local sheriff.”

  3

  MOVE ’EM OUT

  FRANK

  A LITTLE AFTER EIGHT THAT night, with a trunk full of camping gear and extra clothes, I pulled out of our driveway and drove back to the stadium. The plan was to camp there for the night before heading out first thing in the morning. Of course our parents gave us permission. Joe had promised (for both of us, I might add) that we’d double up on our chores the following weekend.

  “This is going to be so cool, bro,” Joe said from the passenger seat. “A real cattle drive.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yeah.”

  Okay, I had to admit that I was more excited than I was letting on. It wasn’t every day that we got the opportunity to get a small taste of what it was like to live as a cowboy. I could even see why some people paid for the opportunity. I guess it weirded me out that we had been bullied into it by the chief of police.

  “Hey, you wanted to meet Sarah.” Joe threw up his hands “And now you get to hang out with her for the entire weekend.”

  “True,” I agreed. “As long as I don’t fall off my horse in front of her.” I glanced over at him. “Summer camp was a long time ago.”

  Joe waved me away. “It’ll be just like riding a bike.”

  “Sure,” I replied. “A bike with a mind of its own that can buck you off whenever it feels like it.”

  We pulled into the empty stadium parking lot and parked near an open meadow on the side. That seemed to be where we would camp for the night. A few campfires lit small groups of people sitting around them. Nearby was a covered wagon and a row of horses tied to a rope that ran between two stakes driven into the ground.

  We got out of the car and I popped the trunk. While Joe and I pulled our packs out, two figures left one of the campfires and walked over to us.

  “Glad you could make it,” said Wally Welch.

  Sarah smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  “We wouldn’t miss this, Mr. Welch,” said Joe.

  “You’re official ranch hands now,” he replied. “Call me Wally like everyone else.”

  Sarah waved us over. “Come on. We’ll show you where to stow your gear.”

  She and Wally led us to the covered wagon, and we heaved our packs over the side.

  “Go ahead and stow your car keys, son,” Wally suggested. “You don’t want to lose them on the trail.”

  “Good idea.” I zipped up my keys into one of my pack’s side pockets.

  “And your cell phones,” added Sarah.

  Joe’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

  Wally grinned. “We do our best to be as authentic as possible. We can’t have the latest pop song ringtone stirring up the herd.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. “And no texting while cattle driving.”

  I couldn’t help but smile as I pulled out my phone and powered it down. Joe did the same. I knew that my brother would feel naked without his phone. But hey, he wanted to see what life was like in the Old West.

  I opened the top of my pack. “We brought sleeping bags,” I said. “Where are we camping?”

  “No need for those, Frank,” Wally said. “We’ll bring them along in case there’s a cold snap, but if the weather’s nice, we’ll bunk down just like the cowboys did back in the day.”

  Now it was my turn to feel a bit uneasy. I didn’t know what the sleeping arrangements would be, but I bet not as comfy as my down-filled sleeping bag.

  After stowing our gear, Wally and Sarah led us to one of the dwindling campfires. It looked as if everyone had just turned in for the night—the other two campfires had dark shapes lying next to them. As we approached the third fire, two figures stood and joined us in the firelight.

  “This is Ned and Dusty,” said Wally. “Boys, this is Frank and Joe Hardy. They’re here to help us drive the cattle back to the ranch.”

  Ned was a short, stocky man with black hair and a dark, bushy beard. “Good to meet you,” he said as he shook our hands.

  Dusty must have gotten his name from his mop of dirty blond hair. He was a foot taller than Ned and wore denim overalls. A toothpick jutted from the corner of his mouth. “We got your bunks all laid out.” He pointed to two blankets spread out beside the campfire.

  The old, thin blankets looked as if they came from an army surplus store—Confederate Army, maybe. Instead of a pillow, each spread was topped with an old saddle.

  I pointed to the blankets. “This is us?”

  Wally slapped me on the back. “Get some shut-eye, boys. We pull out at first light.”

  “Good night,” said Sarah. “And thanks again.” She followed her father out of the firelight.

  I don’t know if Sarah was thanking us for saving her horse or for helping with the cattle drive. Either way, my mind was with my soft bed back at home.

  Ned and Dusty stretched out on their nearby blankets. “It may not seem like much now,” said Ned. “But after a day on a cattle drive, this is going to seem like a five-star hotel.”

  “That’s the truth,” agreed Dusty.

  Joe and I took our places next to the campfire. I propped myself up on one elbow and watched as Joe tried to get comfortable on the hard ground. “Still living the dream?” I asked.

  Joe adjusted the saddle under his head. “What’s not to like?”

  I lay back on the saddle and shifted enough that I hoped I wouldn’t wake with a stiff neck. I looked up at the sky. A few stars winked above. Wally was right. The weather was warm and breezy, and it was a perfect night to sleep under the stars. It wasn’t the first time that my brother and I had been camping without a tent. However, when I finally drifted to sleep, I dreamed of my sleeping bag just a few feet away in the covered wagon.

  “Rise and shine!” said a voice in my dream as a rude clanking noise sounded nearby.

  My eyes popped open. Wally strolled through the camp, clanking a spoon against a blackened coffeepot.

  “It’s still dark,” Joe said as he rubbed his eyes. “Didn’t we just go to sleep?”

  “Nope,” replied Dusty as he tied his rolled blanket to the back of his saddle. “It just seems like it.”

  “I thought we were getting up at first light,” I said.

  “Wally said we’re heading out at first light,” said Ned. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “And first light is coming up fast.”

  As my eyes adjusted, I saw that it wasn’t as dark as I had thought. The sky was indeed lighter in the east.

  Ned and Dusty showed us how to roll up our blankets and attach them to the back of our saddles. After that, they introduced us to our companions for the weekend—our horses.

  Ned pointed to a brown horse with patches of white on his feet. “Frank, this’ll be your horse—and he’s a good one. This is Harvey.”

  “Harvey?” asked Joe.

  “That’s right,” replied Dusty. He removed his toothpick and pointed to the tan horse next to him. “This one’s yours. Meet Norman.”

  “Norman?” Joe repeated. “
I thought cowboy horses were supposed to have cool names like Trigger, Silver, or Blaze.”

  Dusty returned the toothpick to his mouth and pretended to cover Norman’s ears. “Hush, now. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  Ned smiled. “Yeah, you run a ranch for so long, you kind of go through those kinds of names quick.”

  After Joe and I got a crash course in saddling our horses, we joined everyone at the chuck wagon for a quick breakfast.

  “How’d you sleep?” asked Sarah. She handed us each a metal plate full of bacon and eggs.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Just great.”

  Sarah smiled. “You’ll get used to it.”

  During breakfast, we ran into the three people who’d paid to be a part of the cattle drive. There was Mr. and Mrs. Mueller, who had just moved to Bayport from New York. And then there was Tom Jackson, whom we already knew. He was the assistant manager at the H&T grocery store in town.

  After breakfast we were issued genuine cowboy boots, hats, and a couple of bandannas.

  I held up mine. “We’re not going to rob a stagecoach on the way, are we?”

  Wally laughed. “No, but it keeps the sun off your neck, the dust out of your nose, and the sweat off your brow. Think of it as the cowboy Swiss army knife.”

  “What about our six-shooters?” Joe asked. He mimed a quick draw.

  Wally rolled his eyes. “Contrary to what Hollywood tells you, the average cowboy doesn’t ride with a gun on cattle drives. Unless, of course, they are traveling through hostile territory, which, I assure you, we are not.”

  Once we were fully equipped, we got a quick riding lesson. There, we met the third ranch hand who would be accompanying us on the drive. It was Lucky, the man Joe and I had met the night before. He eyed his students from under a dusty black hat. The bright white hat from the night before must’ve been just for show.

  “Now, don’t be timid,” he instructed. “These horses are all well trained. But if they think you’re a pushover, they will take advantage of you.” A smile spread under his handlebar mustache. “A little slow to get going here, stopping to graze there, and pretty soon, they’ll want to ride you.” Everyone laughed. “All right, let’s do a few laps around camp.”

  It wasn’t quite like riding a bike, but most of it did come back to me. The only thing I forgot was to stand up in the stirrups when the horse broke into a trot. This was to keep my seat from slapping against the saddle. But a little pain helped me remember right away.

  Joe, on the other hand, was a natural. He wore a wide grin as Norman broke into a trot beneath him.

  When we were almost finished, Sarah rode up on Hondo. “How does everyone feel?”

  “Raring to go,” Joe replied.

  “Good,” she said. “Because it’s time to move ’em out.”

  Once everyone was in position, the ranch hands opened a large pen and the cattle filed out. There were about one hundred of them, and twenty riders total. The ten extra cowboys were there just to help us get out of Bayport. Later, they would ride back to the stadium, break down all the equipment, and head to the next town. Apparently the ten of us would be more than enough to drive the herd back to the ranch.

  With a couple of police cars diverting traffic, we drove the cattle out of Bayport along less-used side streets. I’m sure we made for quite a sight. And Joe and I had front-row seats . . . or back-row seats. We brought up the rear with only the chuck wagon rolling behind us, driven by Wally and pulled by a pair of mules.

  With the extra cowboys keeping the herd in the center of the streets, we slowly made our way through less and less populated areas. Soon we were traveling down a two-lane blacktop in a more rural area just outside of town.

  As we traveled farther, Sarah and Hondo waited on the shoulder, then fell into step beside us.

  “How do you like riding drag?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “Riding behind the herd,” she explained. “All the greenhorns start out riding drag.”

  Joe jutted a thumb to himself and then to me. “That’s us. We’re the greenhorns.”

  “Why do we—the greenhorns—start in the back?” I asked.

  “Because you don’t have to do much, to be honest,” she said. “Just drive the stragglers forward. But on a real cattle drive, riding across the dry plains, the back is the dustiest place to be.”

  “Not to mention the land mines that the cows leave behind,” Joe added.

  Sarah laughed. “There is that, for sure. But don’t worry. We’re almost to the good part.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked.

  “We’re about to reach the first ranch,” she explained. “From here on out, we cut through different ranches until we get to ours. That way we’ll be off the streets so it’ll feel more like a real cattle drive.”

  “Cool,” said Joe.

  True to her word, we rounded a bend and saw the cattle file through an open gate. The cows immediately spread out and began grazing on the lush grass.

  Once we were all through, including the wagon, Dusty closed the gate and waved at the departing ranch hands, who turned and rode back toward town.

  “Now, this is more like it,” said Joe.

  It was pretty cool. It wasn’t quite the open plains, but the large pasture made it seem like we were in cattle country.

  Joe nudged the sides of his horse. He held out his hat as his mount broke into a trot.

  Then the horse began to buck. Joe dropped his hat and held on to the saddle horn with both hands. The horse bucked even more, and Joe flew off the horse!

  4

  HOLD YOUR HORSES

  JOE

  ONE MOMENT I’M CLINT EASTWOOD, riding across the open prairie, and the next I’m Joe Hardy, flying off the back of my horse.

  Okay, so it didn’t happen as fast as that. I kicked Norman into a trot, and then a lope, when I felt a pop vibrate through the saddle. Norman must not have liked it, because he began to buck. That’s when I experienced the whole flying-off-my-horse thing. Not so fun.

  I hit the ground hard, landing on my hip. Even though the pain was agonizing, I was aware of my situation well enough to roll away from the jumping horse. Norman bucked his way into the grazing herd of cattle. His saddle slid to his side with only the chest straps and belly strap holding it in place. Those straps didn’t hold for long, though. Norman moved around so much that the thin straps snapped and the horse trampled the saddle under his hooves. The saddle and blanket stayed on the ground while the horse bucked away. He kicked a few more times before coming to a stop.

  As I lay on the ground moaning, I heard galloping hooves approach. Sarah and Frank rode up to where I’d fallen. They slid off their horses and bent over me.

  “Joe, are you all right?” asked Frank.

  “Hang on!” I ordered. “Don’t touch me.” I waited for the throbbing in my hip to subside.

  Sarah walked over to my saddle, then examined it. “The cinch broke,” she reported.

  The cinch was the main strap keeping the saddle on the back of a horse. Only the worst thing to break.

  “Hopefully that’s all that’s broken,” I grunted. The throbbing eased a bit, and I reached toward my brother. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Don’t just stand there; help me up.”

  Frank helped me to my feet. I rubbed my sore hip.

  “Think you broke anything?” Frank asked.

  I shook my head. “But there’s going to be a whopper of a bruise.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Sarah. She unbuckled the cinch and examined it more closely. “This didn’t break on its own. Someone cut it.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Sarah dropped the strap and raised her arms. “Everyone stop where you are,” she ordered. “Lucky! Check everyone’s cinch straps.”

  “You got it,” Lucky replied. He slid off his horse and began ducking under the other riders’ horses.

  Wally pulled the chuck wagon close. “Frank, get Joe to the back of the
wagon,” he said. “Then help Lucky check those straps, starting with yours.”

  “I can make it the rest of the way,” I told my brother. “Go on and help.”

  He stared at me with worry in his eyes. “You sure?”

  I smiled. “I’m fine, bro.”

  I limped to the back of the wagon, wincing in pain as I climbed in. It was a good thing Frank wasn’t around to see that; I’d never get rid of him.

  Wally climbed out of the driver’s seat and joined me. “How do you feel, son? Think you broke anything?”

  Why did everybody keep asking me that? Now I wasn’t so sure.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, twisting at the waist.

  Wally chuckled. “Well, if you did, you wouldn’t be able to do that without screaming like a bobcat. Though I’ll wager you’ll be stiff as blazes tomorrow.”

  Sarah, Frank, and the other ranch hands strode over to us. They each dropped a cinch strap into the back of the wagon.

  “Every last one of them is cut,” said Lucky. He picked up one of the straps and pointed. Each strap was made from several rows of small, soft rope. Lucky pointed out a thin cut crossing all the strands; each rope was almost sliced in half. “I’m surprised it took this long for one to go,” he added.

  “Every one is cut but mine and Lucky’s,” said Sarah. “We both have solid straps.”

  “There’s a feed store about five miles from here,” Lucky said. “I can ride over there and get us some more straps.”

  Wally tightened his lips and shook his head. “No, that’ll put us too far behind schedule.” He opened a nearby wooden crate and pulled out another cinch, looking it over before tossing it to my brother. “Frank, re-saddle your horse, then help Sarah and Lucky round up the cattle.”

  Frank glanced at Ned and Dusty. “Wouldn’t someone with more experience be better for that?”

  Wally smiled. “Fine. What’s your experience repairing cinch straps?”

  Frank shook his head. “None.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Wally. “The boys will stay here and help with that while you get some on-the-job training rounding up strays. Less of a learning curve in that department.”