Showdown at Widow Creek Page 3

  “Yes, sir,” said Frank. He followed Lucky and Sarah back to the horses.

  Ned and Dusty grabbed a couple of straps each and strode over to Mr. Jackson and the Muellers. “Lots of things can happen on the trail, folks,” Dusty announced. “Today’s first lesson is a cowboy quick fix.”

  While the ranch hands took care of the paying guests, Wally dug a pocketknife out of his pocket and began to cut the cinches all the way through. “I’ll show you how to tie these back together. There are a couple of knots that should hold enough for us to get back to the ranch.”

  Wally showed me how to tie the knots; I watched him carefully, trying to mimic the same technique. But all the while, the question on my mind was the one no one had asked. So finally, I asked it. “Who would cut all the straps?”

  Wally stopped working. “I’ve been pondering the same question. I know Mike and Tim tried to steal Hondo, but why would they cut our cinches, too? It’s not like we’d chase them on horseback.”

  “That’s a good point,” I said. I untied my clumsy knot and tried again. “The motive isn’t clear.”

  “Motive?” Wally asked. “Like in a mystery?”

  “Well, sure,” I replied. “Every crime has a motive, such as money or revenge.”

  Wally grinned. “Sounds like you watch a lot of those true-crime shows.”

  “Not really,” I replied. “Well, I do, but that’s not why I know so much about mysteries. You see, my brother and I are kind of detectives.” I went on to give him the brief ­history of all things Hardy—from our retired detective father to the real reason why Chief Olaf volunteered us for the cattle drive.

  Wally Welch gave a hearty belly laugh, and the whole wagon shook. “You two must have been a real bur under his saddle for him to hold a grudge that long.”

  “If that means what I think it means, sir, then yes,” I said. “We’re not on the best of terms with the chief.”

  “Well, you seem okay in my book,” said Wally. “And if you boys can put your heads together and find out who’s behind this mess, I’d be much obliged.”

  “I’ll see what we can do,” I said with a smile of my own.

  Wait until I tell Frank, I thought. A cowboy vacation and a mystery!

  5

  ROUND ’EM UP

  FRANK

  I COULD FEEL IT IN the air. No, I could smell it. At the other end of the pasture, my brother was already trying to solve the mystery of the sabotaged cinch straps. We’re not twins, and we don’t have any kind of brotherly psychic link, but I could just tell.

  It was a no-brainer, really. Someone had cut the straps, but no one had had time to question it because the drive had to go on. But if I knew Joe Hardy, even injured, he’d already begun asking questions and creating a suspect list. I hated to admit it, but I was thinking the same thing.

  Of course, I would’ve been putting more thought into it if I wasn’t galloping after a wayward calf. The brown-and-white animal bawled for his mother as he ran into a grove of trees.

  “Wait here,” said Lucky. “I’ll go after him. And when he comes out, try to steer him toward the rest of the herd.”

  “You got it,” I said. I rode my horse into a gap leading to another open field and brought him to a stop. Harvey pawed at the ground with one hoof, anxious to continue the chase. “Whoa, boy,” I told him.

  Lucky rode into the trees after the calf. I heard twigs snap and the sounds of hooves on dry leaves. Then, a few moments later, the little calf bolted out of the tree line and ran straight for me. If he got past me and into the open clearing behind me, we’d be chasing him all day.

  I took off my hat and waved it over my head. “Hee-yah!” I shouted, trying to sound like the cowboys I’d seen in movies. The calf didn’t seem to care; he just kept coming, veering off to one side to get around me.

  I was about to kick Harvey into action. Oddly enough, I didn’t have to. The horse turned on his own, blocking the calf’s escape. This just caused the calf to slide to a stop and break around the other side. Harvey wasn’t having it. The horse sidestepped and blocked his path there as well. Harvey moved so quickly that I had to grab the saddle horn to keep from falling off. After one more thwarted attempt, the calf finally turned and ran in the opposite direction—luckily, where the rest of the herd was grazing.

  “Good job,” said Lucky as he rode out of the tree line. He ducked under a branch as he moved closer.

  “I wish I could take credit for it,” I told him. I patted my horse on the shoulder. “But this one was all Harvey.”

  Lucky smiled. “I guess I should’ve warned you. Harvey was a cutting horse in his prime.”

  “A cutting horse?” I asked.

  “That’s a horse that’s been trained to cut cows away from the rest of the herd,” Lucky explained. “The good ones can turn on a dime, blocking a cow as it tries to get past. A good cutting horse can match a cow’s movements, step for step.”

  I patted Harvey again. “So it came back to you just like riding a bike, huh, boy?”

  Lucky kicked his horse. “Come on. Let’s follow this one back to the herd and see if Sarah needs help.”

  We rode alongside each other while the calf walked ahead of us. Lucky explained more about cutting horses and mentioned that Harvey had won a few awards in his day.

  “And all with a name like Harvey,” I said.

  Lucky laughed. “You said it.”

  While I still had Lucky alone, I thought I’d lightly inquire about our cattle drive’s little mystery. “Weird thing about the cinch straps, huh?”

  Lucky shrugged. His smile faded, and he stared straight ahead. “Nothing weird about it. Someone cut ’em.”

  “Any idea who?” I asked.

  Lucky looked as if he was about to reply and then tightened his lips. After a moment, he shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Anyone who might have a grudge against Wally?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of,” he replied.

  Lucky changed the subject by pointing past me. “Looks like Sarah found a few.”

  Sarah rode behind three cows. A large brown-and-white one raised its head and bellowed deeply. Ahead of us, the calf perked up its ears and answered with a bawl of its own. It broke into a run, cutting over to the large cow, who was obviously its mother.

  “Help Sarah get those back to the herd,” Lucky instructed. “I’m going to do a head count.”

  Lucky rode ahead as I followed the calf toward Sarah’s group. When mother and calf were reunited, I steered Harvey to trot beside Sarah.

  “I’m hoping that’s all of them,” she said with a smile. “So, how do you like your first day?”

  “Interesting, to say the least,” I replied. “But Harvey did all the work.” I told her about his prowess herding the small calf.

  Sarah laughed. “Dusty didn’t tell you Harvey was a cutting horse before now? I should’ve warned you about those guys.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “They like to play pranks on the new ranch hands,” she explained. “Looks like you got off pretty lightly, though.”

  “The cut cinch straps weren’t a prank, were they?” I asked.

  Sarah shook her head, her expression darkening. “No, I think that was Mike and Tim.”

  “The ones who tried to steal your horse?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s them.”

  “Do they have a grudge against your father?”

  “Well, he did get on them a couple of times,” she explained. “For not doing their share of the work, things like that. It must be really bugging Lucky.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Because he’s the one who brought them in,” she replied. “Apparently, they were friends of his from way back when.”

  “Lucky said he didn’t know who cut the straps,” I told her.

  “He’s probably embarrassed,” said Sarah. “It doesn’t look good for Lucky if he wants to be the top ranch hand.”

  “I thoug
ht you were the top hand,” I said.

  “I am now,” she replied. “But someone has to take over when I go to college next year.”

  My eyes widened. “You’re going to college already?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’ll be seventeen next month. Besides, since I’m homeschooled, I finished my high school classes early. Which is good, since I want to be a veterinarian. That means eight years of college, so I want to start early.”

  “A vet, huh? Cool.”

  By that point we had arrived back at the herd. Lucky gave us a thumbs-up from the opposite side.

  “Looks like they’re all accounted for,” Sarah translated.

  We rode over to the chuck wagon to find the rest of the crew lining up for lunch.

  “You’re just in time,” said Wally. “Since we got waylaid a bit, might as well have an early lunch. Tie up your horses and grab a tray. I’m afraid it’s just going to be sandwiches for now, but I’ll make up for that at dinner.”

  I didn’t see my brother. “Where’s Joe?”

  “I’m here,” came his voice from the back of the chuck wagon.

  I climbed off my horse and walked over to peek in the back, where Joe sat tying knots in one of the cinch straps.

  “I wanted to finish this first,” he said. “Of course, everyone else repaired two or three each and this is my first and only one, but it’s the thought that counts.”

  Yep, that was my stubborn brother.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Sore, but I’ll live,” he replied. He looked up from his work and grinned. “But who cares? We have a mystery to solve, bro!”

  Yes, I had called it.

  6

  SCOUTING PARTY

  JOE

  I RAISED MY HANDS HIGH as a lasso wrapped around my body. “I surrender! Don’t plug me, partner!”

  Everyone laughed but Frank. After all, he was the one who had thrown the lasso. He was supposed to be aiming for a plastic cow’s head that was attached to a wooden sawhorse. It was also a good ten feet away from me.

  “Sorry,” said Frank.

  I slipped the rope off over my head as he reeled it in. “I thought I’d be safe way over here.”

  “You just released it a tad too soon,” Sarah explained. “Here, let me show you again.” She prepared her own lariat and then swung the open loop above her head. “Remember, keep rotating your wrist.”

  Sarah swung the rope two more times before letting it fly. The looped lasso sailed over the fake calf nearby and encircled its head. Sarah pulled back, tightening the noose around its neck.

  She removed the rope from the target and stepped back. “Okay, try again.”

  After lunch, while Lucky and the other hands tended the herd, Sarah had stayed behind to teach everyone how to throw a lasso. The Muellers had done a pretty good job their first time out. Mr. Jackson and I even nailed it the first time. Mr. Jackson had claimed beginner’s luck, but I knew I had an unfair advantage: I’d been a lifeguard for three summers in a row. We’d practiced how to throw a lifeline to a drowning victim all the time. It wasn’t a lasso, but it was close.

  On the other hand, Frank hadn’t been so skillful. Not only did he miss the target on the first two tries, but on the third, he lassoed his only brother. At first I thought it would kill him to be failing so miserably in front of such a pretty girl. But he didn’t seem to mind—not even my gentle ribbing. Come to think of it, his clumsiness was getting him some extra attention. Could he be faking it to be teacher’s pet? Nah. That seemed more like something I’d do.

  Frank tried a fourth time, spinning the rope over his head and letting it fly. He didn’t quite lasso the calf’s head, but he came close. The rope landed on the back of the sawhorse.

  “Much better,” said Sarah.

  “Thanks,” Frank replied.

  Wally closed a wooden panel on the chuck wagon and sauntered over. “Sorry, you’ll have to practice later, Frank. It’s time to move ’em out.”

  Sarah patted Frank on the shoulder. “Tomorrow we’ll try it on horseback.”

  “I’ll be riding on the other side of the herd for that one,” I said with a grin.

  After a sore morning, I took some ibuprofen, which made my hip feel better enough to ride. Everyone climbed back onto their horses, Sarah directing us into position, and we got the herd moving. Wally and the chuck wagon brought up the rear, while the riders surrounded the herd and guided them across the open property.

  The rest of the afternoon went more smoothly. We drove the herd across open pastures, through gaps in wooded areas, and over large hills. Soundtracks from some of my favorite westerns played in my mind as I rode my horse. I cycled through the themes from Rio Bravo, Rio Lobo, Rio Grande —all the John Wayne Rios.

  It would’ve felt cooler if my horse wasn’t named Norman. I passed the time thinking of better horse names.

  As I was debating between Apache and Buckshot, Frank rode up behind me. “How’s it going, Tex?”

  “Tex,” I repeated. “That’s a good one.”

  Frank gave me a puzzled look. “What’s a good one?”

  “Never mind.” I shook my head. “Is this cool, or what?”

  “I’m getting used to it,” Frank replied. “I wouldn’t choose this for a career, but it’s fun for a weekend.”

  I thumped the brim of my cowboy hat. “I’ve always wanted to be a cowboy.”

  “My brother the dreamer,” Frank said. “You know, if we were sentenced to a weekend at space camp, you’d say that you’d always wanted to be an astronaut.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “What can I say? It’s good to keep your options open.”

  Frank glanced across the herd at Sarah. “I did want to get to know Sarah better, though. That’s been cool.”

  “And?” I prodded.

  Frank shrugged. “She’s great. But I’m not asking her out, if that’s what you’re digging for.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked. “Getting cold feet?”

  “It’s not that. I just don’t think she has time for dating,” he explained. He told me about her plans to attend college early to be a vet.

  I glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot. “Wouldn’t that leave Lucky as the new top ranch hand?”

  Frank lowered his voice. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I think so.” I lowered my voice too.

  Frank told me what Sarah had said about how Lucky had brought in Mike and Tim in the first place.

  “If Lucky’s working with them, then he could’ve been the one to cut the straps,” I said.

  Frank shook his head. “But I don’t see why he’d want to do that if he wants to be top hand.”

  “Maybe so he can swoop in and save the day? Look like a hero?” I suggested. Then I shook my head. “No, that doesn’t make sense either.”

  “Yeah, right now it’s just guilt by association,” Frank pointed out. “And whoever’s to blame, the motive isn’t clear.”

  “That’s what I told Wally,” I said. “He did ask us to help him figure it out if we could.”

  “So we’re officially on the case?” Frank asked.

  “Well, more like unofficially officially,” I replied.

  “I think we’ll have plenty of time to think it over before we get to the Welch ranch,” Frank said. “In the meantime, Sarah asked that I take your place here while you take Mr. Jackson’s place at the head of the herd.”

  “Cool,” I replied. “We’ll chat more later.”

  I gave Norman a gentle kick, and he loped alongside the herd. The theme from Clint Eastwood’s A Fistful of Dollars played in my head as I passed the bellowing cattle, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  When I reached the front of the herd, I pulled up alongside Sarah and Dusty.

  “There you are!” said Dusty. “I thought we were going to have to send a search party.”

  “Ride up front with us for a while, Joe,” Sarah said. “I want everyone to get to work differ
ent aspects of the drive.”

  I adjusted my hat. “So what do we do up here?”

  “Lead the way, stay ahead of the herd, and don’t get lost,” replied Sarah.

  “Sure beats riding drag.” Dusty grinned and jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Back there, the scenery never changes.”

  I knew that firsthand. Bringing up the rear on a cattle drive was fun at first, but Dusty was right. You spend your time looking at cow butts.

  “Bigger cattle drives would send a rider up ahead to scout the land first,” Sarah explained.

  “That sounds like fun,” I said. I envisioned myself the lone rider looking for trouble on the western plains. “Want me to go?”

  Sarah laughed. “Sure, if you know the way to the ranch.”

  My face fell. “I don’t.”

  “We don’t usually send out a scout on the way back,” Sarah explained. “We did when we drove the cattle to Bayport, to make sure the path was clear of any downed trees or other obstacles. But it was smooth sailing.”

  “All right.” I sat taller in the saddle. “But next time I’m your guy.”

  Sarah laughed. “Tell you what . . . go ahead. Just beyond the hill, you’ll come to a small, shallow creek. You should see a gap in the trees where we’ll cross.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I tipped my hat and kicked Norman’s sides. The horse broke into a trot and moved ahead of the herd. When we were far enough away, I gave him another gentle kick. He responded at once by breaking into a smooth gallop.

  “This is what I’m talking about,” I said as the theme to The Magnificent Seven blared in my brain.

  I rode up the small hill and stopped at the top. A gradual slope spread out before me. It ended at a line of trees snaking through the open pasture. That had to be where the creek was. I spotted a small opening in the trees and urged Norman forward, steering him toward the gap.

  As we approached, I heard a sound competing with the thump of Norman’s hoofbeats. It sounded like white noise, like a fan blowing, the ocean surf, or . . . running water. When I closed in on the creek, I saw the source of the sound. The small creek Sarah mentioned—it looked more like a raging river.