Chapter Ten

The rooster from one of the neighboring farms woke Rex just as the sun peeked over the horizon. He emerged from the hayloft and joined the cowhands at the makeshift breakfast table.

Hot coffee brewed in a soot-stained pot, tin plates were heaped with cornbread, and a fire snapped and popped in the pit. Men with greasy fingers and weather-beaten faces sat drinking coffee from bent enamel cups. They talked in low voices about the news from the surrounding ranches.

“Morning, boss.” Hank Denton, an elder hand with a grizzled chin and deep wrinkles around his eyes, spat into the dirt before moving over to offer Rex a seat on the bench. A chorus of muffled greetings joined in the air from the five men seated around the table.

“Morning.” Rex wiped away the sleep from his eyes. “Pass the coffee?”

Someone placed a steaming mug in front of him, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled his nose. He took a tentative sip, trying not to grimace at the bold, bitter taste on his tongue. He could feel the gritty grounds slipping between his teeth as he swallowed.

“Goody made the coffee this morning,” one man piped up.

“That explains it then,” Rex laughed, taking another tentative sip, trying to ignore the gritty texture of the coffee grounds on his tongue.

“Hey boss,” Soapy Schmit piped up. He received his nickname because the men were sure he only bathed once a year. “Heard that the Picketts lost a dozen cows and two horses.”

The news hit Rex with a weighty thud. “Really?” The Picketts were three ranches over, a hefty ride even on a fast horse. They were good people, hardworking and honest. “Disease or rustlers?”

“Rustlers,” Hank said, spitting another wad of tobacco into the dirt. “Nate Pickett caught ‘em red-handed but couldn’t do anything. He’s just a kid.”

A murmur of dissent rolled around the table as Rex’s mind raced. “Any idea who they were?”

“Naw,” Soapy shrugged, shoveling in a spoonful of scrambled eggs. “But it ain’t the first time this month.”

“Funny enough,” Goody said, placing a plate filled with eggs, beans, and a few slices of burned bacon in front of Rex, “Nate thought one man looked like Whit.”

Rex nearly fell from the bench. “Whit?” he spluttered, coffee splashing onto the dirt. “Our Whit?”

“Doubt it’s another one,” Hank grumbled. He picked up his mug and slugged back the remaining contents. “Can’t be too many Whit Hartmans ‘round these parts.”

Rex’s mind raced. His own brother, stealing from hard-working folks like the Picketts? It didn’t add up. Whit was a bit of a rogue, sure, but he was no rustler.

“Where’d this hearsay come from?” Rex asked, pushing away his untouched plate of food.

“Townsfolk,” Soapy replied. “One of the Chapmans’ hands heard it at Miss Marcy’s. Can’t believe Whit would do something like that.”

Getting up, he looked at the men sitting around the table. “He didn’t. You will not breathe of word of this to Annamae, you hear me? Or anyone else. If I find out that any one of my men is gossiping about this, you’re done. I’ll make sure you won’t find work at another ranch from here to...” He had to think for a moment. “From here to Silver Creek.”

“Got it boss,” Hank said. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

“I’m glad you told me. Just don’t talk about it again.”

He strolled past stalls filled with snorting horses until he came to his favorite horse. The chestnut stallion, nicknamed Cactus for his prickly attitude as a young foal, had grown into one of the swiftest horses on the ranch. He saddled the horse, then shrugged into his worn duster and led Cactus outside. The men were standing next to the barn as Rex mounted the horse and urged it towards town.

On the ride to town, his mind was preoccupied with many things. Tillie. Whit. The news the men shared at breakfast. Tillie, again.

He hoped he could get some answers. He’d start by talking to Hiram, because he knew the stable master was up early to take care of the horses entrusted to him.

Instead of taking the main road, Rex made his way towards the livery from the back. As he got closer, he saw two figures standing near the outhouses behind the store. They seemed to be engaged in a heated discussion. The store wasn’t open yet, so they couldn’t be unloading supplies. Shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun, Rex could make out George’s figure among them. The other man was familiar to Rex, and just seeing him put Rex on edge immediately.

The man’s flesh was a patchwork of angry red and silvery white, a living roadmap of pain and survival, and it bore witness to a past that could not be unseen. His voice was hoarse and cracked, as if it had been scorched from within. He spoke with a slight lisp, his words coming out with a hissing quality, catching Rex’s attention.

“Brodie,” he muttered under his breath, feeling his blood boil. What could George possibly be doing with one of the Richards brothers? And did this mean that they were back in town?

As he watched from a distance, Brodie handed George something, causing Rex’s brow to furrow in confusion. Why would Brodie be giving George anything?

Rex wanted to draw his gun. This man’s family took something so precious from them. He clenched his fists, realizing this was not the moment for revenge.

“Avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord,” Rex whispered. He would go tell Briggs what he observed and get back to the ranch to protect his family.

George pocketed the item, shaking Brodie’s hand, sealing whatever deal they had just made. Rex couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this spelled trouble for everyone involved.

Giving the men a wide berth as to not draw suspicion, Rex dismounted at the back of the livery. His boots kicked up dust as he strode through the alley into the stables, his heart pounding with urgency. Hiram stood in a stall, brushing down a sorrel mare. He looked up and smiled, then frowned.

“Rex? What are you doing back here?”

“I need to know what happened with that horse yesterday. The one that you were going to sell to Miss Youngerman.”

Hiram leaned against the wooden stall door; his eyes narrowed in thought. “Funny enough, the horse is right there.”

“You still have it?” Rex looked in the stall at a weathered horse that wasn’t worth five dollars. “I thought you sold it.”

“Yeah. There was another buyer who came in just around the same time she did. Young man that said he was just passin’ through town. He offered me $25 more on the horse. I told him the horse was sold. He said that he’d come back in a few days and if the horse was still available, he’d buy it.” Hiram scratched his head. “When Miss Youngerman came by, I tried to refund her money.”

“Let me guess. The man was coming by this morning.”

“Yeah. He already came by. Twenty-five dollars extra is a lot of money, Rex. Especially with two little girls to take care of.”

“I understand, Hiram. What happened when the man came by this morning?”

“He gave the horse another look-over and told me it wasn’t worth the money. If Miss Youngerman still...”

Rex lifted his hand. “You’re lucky you lost nothing. I’ll take the horse for five dollars, and I’ll be back to see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Hiram asked, surprise flickering across his face.

“Positive,” Rex confirmed, his tone unyielding. “I have to see the marshal, and then I’ll stop by to pick her up.”

“Do you need a saddle or anything?”

“Just a halter.”

“Thanks, Rex. I appreciate it.”

With a nod, Rex left the livery and strode purposefully toward the marshal’s office. He hitched up his belt, his brow furrowed in concern. He was sure that George was a confidence man, and Tillie was just a distraction in one of his many schemes.

Rex pushed open the door to the marshal’s office, the hinges creaking in protest. The familiar smell of leather, sweat, and gun oil greeted him as he scanned the room. Hoping to find Whit there, he was instead met with the stern gaze of Marshal Orrin Briggs.

“Briggs,” Rex said, tipping his hat in greeting. “I’m looking for Whit. Ain’t seen him around, have you?”

“Whit’s not available,” Briggs replied, leaning back in his chair. “Something I can help you with?”

“Reckon so,” Rex admitted, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I saw Brodie Richards earlier. Did you know the Richards were back in town?”

“Did you see more than one?” Rex shrugged, and Briggs exhaled heavily, rubbing at his temples. “If I recall, the Richards served their time. They can come and go as they please.”

“They? Are there more in town?”

“Look, Rex, I know how much your family means to you. But sometimes it’s best to let things be. Forget about it for now.”

“Can’t do that, sir,” Rex insisted, his voice tense. “You know what Brodie’s capable of. What the family is capable of. I’ve got to protect my own.”

“Rex,” Briggs cautioned, his voice low and firm. “I’m telling you again. Forget about it. Forget you saw him.”

“What about Whit? Someone said they saw him take part in rustling cattle.”

“Whit’s a big boy, Rex. He doesn’t need you to come to his rescue. If it was him, he’s made his choices.”

“I don’t believe it.” Rex slammed his cowboy hat onto the wooden desk, sending papers scattering in all directions.

Briggs stepped up and grabbed the hat. Walking around the desk, he shoved it into Rex’s chest. “You need to forget everything you’ve seen or heard. Get out of town and get home to your family.”

“That’s it?” Frustration bubbled inside Rex. “That’s all you have to say?”

“That’s it. You can either leave, or I’ll put you in a cell until you cool down.”

Rex put his hat on and yanked the door open. “I can’t forget about this, Marshal.”

“You can, and you will.” The marshal closed the door behind him, leaving Rex alone on the wooden porch.

Sighing, he headed back to the livery to collect his horses and head home. Anger was still brewing inside him as he approached the ranch. Tillie and George were outside arguing, their eyes widening at the sight of the horse.

“Rex, what...?” Tillie began, her voice wavering with confusion, and he rode up next to her.

“George,” Rex interrupted, meeting the man’s glare. “This is your horse now. I want you to take twenty dollars of the money Brodie gave you in town this morning and pay me back. Then I want you to get off my ranch.”

“Rex, I...” George stammered, his face a mixture of shock and gratitude.

Rex leaned in closer, his eyes narrow and voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. “You don’t want to stay here, George,” he warned. “Trust me.”

George reached inside the pocket of his vest and pulled out several bills.

“George,” Tillie proclaimed. “Where did you get all that money?”

Tossing several bills on the ground, George took the reins of the horse. “I never liked it here, anyway,” he snarled, lifting himself on the horse. “I can’t believe you didn’t even get me a saddle.”

“Saddles cost money, George. Buy your own.” Rex pulled his six-shooter from its holster and pointed it in the air. “Now git,” he said, firing a shot.

The horse took off down the lane, and George clung on for dear life as they raced forward.

“What about me?” Tillie asked. “Are you going to ask me to leave, too?”

“No. Just stay away from me.”