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“Once. A few months ago, I was going through the files and ran across the original bill of sale. I figured it was time I learned the truth behind it, so I took the bill of sale in to him. The minute I showed it to him, he started swearing, telling me it was none of my damned business and I wasn’t to ask him about it again.”
“Swearing and shouting at people were the two things Bull did best,” Beau said, easily visualizing the scene Will described. “I’ll bet he threatened to kick you out if you brought it up again.”
“More or less,” Will admitted.
But it was the lac
k of any resentment in his voice that Beau couldn’t understand. “That’s where you and I are different. When he told me it was his way or hit the road, I told him what he could do with this ranch and his money and took the road.”
“So that’s how it happened,” Will murmured.
“With a lot more yelling back and forth.” He hadn’t expected to feel all the old bitterness so strongly. “The essence was that he didn’t give a damn if I was his son, that there was no way I was going to live off him.”
“That’s in the past. Nothing good comes out of dwelling in it,” Will stated, pragmatic as always.
“Unless you can learn something.” Beau let his glance wander over the dry streambed and the crudely painted sign on the barbed wire fence strung across it. “To get this land from Bull, old man Prescott must have had something on him.”
“Like what?” Will sounded skeptical.
“Some secret Bull didn’t want people to know. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Beau declared, then voiced the question that automatically came to mind. “Wonder what it was?”
“I doubt if it was anything like that.” Will dismissed the possibility with a shake of his head. “More than likely Bull lost a bet to him. You know what a sore loser he was. And losing a bet to old man Prescott would stick in his craw big-time.”
“It might have been that simple,” Beau conceded, then frowned, trying to remember another tidbit from the past. “Am I wrong, or is this the canyon where legend has it that lost Spanish gold is buried?”
The legend had been part of Texas for as long as anyone could remember. The story went that a band of lost Spanish explorers, pursued by Indians, had become trapped in the canyon and managed to hide the chest of gold coins they were transporting before the Indians attacked and wiped them out.
“That’s the way the story goes—if you believe that stuff.” The line of Will’s mouth crooked in cynical derision. “There isn’t an ounce of truth in it. But who knows, it could be why old man Prescott wanted it. I know for a fact he had a couple men with shovels out, digging all over the place and sifting the dirt through a box screen. I later heard they never found a damned thing.”
“All that digging is probably what disrupted the spring,” Beau guessed. “Remember when we used to fill our canteens from it? That water was always cold and good.”
But Will had a more practical view. “And the cattle didn’t have to walk so far for water when the spring was flowing.”
Flashing him an amused look, Beau remarked, “You are definitely Bull’s son.”
There was a moment of hesitation, as if Will was debating some issue with himself. “Keep this under your hat, brother, but I’m working on a plan to get this canyon back.”
“What?” The question came out, mingled with a near laugh. “Just what makes you think the syndicate would sell it? They sure as hell don’t need the money.”
“It just so happens that the syndicate doesn’t own this particular parcel,” Will informed him. “I did some checking and discovered that, for whatever reason, this land is part of the Prescott family trust. And our fine, upstanding congressman Garn Prescott is the trustee.”
“So Garn would have the power to sell it back, assuming you can talk him into it.” Beau swatted away a pesky horsefly buzzing around his face. “It explains why you asked him to do the eulogy at the funeral. You’re trying to get all palsy with him.”
“I told you before, we need allies, not enemies. And it so happens Prescott’s up for reelection this fall. I’m prepared to make a hefty donation to his campaign in exchange for this worthless little canyon that’s too steep for grazing.”
“And you think he’ll agree to that?”
Will’s horse swung its nose around in an attempt to dislodge the fly that had landed on its neck. Will absently brushed off the fly. “Maybe he will. Maybe not. But there’s more than one way to skin a coyote.”
In his mind’s eye, Beau saw again that scene at the house after the funeral when he’d observed Garn Prescott clearly making a move on Tori. It couldn’t have been more obvious that Prescott wanted to get to know her a lot better.
“I’ll bet Tori could talk him into it.”
“Leave Tori out of this!” Will snapped.
Beau had seen his brother angry before, but not this hot. “Sorry.” He wisely refrained from mentioning the way Garn had been hanging all over her, recognizing jealousy when he saw it. “Maybe I could help,” he suggested instead. “I’ve never known a politician yet who didn’t have his finger in some dirty pie. Ferreting out nasty secrets is part of what I do for a living.”
Will briefly considered the offer, then shook it away with a half-irritated sigh. “As much as I would enjoy bringing that pompous jackass down, I’d rather this be an up-front deal.” He gathered up his horse’s reins. “We’ve got cattle to find. We’d better get to it.”
