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“Right the second time,” Tanner said, tilting his hat to show the bandanna. “The bullet just put a crease in my scalp and gave me a hell of a headache.”
“That sounds like somethin’ Bull Tyler would do,” one of the man said. “He’s a mean son of a bitch. You’re lucky you didn’t get your brains blowed out.”
“You think it was Tyler who shot me?”
“Who else? Unless it was his foreman, Jasper Platt. He’s a mean one, too.”
“You don’t look so good,” Lem said. “Can you make it back to the ranch by yourself?”
“I think so. Long as the horse knows the way,” Tanner said.
“We’d ride back with you,” Lem said, “but the boss will skin us alive if we don’t get them cows back pronto.”
“Don’t worry. I can make it on my own.”
&n
bsp; Tanner watched the three cowhands ride off toward the escarpment. Then, turning the horse, he nudged it to an easy walk and headed back toward the heart of the ranch. At least he wouldn’t have to return to the canyon tonight, as he’d planned. He could clean up in the bunkhouse, swallow a fistful of ibuprofen, report to Ferg, and then maybe get some sleep.
Only by chance did he happen to look down at the ground, where the three riders had left a fresh trail, superimposed over the tracks of the cattle and the thieves herding them.
One set of hoofprints showed signs of a loose shoe—a shoe with two nails missing.
Ignoring the ache in his head, Tanner dismounted and compared the new and older prints to be sure of the match. It was perfect. Something strange was going on here. Assuming the horse hadn’t been switched between riders, the men he’d just met, the ones who were headed out to bring in the so-called stolen cattle, were the same ones who’d herded them onto Rimrock land in the first place.
Lem had mentioned that Ferg wanted the animals brought back at once. That would imply that Ferg knew exactly where they could be found. And Ferg wouldn’t have known that unless he’d ordered his cattle moved there in the first place.
Tanner swore out loud. What in hell’s name was going on? Was Ferg trying to frame his neighbor, Bull Tyler, for cattle rustling? If so, it was a lame-brained idea. Any of the men who’d done the herding could testify that they’d been acting under orders from Ferg.
So what had his own role been in this charade?
Ferg had sent him after the so-called stolen cattle, knowing exactly where he would find them. If things had gone as planned, he would have found the animals and assumed the thief was Bull. Tanner could only guess that somebody, most likely Bull himself, had learned of the scheme and ordered Ferg to come and get his livestock.
He’d been set up, Tanner realized. The TSCRA had been set up as well, sending him here and wasting valuable time and resources. The more Tanner thought about it, the angrier he became. Ferg Prescott was going to answer for this.
But what about the gunshot that had nearly killed him?
And what about Rose?
Overcome by a wave of pain-shot dizziness, Tanner leaned against the big dun’s shoulder and pressed his face against the horse’s warm coat. Nothing he’d learned so far could explain what had happened to him or who had fired the shot, let alone the reason why.
Perspiring with effort, he dragged himself back into the saddle and gave the horse its head. In an effort to focus, he thought about Rose, bending over him, giving him water and cleaning around his wound. Had she been the one who’d shot him?
In a way it seemed to fit. After winging him and knocking him off his horse, she could have ridden down to make sure he was dead. After he opened his eyes and saw her, she could easily have shot him again, at close range, to finish the job. Instead she’d decided to save him.
That didn’t make sense. But who else could it have been? Someone else from the Rimrock? Maybe Bull Tyler himself?
Tanner unscrewed the lid from the canteen and gulped the water to the last drop. If he could make it to the stable without passing out, he would put the horse away, wash up in the bunkhouse, take something for the pain, and get a few hours of rest. As soon as his head cleared, he would do whatever it took to unravel this mystery.
The first step would be to confront Ferg Prescott.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE ROUNDUP ENDED WHEN THE LAST ANIMAL WAS BRANDED, tagged, castrated, inoculated against disease and parasites, and moved to new pasture. After that, even if the hour was late, it was time for celebration.
Ignacio, the bunkhouse cook, and his two young helpers had been busy since last night, pit barbecuing a prime beef. Bernice had helped out by providing fresh-baked rolls to go with the beef and beans and a chocolate cake for dessert. According to tradition, the cowhands would save their carousing until the family had eaten and left. After that, there would be loud country music, free-for-all gaming, and enough beer to last until the tired men staggered off to bed.
Bull, Rose, Bernice, Jasper, and the two boys had filled their plates at the head of the line and sat at the plank table near the bunkhouse to enjoy the feast. After they’d gone back to the house, the merrymaking had begun in earnest, with a boom box blaring old country music and the cowboys helping themselves around a tin washtub filled with ice and Mexican beer.
