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Ferg took the money, even though it was one more blow to his manly pride. She’s right, he told himself. Next time would be better. But wherever Garn was right now, he fervently wished his son in hell.
* * *
Later that same morning, Tanner’s call to Clive Barlow at headquarters confirmed that the truck and trailer, with the stolen cattle, had been stopped by a patrol. The driver and the man who’d paid the money were in jail, and the steers were in a holding corral, waiting to be hauled back to the Prescott Ranch.
“Have the two men said much?” Tanner asked.
“They’re claiming it was a legitimate purchase, but they’ve both got known mob connections,” Clive said. “I’m guessing they’ll be out on bail before lunchtime.”
“So they fessed up that Garn Prescott was selling them his father’s prime beef at a bargain price?”
“It looks that way. How do you want to handle that?”
“You’re asking me?”
“It’s your case,” Clive said. “We know Garn’s guilty, but if Ferg chooses not to press charges, Garn’s off the hook. And even if it went to court, my money would be on a good lawyer getting him off. Ferg would be better off slapping the kid’s hands and cutting off his allowance.”
“Garn’s an adult.”
“In this case it won’t make much difference. The Prescotts are the most powerful family in the county. I’m guessing Ferg will want to keep this out of the press.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Tanner hung up the phone and walked outside. He’d solved the mystery of Ferg’s stolen cattle, but not to anyone’s satisfaction. All he could do was wrap it up and move on.
After breakfast he found Ferg in his office. “I’ve discovered the truth behind your stolen cattle,” he said. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I’m a big boy. I can take bad news.” Ferg had been about to light a Havana, but he laid it down on the onyx ashtray. “Go ahead.”
Still on his feet, Tanner told him what he’d seen last night and what Clive had reported this morning. Ferg didn’t speak, but a dark red color crept up his neck and rose like a conflagration into his face. His fist smashed down on the bell that he used to summon the cook. Moments later the old man shuffled into the room.
“Get Garn down here!” Ferg thundered. “I don’t care what he’s doing. I want him in here now!”
Tanner waited as Ferg lit the cigar and puffed furiously. “How we handle this is up to you, Ferg,” he said. “If you want to press charges, I can arrest Garn here and now, or you can choose to deal with the situation yourself. Clive said he’d go along with whatever you decide.”
Ferg’s face was so deeply flushed that Tanner feared he might have a stroke. He didn’t speak until his son stumbled into the room wearing a maroon silk robe over blue silk pajamas. Garn’s blond hair was mussed, his eyes still bleary from sleep. He made a move toward the empty chair that faced his father’s desk.
“Stand up like a man, if that’s even what you are!” Ferg growled. “Garn, I’d like to introduce you to Tanner McCade, a TSCRA special ranger assigned to track down the cattle thievery on this ranch. It seems he’s tracked it down to you!”
The sidelong glance that Garn cast at Tanner simmered with pure hatred.
“Tell him, McCade,” Ferg said. “Tell my so-called son what you saw last night.”
Tanner summed up what he’d witnessed as briefly as possible. “The men in the truck were arrested. They named you as an accomplice.”
Garn glanced around the room like a caged animal seeking escape. There was none.
“It wasn’t stealing!” he blurted. “Those steers were as much mine as yours! I had every right to sell them!”
Ferg laid the cigar in the ashtray. “Then why do it in the middle of the night? Damn it, you’re my only son, Garn. I’ve tried to raise you right. I’ve tolerated your laziness, your fancy-pants manners, and your total lack of interest in the ranch that our family has worked to build over generations. I’ve tried to tell myself that you’d come around and take responsibility for your inheritance. But now you’ve crossed the line. You’ve sullied the family honor by stealing from your own flesh and blood! What’ve you got to say for yourself?”
“What’ve I got to say?” Garn drew himself up. “All my life you’ve been trying to make me into another you! But I’m not you! And I don’t give a damn about this ranch or the so-called family honor. Honor? Coming from a man like you, that’s a joke!”
Ferg’s anger had turned cold. He glanced at Tanner. “This man has the authority to arrest you and take you to jail. All I have to do is say the word. Is that what you want?”
Garn didn’t answer. For the first time, he looked nervous.
“Is it?” Ferg thundered. Garn gave a slight shake of his head.
“All right,” Ferg said. “Since I don’t want this stain on our family to become public record, I don’t plan to press charges. But I want you gone by the end of the day. I don’t care where you go or what you do. I just don’t want to look at your ugly face again.”
