The Baron Range Read online

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Cast of Characters

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  BY JORY SHERMAN FROM TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES

  Praise

  Copyright Page

  This one’s for that splendid triumvirate:

  Tom Doherty, my publisher,

  Bob Gleason, my editor,

  and Nat Sobel, my agent,

  with my deepest gratitude.

  Cast of Characters

  The Box B Ranch

  Martin Baron—patriarch of the Baron Family

  Caroline Baron—Martin’s wife

  Anson Baron—son of Martin and Caroline

  Juanito Salazar—Martin’s Argentine friend

  Mickey Bone (Miguel Heuso)—Lipan Apache Indian

  Ken Richman—Martin’s friend, drummer

  Jean Gates—Ken’s girlfriend

  Box B Ranch Hands

  Pepito Garza

  Fidel Hernandez

  Chato Manzana

  Ramon Lopez

  Paco Serra

  Alonzo (Lonnie) Guzman—cook

  Joselito Delgado

  The Rocking A Ranch

  Benito Aguilar—ranch owner

  Pilar Aguilar—Benito’s wife

  Lazaro Aguilar—blind son of Pilar

  Matteo Miguelito Aguilar—Pilar’s older son

  Luz Aguilar—Matteo’s wife

  Delberto Aguilar—young son of Matteo and Luz

  Esperanza Cuevas—helps raise blind boy

  Simon Currasco—ranch hand

  Federico Ruiz—ranch hand

  Others

  Jack Killian—drifter

  Maureen Ursula Killian—Jack’s wife

  Roy Killian—son of Jack and Ursula

  Jerome Winfield—fisherman

  Rob Coogan—sailor

  Sam Cullers—pirate

  Hoxie Hockstetler—pirate

  Lars Swenson—pirate

  Cuchillo—Mescalero Apache chief

  Culebra—Cuchillo’s son

  Ojo—rides with Cuchillo

  Jim Shepherd—barber

  Peebo Elves—tracker

  Dave Riley—soldier

  Dream Speaker—Mickey Bone’s mentor

  Charles Goodnight—trail blazer

  Sam Maverick—cowman

  1

  ANSON BARON WOULD never forget the night the big storm hit that part of Texas where the lands of the Box B lay. The storm seemed to sum up all the turmoil he felt inside, and the rage he felt toward his father. And it was the night that Mickey Bone left the ranch, stealing away in the darkness without even telling Anson’s father, Martin, that he was leaving, or why he was leaving. At that time, no one knew why Mickey had picked up and lit a shuck for Mexico. No one except the Argentine, Juanito Salazar, and he never told anyone the real reason. He just told Anson that Bone wanted to find his own people and become an Indian again, a Lipan Apache.

  But Bone’s leaving like that left a bitter taste in Anson’s mouth, and it would be many months before he would know the whole truth of that night and why Mickey had abandoned him. Anson had wanted to ride away with him and become an Apache himself. He had wanted to leave the wrath of his father and never set eyes on him again.

  It was at one of those times during those hard days on the Box B that Anson Baron thought about killing his father, Martin. He was at that age when a father’s harsh words cut deep and at a time when Anson was self-conscious. His muscles were filling out and the urges he had first experienced three or four years ago were stronger now. These urges were both masculine and confusing, and when his father humiliated him in front of the vaqueros or the Argentine, Juanito Salazar, the anger rose up in Anson with a searing heat that surged through his brain like wildfire.

  But after Mickey rode away, Anson had left Juanito’s casita and gone to the big house where his parents, Caroline and Martin, lived, the house on the hill called La Loma de Sombra, Shadow Hill. Even though he did not want to see his father that night, he had no place else to go. Juanito had told him to go home, and he knew there must be some reason for the Argentine to say that.

  He heard his parents arguing as the rain fell, clattering on the roof with a maddening din. It seemed to the boy that his folks argued a lot. He knew his mother, Caroline, was unhappy. He thought it might be because she was with child, which was confusing enough at his age. He thought his mother was too old to have another child. After all, he was nearly seventeen and had gotten used to being an only child.

  The argument broke off, and Anson heard his father’s footsteps pound on the hardwood flooring. He thought he heard his mother crying, but he could not be sure because the sound of the rain on the roof drowned out all but the loudest sounds. He looked out the window of his room and saw how dark it was and wondered about Mickey Bone riding through all that rain and hoped he had sense enough to seek shelter, which of course he would because Mickey was an Apache and knew how to live on the land in all kinds of weather. He felt a loneliness that seemed strange to him, felt that a part of his life had been taken away and things would never be the same again.

  Then he heard distant thunder and the house seemed oddly silent all of a sudden.

  2

  THE ADOBE WALLS of the casita erupted into frantic drumbeats as the first gusts of the north wind blew lances of hard rain out of the black clouds of night. The man inside felt the pressure change inside the adobe, and the candle on the table flickered with the onrushing air through the cracks in the windows. Shadows shifted around the room as if they were sentient beings born of shadow and darkness.

  Juanito Salazar, the Argentine who had helped Martin Baron build the Box B Ranch, listened to the rattle of rain and the howl of the wind. His brow furrowed, he got up from the table and went to th
e north window. He had known the storm would be a big one, with much rain, but when he heard the far-off rumble of thunder and saw the clouds light up in the distance, he had even more reason for concern. It was not the threat of flash floods that concerned him now.

  He strode from the window toward his front door. Quickly he grabbed his serape soogan off the peg jutting from the wall near the door of his casita and pulled it over his head and onto his shoulders. He put on his hat and went out the door. Then he ran toward the Baron house on La Loma de Sombra, not far away. His feet splashed in the puddles filling small craters, puddles that danced with the silvery daggers of rain.

  Lamplight coppered the windows of the Baron house as Juanito raced for the back door. Rain pelted him with the ferocity of flung sand, stung his eyes. Already, he thought, the dirt under his feet was turning to mud.

  The back door opened before Juanito reached it and Martin Baron emerged like some dark wraith, wearing a slicker. Behind him, his son, Anson, carrying two rifles wrapped in oilcloth, closed the door, the blackness of night swallowing him up in his dark hat and slicker. A moment later the door opened again slightly, and Juanito saw that Caroline Baron stood there, just out of reach of the rain, her face too shadowed to see. Juanito sighed inwardly. He could almost feel the sadness of Caroline’s eyes as she watched her husband and son leave the house, leave her alone once again.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Juanito?” Martin said.

  “The gather.”

  “This’n’s goin’ to be a reg’lar Texas cloudbuster,” Martin said.

  “We’d better get to La Golondrina quick,” Juanito said.

  “How many men we got out there watchin’ the herd?”

  “Only two. Pepito and Fidel.”

  “Christ,” Martin swore. “Well, let’s get to the barn and saddle ’em up.”

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” Anson asked, raising his voice so that he could be heard above the rattle and splatter of rain. “How come we got to ride out in this rain?”

  Martin didn’t answer his son, but headed for the barn, his long strides leaving Anson and Juanito behind.

  “All those cattle we were going to take to New Orleans are in one pasture on La Golondrina,” Juanito said. “If they stampede, they’ll tear down the mesquite fences and could come this way and flatten everything in their path.”

  “Cripes,” Anson said. His voice was still changing pitch on him, cracking at times of stress. His words came out as a screechy cackle as he tried to keep up with Juanito and not drop the rifles. A hard gust of wind struck him broadside and he teetered for a split second in midstride, held in momentary check by the force of the blow.

  Anson looked to the north, saw the white thunderheads pulse and glow with internal charges of lightning. A few seconds later he heard the muffled crescendo of booming thunder. And when the light disappeared from the clouds, he was once again plunged into darkness. He could barely see the barn through the driving rain, and by the time he reached it, his father and Juanito were already inside. He paused for a moment before going inside, then heard the slam of the back door as his mother closed it hard against the night and the storm.

  3

  PEPITO GARZA RODE around the far edge of the herd bunched up on La Golondrina grass. He had no lantern, for the wind had blown it out, and he strained to see through the darkness and the sheets of rain that marched across the plain.

  “Fidel,” he called, and the wind snatched away his words as if they were sodden rags. Needles of rain stung his eyes when he tried to peer through the watery folds of night.

  Pinpoints of light pierced the dark clouds to the northwest. To Pepito they almost looked like signal lanterns flickering on and off in a dust storm, but moments later, he heard the distant throb of thunder like Apache tom-toms or the muffled rumble of an earthquake.

  The cattle grazed uneasily in the darkness, some starting to move around restlessly, aimlessly, as if they sought a leader among them who might reassure them. For now, Pepito was that leader. Yet he knew that no soft songs would soothe the restless beasts once the thunder and lightning drew closer. He called to Fidel again.

  From the far side of the large herd, Fidel Hernandez called out in reply.

  “Ven,” Pepito responded. “Ven pa’ ’qui. Pronto.”

  “Ya me voy,” Fidel called, and his voice was distant and thin as if he were in a faraway ravine.

  Pepito crossed himself and steered his horse toward the moving cattle, his senses heightened at being so close to those long raking horns. His small horse seemed dwarfed by the rangy bulls and steers and cows that loomed up in the darkness. A distant flash of lightning illuminated the main herd, and Pepito saw that they were all on their feet, moving toward something he could not see.

  He thought of the big longhorn bull Amador, which he had last seen that afternoon near the watering tank at the far edge of the large pasture. Amador was a natural leader, a dominant bull with huge cojones that dangled like weapons from his loins. He thought of Amador and knew he must somehow find the herd bull and keep him calm.

  “Es muy malo,” Fidel said when he rode up. “Estoy muy nervioso.”

  “Yo tambien,” Pepito replied. “I am looking for Amador.”

  “Ah, it would be better if he were a dog and you could call him.”

  “That one would not come even if he were a dog.”

  “Do you think they will run, Pepito?”

  “They will run wherever Amador runs.”

  “Will Amador stay, then?”

  “I do not know. If a lightning bolt hits near him, he is liable to fly.”

  “I think that it is true.” Fidel looked at the distant sky. The black thunderclouds were laced with forked lightning for just an instant and then seemed to pulse with a raw energy. Seconds later, they both heard the still-muffled boom of thunder.

  “Do you count the seconds?” Fidel asked.

  “I have counted fifteen.”

  “Twelve kilometers, then.”

  “Quizás.”

  Fidel acted jittery as the two men rode through the herd, whistling to himself, talking in a quavery voice to the cattle they passed. Pepito was careful to avoid any closeness to cattle with horns that could sweep him from the saddle if they panicked. His horse stepped gingerly through the clusters of longhorns as if it were walking among prickly pear.

  The wind shifted and circled, swirling around the two men, forcing the cattle to shift direction so that their rumps were headed into the brunt of the blow. There was a different mood to the herd now. Some of the cows began to bellow longingly. The steers, startled, began to nudge one another and lock horns with others as if to incite them to fight or to run.

  Lightning splashed the sky with light to the northwest. This time the thunder took fewer seconds to reach the ears of the Mexican outriders wending their way through the scattered herd of longhorns and mixed breeds. The bellowing of the cows grew louder and more frequent; the steers seemed to drift in and out of the herd like lost creatures summoned from the night and the wind.

  Pepito held his hat down to keep it from blowing off and spurred his horse away from a young steer raking the air with his massive horns. Fidel guided his horse to the safe side of Pepito, his mount jittery beneath the saddle, every muscle in its shoulders quivering like gelatin.

  “They are going to break, Pepito,” Fidel said.

  “Where the devil is that bull Amador?”

  “There, over there,” Fidel said, but he was only hoping. He did not know.

  “Listen,” Pepito said. “I hear something. Do you hear it?”

  A ripple of distant thunder blotted out all sound for a moment as Fidel tried to hear what Pepito had heard. Then, in the brief silence, he heard hoofbeats, riders coming at a gallop across the plain. He could not see them, but he knew it was not the sound of cattle running.

  “Yes, I hear horses coming,” Fidel said.

  “They are very close, but I cannot see them.”
/>   A jagged scrawl of lightning across the sky threw the cattle herd and the land into stark relief. For a split second they saw the three riders, like phantoms, emerge from the darkness only to disappear again as the thunder pealed like majestic timpani above them.

  The rain slashed at them and raked the cattle herd with a stinging ferocity as the wind picked up and hammered down at them from the northwest. The two Mexican herders bent over until the wind lessened, and then Pepito turned toward Fidel. “I will ride on.”

  “Yes, I am going,” Fidel said, and turned his horse to the east and rode away from the milling herd that was now closing up and huddling with one another for protection against the raking rain.

  4

  “DID YOU SEE those two riders, Juanito?” Martin asked. “Yes. That was Pepito and Fidel.”

  “The herd was clumped up.”

  “For now,” Juanito said and ducked his head as the rain drove at them in blinding sheets and the darkness closed about them like an iron maiden in the rumble of thunder.

  Anson, riding behind his father and Juanito, hadn’t seen a thing, only the jagged forks of lightning breaking the sky like cracked glass. Then he saw a dark rider appear out of the rain like some windblown wraith and heard Fidel’s voice above the watery din.

  “Patrón, Pepito says to come quick. The herd has much fear and he thinks they will break if we do not find Amador.”

  “We are on our way,” Martin said, and they followed Fidel to the herd and found Pepito making his way through the cattle like a blind man in a thicket bristling with thorns.

  “You found Amador yet?” Martin yelled.

  “No. I do not see him.”

  “We’ll fan out. Anson, he’ll be the biggest bull in the herd. You cut straight up the middle. Use your cow sense and be damned careful.”

  “I know what he looks like,” Anson said. Then he wondered what his father meant by “cow sense.”

  “Juanito, let’s you and I go on the other side of this bunch. Everyone be careful. If that lightning and thunder gets any closer, the herd may hightail it. Fidel, you start cutting out those spooky steers and Pepito, you keep going where you’re going.”

  The men split up. Fidel started working his horse through the herd, cutting longhorn steers from the back, driving them out into the open. The horse worked well in the thickening mud and the steers began to bunch up to one side of the main herd.