Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the governor’s office.’

CHAPTER 4
    Getting back to the ranch just as darkness came on, Buck joined Matilda in the cook shack for a late dinner of steak, potatoes, and snap beans, topped off with a big piece of apple pie. All washed down with cups of coffee from the jug the cook’s helper never let get empty.
    Spreading his bedroll on one of the empty bunks in the bunkhouse, Buck spent a full night without being shot or having a rock or stick poke him in the back. Up before the sun peeked over the far rimrock, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Freddie had already made coffee. Before finishing his first cup of the strong black brew, a plate covered with slices of ham, eggs and thick slices of bread was put before him.
    The big black stud horse had heard him coming and was waiting at the corral gate when Buck, carrying his saddle and gear, got there. Within minutes, and after telling the cook’s helper to tell Matilda that he’d be back in a day or two, he was riding. Maybe there wasn’t much he could do about a gambling debt or a bank loan, but seeing about rustlers seemed like a good idea.
     
    Finding the ranch crew and making sure they knew what he was doing on the property seemed like another good idea, but not one easily done. Matilda had never mentionedexactly how big the ranch was and probably didn’t know. From the river west to the rimrock, from the bridge to the south and again to the foothills on the north didn’t suggest how many acres. Shortly before the sun reached its highest peak for the day Buck had found out for himself just how big the Rocking C was; from every high place he could find all he could see was more ranch. It was a thin wisp of smoke that led him to the crew.
    Riding closer to the smoke he started coming upon more and more beeves. All during his ride he had seen small bunches of nondescript cattle here and there but as he neared where the men were working the numbers increased. Finally from the top of a small rise he could see what was happening. The smoke came from a pair of fires in which the handles of a dozen or so branding irons stuck out. As a rider roped a calf or yearling from the herd and dragged him toward the fires, another man, on foot and wearing leather gloves, would take an iron and burn the brand into the squalling beef. If a bull, another man would step in and in one quick swipe castrate the animal, smearing the wound with a dab of sticky black substance. Once released the calf would rush back to find his mother and the pair would find themselves herded out of the bunch and left to wander off.
    Other riders circled the herd and in turn sent their loop over the next young animal to be branded. Still others could be seen in the distance herding small gatherings toward the holding herd. As Buck watched he had to nod in appreciation at the organization he saw. Whoever was in charge was doing a good job of getting the most out of his men without overworking anyone. A movement to his left caught his eye and looking he saw a horseman coming his way. He was, he figured, about to meet Hank the foreman.
    ‘Morning,’ Buck said as the other rode in. Tilting his hat back on his head, Buck had placed both hands on his saddlehorn. ‘Just appreciating the work going on down there and glad I’m not part of it.’
    ‘They’re a good bunch of hands,’ the foreman allowed. ‘Anything in particular we can do for you?’
    ‘Well, maybe. I’m Buck Armstrong. Out here looking things over for Mrs Randle. She tells me you found some sign recently that made you wonder about rustlers.’
    Hank slowly took in the big man and his mount. Nodding he smiled. ‘Yeah, I figured it’d be you. Miz Randle told me you’d be coming around sooner or later and I gotta tell you, I’m glad it’s sooner. She’s got enough on her plate to have to worry about some curly wolf cow-thieves.’ Sticking his big rope-scarred hand out, he added, ‘I’m the foreman, Hank Bowers.’
    Taking the