The Last Chance Ranch Read Online Free PDF Page A

make the best of what we had."
    "That's what I want to hear. Let's go and have us a look at that corral."
    * * * *
    If he spent the rest of his life at the Bar J Ranch, Obie would never get over the sight of Ben bending a wild horse to his will, and he knew the other hands were just as fascinated. He wondered if any of the others were feeling like their britches were too tight.
    The yearling finally quit cow-kicking and settled into a restless trot around the corral, Ben talking to it in low, reassuring tones. Just as everyone started to relax, the top board of the fence snapped with a crack like rifle fire. Obie and Lonnie, who'd been sitting on it, went spilling to the ground in a tangle. Startled by the noise, the yearling bucked wildly. Ben, who wasn't often caught by surprise, was totally unprepared and went flying, landing on the hard-packed dirt with a thud and a whoosh of expelled breath.
    Larry vaulted over the men and the busted fence and caught up the trailing reins, bringing the horse under control before it had a chance to trample Ben. The boss himself was a mite slow to get up, dusting off his britches and rubbing at a sore hip. “Goddamnit,” he snarled, limping over to inspect the busted fence. The wood had clearly given way under plain old rot and wear, and Obie wasn't sure they had a board to replace it. He knew it was worry driving Ben's unusually angry response—worry and frustration and just a little bit of embarrassment. It had been a while since a horse had put him on his backside, and that had to sting in more ways than one. “Lonnie,” Ben barked, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed until it seemed he could hardly see a thing, “saddle the Bastard. I'm gonna go see Arne de Groot and knock some sense into that thick, Dutch head of his if I have to use a hammer. Unsaddle that yearling, and put him back in the holding corral,” he told Larry as he retrieved his tan hat, beat it back into shape, and jammed it on his head.
    The men scattered to do his bidding, unwilling to have that temper turned on them. Before Obie had a chance to ask if he was all right, Porter and Miguel rode up in a cloud of dust. “Folks coming, boss,” Miguel called in his familiar lisp. “One on horse, bunch more by foot."
    "Lord, what now?” Obie heard his lover grumble. “Army?” It wouldn't be the first time a regiment stopped to buy horses on their way to Fort Union or Fort Craig, but that hadn't happened much since the rebels got pushed back at Apache Canyon.
    Porter shook his head, his face a lean, scarred shadow under the black brim of his hat. “Not regular army, anyway."
    "Unless they brought some goddamn lumber with them, their timin’ could be better. All right, you two stay close, might need you to cut a few out of the herd if these folks are buyin'."
    With most of them traveling on foot, it took a few minutes before the visitors came into view. Leading the pack was a stiff-backed man with dark skin and a long, black moustache that curled up at the ends. He was wearing a union army jacket that had seen better days and obviously been cast off by someone with a much larger frame. A dusty cap was perched on his close-cropped hair. Obie glanced at Ben, knowing from the disapproving look on his face that his lover had already registered the slow, swaybacked mare on which the new man rode, as well as the short leather crop in his fist.
    The men who straggled behind him were a motley crew, dirty and shabbily dressed. They were underfed and undisciplined, wandering behind the man on horseback almost as if they had simply fallen in with him by accident. A few of them didn't even have shoes on their feet. Unless Obie missed his guess, the men on foot were all Mexicans.
    The leader drew up his horse and looked down at them with dark, watchful eyes. “I am Captain Alejandro Vargas of the New Mexico Volunteers. These are my men."
    Ben nodded. “Howdy,” he offered, but Obie noticed that his body language was stiff and