Chapter Three

Coy figured Grange must have been eavesdropping on the porch when the kid suddenly walked from the barn with a Roan tacked and saddled. Coy scanned him head to toe, took in the old Winchester rifle stuffed into a scabbard, the owl on his shoulder and the dog running in circles around the horse as if eager to head out. "Anyone else riding with us?"

A puzzled expression crossed the boy's features. "What do you mean?"

Coy rolled his eyes. "Nothing kid, nothing at all."

They headed toward the mountains, Coy devouring the landscape, remembering landmarks from days gone by.

Grange finally broke the silence a short time later. "The rifle belonged to my dad. He didn't have much use for it but taught me how to use it."

"Looks pretty old."

The boy patted the stock and smiled. "Suppose so. Shoots two inches to the right of target, too."

"You figured out how to compensate for that all by yourself, huh?"

"Yep, had to if we wanted to eat."

A hawk soared by overhead. Coy watched its path, envied its freedom and wondered where the predator was headed.

"Course it isn't as nearly as fancy as that Colt .45 you got holstered," Grange said, returning to talk of guns. "You put the shine on that revolver?"

"Nope, comes like that, nickel plated, polished to a high sheen."

The Vulture Mountains loomed ahead. The boy riding abreast of his horse brought back fond memories from when he was about that age. He spent many a day running through the foothills and climbing the peaks.

"How 'bout you teach me to shoot that pistol?"

Coy tossed his head and gave a short laugh. "No, siree. If I did that, your ma would be mad enough to kick a cat."

"We don't have a cat. Well, unless you call that old Tom that sneaks into the barn now and then to get out of a storm. Besides, she wouldn't be mad once I explained I could protect her better now."

"What would you be protecting her from anyway?"

"The Torres brothers and their gang."

Coy brought his horse to a stop and the kid followed suit. He looked over at him. "Those snake-bellies are still around and wreaking hell?"

Grange nodded and fell silent while Coy revisited the scrapes he had with Domingo and Benito in his youth. Course, it was always two against one but Coy got his licks in, enough to put Benito out of commission for a month after one brawl. He had a peaceful summer that year while Benito nursed a broken jaw and Domingo was sidelined by a lack of courage without his brother. He wasn't surprised by the boy's revelation; always knew the Torres brothers’ youthful antics would escalate into criminal activity one day.

"Damnation," Grange said, using his mother's word and slapping his slouch hat against his thigh. "They went and cut another fence line and now we're missing half a dozen head."

Coy dragged his gaze in the direction of the fenced off grazing land ahead. "How many head do you have?"

"Fifty. Looks like forty-five now if my quick tally counts for anything."

When Grange dismounted, the owl fled from his shoulder to the branch of a nearby Cypress. The kid plucked a pliers from his saddlebag, pulled the rifle from the scabbard and placed it on the ground near his feet. Stepping over the fence line, he picked up one end and made eye contact with Coy. "Might help if you get down and hold the other end for me."

In short order, he'd repaired the damage, which earned a nod of admiration from Coy. "Looks like you've done this before?"

"So many times, I can do it in my sleep."

"Think the Torres brothers did this?"

"I don't think; I know. One of the ranch hands hid behind a stand of mesquite one day and watched them cut the line and scatter the cattle."

"You get them back?"

The boy shook his head. "Not all. That's what they do; pick them off a few at a time. Some we round up; others I suspect they drive to their ranch."

"They're wearing the Ranchero Santos brand aren't they?"

Grange looked off into the distance with daggers in his eyes. "Course they're branded but who's going to ride over there and take 'em back? I want you to teach me how to shoot that gun."

"We can't always have what we want, and besides, just what do you think a snot-nosed kid like you can do against grown men?"

"I'll decide once I know how to shoot."

"I already told you, no. Now, let's head back. I want to talk to your ma about the missing cattle."

Grange mounted and Coy did the same. "You think you can talk her into leaving, but she won't listen. She promised my dad, and she never breaks promises."

As they rode out, the owl flew from the tree and took up his usual position on the boy's shoulder. Coy allowed Grange to stew for a spell before he broke the silence. "Tell me about the old Indian."

"Kajame? He's Yaqui, older than dirt and my friend. He's lived around these mountains all his life in an old abandoned church with crumbling adobe brick walls."

"Indians carry all kinds of superstitions, you know."

"Yeah, guess that's so, but they're smart too, know things you and me would never know if we lived to be one hundred."

"Like the ghost?"

Grange snuck a peek at Coy out of the corner of his eye but kept on riding. "You saw Fetch take off toward the bedroom like his tail was on fire, didn't ya? He does that a lot, ever since Pa died."

"Kajame thinks the ghost is your dad?"

"He doesn't say who, only that there's a chichijal hanging around the house. That's the Yaqui word for ghost. Kajame says dogs and children can see ghosts. Do you want to know why?"

"I'll bite."

"Cuz they've never been schooled not to." Grange narrowed his eyes and focused on Coy's face. "You're not laughing?"

"Nope, listening. What else does Kajame say?"

"He says I can get rid of the ghost."

"How?"

"Take his boot, make a footprint in the sand, pick up a handful of the dirt and bury it in a graveyard."

"Do you think there's a ghost in the house?"

His answer came fast. "Yes."

"So why don't you do what the old Indian told you to do?"

"Cuz…cuz Ma talks to him sometimes. I hear her through the door, and I don't know what to think." He dropped his voice to almost a whisper. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

The roof of the barn came into view and next the house. Coy flung his reins around a post near the porch steps, and Grange took off toward the barn. Had his brother married an addle-pated woman? Who speaks to dead people? Had the stress of losing her husband caused her to go off the deep end? Questions rambled around his brain about her, and yet his brother had married her. Cain saw something in the woman, enough to make sure she had a home, safety, and mostly love.

A part of him wanted direct answers to those nagging questions, and a part didn't. He didn't have time to get to the bottom of what was going on, didn't believe in all this talk about ghosts from a superstitious shaman. Yet, he couldn't ignore the problem with the cattle and the Torres brothers.

Damn, he should have kept on riding when he left Yuma, headed straight for Utah like he planned. He bounded up the porch steps two at a time with the intention of asking the confounded woman what she intended to do about the stolen cattle.