For a few days, at least, everything settled down into a peaceful rhythm. Maude and Pappy moved into their house, and everyone had to admit they seemed happy together. Pauly's construction crew began the third phase of the houses being built at the B Bar M, and the largest of the barns was underway. Packing was begun in earnest at Bart and Doralice's house; the twins celebrated their ninth birthday. And Cantaro quietly built his herd from the mares that came to belong to the ranch.
There was one last auction scheduled for San Antonio, and Bret and Bart made plans to attend. The younger Maverick was in need of a new horse; Blue had become the best friend and sole property of Cantaro. Doralice set up a system to track each of the broodmares, and Maudie used the same system on a smaller scale to keep tabs on the foals.
Bart had to laugh. Bret had insisted that he wouldn't build anything around the ranch, and yet more often than not he spent his days with one or another of Pauly's work crews. He grew hard and lean, and Ginny found she couldn't keep her hands off of him.
Bart had gone into Maude's early one morning to pay some last minute bills, and had only been at work some two or three hours when Bret came thundering into the saloon via the back door. "Was Cantaro in the big paddock when you left this morning?" His voice was frantic and there was a wild, almost panicked look in his eyes, like someone had just kidnapped one of his children. Bart and Doralice had gone to supper at Bret's house last night, and when the night ran late, they simply stayed over.
"I just turned him out before I came in here. Why?"
The expression on Bret's face reflected the desperate look in his eyes. "He's gone, Bart. Somebody stole him. And they took Blue with them. Tracks lead almost due east. I got a horse outside packed and ready to go. You with me?"
"Of course I am. We gotta get 'em back. Do the girls know?"
"They do. We checked to make sure he hadn't just broken out of the paddock. It was no accident, Bart. There were footprints leadin' them away."
"Damn. You think they'd head for the auction?"
The older brother nodded. "That's the logical place. Probably just went east first to throw us off track. You think we oughtta go straight to San Antone?"
Bart locked the office door behind him, then mounted the horse Bret provided. "Nope. Sure as we do that they'll pull a fast one on us. Better to follow the trail and find 'em."
"Yeah, I'm sure you're right. Let's go."
They set off; back the same way Bret had come. Once they got to the ranch the trail was easy to follow; there was no attempt made to disguise the path the rustlers and their bounty had taken. They drifted about six miles due east and then began to wander south, until they got into the South Creek Desert. Both men were convinced they were being led in circles, and they finally had to stop and make camp for the night when it got too dark to go any further. Supper was sparse, beans and some hardtack, and they tried to sleep without much success.
"Bart?"
"Yeah, Bret?"
"The auction in San Antone is in three days."
"I know that."
"You wanna try goin' straight there if we can't find their tracks?"
Bret thought his question hadn't been heard, and he was on the verge of repeating himself when his brother replied. "I think that's the path of least resistance, don't you?"
"Does that mean yes?"
Bart rolled over and tried to get comfortable, but comfortable wasn't to be found tonight. "Yeah, I think we should head straight for San Antone. That's the most logical place to get rid of him, especially with no Bill of Sale. It won't make any difference with Blue, but Cantaro's got to be a back-door deal."
"I'm sorry, Bart."
"What for, Bret? You didn't steal him."
"No, but it happened on my watch. I shoulda been payin' better attention. From now on, there's always somebody with him when he's out."
Bart sat up and poured himself a cup of coffee. "You want one?"
That brought a laugh from his brother. "Always. Thanks."
"You been doin' a lot of work buildin' stuff. Thought you weren't gonna do that."
"So did I. But it's been . . . interestin'."
"I'm surprised Pappy ain't givin' you hell about doin' it."
Bret grinned. "What Pappy don't know won't hurt him. Besides, he's been too busy with Maude to notice if it's day or night."
"After all these years."
"After all these years."
"Why now?"
"He's always had a thing for Maude. You know that. And now, with Ben in Baton Rouge and Cristian dead . . . and one more thing. Maude don't wanna get married."
"Well . . . as long as they're both happy."
"They seem to be. Maude sure sounds better these days."
Bart stood up and threw the rest of his coffee in the fire. "It's almost sunrise. Whatta say we head for San Antone and see if we can find our horse?"
Bret smiled when Bart referred to Cantaro as 'our horse.' "Sounds like a good idea to me."
XXXXXXXX
San Antonio was full of people. The livestock auction was scheduled to begin the next afternoon, and Bret and Bart decided to split up and try to visit as many herds for sale as possible. They started with the smallest groups and kept at it all day, paying particular attention to anyone advertising Arabians or any black stallion for sale.
Bret heard of a black Arabian stallion for sale on the east end of San Antonio, and immediately went looking for Joe Baxter, the man with the horse. When Bret finally found Baxter, the stallion was only part Arabian and was a muddy brown color.
They kept searching until three in the morning and finally went back to the livery where they'd stabled their own horses earlier. Having nowhere else to spend what was left of the night, the brothers bedded down with their mounts. Which is where they still were when a boy of about seventeen brought in a very familiar blue roan mare. Who whinnied when she caught sight of Bart, and continued to carry on until she'd woken both sleeping men. Bret was up with his gun drawn when Bart called out, "Blue!" and the little mare simply walked away from the boy.
"Where'd you get the mare, son?" Bart asked when the young man came after the horse.
"From . . . from my pa," came the reply.
"Who's your pa?" Bret demanded.
"Bobby . . . Bobby Demerest."
"Is he buyin' or sellin'?"
"He's buyin', mister."
"And where is he now?"
"He's tryin' to buy the mare's stablemate."
Bret and Bart exchanged meaningful looks. "That wouldn't happen to be a black stallion, would it?"
The boy nodded. "But the man sellin' the stallion wants too much money."
"And just who would that be, son?" Bret asked, not expecting the answer he was about to receive.
"Stan Ledbetter."