The boy's name was Tim. Tim Demerest, and he seemed like a good kid. He stayed at the livery with Blue and Bret and the gun, and answered every question Maverick had about his father and the potential sale and Stan Ledbetter, while Bart went to get the marshal. The sun was on the verge of rising by the time Bart returned with Marshal Jolly Webster. "You know this Ledbetter fella?" the marshal questioned Bret.
"Not real well. I played poker with him half a dozen times. He played cards honest. Far as I knew, he was a horse trader and broker. We got a bill of sale on the stallion."
"Tim, has your pa done business with Ledbetter before?"
"I don't know, marshal. This is the first time I've ever seen him."
"Alright, bring the roan with you. We'll see if we can get this all straightened out. Mr. Maverick and Mr. Maverick, if you would."
It took about ten minutes to get to Bobby Demarest's office, and there was no sign of Stan, Bobby or Cantaro. Blue whinnied two or three times but got no answer. "Any ideas?" Marshal Webster questioned.
"They were all here when I left with the mare. I was supposed to put her up for the night because we had no place to keep her. I got no clue where they are now. Honest, Marshal."
"I'm gonna check around back. Bobby's got a couple stalls back there. You two stay up here with Tim."
The marshal was gone for about ten minutes, and he was shakin' his head when he came back. "Tim . . . I found your dad."
"Is the horse there, too?" The boy didn't understand what Webster was tryin' to tell him, but Bart and Bret did.
"Cantaro and the money's gone?" Bret asked.
"Yeah. Tim, your dad's dead."
"He . . . what? NO!" And the boy was gone around back before Webster could catch him. There was a stifled groan, then all was quiet.
Blue stamped her foot and shook her head, nudging Bart in the process. He stroked her muzzle and whispered in her ear. "Marshal Webster, Blue is goin' with us. You got any objections?"
The lawman shook his head. He had enough problems at the moment – a dead man, an orphaned teenager, and a valuable horse missing. Not to mention the man that tied them all together, Stan Ledbetter. "Nope, as long as you keep me appraised about anything you find. And don't leave town without lettin' me know."
"You got it, marshal." Bret shook hands with Webster while Bart led Blue away, back towards the livery. She still seemed slightly rattled, as if Cantaro was close, but made no further attempt to do anything other than follow Bart's lead.
"Where do we go from here, big brother?"
Bret rubbed his chin in frustration. "I can only guess, Bart. There's two big auctions at three o'clock this afternoon. You go to the one at the Barlow spread, and I'll check out the Yancy place. Maybe we can pick up some gossip that'll give us a direction."
"This is turnin' out to be pretty hopeless, ain't it?"
"Right now, I'd have to agree with you. But just in case . . . "
They stopped at the livery entrance to make sure everything was clearly understood. "She's not for sale or trade. She's ours, and the only place she's goin' is back to Little Bend. And if anybody comes in here with a black stallion, you let us know who it is and where they can be found. You take care of that for us, Boone, and there'll be a nice bonus when we leave. Got it?"
Ed Boone nodded his head. He owned the place and made sure the client always got what they wanted. "Yes, sir, I got it. We'll get yer horse back for ya."
Bret once again saddled the horses while Bart took care of the mare. As soon as their mounts were ready, the brothers headed out to check on the few places with sales going on besides the Barlow and Yancy ranches. Bart had no luck; none of the spreads had seen or heard anything about a black stud or an Arabian stallion. Bret stopped at a little ranch just down the road from Yancy's to water his horse and spent a few minutes talking to the foreman. "Black stallion, ya say? Wouldn't happen to be an Arabian, would it? I didn't see him myself, but my lead man said there was supposed to be somebody that matched that description for sale at Yancy's this afternoon. I'd hurry if I was you, somethin' like that don't last very long in these here parts. Yeah, Yancy's is about three miles from here, down the road."
Bret wasted no time getting down to Yancy's and was surprised to find the auction had already started. He was even more surprised when he spotted the animal to be bid on next, tucked away in a far corner of the corral. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, it was Cantaro. He found a place to tie his horse and got as close as he could to the next horse for sale. There was no doubt; it was the Arabian they'd been looking for.
He looked around the crowd to see if he could locate anyone he'd already told the story to or anyone that looked like John Law. No such luck. He'd just have to take his chances.
A few minutes later the first auction was done, and a ranch employee was dispatched back to the corral to retrieve the stallion. There was quite a bit of interest until the price got up to twenty-five hundred dollars, and then everyone but Bret and a young-looking well-dressed man dropped out. The bidding war was cutthroat until it peaked at five thousand dollars. That bid was Bret's.
The gambler waited, holding his breath, to see if he was further challenged. The younger man hesitated for almost five minutes before giving up and refusing to go any higher. When the gavel finally fell, Bret had succeeded in buying back the horse that had earlier in the week been stolen from them.
He had a firm grip on Cantaro's halter and was closing the deal when Bart rode up with Marshal Webster in tow. "Thought I'd come along just in case," Jolly announced. "Who left this horse with the auctioneer?"
"Danny Amura," called the man that had been barely outbid for Cantaro. "At least he said that was his name. Something wrong with the sale, marshal?" There was a note of hope in the man's voice; with any luck, the sale would be null and void, and he might have another chance at the horse.
"Nothin' you can fix, Eddie. Anybody know who this Amura fella is?" The only thing heard in the crowd was a low murmur, until one of the Yancy employee's stepped forward.
"Amura said he worked for Ledbetter, that Stan got tied up someplace else and couldn't get here for the auction."
"What'd Amura look like?" Bret asked.
"About your age, not quite as tall. A little heavier, with lighter hair and a mustache. Had a little bit of a Northern accent."
Bart looked stunned, and Bret shook his head. "That ain't nobody named Amura. That's Stan Ledbetter. Figured he could come back here and collect his fees, and nobody'd be the wiser."
"That explains posin' as Danny Amura. But why kill Bobby Demerest? All he had to do was tell the man he'd changed his mind, and bring the horse out here to sell." Marshal Webster looked and sounded just as confused as the rest of them.
"Demerest must have had the cash on him already. And Stan couldn't resist the idea of all that money. Especially after what he lost playin' poker in Little Bend." Bart shook his head and turned to the marshal. "You need us to sign statements about all this?"
"Yea, I do. I'll need one from your sheriff, too. His name's Parker, right? I'll send him a telegram today. Gonna be tomorrow before I can get statements written up for the two of you. After that you can go back to Little Bend, with the horses. You gonna get a hotel room for tonight?"
That was an appealing thought, and the brothers exchanged glances, but both knew that as long as Ledbetter was out there, Cantaro was still at risk. "Nope, marshal. I think we better stay with the horses tonight."
Bret nodded in agreement. "Just to be safe, you understand."
"Your choice. I can send a deputy over so you can get somethin' to eat if you want."
Both heads nodded in unison. "We'd appreciate that."
"Alright. Billy Cole. He'll be there in less than an hour. And he'll stay until you come back."
"Say, Webster," Bret started, "what are you gonna do with the kid?"
"Demerest? Got no idea."
"Why don't you send him over with the deputy? We'll take him to dinner with us."
"I'll do that. Thanks."
"What are you doin', brother Bret?"
There was a look of uncertainty in the older brother's eyes. "I . . . don't know, exactly. I guess I just felt sorry for him."
"I'll take Cantaro back to the livery. You go send a wire to the girls – let 'em know we got the horses back and we'll be on our way tomorrow. And you can figure out what to do with the kid."
"Hey, I just offered to feed him. He doesn't need to be by himself right now."
"Just remember, that one's too old to adopt." Bart chuckled, took Cantaro's lead from his brother, and mounted.
Bret was right behind him. "Don't be too sure about that," he muttered under his breath.