You be You and I'll be Me
Chapter 1 – Fresh Coffee
They were sitting in a cantina in the rebuilt city of Yuma, Arizona, having just finished eating supper. Even though neither of them drank anything stronger than a glass or two of wine, cantinas were still the best place to eat dinner, especially if your funds were running low. You just never knew what might happen in the life of a professional poker player. Of course, most people called them gamblers, and some even looked down their noses at the brothers, but they'd been called far worse in their lifetimes. And probably would be again before it was all over.
Bret was about to light a cigar when the herd came screaming down the street, a frantic rush of mustangs driven by three or four wild-eyed cowboys. He paused in mid-light and almost burned himself on the match. "What the hell?"
When the Señorita brought their bill, Bart asked her, "¿Cuál es la estampida acerca?"
"They are running off all of Molly Hooper's breeding stock, Señor."
"Oh, sorry. Breeding stock? Mustangs?"
"Si, Señor. She is trying to do something with the horses that I do not understand. There she goes now. You should talk to her, she will explain." The Señorita pointed to a girl in her mid-twenties, wearing a riding skirt and long blonde hair that streamed out behind her, frantically chasing the herd and the cowboys. She rode a horse that looked like a mustang cross-bred with something else, but Bart couldn't quite tell what. All the gambler knew for sure was that the roan stallion could run like somebody'd lit his tail on fire. Some small distance behind her rode four very young looking Mexican vaqueros, trying desperately to keep up with her. It was a battle they were losing.
"Does that happen often?" Bret asked next.
"No, Señor, only when Señorita Hooper gathers up another herd of mares for breeding."
The brothers looked at each other. Bret put the unlit cigar back in his jacket pocket and reached for his wallet. Bart didn't make a sound. Anytime his brother was distracted enough that he was going to pay for a meal was a good thing. "Do we have to be anywhere in a hurry?" the man doing the paying asked.
"Not that I know of," his younger brother answered.
Bret Maverick nodded and handed the money to the Señorita, who smiled and said, "Gracias."
"Good. Let's go see just why Miss Hooper seems to be havin' so much trouble hangin' on to her mares."
Bart nodded and stood, having seen that look in his brother's eyes too many times before. When Bret was curious enough about something he tended to forget what his original objective was. In this case the only thing propelling them forward had been supper, and once that was accomplished Bart was willing to indulge his brother's interest.
"Where does Señorita Hooper live?"
"She has a ranch just a few miles out of town, back the way she came from. If you wait and she catches the herd, she'll bring them right back through here," the camarera replied.
"Gracias, Señorita," and Bart tipped his hat. The pretty Mexican girl smiled back at him.
The brothers Maverick stood in front of the cantina and waited. About five minutes later, just as the Señorita had predicted, the mares trotted back through town at a much slower pace, with the vaqueros herding them and Molly Hooper following behind.
"That stallion's got Arabian in him," Bart observed as the girl and the horse trotted past them.
"Why do you know that?" his brother Bret asked.
"Remember the summer I spent workin' for old man Willis? The year before the army got us?"
"Yeah, sorta," Bret answered.
"He had an Arabian. Paid a lotta money for that horse. Wanted to breed him, but when money got tight he finally had to sell him. I spent three months muckin' out that stall every day." He paused and the two of them watched the backside of Molly Hooper and her horse disappear. "Wonder what she's tryin' to do?"
"Maybe we should go find out," Bret suggested.
"Maybe we should."
It wasn't difficult to find Molly Hooper. All they had to do was follow the dust trail that the herd kicked up, and before they knew it, they had arrived. The mares were back in the corral; the vaqueros had disappeared. Molly was watching the horses through the fence, and when the brothers rode up she turned to her stallion and pulled a rifle from the scabbard. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"Did somebody deliberately run your herd off?" Bret asked the question before Bart had a chance to.
She aimed the rifle right at Bret's chest. "That didn't answer my questions. One more time. Who are you and what do you want?"
"Yes, ma'am. My name's Delacroix. This is my . . . friend, Hancock. We saw the stampede through town and were just wonderin' why somebody would run your mares off."
"You really asking me that question?"
Bret nodded. "Yes, ma'am, in all seriousness."
"Not from around here, are you?"
Bart finally said something. "No, ma'am, Texas."
"What're you doing here?"
"No offense, ma'am, but you still haven't answered my . . . uh, Delacroix's question."
She lowered the rifle slowly, still not completely over her suspicions. "What was it again?"
Bret patiently repeated himself. "Did somebody deliberately run your herd off? And if that answers yes, why would they do that?"
"Yes, it was done deliberately. And all I can tell you is they're afraid of change." She exhaled a long breath after speaking.
"Change? What's that got to do with mustangs?" Bart nodded at her roan stallion. "And an Arabian?"
"You recognize the breed?"
Bart nodded. "Sure."
"You boys lookin' for work?"
"Maybe. Depends on what it is." Bart turned to Bret and shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'What do you expect? It's a beautiful girl.'
"Come join me on the porch for a drink?" Molly invited.
"We don't drink."
A pleased smile spread across her face. "How about fresh coffee?"
Bret smiled back and nodded. "Yes, ma'am, that we can do."
As they followed Molly up towards the house, Bart whispered to Bret, "Hancock and Delacroix?"
Bret grinned back at his brother. "I just had a feelin' we shouldn't be who we are."
¿Cuál es la estampida acerca? – What's the stampede about?
Camarera - Waitress