Chapter 2 – Forty Dollars But No Mule

Molly poured coffee and both men said "Thank you." She set the pot down on the small table she kept on the porch and looked from one to the other. "What were you doin' in Yuma?"

"Just passin' through," Bart answered.

"On the way to . . . ?"

"Nowhere in particular," Bret supplied.

"My daddy raised me here," Molly began. "He was a cross-breeder of cattle, tryin' to develop a new breed that was more tolerant of the heat and weather we have here in southwest Arizona. I have no interest in cattle, but the idea intrigued me. So I started tryin' to do the same thing with horses. I'd been working on it for a while when the Army at Fort Yuma got wind of it and expressed interest. That's when the trouble started."

"The trouble we saw?" Bart asked.

"That, among other things. Tearin' down my fences. Killed one of my mares that was in foal. Stole two more. Tried to burn down the barn, but I caught those two."

"You know who's causin' the trouble?"

"Not for sure. There's three other ranchers in this valley that have agreements with the army to supply horses. The two that got caught in the barn worked for one place, but the bunch you saw today have worked for all three at one time or another. Of course, they all deny responsibility."

"What about the law? Isn't there a U.S. Marshal in Yuma?" That question came from Bret.

"There is. I don't know whether he's stupid or corrupt or both. Name's Conrad Sanders. Been here about a year. Just about the time the trouble started. Our sheriff got killed and the mayor requested a marshal from the Feds rather than hire somebody else. Said we needed somebody with 'more authority' than just a sheriff, because Fort Yuma's so close. Every once in a while there's some trouble with the Army, and Mayor Branch thought a Marshal could deal with it better."

"Has he?"

"Sometimes. But he sure hasn't done any good by me." There was a tone in her voice somewhere between disgust and disdain.

Bart grimaced. He knew all too well what it was like to deal with a lawman that shouldn't be one. "So, about that job . . . "

She turned to look at 'Hancock.' "So, you know horses. What else can you do?"

"Just about anything that doesn't require hard work."

Molly chuckled, and then laughed, and it was the first time either man had seen or heard anything beyond a smile. "Seriously . . . "

"Seriously, that's the truth," Bret explained, and all three laughed this time. "Not much we haven't done," he added for good measure.

"I built a school."

Bret looked at his brother with a puzzled expression. "You did what?"

"I built a school. Well, I built part of a school. My wrist got broken and I couldn't finish it."

"When did you do that?"

"The six months I was in Mexico." After all this time, that was the first Bret had ever heard of it. What else happened in Mexico that he didn't know about?

"And you broke your wrist?"

The younger gambler nodded. "And my hand."

"No wonder you were there for six months."

"That wasn't the reason, and you know it." Bret had sounded a little churlish, and Bart really couldn't blame him. He'd long ago promised that he would sit his brother down and tell him about what happened during that time period; the explanation had never come to pass.

"Any other talents?" Molly interrupted their dialogue.

"Just about anything you can name. Play a pretty fair game of poker, too."

"And there was the time – "

"Naw, don't tell her about that."

"No? Alright."

Her head was twisting back and forth, trying to keep up with the two of them. "Alright, alright. I could use a couple of reliable men to help keep everything safe around here. To help with the horses. And see how much of this can be stopped before it gets outta hand."

"How much does it pay?" Bart asked.

"Thirty-five dollars a month plus room and board."

The brothers looked at each other. "Forty-five."

"Forty and I'll let you pick your own crew."

Another look passed between them, and Bret nodded. "Deal."

"When can you start?" Molly asked.

"In the mornin'. Tonight's already paid for at the hotel."

"Have you got first names to go with those last names?"

"Jamie," said Hancock.

"Joe," answered Delacroix.

XXXXXXXX

"What have we gotten into now?" Bret asked as they rode back to town.

"Another mess that ain't ours," Bart answered. "But how could we ignore a sweet young thing like that?"

"You know what happened the last time a pretty girl needed help, don't you?"

"I don't recall," Bart insisted.

"That's odd – neither do I. It probably almost got one or the other of us killed. Let's try to avoid that this time, shall we?"

"I think that's a wise idea."

Bret sighed. "Are we playin' poker tonight or are we gonna be smart and get some sleep?"

"I think we should be smart and . . . play poker."

The older brother laughed out loud. "That's what I love about you, little brother – you're so logical."

XXXXXXXX

The cowboy stood in front of Jeremiah's desk and tried his best to explain. "We got 'em outta there and ran 'em through town, just like you ordered boss, but she was right behind us. Only way we coulda gotten away with it was to shoot her, and you told us not to do that."

"I probably should have let you," Jeremiah muttered to himself. "Alright, Racker, get on outta here. I'll think up somethin' different for the next time."

The cowboy turned and left the room, happy just to escape without being fired, or worse. Jeremiah looked at the man sitting in front of his desk.

"This situation isn't going to resolve itself, Burns. We're going to have to do something more drastic than just harassment. That little girl's every bit as stubborn as her father was."

"We've run off all her hired hands, now even the Vaqueros don't want to work for her anymore. How much longer can this go on?"

"Not much, I hope. She can't run that whole place by herself, and that's all she's got now. Unless she gets somebody from the outside to come in and work for her."

"No chance of that. There's nobody left that would touch any of those jobs."

Jeremiah almost snorted. "And you said the only way to force her out was to kill her. Once we get rid of her and that foolish cross-breeding idea she's got we can go back to running cattle on the land. And the Army contract will be ours as long as we want it."

Burns shifted in his chair to look at Nance Tesson. "You're awful quiet, Nance."

The big man shook his head. "I still think we shoulda just burned everything and run her out a long time ago. Just because all this child's play has worked so far doesn't mean it's gonna continue that way."

"No reason to think it won't. Where's she gonna find somebody to help her? Everybody in the valley knows what'll happen to them if they do."

Nance shook his head. "You mark my words. She ain't gonna be as easy to get rid of as you think."