Chapter 3 – Rivals

"Now, aren't you glad we played poker instead of sleepin'?"

Bret patted his coat pocket, which contained his wallet, now considerably fatter than it had been last night. "You bet I am. Let's go get outta this hotel."

They packed and went to the dining room for breakfast, then headed out to Molly Hooper's place. She was already outside trying to patch-up part of the fence that had fallen into disrepair. The brothers dismounted at the corral and Bret hurried over to help. Bart couldn't recall seeing his brother move that fast to do manual labor since he was about sixteen or seventeen years old. Of course there was a beautiful girl involved that time, too. Bart took the horses into the barn and prepared two clean stalls, then unsaddled both horses and turned them into their new quarters. Noble nuzzled around the pockets of Bart's jacket, looking for anything that might pass as an apple. The gambler had to apologize to his gelding. "Sorry, old man, I don't have one with me. I'll find one for ya first chance I get."

The horse nickered and bobbed his head, then pushed his owner out of the stall. Bret's stallion was much more placid, behaving himself the way he usually did. Molly's stallion was in a stall across the barn and Bart stopped to watch the horse for a minute. He was a fine looking roan, about fifteen hands tall, and even more regal in appearance than he been when saddled. He took as much interest in Bart as the gambler did in him, finally walking over to see who this new person was. "Hey, buddy, you got some ladies outside waitin' for ya," he told the horse as the animal snorted and pawed the hay in acknowledgment.

"He usually doesn't take to people that fast," Molly remarked as she ventured into the barn. "Good, I see you've gotten your horses taken care of. Nice looking buckskin you ride, Jamie. I noticed him last night."

"If you don't mind, I'd just as soon you called me Hancock. Most everybody does." He turned to look behind him at Noble, who was watching every move Bart made. "His names Noble, but I tend to call him Old Man. We've been together a while now."

"A man's horse says a lot about him. Yours makes quite a statement."

"I can't take any credit for that. He chose me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's a long story. I'll tell ya sometime." He picked up both sets of bags, clothing and saddlebags, and started outside with them just as Bret came around the corner.

"Fence is fixed for now. We'll cut a new rail for that spot I patched as soon as we get a chance. Here, let me take those," and he reached over and grabbed his belongings from his brother, then turned back to Molly. "You got anybody in the bunkhouse?"

"No, it's empty. Even the Vaqueros quit after last night."

"We'll go grab a bunk and then come up to the house. We'll find men to work somewhere in this valley," Bart told her.

Molly shook her head and started towards the porch. The Mavericks looked at each other before heading for the bunkhouse with their gear, both of them wondering what they'd walked into.

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"Well, we've got plenty of room." That was Bart's observation as he looked around. He hadn't been inside one of these in ages. For some reason they made him feel old, which he was a long way from being.

"We can go to Yuma tomorrow and put out the word that we're lookin' for a crew. Things can't be so bad that nobody'll come out here."

"I think we better find out all we can about these three ranches that have deals with the Army. Maybe we should ride over to Fort Yuma and talk to whoever's in charge over there."

"That's somethin' to do, Bart. But I think it better be just one of us that goes. I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave Molly alone, at least until we get some hands in here."

"Better get used to callin' me Hancock. That's what I told Molly I go by."

Bret chuckled and then replied. "Hancock, huh? Not Jamie?"

'No, Bret, not Jamie. You saddled me with Hancock, I'm gonna use it."

"Fine. Then you can call me Delacroix. I kinda like those names."

"Pappy'd have a fit if he knew."

"Pappy'd have a fit if he knew we took jobs."

"Not if he took a look at Molly he wouldn't."

"There's more to life than beautiful women, Brother Bart."

"Besides women and money, you mean. Women, money and poker."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Well, one of the three of 'em is waitin' for us up at the house. Don't you think we oughta go?"

"I do, Hancock."

"After you, Delacroix."

They sauntered out of the bunkhouse, then walked a bit faster up the small hill to Molly's. She had a fresh pot of coffee ready and the three of them sat down in the main room of the house to discuss a plan for dealing with the day-to-day operations of the ranch and the disruptions that kept occurring.

The house was compact and cozy, with an airy feeling inside. There was a small fireplace, just in case it ever got cold, and the furnishings were comfortable but not extravagant. "You got settled in?" Molly asked.

"Sure," came Bart's standard answer. "Tell us what you can about the three ranches that have agreements with Fort Yuma."

"And try not to leave anything out, whether it seems important or not," Bret added.

"Alright. The first one's Jeremiah Bircken. He's been here the longest, bought his place about ten years ago. I thought he was a friend of my father's, but lately I'm not so sure. He's a cattleman, but he supplies horses to the Fort, too. When dad died, he tried to buy the ranch, and I considered selling it to him for a while. Then I decided not to sell, and he's been . . . difficult to get along with since then. I suspect he wants to turn the land back into cattle property, but he's never said for sure.

"The second one is Burns Wolcott. He was actually the first to have an agreement with the Fort for horses; his cattle sales to the army followed. Burns is a strange man. He'll shake your hand while he's stabbing you in the back. That's as far as his violent tendencies go, however. He prefers to wage psychological warfare on people. There was some property that bordered his ranch; it belonged to sheep men. Now I'm not a sheep lover, but they've got a right to exist, just like we all do. He wanted that land to build a second barn. Burns did everything he could to run them out of the valley, just short of violence. He finally succeeded. Needless to say, now he owns the land.

"The last one is Nance Tesson. He's absolutely frightening. He's a big man physically, probably a couple inches taller than you, Joe, and outweighs you by a lot. There's no doubt in my mind that he's responsible for the poor little mare I found dead. I think the man is capable of anything. He came into the valley about eighteen months ago, and things went downhill once he got here. He, Burns and Jeremiah have formed some sort of a company, and they seem to be out to control all the livestock that gets sold to the Army, whether it's horses or cattle. One of Nance's wranglers shot a small rancher at the saloon in town and the marshal called it self-defense. Half a dozen people saw the altercation and said it was cold-blooded murder, but everybody was too scared to testify.

"Those are the three men with the supply agreements. And the three that appear to be behind the attempt to stop my cross-breeding. Like I said before, I can't prove anything, but there's no reason for anybody else to be either disruptive or destructive."

"When was the last time you tried to hire wranglers, Molly?" Bart asked the girl.

"About a month ago. Two men in town were willing to come work for me, but they never showed up here. When I went to Yuma to find them, they'd up and left town."

"What kinda wage were you offerin'?"

"Thirty a month, room and board, meals and a horse."

The men once again exchanged glances. It was more than fair, and should have brought all kinds of ranch hands out to at least see what the job entailed. "You try over in Braxton?" Bret asked.

"Once, several months ago. Not recently."

"And that bunch you had yesterday, they were the only Vaquero's you could get?"

"No," she answered, looking utterly discouraged. "That was the third group I hired. And the third group that left."

Bart had been quiet, listening and thinking. "I know some people down in Nogales. We could probably get some a them up here."

"From your six months in Mexico?" Bret asked, once again feeling left out of something significant that had happened in his brother's life.

Bart recognized the hurt in Bret's voice and quickly sought to explain. "Not in Nogales. I was down there several weeks ago when you were in El Paso."

"Oh yeah, I remember. You think you could get some of 'em here?"

"If I have to. I think so."

Bret glanced at his brother, temporarily pacified. "Alright. Why don't you go to Yuma tomorrow and see what you can scare up? I'll ride out to the fort the next day. That way Molly won't be here by herself."

Molly's backside stiffened. "Are you implying that I can't take care of myself and shouldn't be left alone?"

"No, ma'am," Bret quickly answered. "Just that you might need help if somebody tries to run your herd off again, and it wouldn't be real responsible if we left you here alone. I remember that rifle all too well."

Bart heard the tone of his brother's voice and saw the look in his eyes. Something had sparked his interest in Molly Hooper, and that put Bart on potentially dangerous ground. The horse-breeder was everything he looked for in a woman – beautiful, feisty, smart, and capable. Was this the first time in their lives his rival for a woman's affections was going to be his brother?