"Nobody?"
"Nobody in Yuma."
They were once again at the supper table, just finishing with the rabbit stew, and Bret was shaking his head in dismay. "Are they that convinced the ranch is cursed?"
"Most of the Mexicans are, yeah. Somethin' different with everybody else. They're afraid. I can only assume it's because of some threat that's been made. Everybody says no, but that's all they'll say."
"Did you get up to Braxton?" Bret asked next.
"No, I figured I can do that when you come back from the fort. I'm not convinced we'll have much luck in Braxton, either."
"Nogales?"
Bart nodded. "Probably. At least they'll listen to me when I tell 'em there's no curse on the ranch."
"You hope," Molly interjected.
"Naw, I played poker with all the Vaqueros down there. They know me; I think they'll listen. If not, I'll ride on down to Magdalena."
"Isn't that – " Bret started.
"Yeah," Bart finished before his brother could continue.
"Well, I'm goin' to the Fort tomorrow. Who'd you talk to, Molly?"
"Colonel Jessup. He seemed to be a fair, reasonable man. Let's hope he still is." Her face was full of hope, but her voice was skeptical.
"You got anything left around here besides that fence to be fixed?"
Bret laughed. "No, I think you pretty well avoided most a the work."
"Hey, now. It was your idea that I go to Yuma. By the way, what's the deal with Sanders? He was lookin' through wanted posters, tryin' to find us."
"Good luck with that," Bret stated. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, he wanted to know where we were from. I told him South Carolina."
"South Carolina? You told me Texas." Molly looked momentarily confused.
"Texas is the truth, but so's Carolina. That's where our family's from," Bart clarified.
The older brother chortled at Bart's subterfuge. "Won't find anybody lookin' for us in either place."
"Well, it'll keep him busy for a while. Now, about that work . . . "
"Know how to brand?"
Bart wrinkled his nose. It was not among his favorite things to do, but then not much was beyond playing poker and reading. "Not my favorite, but yeah, I can do it."
"That's what's left on the agenda," the 'boss' announced. "I need to get those mares branded before somebody comes along and runs them off."
"They won't try that again."
"Why not?" Molly asked. "Nothing ever stopped them before."
"Because I told Sanders that if it happens again we'll be able to identify the thieves," Bart responded.
"And you think that will work?"
"If I read the marshal correctly, he'll get the word to the right people."
"You think Sanders is in on it?" Bret asked.
"I'm not sure he's in on it, but aware of who's responsible? Yeah."
XXXXXXXX
At that very moment Jeremiah, Burns, Nance, Branch, and Conrad were all making themselves comfortable in Wolcott's den. This time the drink of choice was brandy instead of coffee, and everyone except the marshal had a glass of it. When they'd all gotten settled, Nance became his usual prickly self. "Nice of you to join us, Burns."
Wolcott looked up from his glass and smirked at the big man. "You know, Nance, some of us have families that require our attention on occasion."
"I have a family," Nance shot back.
"I mean something besides two dogs and a horse," Burns answered, just as quickly.
"Children, children, let's play nice, shall we?" Jeremiah chastised. "Conrad, you have some news for us?"
"I do," the marshal answered. 'Not unexpected. I checked every wanted poster that office has ever received. There's nothin' on either of those two that Molly hired. Hancock did cough up that they're from South Carolina, so I've got one more person I've sent a telegram to. They're tryin' to hire a crew like we expected. Hancock was in my office yesterday askin' about curses and superstitions. He ain't stupid; he's got an idea there's somethin' goin' on. No more runnin' Hooper's mares off either; the cowboy let it be known they expected it and would identify whoever's responsible. Time to try somethin' new."
"I'm open to suggestions," Bircken admitted.
"Shoot her," Nance suggested.
"Nance," Branch started.
"Shoot all three of 'em," Nance continued.
"We can't do that," Wolcott reminded him.
"Why not?" Nance asked as he turned to Conrad. "You're the marshal. Why can't we shoot 'em? All of 'em. Then these stupid meetin's would stop."
"Got to be another way," the mayor declared.
Tesson sighed. "Don't know why nobody's payin' any attention to me. We'll end up killin' 'em all in the end, anyway."
"No, we won't, Nance," Conrad was firm. "Maybe the cowboys. Not Molly."
"Marshal's got a sweet spot for the lady rancher."
"Damn right I do, Nance. And you or anyone else in this group ain't gonna shoot her."
"Well, we better do somethin'. This is gettin' outta hand," Burns reminded all of them.
"I've got an idea," Conrad offered. "And it should make Nance happy."
The big man's ears perked up. "You're gonna let me shoot somebody."
"At somebody, Nance. The first step is at somebody."
"Better than nothin'," was the reply.
"If this doesn't work you can beat on one of 'em. How's that?"
"Do I get to pick which one?"
"No," the marshal insisted. "That pleasure's all mine." He'd already decided that Hancock was the trouble-maker, and his choice for the one that needed to be taken down a peg or two. If they really were as stubborn as he figured them to be. He explained his idea to the group, and it was decided that the time had come to implement Conrad's suggestion. At the first opportunity that presented itself.