Chapter 4 – Trouble at the Ranch
The lamps in the ranch house cast a warm, honey-colored glow over the big table—just enough light to push back the shadows in the corners without chasing them off entirely. Supper was done, Mary’s apple pie long gone, and three steaming mugs of coffee sat between Jake Harmon, Old Man Caldwell, and Mary herself.
Caldwell leaned back, long legs stretched under the table, hands resting easy on the chair arms. “Jake,” he said, voice steady as a fence post, “we’ve got ourselves a situation.”
Jake nodded, having expected as much. The old man never lingered over coffee unless something needed tending. “I reckon this is about Miller and the boys.”
Mary gave a small nod as she smoothed her apron. “Miller came by this afternoon. Says he’s fixin’ to join that trail drive headin’ south. Claims he’s feelin’ lonesome for Texas again. I can’t fault a man for missing home.” She sighed gently. “But losing our cook when the work’s piling up… well, that’s a pinch.”
Jake remembered Miller’s slow drawl, his easy grin, and his steady hands at a chuck wagon. “Trail cooks don’t grow on juniper bushes,” Jake muttered. “We’ll feel that loss.”
Caldwell’s brow tightened. “We’ve got branding still to finish, fence line to ride, and a dozen head scattered from the last storm. I can’t run this outfit on half a deck.”
“I’ll shuffle the men,” Jake said. “Pull a couple of greenhorns off fence duty, put ’em with me ridin’ herd. Boone and I can track down the strays. But we’ll be stretched.”
Mary took a breath and stood a little straighter. “Till you find another cook, I’ll see to the meals. Been a while since I fed a full crew, but I haven’t forgotten how.”
Jake smiled. “Mary, you keep this place running smoother than any foreman alive.”
She waved that off. “I just do what needs doin’. But that’s not the only thing weighin’ on us, is it, Jake?”
Jake glanced at Caldwell, then back at his mug. “No, ma’am. Tex came to me this morning. End of the month, and that’s in about a week, he’s takin’ a lawman’s badge in town. Seems they have a rough bunch that comes into town on their days off, and they come lookin’ for trouble. Merchants have taken to boltin’ their doors early, and decent folks keep their families off Main Street past sundown. Last Saturday, somebody put three bullet holes in the front of the mercantile just to see glass fly.”
The room quieted. Even the mantel clock seemed to slow its ticking.
Caldwell let out a long breath. “Tex, a sheriff. Well… I’ll be. He’ll have his hands full on good days without adding more trouble on Saturday nights. But a town that lets men like that run wild won’t stay a town for long. He’s got the steadiness for it, and the grit besides. I won’t stand in his way, but losing him right now hurts. Still, the town needs him more than we do—and if that place falls apart, this ranch is going to feel it.”
Jake nodded. “I’ll start sizing up who might step into his chores. Might take two men to match Tex for a while.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like between Miller ridin’ south and Tex turnin’ sheriff, you’ll be runnin’ sunup to moonrise.”
“That’s the way of it,” Jake said. “But we’ll get through. We always do.”
Caldwell leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You keep an eye on that herd, Jake. Trouble has a nose for weak spots, and we’re mighty thin right now.”
Jake finished his coffee, set the mug aside, and rose. The weight of responsibility settled on him like a well-worn saddle—heavy, but familiar.
Outside, the night met him with cool air and the scent of dust and pine. Boone waited on the porch, tail sweeping the boards, ears sharp.
A lone coyote called from across the valley—high, lonesome, and full of warning.
Jake listened a moment, then looked down at Boone. “Looks like you and I got double shifts for a spell, old boy.”
Boone wagged once, confident as ever.
Side by side, the two crossed the yard toward the bunkhouse lights, ready to meet whatever the dawn decided to bring.
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