“As your housekeeper?” Sally asked.
Jeff was completely taken back. “Oh! Uh…no, I mean…er, uh, that is…isn’t what I meant at all.”
“What do you mean, Jeff?”
“I mean, uh…would you…uh…could you…uh…uh…like to?”
“What in blue blazes are you trying to ask me, Jeff Nelson?”
“Would you sarry me, Mally?”
“What?”
“I, uh, I, I…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, yes. I weff jarry you, Mill.”
“Sacre bleu, you two have lost your minds,” they heard Cookie mutter as he passed by.
“Did you ask me to do what I think you asked me to do?”
“Yes, I did, will you?”
“When?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Can my father do it?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. He can.”
“Yes, then I will marry you.”
Jeff and Sally were married by her father in his church as soon as her friends were notified. After the wedding reception, Jeff and Sally boarded the eastbound Southern Pacific Flyer at Fort Davis and spent their two glorious weeks honeymoon in San Antonio, visiting the Alamo, canoeing on the San Antonio River, seeing sights, dining elegantly, and just getting to know each other. After two weeks, they were anxious to return to the JN Brand and begin living in their new ranch house.
Sally rearranged their bedroom to suit her, and Jeff agreed it looked better than when he and the architect did it. Sally really complimented their four-poster bed, and when Jeff told Sally that, she chased him out of their bedroom.
That summer was the most wonderful months Jeff Nelson could remember since he was a kid living with his mama and papa in Virginia. He and Sally bonded like two peas in a pod. She and Cookie worked side by side in the kitchen. She was an excellent cook too, but Cookie taught her some bunkhouse recipes that all men enjoy eating.
Chapter Twenty-Two
That fall’s late summer roundup came and went. New calves were castrated and branded. Their entire herd was tallied. The JN Brand had enjoyed another prosperous year growing its cattle. The same week, the army called for more beef. Fort Davis sent a shavetail lieutenant with a purchase order for seventy-five head of beef to be delivered post haste.
Bo was elected to take five fall roundup cowboys, gather the seventy-five steers together, and drive ’em the twelve miles to the fort. There the five drovers would be laid off till spring roundup. Next year’s early spring they’d have a job awaiting. Bo was instructed to pay off the five drovers, collect the spare horse and the cattle money from the army and return to the ranch without tarrying in town.
Four days later Bo wasn’t back. “Wada ya thinks happened to Bo, boss?” Smitty asked Jeff.
“I don’t know, Smitty. A day going, a day coming, Bo should a been back yesterday, at the most. But I know this. We’re sure gonna go find out. Saddle our horses, plus two spares, and pack some grain and water. Tell Ed I said to stay close to Sally and tell Mac to look after her and this ranch while you and I are gone.”
“Smitty?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Wear both your Colts!”
Jeff went into the ranch house, strapped on his Colts. He got his coat, his bedroll, and Winnie, his .44 carbine. Jeff kissed Sally and told her he’d be back soon. “I’m gonna be gone for a day or two, honey. You need anything, you tell Ed or Cookie, they’ll get it. You listening to me, Cookie?”
“Loud and clear, boss.”
He kissed Sally goodbye again and walked out the front door and down toward the corral where Smitty met him halfway leading the horses. Jeff secured Winnie in her saddle boot, swung a leg over his gelding, and nudged him in his ribs, and they were on the road toward Fort Davis.
At the fort, Jeff went to see the army commandant. “Yes, your man was here. He delivered your cattle—delicious beef, I might add. He collected the money, and he left, Mr. Nelson.”
Jeff and Smitty rode into town. Bo wasn’t in jail. He hadn’t been in jail, and the town’s marshal said he had seen neither hide nor hair of anyone named Bo.
“Maybe he didn’t do like you told him, boss, and not come to town. Maybe he did. What now, boss?”
“Let’s check all the saloons.” That took some doing, there was seven. No one had seen Bo or anyone fitting his description or that name. It was like he’d vanished. “You don’t think Bo’d run off with your money, do you, boss?”
“Certainly not. I trust Bo. Something’s happened, I can feel it, Smitty. Let’s locate the livery stable.”
“Nah, I ain’t see your man.”
“Where do you keep most of your stock?”
“Out back. Two nags I own are rented out.”
“Let’s look, Smitty.”
“There’s one of ours, boss, and that one too. See our brands?”
“Yep, there’s our JN brand on his left hip. Bo was riding that buckskin, boss.”
“Okay, mister, fess up, how’d you come by my two horses.”
“I bought ’em off two fellers.”
“Describe them.”
“One’s a tall feller, mustache, the other one was short, kinda fat. I paid ’em good money for them nags, mister.”
“Okay, you keep ’em for now, but if your story don’t check out, I’m coming back.”
“Let’s go see that marshal again.”
“I’m looking for a feller, Marshal. He likes to fight, he carries a bowie knife, and he likes to use it to kill folks.”
“Hmmm, seems familiar, lemme think. Yeah, I remember now. Sounds like a feller I’ve run out of town once or twice, a troublemaker, likes to pick fights, and he always uses a knife. Killed a time or two, always had a witness friend who vouched it’d been a fair fight. Last time I told him to never come back here again. Hadn’t seen him as of late.”
“He or his men were in your town a day or so ago, he sold your liveryman two horses he stole from me.”
“Do tell, hmmm.”
“You remember his name, Marshal?”
“Yeah, I was thinking on that, too, seems like is was Lester somethin’ or other.”
“Like maybe, Willis? Lester Willis?”
“Maybe so. That sounds kinda like it might his moniker. I’d have to see his face to be positive. I never forget a feller’s face.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Now what, boss?”
“You know what I think, Smitty?”
“What, boss?”
“I think Bo was ambushed after he sold the steers. Let’s go find that shavetail lieutenant who brought us that voucher.” They rode back to Fort Davis. Jeff asked the commandant for permission to question the young officer. He was granted permission.
“Lieutenant, I’m Jeff Nelson,