Betrayal at the Buffalo Ranch Read online

  “He left a while ago. You want me to call him?”

  “No, but come in my office and take this man’s complaint.” The

  sheriff turned his attention back to Angus. “Why don’t you come in and

  have a seat, Angus, and we’ll talk about it, okay?”

  Angus could feel himself getting angrier as he sat down and waited

  for both lawmen to arrange themselves with paper and pen. This was

  the price he had to pay to live in the obscurity of Delaware County, he

  thought. Incompetence at every turn.

  The two men sat and listened to Angus recount what had happened

  at the Eli Walela place, spinning the story in his favor. He told them

  how he’d stopped to make a neighborly visit, that’s all, and how Eli had

  threatened him, and when he went to leave Eli had tried to kill him for

  no reason at all.

  “Attempted murder, that’s what it was,” Angus said. “I want that

  savage thrown in jail, and I want it done before the day is over.”

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  Long looked at Jennings and then back at Angus. “That’s a pretty serious charge, Mr. Clyborn. Were there any witnesses?”

  “I don’t need witnesses,” Angus shouted. “I’ve got proof.” His heart

  raced and he could feel his face getting warm. “Just come out here and

  look at my truck.”

  Angus felt the chair falling backward as he stood and stormed to-

  ward the door. Long and Jennings followed, and together the three men

  inspected the damage to Angus’s truck. Finally, Long turned to Jennings

  and said, “Take his report, and we’ll have Lance take care of it when he

  gets back.”

  After turning Angus over to Deputy Jennings, the sheriff disap-

  peared. It took Jennings almost an hour to finish writing up the incident report, as Angus kept adding first one thing and then another. Jennings

  looked exasperated when he finally handed the report to Angus.

  “That’s it, Mr. Clyborn. Sign here and I’ll make you a copy.”

  Angus signed the complaint and handed it back to the deputy. “So

  when are you going to arrest him?”

  Jennings walked over to the copy machine, placed the report on the

  glass, and punched a button. Once the machine spit out a copy, he turned

  and handed it to Angus. “When Lance Smith, the deputy sheriff, gets

  back, he’ll talk to the district attorney and decide what happens next.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Angus said, as he marched out the door and

  let it slam shut behind him.

  The slow- turning wheels of justice in this one- horse town were akin

  to prehistoric, in his opinion. He’d take care of it himself.

  Angus turned right and walked straight down the sidewalk to the

  county courthouse, where he entered, walked past the man at the front

  desk, and headed straight toward the office of Lloyd Davis, the county

  district attorney.

  When Angus pushed through the door, he could see Davis seated

  in a leather chair behind a large wooden desk, with the phone nes-

  tled between his shoulder and ear. His skinny, colorful tie divided his

  wide chest like the spine of an open book. He leaned forward, ended

  his phone conversation, and hung up. When he stood, his black horn-

  rimmed glasses slipped to the end of his nose as he offered his hand

  to Angus.

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  Angus ignored the district attorney’s friendly gesture and slammed the copy of the incident report in the middle of his desk. “Do something,” he demanded.

  Davis frowned and picked up the report. “What’s going on, Angus?”

  “I want you to issue an arrest warrant for this heathen. He tried to

  kill me.”

  Davis sat back down, glanced at the report, then looked up at Angus

  and said, “Sit down, Angus.”

  Angus sat, pulled his cigar out of his pocket, lit it, and propelled

  blue smoke across the desk at Davis.

  A frown formed across Davis’s face as he read the complaint.

  “Angus, I know Eli Walela, and this doesn’t make any sense. What did

  you do to him?”

  “Made him a friendly offer to buy his land, that’s all. He went ber-

  serk and shot out the window of my truck. I tell you he’s dangerous, a

  menace to society. I want you to throw him in jail and throw away the

  key. Maybe he’ll reconsider my offer then.”

  Davis shook his head. “I’ll talk to the sheriff and get back to you,

  Angus.”

  “Don’t take too long to think about it. Or, do I need to remind you

  that my money put you behind that desk?” Angus forced the chair back,

  dropped his cigar on the floor, swiveled the tip of his alligator boot on top of it, and tromped out.

  ★

  Roy Carter leaned against the gate of his corral and watched Dakota

  Scott, the veterinarian the locals referred to as Doc Cody, examining

  one of his cows. The animal had aborted her fetus three days earlier. The cow squirmed in the cattle chute, and the veterinarian waited a minute

  before adjusting the wooden piece that held the cow’s head in place.

  Roy’s stomach churned. He chewed on his lip and then spit in the

  grass. He already knew what Doc Cody was going to say, and the more

  he thought about it the angrier he got.

  Doc Cody walked to his truck, pulled out a box that resembled

  Roy’s fishing tackle box, and extracted a syringe. He adjusted the straw

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  cowboy hat on his head and nodded at Roy. “You want to give me a hand here?”

  Roy walked to the head of the chute and talked quietly to the cow,

  unsure if the calming effect was for the cow or for him. “It’s okay,” he

  said. He held the head restraint tightly while the doctor worked.

  Doc Cody quickly extracted a sample of blood. “Okay, that’s it.”

  Roy loosened his grip and released the cow from the chute. Following

  the doctor to his truck, Roy spit on the ground again.

  “It’s Bang’s, isn’t it?” Roy growled.

  “I won’t know for sure until I get the blood work back, but that’s my

  suspicion. Was this cow vaccinated?”

  “We’ve never had Bang’s around here before.”

  “What about the others?”

  Roy shook his head.

  “Have you introduced any new cattle into the herd?”

  “Bought a couple of heifers from my neighbor about six months

  ago, but that doesn’t have anything to do with it.” Roy couldn’t control

  the anger in his voice. “I’ll tell you what does, though. It’s that damn

  Texan that’s moving wild game into the area. He’s got elk and buffalo

  and who knows what. That’s where this came from, and he’s going to

  be sorry he ever set foot in Delaware County by the time I get through

  with him.”

  Doc Cody shook his head. “You don’t know that, Roy. Let’s wait

  and see what happens.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going to lose my entire

  herd because of that son of a bitch. And, he’s going to pay for it.”

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  Chapter 15

  Eugene Hawk saddled his horse, a black- and- white paint gelding named

  Pepper, and let the reins fall to the ground. The horse stood in place,

  snuffled, and swished a horsefly away from his belly with his white tail.

  Hawk climbed in th
e Ford F-350 diesel truck and backed up to a

  sixteen- foot covered stock trailer, both of which he’d borrowed from his friend, rancher Bobby Boyles, under the pretense that he was looking to

  buy four horses and needed the means to transport them from the sale

  barn in Tahlequah to his ranch north of Liberty in Cherokee County.

  With the gooseneck firmly attached, he led Pepper inside the trailer, se-

  cured the horse with a rope attached to his halter, and slid the lock into place at the rear.

  Hawk carefully nosed the truck and trailer out onto the highway and

  began the forty- five- minute drive north to Eucha. Once he rounded the

  Lake Eucha Dam, he drove north and east to the small community of

  Eucha, turned left at the three- way intersection, and followed the road

  for several minutes before turning left again onto an obscure dirt road

  the forestry department rarely used. The only tracks he could see were

  the ones he’d made the night before. He pulled to the side of the road,

  got out, and opened a makeshift gate halfway, then retrieved Pepper

  from the back of the trailer and led him inside the fenced area. Using the same halter rope he’s used earlier, he tied the horse to the low- hanging limb of a sycamore tree, patted his neck, and assured him he’d be back

  soon. Hawk’s soothing voice seemed to satisfy Pepper, who began to

  nibble some nearby grass.

  Hawk closed the gate, got back into the truck, and pulled the trailer

  back toward Eucha, where he turned south and then west. After several

  minutes that felt like hours, he let the truck and trailer roll to a stop at the entry of the Buffalo Ranch and scanned the area. The ranch was

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  supposed to be deserted, something he was counting on so he could get in and out unnoticed. The two ranch hands that helped Angus with the

  animals had left the night before to check on a small herd of elk they

  were hoping to pick up from another hunting ranch in Colorado. Angus

  had told him on the phone that morning that Camilla had gone shopping

  in Tulsa, and while she was gone he intended to talk some unsuspecting

  landowner into selling him some more land. Dirt cheap, he’d said.

  Hawk spit in the weeds through the open window of his truck as if

  trying to rid himself of a bad taste in his mouth. Angus was rude and

  crude, and now Hawk regretted becoming entangled with the man as a

  business partner. Angus had no scruples, and the deeper Hawk became

  involved with him, the more that became apparent. Hawk realized his

  hands weren’t exactly clean in this operation, and unfortunately, he had

  already passed the point of no return, but maybe he could do one last

  thing right before it was all over. He had to save the white buffalo calf from the monster Angus Clyborn. And he hoped it wouldn’t cost him

  his life.

  Hawk guided the truck and trailer up the driveway, then slowly

  drove beyond the house and the bunkhouse to a large metal gate in the

  tall fencing next to the barn. He opened the gate, drove through, and

  closed it behind him before driving into the valley where the road disap-

  peared into a worn path that must have been there for decades. So far, so good. He had encountered no one.

  After he’d driven deep into the heart of Angus’s Buffalo Ranch, he

  could see what he came for. A buffalo cow stood in a temporary round

  pen watching Hawk approach. Her cream- colored calf stopped nursing

  and looked his way as well. Both appeared to be curious, but not scared.

  That was a good sign. He knew this particular cow hadn’t come from

  Yellowstone. It had been raised on a ranch that had a good reputation

  as far as the treatment of buffalo was concerned, but that didn’t negate

  the fact that they were wild. He didn’t think someone could simply do-

  mesticate buffalo like you could beef. Buffalo demanded a strong hand,

  and suddenly he had no idea how he was going to pull off this mission.

  It took him three tries to get the trailer backed up and aligned with

  the gate. He slid out of the truck and opened the tailgate of the covered stock trailer. This could be tricky, but he’d handled a lot of cattle in his day and hoped his instincts would be right.

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  Angus had imprisoned this poor cow and calf in a small area, and the grass had already been picked to bare earth. The feed bin and the

  water trough were empty, meaning the mother buffalo was probably

  hungry and thirsty. That would put any animal in a bad mood. He took

  some grain out of the cab of the truck, climbed into the trailer, and

  spread it on the floor of the trailer next to a pile of hay he’d already arranged.

  Hawk cursed under his breath. He’d reacted impulsively. He hadn’t

  thought this through completely and hoped he wasn’t creating a bigger

  problem than he already had, but he couldn’t allow a white buffalo to be

  here, not on Angus Clyborn’s Buffalo Ranch.

  The sides of the round pen weren’t as tall and strong as the other

  fencing, and he knew the buffalo cow could walk right through it if she

  desired. He certainly didn’t want her to think he represented a danger to her calf. That could be deadly.

  Hawk went back to the cab of his truck and retrieved a suede bag,

  withdrew from the pen, and sat down on a large stump. He took the

  leather pouch of tobacco and held it for a minute as he tried to collect

  his thoughts, tried to remember what his grandfather had taught him.

  The lessons of his youth were dim, fleeting, so instead he began to sing.

  But he’d forgotten all the Cherokee words to the song he’d learned as

  a child, and eventually resorted to humming. He raised his face to the

  sky and spoke aloud, asking for a blessing on what he was about to do.

  After several minutes, he took a pinch of tobacco out of the pouch and

  placed it on the stump. Then he retied the pouch and pushed it into his

  shirt pocket.

  Hawk moved cautiously around the outside of the pen and, just as

  he’d hoped she would do, the large animal and her calf slowly lumbered

  in the opposite direction. He took off his hat, held it to his chest, and watched a miracle unfold before his eyes. The buffalo and her calf maneuvered away from him and into the alley, stepped into the low trailer,

  and began to eat the grain he’d scattered there. He’d been right; she was hungry. He stood there dumbstruck for a moment until he regained his

  composure, ran to the trailer, and slammed the door shut.

  The buffalo eyed him through the small slits in the side of the stock

  trailer and a bolt of adrenaline shot through his veins. It was a sign. She knew he was there to help her, to save her and her calf from Angus. He

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  looked toward the sky and spoke a word of thanks. If his luck held, Angus would never know he had taken the white calf. His knees were

  shaking as he climbed into the cab of the truck. Then he made another

  request to the heavens above— just get him and his cargo out of there

  alive.

  Hawk tugged the shifter into drive and eased the truck and trailer

  away from the round pen and through the pasture. Relieved that no vehi-

  cles had returned to the house or the bunkhouse, he negotiated the metal

  gate and drove steadily toward the main entrance, but his heart began to

  race when he saw a vehicle approaching on the road. He held his breathr />
  while a man wearing a white cowboy hat ignored him completely and

  drove a battered pickup truck toward the dam.

  Carefully, Hawk passed through the entryway, turned left, and drove

  in the opposite direction the cowboy had gone. He checked his rear-

  view mirror and watched the Buffalo Ranch fade into the distance. He

  drove slowly, cautiously, back the way he’d come, back to the narrow for-

  estry access road and the gate where he’d left Pepper. When he arrived,

  Pepper was standing right where he’d left him. The horse lifted his head

  and whinnied.

  Hawk left the engine running while he got out and opened the

  gate, wide this time, and then returned and pulled the truck and trailer

  through. He could feel the weight of his cargo shift, and he looked to-

  ward the sky. “Just a little bit longer,” he said. He continued driving the truck into deep weeds and circled so that the front of the truck now faced the gate he’d just come through. He killed the engine, jumped out, and

  ran to the gate and closed it. So far, everything was going as planned,

  and adrenaline pumped through his body.

  Technically, this was part of the Buffalo Ranch— a hundred and

  sixty acres of land that had belonged to the Chuculate family until Hawk

  had done the dirty work necessary to make it part of Angus Clyborn’s

  empire. George Washington Chuculate was dead and had been for a

  long time. By rights the land belonged to his heirs, but no one had ever

  bothered to claim the land and change the title. Hawk knew how to draw

  up the paperwork and quiet the title, forge the necessary documents to

  turn ownership over to the bogus organization he’d created on paper,

  and transfer the land to Angus for a nominal cash fee that he’d immedi-

  ately deposited into his own bank account.

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  If anyone ever found the cow and calf, Angus couldn’t say they had been stolen, because they were still on Buffalo Ranch land. He just

  hoped that the death of Kenny Wayne Sanders didn’t draw attention to

  the area. The top of the steep ridge, above where the cow and her calf

  now stood, happened to be where Sanders had been building fence when

  he was killed. The adjoining land belonged to the Walelas, and Angus

  had said he was in the process of acquiring both ranches. He’d have to