Chapter Twelve
Hazel was coaxing aparticularly stubborn weed from the garden mid-morning the next day when one of the ranch hands came riding at a fast clip from the north.
She sat back on her heels, tugging the brim of her hat forward to better shade her eyes from the sun. The rider disappeared from view. Curiosity overtaking her desire to remove weeds, she stood, pulled off her gardening gloves, and strode around the front of the house.
Wade had already met the horse and rider, and Lars jogged toward them from the barn. Clutching her gloves in her hands, Hazel moved in their direction. She recognized the man who’d come riding in. Mr. Stewart, she thought his name was. He was particularly fond of any sweet thing she made, be it a pie or a cake or even the sugared berries.
“ . . . were gone!” he was saying from atop the horse.
Lars’s eyes widened beneath the brim of his hat while Wade stared at the man.
“What do you mean bygone?” Wade asked.
“As in they ain’t there. None of them,” Mr. Stewart said as his horse stamped the ground.
Hazel hung back, not wanting to intrude. Surely Mr. Stewart wasn’t talking about the cattle.
Wade muttered a word Hazel was certain he wouldn’t have if he’d known she was within hearing distance.
“You looked around the back of that hill by the creek?” Kristiansen asked.
“We looked all over. Behind the hill, across the creek, even out across the railroad tracks when we saw it looked like the herd went that way.”
Wade pulled off his hand and ran a hand through his hair. “You thinking the same as me?” he asked Lars.
The foreman nodded, worry creasing lines on his face. “I’ll grab a couple men and follow the tracks.”
“I’ll go with you,” Mr. Stewart said.
“Don’t go too far. Get a bearing and then head down to Crest Stone and let Wright know.” Wade slapped his hat against his leg as Kristiansen ran toward the stable, Mr. Stewart and his horse following.
“Is it the rustlers?” Hazel asked as she stepped away from the house.
Wade turned. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn’t show it. “I’m afraid so.”
Hazel twisted her gloves in her hands. “How did they get past the men guarding those pastures?”
“Could’ve been in the chaos last night, or could’ve been early this morning when those men came in for breakfast.” He paused, glancing out over the yard. “I wonder if that bobcat last night was a bobcat at all.”
“Do you mean they might have set up a distraction on purpose?”
Wade nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “They might’ve taken some then, just enough not to be noticed, then come back later to finish the job.”
If Hazel worried her gloves any more, she’d put a hole in them. She didn’t know what it meant to the ranch—whether the loss of these cattle would be a substantial burden. And she didn’t know quite how to ask. So instead, she said, “Is it possible that Deputy Wright will be able to find them?”
“There’s no telling. Depends on how good they are at rustling, I suppose.”
Lars and Mr. Stewart emerged from the barn with horses and another one of the ranch hands. Wade strode across the yard to speak with them, and Hazel went back to the garden, trying to shake the feeling of unease that had crept up her spine as she watched the men prepare to go search for the stolen cattle.
As she continued to pull weeds, she prayed the cattle would be found, and if they weren’t, that their loss wouldn’t be too much for the ranch to sustain.
But more than anything, she prayed no one would be hurt.
