Cate was sure the sheriff would claim his sole interest in coming to the ranch was to kill the black bear that escaped after the mauling. She knew better. Simpson was running for re-election this fall and the hot issue was whether he was looking the other way as ranchers hired illegal migrants. While her father had taken advantage of their gentlemen's agreement, he was no longer alive. It was up to Cate to decide employment issues and her own relationship with the sheriff was as prickly as the cacti scattered across the foothills. She pulled Blackie to a halt and slid to the ground behind the gate leading to the back yard where the sheriff was parked.

“Howdy, Sheriff. What brings you out this morning?” she asked as she led the horse around the cattle guard. She worked to keep her voice neutral, but her dislike for the man showed in the tightness of her lips. 

            Simpson's pleasant demeanor vanished. “Well, I'm surprised you weren't expecting me, young lady, considering what happened on your ranch yesterday.” He paused, his eyebrows lifting.

            “The bear attack was unfortunate, Sheriff, but no laws were broken. Didn't see any need to get you involved.” She kicked dirt with the toe of her boot. The smell of fresh cookies from Lupe’s oven wafted past them. “Got time for a cup of coffee?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

            The sheriff chewed that thought along with his wad of tobacco. He spit toward a grasshopper swinging on a purple cosmos stalk beside the fence. “Nope,” he said, “I’m in a hurry.” His nose twitched toward the kitchen like the rabbit’s in Lupe’s vegetable garden. “But I 'spect it’ll be cold up on that mountain.” He reached for his thermos. “Maybe I could get a re-fill and some of those cookies to take with me.”

Cate sighed. He not only wanted to trespass on her land, he wanted to have a party while he was doing it.

"You're right, of course,” he said. “No law’s been broken. So I guess you won't mind if we take a little look-see up there. I've rounded up some of the boys to hunt down that bear. They should be here by noon with their horses. That's alright with you.” He wasn't asking permission.

She took his thermos and yelled at Lupe to come re-fill it. While that was being done, Cate looked the sheriff in the eye and shook her head. “Sorry, Sheriff. It's not okay. We don't allow hunting on this ranch anymore. There are too many cattle and cowboys who might be taken for wild game. Maybe your boys could ride over to Herb Womack's place. I hear guns going off over there all the time.”

Anticipation drained from Simpson's face, replaced by an angry flush. “Guess I'll have to talk to the judge about a search warrant, then. We can't have a man-eating-bear roaming the countryside, endangering our citizens.” He cleared his throat, making sure his emphasis on “citizens” hit its mark. The sheriff took another juicy shot at the grasshopper, hit him this time, clamped his hat over his head and climbed into his vehicle. He leaned out the window and shook a finger in Cate’s direction. “I got orders to make sure the ranchers around here are hiring only green cards. I was a good friend of your Dad's. Hate to have to sic the immigration people on you.” He jammed the gears into reverse and kicked gravel as he sped out of the yard.

Cate tied Blackie to the hitching post. Inside the kitchen, Lupe, long time cook and house maid, stopped peeling potatoes and asked what that was all about.

“He came out to hassle me. Wants to turn a bunch of hunters loose on the mountain to find that bear. I told him no, which he didn't like.”

Lupe lowered her head, hiding the worry in her eyes. “You haven't seen today's Gazette.” She nodded toward the kitchen table.

            Cate picked up the newspaper and stared at the headline. “Hispanic's Wounds May Be Gang Related.” Her eyes swept over the lead paragraph in seconds. A Mexican woman living in Quail Creek had been found dead with her throat slit ear to ear. Police speculated that her murder was intended to be a message from rival gangs that her family should cease pirating loads of migrants whose transportation belonged to the killers.

            “What the hell does this have to do with me?” Cate asked.

            Lupe stood winding the dishtowel around and around her hands. “The paper says it may not have been a bear that attacked the woman in your camp. Gang members may have tried to kill the woman to get back at her family for stealing a load of migrants the gang had dibs on shipping back east. The sheriff said it was strange you got a load of workers in on the same day as the accident.” She threw the dishtowel on the counter. “He thinks you're running a stash house.”

Cate hooted. “A stash house! The sheriff knows damn well I'm not harboring illegals. Why would I do that? I have my hands full raising cows.” Her forehead wrinkled as she stared at the newspaper. “That's why he wanted to bring a posse up here—pretending he's hunting a bear, when he's actually looking for a stash house.”

            She slapped the paper and stood up. “Has Antonio seen this? Where is he, anyhow?”

            Lupe's eyes widened. “He and Ramón rode up to count the cattle brought down from the hills for market. Said they'd be home by noon.”

Cate grabbed her hat and hurried out to mount Blackie. Her blood was boiling. What if Antonio had hired illegal aliens behind her back? And his nephew—could Ramón actually be a coyote, taking money for leading illegal migrants across the border and talking his uncle into hiring them? Or worse, could he be part of a gang related smuggling operation using her ranch as a drop off point?

         She whipped Blackie into a gallop toward the barn, but slowed when she saw two riders coming toward her from past the soybean fields, dogs chasing ahead of them to greet Cate.

“Cougar! Sadie!”, Antonio yelled at the dogs. The noisy animals crouched and retreated behind his horse.

Cate coolly surveyed the men, her eyes resting too long on Ramón, who made no effort to hide his admiration of horse and rider.

“The sheriff just left,” She said to Antonio “He's out here looking for illegal workers, and accusing me of running a stash house. I want to know how the heck that rumor got started.”

“Well….” Antonio cleared his throat. “Who knows how them things get started?  We took fifteen workers in yesterday, but they all had green cards. I checked 'em. And the story about the gang members slicing up the lady is a bunch of lies. I saw the bear, myself.” He looked at Ramón who nodded. “That's right, Ma'am,” he said. “It was a bear.”

“How do we know the green cards are legit? Maybe we're being set up.”

“I shore hope that's not true, Ma'am,” Antonio said, “but even if it is, we got bigger problems to worry about right now.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Cattle rustlers hit us last night. The fence was cut down over behind them trees near the county road. Somebody backed up a truck and took off with over twenty head.”

“The ones I was selling for taxes? I can't believe it. Where did it happen?” Antonio and Ramón led the way toward the back pasture. Illegal migrants vanished from Cate’s mind. Selling the cattle was her last option for raising cash needed to pay taxes. Well, next to last. Now she’d have to start selling off land.

Surveying the damaged fence, she made a decision. “This job was so damned easy, they'll come back for more, figuring we won't have found out it happened.” Antonio looked skeptical, but she went on. “Let's stake it out for a few nights and see if we can catch 'em.” Her eyes glinted like the sunlight bouncing off a gun barrel.

“Good idea,” Ramón said looking at Antonio. “I can help with that.”

Cate squinted beneath her hat brim at the new employee. This man was a puzzlement to her. She knew nothing about him, except what she saw—suave, good looking, smooth talking, dressed too nicely to have ever been an illegal migrant. Could he have something to do with the story in the paper? Could she trust him not to inform the rustlers of her plans for a stakeout? What she did know was that catching rustlers required a rifle toting cowpoke, not some dude who looked and acted like Antonio Banderas.

She reluctantly turned her attention to Antonio. “I'll report this to the sheriff. Get a crew together with plenty of guns and ammunition.” Touching the rein to Blackie’s neck she let the horse have his head.

At home, Cate called the sheriff, expecting she’d have to eat crow in order to get his help to catch the cattle rustlers. However, she found him more than interested. This was not the first report he’d had of rustlers in the county, using new techniques to make off with a truck load of cattle in a fifteen minute hit. It seemed the rustlers drove up, backed through the fence, set up a quick corral while dogs were sent out to round up twenty head of cattle, loaded them aboard and disappeared to a nearby ranch where brands were changed. The sheriff readily agreed to send two deputies to the stakeout.

The deputies arrived at sundown in the Humvee, pulling a loaded horse trailer. Ramón and Antonio, jumped into the vehicle leaving no room for Cate. She stood watching the men leave. Not to be out maneuvered, she waited until midnight before saddling Blackie and heading for the back pasture, carrying a thermos of hot coffee and her rifle. She followed stars lying close to the horizon, flickering like fireflies beckoning her forward. A bloated moon shone off and on between feathery clouds. To avoid the noise of Blackie's metal shoes against rocks, Cate guided him over the soft underbelly of the woods. Sighting through her binoculars down the fence row, she could see where the fence had been cut. The Humvee was hidden in the underbrush on the far side of the broken fence. No horses were staked within sight, but Blackie pointed his ears in that direction. Afraid riding closer to the site would elicit a whinny from Blackie or one of the other horses, Cate pulled in and dismounted. She unrolled the blanket packed behind the saddle and spread it at the foot of a large tree near the fence. She poured a cup of coffee, leaned her head against the tree and wondered how long she could stay awake if the night remained so tranquil.

Blackie released a warning snort at the moment a hand covered her mouth.

“Sh-h-h,” a voice whispered. Cate tasted blood as she bit the flesh pressed against her mouth. She threw hot coffee over her shoulder and rolled to one side, reaching for her rifle. A heavy body rolled with her. She struggled to get up, but Ramón straddled her stomach. He cursed in Spanish and looked at the hot coffee stain on his shoulder.

“Get off me,” Cate whispered.

He released her arms, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe blood from his hand. He didn't move from his position.

“I said get off me.”

“I heard you. I’ll get off when I have your word that you won’t scream.”

“If I’d intended to scream, I’d have done it already. Now get off.” She gave him a push.

Ramón slowly lifted one leg and rolled to a sitting position beside her. “What are you doing here, Señorita? This is a man's job.”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be looking for thieves. I'm obviously not one of them.”

Ramón chuckled.  “Agreed. But the thieves will be easier to capture than you were. For one thing, they won't be throwing hot coffee.” He looked at her reproachfully. “I came to send you home.”

Cate picked up the thermos and refilled her cup. “I’m not going home, so forget it.”

“Did you bring enough coffee for two?” His voice was low and intimate.

Cate fought the urge to respond in kind. She glared at the stain on his shirt. “I had enough for two at one time.”

“Bueño. It is my pleasure to share with you.” He took the cup from her hand and drank the dregs of coffee in one gulp before reaching for the thermos

“Help yourself,” she said.

“Gracias.” He ignored her sarcasm and handed her the cup. “It would be better with sugar, don't you think?”

“I don’t sweeten my coffee, and I didn't come prepared to throw a party.” She touched the cup to her lips, then handed it back to him. He breathed deeply as he sipped from the cup.

“Ah, you're right. There's no need for sugar after it touches your lips.”

Cate snorted.

Ramón frowned. “Seriously, this is a very dangerous situation, Señorita. You must go home.” He paused. “As soon as we’ve finished the coffee.”  He leaned toward her and offered her another sip. She shot a warning look into his eyes. ”I can take care of myself, you know. I've been shooting a rifle since I was six years old.”

“I’m sure you can, but you’re not so good at sneaking around. I knew you were here from the moment you came over the hill.”

Cate sat up, needing to get things straight. “Are you truly Antonio's nephew? I suspect you're a coyote and a thief, responsible for the problems I'm having.”

Ramón smiled. “I am neither a coyote nor a thief, but I will tell you a secret if you promise not to tell.”

Cate listened, worried her judgment would be compromised by the moist warmth of his lips near her ear.

“I am here to spy on the coyotes and to find out if gangs are involved in the transportation of illegal migrants. I thought I was perfectly suited for the job until tonight. Nobody told me I'd be chasing cattle rustlers, or be distracted by a beautiful woman who carries a mean rifle.

As he spoke, a truck came from West 149 and slowed down near where the cattle had been loaded the previous night. The two jumped to their feet. The truck pulled a double-level trailer with metal rails that allowed air to circulate through the lower half to keep the animals cool. The top half was enclosed with metal walls, obviously not meant to carry animals.

A pickup parked on the side of the road. Two men jumped out. With a short whistle and pointed arm, one of the men sent Australian cattle dogs scrambling under the fence, across the pasture toward where the cattle were bedded. Another pickup arrived and men scrambled out and began assembling a metal corral as if my magic.

Ramón picked up his rifle and hurried away, yelling over his shoulder. “Get cover behind a tree. There may be shots.” He disappeared through the woods, leaving Cate standing with her rifle. She rushed over and lay down behind bushes that hid her from the corral. One of the drivers maneuvered the back of the truck to the corral, where another gate opened to the truck bed. No more than five minutes had passed when bawling cattle, herded by the dogs, appeared over the rise. Two of the thieves whistled and pointed toward the corral and the dogs circled the herd straight for the gate.

Cate frowned as she watched the last of the cows being crowded into the truck. What were the deputies waiting for? She took aim at one of the tires on the truck. She’d be damned if thieves were driving off with another load of her cattle.

As she watched, a cigarette flipped out the truck's window, the engine roared and the driver changed gears as the last cow crowded into the truck. He gunned the engine.

Behind the truck, the remaining rustlers ran to disassemble the corral and load the dogs. Suddenly, Antonio and the deputies slipped from the woods near the truck and all hell broke loose. Bullets began zinging over her head. Cate heard yelling and the thieves raised their hands above their shoulders. The deputies dismounted, running forward with their handcuffs. In the melee, black smoke shot from the exhaust of the truck and it began to move. Cate’s hand rested steady as she aimed at a front tire of the cattle truck. She fired and smiled as the tire flattened. She reloaded and punctured the other front tire. The truck continued to move, and she aimed for the windshield. Abruptly the truck stopped and rolled back into the bar ditch, jack-knifing until the gates twisted and popped open spilling cattle through the corral into the pasture.

“Don’t shoot.” Ramón was yelling, running toward her. She searched for him in the dark.

         “Open up that top section,” Antonio yelled. “There’s banging on the walls.”

Cate watched, astounded, as bodies piled out of the top truck bed. They were migrants, pleading for mercy, begging for water. Fighting nausea, Cate leaned against the tree. The smugglers had been hiding their human cargo in the upper chambers of cattle transport trucks, and putting stolen cattle in the bottom. Her finger tightened on the trigger of the rifle. The bastard smugglers should be lined up and shot.

Cate shivered. This should prove to the sheriff that Rancho del Rió wasn't running a stash house. But what about Ramón? Did it also prove he wasn't a coyote or one of the rustlers? She had to know. She ran toward the truck, flailing through branches and underbrush until she stumbled, piling forward over a soft, yielding body. She hit the ground on her elbows, rolled over, and faced Ramón. Her hand slid over his chest and stopped on a wet, sticky mess on his shoulder. She raised to her knees and screamed. “Antonio!”

The following day, Cate let the screen door slam behind her as she went to see why the sheriff had pulled up into her driveway again. Maybe she was going to be arrested. She nodded as he pushed his weight out the Humvee door and slid to the ground. The broad grin under his mustache matched the sparkle in his eye. “Mornin’, Miss Cate,” he said. “I’ve got good news. Thanks to your stake out, we’ve discovered how the smugglers are transporting the illegal migrants across the country —using cattle trucks. Who would have thought it?” His laugh rattled toward the clouds. He paused to allow Cate time to admire him and his news sufficiently.

She smiled and nodded. “Did you find out where the first load of my cattle went? And when I get them back?”

The sheriff’s grin faded. “No, but the guys rounding up the cattle are talking. We gist need to follow up on their information. It’ll take a few days.”

“And Ramón?  Antonio says he’s doing well. Have you found any links between him and smugglers?”

“No Ma’am.” His eyes stretched large. “I’m not at liberty to reveal who he works for, but you can rest assured he’s legit.” He was obviously pleased with his secret information.

“Good job, Sheriff,” Cate said and waved goodbye as she returned to the kitchen. She really should visit the victim of the bear attack in the hospital and while she was there it would be neighborly to drop by and see Ramón. Probably he’d be tired of hospital coffee by now, she thought, so she poured some of Lupe’s freshly made brew into a thermos. She screwed the lid on, then carefully removed it. She reached for the sugar and measured several spoonfuls into the wide mouth. Nothing wrong with throwing a party now and then.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Maxine Davenport’s writing evokes the toughness and passion of westerners born in the  post-Steinbeck era, and portrays the struggles modern ranchers have with such problems as illegal migrant employees and modern day cattle rustlers. 

 Davenport grew up riding horses in Oklahoma’s Hereford Heaven territory. In college, she won national awards as editor of the East Central Journal. At Colorado State University she received a master’s degree in American literature, followed by a law degree from Oklahoma University. She began writing fiction following a career in law and has completed two unpublished novels and numerous short stories. Writing awards include first place in memoir writing and third place in short story from the Denver Women’s Press Club’s Unknown Authors contest; first place in San Gabriel Writer’s League’s short fiction contest; and most recently, honorable mention in Women Writing the West and Women Out West Magazine contest.

While practicing law in Colorado Springs, she was active in Pikes Peak Writers and served as editor of The Pikes Peak Writer NewsMagazine. She traveled to China with other women lawyers and judges, the first People to People group allowed into that country. Later she accompanied a group of Heifer International personnel to Zimbabwe, Africa, where they visited  farms and met with government offcials. One summer of law school she spent at Queens college, Oxford, England, after touring Europe by automobile. Now living in Santa Fe, she keeps in touch with mountain climbing friends whom she accompanied up twenty-six of Colorado’s fourteeners.

 Davenport is the mother of three children and seven grandchildren.