The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(17)

“Hey, you’re the youngest one of us, so don’t try to be the big boss man. We’re in this together, and we ain’t makin’ no mistakes. Granny said that we got to be in Salt Holler by the time the benediction is done at church this mornin’, and on our way to Mingus by the time the Brennans realize their hogs are gone,” Hart said. “Now back her up easy-like, and we’ll make Granny proud.”

Randy clicked off the instructions in his head: Load ’em up. Make sure to cover any tracks by runnin’ some cattle across the ground after they’d loaded the hogs. Unload them at Wallace’s place, and then take the cattle truck to Mingus, Texas, where there was a bull and two heifers waiting to come to Wild Horse Ranch. Job done and alibi in place.

It was the wrong time of year for piglets, so the job wasn’t as difficult as it could have been. Lord, rounding up squealing piglets was tougher than herding cats. Eli did have a problem with one old sow that set her heels and lowered her head. Damn near set him on his ass in the mud before he got his balance and was able to turn the pig into the chute. Other than that, it was an easy job.

They were in the hog house and out within the allotted thirty minutes, hogs grunting and squealing in the cattle truck as it made its way back to the main road. Randy and Hart stayed behind to chase about fifty head of cattle across the ground to cover the truck tires, and then jogged to the truck.

“Next stop—Salt Holler and turnin’ these over to Wallace,” Eli said.

To get to Salt Holler, they had to cross a bridge that should have fallen down years ago and would in no way support a cattle truck. Besides, there was a gate with a padlock closing off the bridge. Eli parked on the far end and grew impatient with the wait after ten minutes.

“Where is he?” Randy asked.

“It’s only eleven fifteen,” Hart said. “Don’t go pissin’ your pants yet. Benediction ain’t over until smack up twelve o’clock. And if the preacher calls on Quaid Brennan to give it, it might last another ten minutes past that. He does love the sound of his own voice.”

Five minutes later, Wallace appeared at the other end of the bridge in an old beat-up pickup with a cage on the back. He was a big man with a bald head and wire-rimmed glasses. He came to the end of the bridge, unlocked the gate and threw it up, and then he held up one finger.

Fog settled around the bridge, giving it an eerie feeling. A freezing mist had started falling that morning. It reminded Hart of an old black-and-white movie about villains appearing in a fog. Wallace didn’t look like a machine-gun-toting gangster as he crossed arms as big as hams over his wide chest and waited. But something about his stance made him every bit as scary.

“What does that mean?” Eli asked.

“I reckon he wants one of us to meet him there. I’ll go,” Hart said.

He bailed out of the truck and stuck out his hand as he drew close to Wallace. “Hello, I’m…”

“That’ll be far enough, son, and I don’t need to know your name,” Wallace said in a deep voice. “Y’all boys get that truck turned around, and then set them pigs loose on this bridge. I’ll let my hog dogs out of the truck, and between them and my family, we’ll herd them hogs to where we want them. Y’all best keep quiet about this sale, because if the law comes snoopin’ around Salt Holler, it’s your face that I’m keepin’ in my head.”

One of Wallace’s front teeth was slightly longer than the other one. He didn’t blink, and his expression didn’t change a whit. Hart felt like he was standing before the devil on judgment day.

“That’s a narrow dirt road out there, sir. I’m not so sure we can turn the truck around,” Hart said.

“Little place a hun’erd yards backwards that you can nose into, and then back it up to the edge of the bridge. Time you get that done, my family and friends will be here to herd hogs. Once you open the truck gate, your job is done. Now you can get on back in your seats, and I’ll slap the side right hard when we get the last one out. That’s your signal to get the hell away from Salt Holler.”

Hart nodded.

“You be rememberin’ what I said, boy,” Wallace said. “And tell your granny that it was a pleasure doin’ business with her.”

“Yes, sir,” Hart said and jogged back to the truck, his cowboy boots sounding like they were beating on a snare drum with every step.

“What did he say?” Eli asked.

A cold shiver ran down Hart’s back when he relayed what Wallace had said. “I don’t think it’s only our cattle truck that isn’t allowed to cross that bridge. It’s anyone that doesn’t live in Salt Holler.”

“How do you reckon they intend to get all those hogs across that bridge?” Randy asked. “There’s got to be fifty or sixty back there.”

“It’s need to know, and we don’t,” Hart said.

Eli put the truck in reverse and watched his side mirrors until he saw the dirt pathway cutting off to the south. He carefully backed into it and then pulled out as if going back the way he came from. When he looked in his mirror again, people lined both sides of the bridge and Wallace waited at the end with a hand up in the air. When the hand went down, Eli applied the brakes.

Hart opened the door, and Wallace yelled, “Y’all boys stay on in the truck. Gates ain’t locked. We’ll take care of the rest.”