The Eye of the Hunter by Frank Bonham Page A

mesquite jungles, mesas, and rattlesnake dens, and rims out at the Tres Amigos Mountains. Water, water everywhere—except at the ranch house, where you have to carry it by bucket from a pozo up on the mesa. I was doing beautifully, Logan ...”
    The general’s finger roved the map, here and there and back again, sausagelike, rigid as a stick, the finger of an old farmer.
    â€œI got the Engineers to do me an irrigation plan and build me a bunkhouse like a barracks—and the house! Oh, you’ll see it, the woman will take you through it, proud as a peahen! My wife planted the things she loves, peonies, roses, wisteria—I told you her mind’s going—never been the same since she had to pack and leave so that foul gambler could move in! My dream—I’ve had to scale it down a bit—is to have Emily die in her own home. In the four-poster bed I brought from Vermont.”
    Henry said, “Were you thinking of her when you bet your ranch in a crap game?”
    Ambrose turned to shout, “His partner lost it for him! The damned fool was going to Denver to buy cattle! Why don’t you shut up and listen?”
    Henry smiled. “That’s different. You just gave him the deed—and let him hop a rattler, with the ranch in his pocket.”
    â€œHe had power of attorney to borrow on it,” Stockard said. “As much as he needed to buy the cattle. He’s never been seen in the Territory since. But that’s neither here nor there. I’ve decided to buy the ranch back. I’ll pay you to act as my agent.”
    He took an envelope and tossed it before Henry. Smiled and bobbed his head. Henry left it there. Stockard pushed it toward him.
    â€œI’m not trying to hoodwink her,” he said. “But I can’t persuade her—she won’t listen to me. Just give her that envelope. Make damned sure she reads what’s in it. It lays everything out so that even a female can understand it.
    â€œThere’s a hundred for you if she accepts,” he added.
    â€œWhy should she listen to me?”
    Stockard leaned forward, confidentially. “The woman’s alone, Henry! It’s not natural for a woman not to have a man around to keep her mind straight. Mrs. Parrish desperately needs somebody to tell her what to do. And she feels it! Give her a couple of days and she’ll be asking you which skirt she should wear, how to fix the pump, and whether to sell the ranch.”
    Ambrose snorted. “And then she’ll wear a different skirt and tell you the pump’s all right now. And she’s decided to keep the ranch.”
    â€œShe won’t keep it long,” said the general. “She owes everybody in the county. As soon as Rip is declared legally dead, they can sue and not look bad. What do you say?”
    â€œNothing. I happen to think her husband may still be alive. When I find him, or his body, I’m through here.”
    Ambrose showed his long yellow teeth. “That should be a snap, Logan. Just sift the sands of Sonora until you find where the bandidos left the carcass.”
    â€œSomething like that. Everybody knows he’s dead. Well, everybody but our whispering buffoon of a sheriff.” He stormed toward some smudged galley proofs hanging from hooks on the wall. “Read this! I’m running the story tomorrow.”
    He yanked loose a long galley proof and shoved it at Henry. “This is how the town feels! The whole Rip Parrish picture is right there.”
    Henry laid the galleys atop the map.
    RECALL MOVE GROWS!
Angry Nogalenos held a meeting Tuesday night to consider legal steps to remove Sheriff George “Whispering George” Bannock from office.
    Sheriff Bannock, recently reelected to a third term, was invited to attend the meeting but failed to appear. Citizens of Santa Cruz County had hoped to hear his explanation of why he has not taken steps to declare Richard I. Parrish legally