Rattlesnake Crossing

Losing a few head of cattle meant a financial loss, but to a farmer or rancher of Alton Hosfield's standing, the loss of two cows would be little more than an a

Joa

Such a tragic outcome was exactly what D. H. Lathrop's daughter was trying to prevent. The Hosfields and the Scorsbys weren't exactly the Hatfields and the McCoys, but with unknown persons ru

Twenty minutes later, just north of Sierra Blanca Canyon, Joa

At the end of the primitive track, however, Joa

Martin Scorsby himself came to the gate of his well-manicured yard to greet her. Dressed in white shorts, socks, and shoes and with a cockily brimmed hat perched on his head, Scorsby looked as though he had just stepped off a te

"What can I do for you?" Scorsby asked.

"I'm Sheriff Brady," Joa

Scorsby glanced at his watch. "Not much more than that," he said, standing just inside the gate to the yard and making no move to open it. "What do you want?"

Without having had anything to drink since her iced tea at Daisy's hours earlier, Joa

"I came to talk to you about what went on over at the Triple C last night-"

"I already talked to your deputy," Scorsby interrupted brusquely. "Sandoval or Sanchez or whatever the hell his name is. I told him I had nothing whatsoever to do with that incident. I also told him that any further discussion of same would have to be conducted through my attorney."

Martin Scorsby may have expected Joa

Taking off the little white hat, Scorsby glowered at her while ru

In the eighteen-eighties, a pioneer rancher named Henry Looker had run huge herds of cattle on a thirty-square-mile spread that had started somewhere near the current boundaries of Martin Scorsby's Pecan Plantation. To an old-timer like Henry Hooker, someone who had specialized in moving his livestock on and off federal land at will, the idea of barbed-wire fencing would have been anathema. Joa

"Mr. Scorsby," Joa

"What 'things' do you mean?" Scorsby asked.

The Ten Commandments, Joa

"A range war!" Scorsby exclaimed. "Are you kidding? Didn't those go out with High Noon?"

"Unfortunately, no," Joa

"When it comes to weapons, I don't have anything much stronger than a cue stick," Scorsby said. "That's what I shoot mostly-pool. Guns aren't my style."

"But you said-"

"I said guns aren't my style," Scorsby insisted. "And if you're still determined that I had something to do with what went on, I can assure you that I was right here in the house all night long. If you don't believe me, ask my wife. We were never apart for even a moment, except for maybe the time I was in the bathroom. She wasn't with me then. Would you like me to call her?"

Joa

"No, thanks," Joa

"Believe me," Scorsby told her, "that'll be my pleasure. The last thing I need to do is to get into some kind of' beef with Alton Hosfield or one of his hired thugs-excuse me, I mean one of his hired hands."

Turning, Joa

"And Sheriff Brady?" Scorsby added.

Closing the car door behind her, Joa

"As I said to Deputy… What's his name again?"

"Deputy Sandoval," Joa

"As I told Deputy Sandoval earlier, if this matter requires any further discussion, my attorney is Maximilian Gailbrathe with Gailbrathe, Winters and Goldman in Tucson."

"Of course, Mr. Scorsby," she said sweetly. She gave the window control button a forceful jab. "Like hell," she added to herself once the window was safely closed, shutting him out of earshot.

If it turned out that Martin Scorsby had indeed had something to do with Alton Hosfield's dead cattle and wrecked irrigation pump, Scorsby's attorney would be doing a whole lot more than simply handling "incident" discussions.