The H&R Cattle Company (6 page)

Since he could not visit Silver Springs for an on-site inspection without being seen by Hollingsworth, Rollins did the next best thing: he had the bartender describe the property in detail. He left the saloon with a clear mental picture, then drew himself a map when he reached his hotel room.

After a haircut, shave and a bath at the barber shop next morning, Rollins dressed himself in his new suit. He was now ready to visit Mrs. Victoria Lindsay.

The lady lived two miles south of town in a beautiful two-story home that stood a thousand yards off the main road. As Bret rode into the yard, he could see the bulldogs waiting for him at the gate. Mrs. Lindsay, who indeed appeared to be eighty years old, walked from the house and quieted the dogs. She was a tall woman, with gray hair rolled neatly into a bun and pinned at the back of her head. A short apron was tied around her waist. She reached the gate and stood there looking at him.

Rollins dismounted and flashed his best smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Lindsay. My name is Bret Rollins, and I'm hoping I can talk with you for a few minutes.”

She studied him for only a moment. “If it's about that land, there ain't no use to talk.”

Rollins sensed immediately that here was a down-to-earth woman who would resist high-pressure tactics till hell froze over. He must speak clearly, simply and softly; otherwise, the lady would show him the road.

Bret Rollins had been charming people all of his life and was determined that Mrs. Lindsay would be no exception. He continued to smile and leaned against the gate, deliberately letting a curl fall to his forehead. In his deepest, most resonate tone of voice, he began to speak slowly. “I did come here to talk about the land, Mrs. Lindsay, but I'm not a rancher, farmer or developer. All I ask is that you hear me out.”

She looked him up and down several times. Then her stern look softened. “I don't reckon I'll deny you a chance to talk,” she said, her lower lip quivering slightly. She unlatched the gate. “Come on in.”

Bret tied the roan to the hitching rail, then followed her up the steps. As they entered the house, a young boy about ten years old got to his feet. “My caretaker's grandson,” she said.

Rollins introduced himself and shook hands with the young man, who disappeared immediately. “Fine-looking boy,” Rollins said, turning to face the woman. “Fine-looking boy.”

“You don't look like much more'n a boy yourself,” she told him, taking a seat in a cushioned chair.

“Everybody says I look younger than I am. Lord, I'll be thirty-two next week.”

Mrs. Lindsay called to the maid, ordering tea for the two of them. “All right, Mister Rollins, what is it that you want to say?”

Rollins walked back and forth a few times, then took the tray from the maid and set it on a table. He was racking his brain as he handed a glass to Mrs. Lindsay. He knew that he would never stand in this parlor again unless he laid down a very convincing story. He cleared his throat, then plunged into the tale he had rehearsed in his mind a hundred times.

“I'm from New Orleans, Louisiana, Mrs. Lindsay. Five years ago I took a part-time job there as physical-education director at an orphanage. That job turned into what I hope will be a lifetime of dedicated work with homeless youngsters.

“To see how hard those kids try, and the happy, joyous look on their faces as they realize that for once in their lives they finally have a home, is enough to touch even the most calloused heart.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that he had her attention.

“Two years later, my parents came to work at the orphanage when they retired. In fact, they are still working and living there, and they love those kids as they always loved their own.

“Six months ago, my folks told me that they would like to build a home for orphan boys right here in Texas. Mom and Dad would run it themselves with a minimum of hired help, and I would donate much of my time as business manager. The rest of my time would be spent helping the boys to develop strong bodies and teaching them how to become respectable men.

“That hundred acres you own at Silver Springs would be the ideal location.”

The lady had not spoken since Rollins began to talk. He glanced at her expression and knew that he had her undivided attention. He knew that money would not buy the property, for he had only to look around him to know that she was rich. He must get the land for free, or he would not get it at all. He paused briefly, then continued his spiel. “I first approached a rancher named Hollingsworth with my idea, but he wouldn't even listen, said the orphans of the world are not his responsibility. I guess you know the man I'm talking about.”

“Oooh, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I know him all right.”

Rollins continued: “Two businessmen in Dallas have agreed to bear the expense of erecting the buildings if I can get the land. Those kindhearted gentlemen are willing to help me create my vision. This, Mrs. Lindsay, is my vision: I see the Lady Lindsay Home for Boys on that Silver Springs property one year from now. I see ten acres of plowed fields, where the boys are growing much of their own food. A pasture with cattle and hogs. The second year, we would build a separate wing for girls, and change the name to indicate that.

“In three years, I see us with our own schoolteachers, so that our kids can go straight from our Home to college. Of course there's a two-year junior college right here in Weatherford. The kids could continue to live at the Home while extending their education. I see a large pond, well stocked with fish. The kids would raise their own chickens, and we would allow them to have a few dogs and cats.

“Lastly, I see on the front lawn a bronze statue of the lady who made it all possible: Mrs. Victoria Lindsay! That, dear lady, is my vision, and there will be no shortage of kids to fill it. My compassionate friends in Dallas say they will help with operating expenses till we can receive funds from the state of Texas.”

Mrs. Lindsay sat staring at the wall for quite some time as Rollins walked around looking at the numerous paintings hung about the room.

The lady finally rose from her chair. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Mister Rollins?”

“Indeed I would, ma'am. I only had coffee this morning.”

When she had informed the cook that her guest would be present for dinner, she invited Bret to see her vegetable garden. Each row she showed him looked exactly like the ones he had grown up with and picked on his grandfather's farm. He commented on the garden. “Being a city fellow, I've never had many opportunities to actually see the vegetables growing. This is beautiful.”

They talked of many things, but Bret was very careful not to mention the property again. When dinner had been served, she surprised him again. “Would you like to come to supper tomorrow night?”

“Yes, ma'am. Living in hotels and eating in restaurants like I have to do, a home-cooked meal is always welcome.”

“Tomorrow night at eight, then?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He rode out of the yard feeling that he might have scored a bull's-eye with the lady, but he also knew that he was not out of the woods yet. Given enough time, she could very easily have him and his story checked out. His only hope was to make her like and trust him so much that she would consider such a thing unnecessary. He kicked his horse toward town. He would stable the animal, then head for his hotel room, where he expected to spend most of his time in the near future. He would stay out of sight for the most part; wandering around the town now was out of the question.

Supper at Mrs. Lindsay's the following night was truly something that Rollins would remember. He told her many colorful stories about his childhood, while she talked of long-ago times when her family had first come to Texas. Neither of them mentioned the land that was the uppermost thought in Bret's mind. As he was leaving, she walked him to his horse. She was still thinking about the property, she said, and would have her caretaker contact him at the hotel when she had reached a decision.

The thought crossed Bret's mind that perhaps she was just stalling for time while she had him checked out. But she had not asked for the name of the orphanage in New Orleans or for the names of the businessmen in Dallas. Without that information, checking out his story would not be so easy. New Orleans was a big town, and there would surely be several orphanages in the area. Anyway, if Mrs. Lindsay began to cross-examine him too closely, Bret was prepared to chuck the whole idea and seek his fortune elsewhere.

He stayed in or close to the hotel for the next three days, leaving his room only to stretch his legs or get something to eat. He had just returned from the restaurant on Sunday night when the desk clerk handed him a message: Mrs. Lindsay's caretaker had come by, saying that the lady wanted to see Rollins at her home tomorrow morning. Bret put the written message in his pocket and hurried to his room.

He slept fitfully during the night and was up at the break of dawn. He ate breakfast at the restaurant, then reread yesterday's newspaper while waiting for the barber shop to open. After a bath and a shave, he dressed in his new suit and headed for the Lindsay home.

She met him at the gate, powdered and dressed expensively. “If you'll hitch up the buggy and drive me to town, we'll fix up the papers on that property.”

An hour later, at the Parker County Courthouse, the lady deeded the Silver Springs property to Bret Rollins for the sum of one dollar. “I've been gauging people for eighty-one years,” she said, “and I know a good man when I see one. I hadn't been around you more than five minutes before I decided that you were a man who could be depended on to do the right thing. If you need any more assistance, don't hesitate to call on me.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lindsay. The land will certainly be used for a good cause.” He put the deed in his coat pocket, then drove the lady home.

Two hours later, Bret visited Rex Allgood at the saloon. “I'm the new owner of the Silver Springs property, Rex, and I could be persuaded to part with it. Do you suppose you can get word to your father-in-law?”

Allgood nodded. “I can send a rider out there, but why don't you just ride to the ranch yourself?”

Rollins shook his head. “Any business I do with Mister Hollingsworth will be conducted in my hotel room. I'm at the Palace, room two-ten.”

Allgood was busy pouring himself a drink. He returned the bottle to the shelf. “I'll get a man out there with the message this afternoon. Probably be noon tomorrow before the old man can make it, though.”

“That's fine,” Rollins said. “Have your rider tell him that I'll be expecting him at noon.” He bought a shot of whiskey, then left the building.

Right on time, Rollins heard a knock at his door next day. He had put the broadcloth suit away and was now dressed in jeans and flannel shirt. “Be with you in a minute,” he shouted, then waited two minutes before opening the door. As he expected, Cliff Hollingsworth stood in the hall, scowling somewhat less than at their last meeting.

“Why, Mister Hollingsworth,” Bret said, flashing a toothy smile, “what a surprise. Won't you come in?” He closed the door behind his visitor and reseated himself in the room's only chair, leaving the old man standing.

Hollingsworth shifted his weight from one leg to the other a few times, clearly uneasy in the younger man's element. “My son-in-law says you've got a clear deed to the Silver Springs property,” he said finally.

“That's correct.”

The old man shifted his feet again. “Well, how much do you want for it?”

“Six thousand dollars, sir.” Bret eyed the man steadily, his smile never fading. “Cash.”

Hollingsworth began to fidget, and the scowl returned.

“That's ridiculous. You and me both know that property ain't worth no six thousand.”

“Maybe so,” Rollins said, his expression turning serious. “But real estate prices are rising every day. I'm a young man, I can wait. Meanwhile, I'll always have a place to take a good country shit.”

The man stared at him for several moments. “There ain't nobody in this country that needs or wants that property but me. I'll pay forty-five hundred, and that's all.”

Rollins got to his feet and began to walk around the room. “Then I guess we can't do business, sir. Maybe I'll just dam up that hollow myself. You know, build my own lake and put a fence around it. The day might come when I can sell water by the barrel.” He raised his eyes to meet those of Hollingsworth, his smile returning. “Or maybe by the gallon.

“The six-thousand-dollar price is firm, sir. Of course you don't have to make your decision today, you can think on it for the rest of the year. I'll be leaving for New Orleans tomorrow, should be back sometime after Christmas.”

“Christmas? Hell, I was hoping to have the dam built by then.”

Rollins shook his head. “If we can't do business now, we'll have to discuss it further after the first of the year. I have an appointment in Orleans Parrish that I simply cannot postpone.”

Hollingsworth heaved a sigh. “All right,” he said, “I'll pay your price. We'll go by the bank, then on to the courthouse.”

*   *   *

The sun was still an hour high when Rollins rode into Zack's camp. Zack had just finished his supper and was washing his utensils at the spring. “Hey, old buddy,” he said, joining Rollins under the tall oak. “I expected you to come out here before now.”

Rollins dismounted, his saddlebags across his shoulder. “Load that packhorse and saddle up, Zack. We need to be making tracks.” He patted the saddlebags. “I've got six thousand dollars in here.”

“Six … did I hear you right?”

“Six thousand dollars.” Rollins partially explained his recent activities as quickly as possible, adding, “We need to get the hell out of here, 'cause I don't know how long it'll take for the word to get out. Mrs. Lindsay's got lots of friends, and all of them probably have guns.”