The Dead Cattle Ranch Mystery

By Madeleine Carroll

Francis Steinway and his mother head
west to help Grandpa with the family ranch while Dad is
deployed for a year of military service. Dad has asked him
to be the man of the family, but Francis is faced with the
new challenges of living in the West. Its nothing like the
city life hes always known. Grandpa insists on calling him
Frank, a tougher name for a tough land. Frank discovers
just how tough the land can be as he learns to ride a horse
and face the difficulties of ranch life. When he learns that
something mysterious is killing Grandpas cattle, Frank sets
out to uncover the truth. He soon finds himself being
blamed for many mishaps around the ranch. Can he clear
his name and find out whats killing the cattle?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477135549

Madeleine Carroll

Madeleine Carroll resides in North Stonington, Connecticut, with her husband of 42 years. After spending more than twenty years by his side as a Navy wife, she settled into retired military life where she and her husband bought their current home. After raising three amazing boys, they have been blessed with two beautiful granddaughters. Although she started her career rather late in life, Madeleine is a now a teacher in a nearby middle school, where she has taught language arts and math. When she isn’t teaching, she can be found enjoying her writing or her art lessons, where she is learning to paint with watercolor and acrylics. As an avid follower of Jesus Christ, she can also be found enjoying activities in her church or with other Christians.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Madeleine Carroll.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2012911684

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4771-3553-2

             Softcover     978-1-4771-3552-5

             eBook          978-1-4771-3554-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 11/11/2013

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

1    The Ranch

2    Morning

3    The Hay Wagon

4    Curly’s Help

5    The Pond

6    Riding Lessons

7    The Gate

8    Mrs. Mc Farley’s Garden

9    School

10   Strangers In Town

11   Fire

12   The Map

13   The Plan

14   The Motel

15   Silver Samples

16   The Ride

17   Mr. Porter

18   Benson

19   Caught

20   The Trailer

21   The Woods

22   Home Again

23   Back To School

24   The Assayer’s Report

25   Sesquicentennial

To Rich

For believing in me and for your

tireless efforts in making this project a reality.

I still love you and would marry you all over again today.

To the rest of my family

Thanks for being you, as Dad would have said.

I love each one of you and carry you in my heart daily.

To Nancy and Rita

You were such good teachers,

and I’m grateful for your patience and

diligence as you helped me hone my writing skills.

This project could have never been

completed without the grace of God to encourage

me every step of the way and to bring me the right

people at the perfect time. I’m overwhelmed!

1

The Ranch

F rancis lay in bed, listening to the whirring of the old black fan that did little to cut through the heavy air. It was his first night at Grandpa’s ranch, and the old, creaky bed was anything but comfortable. This place was nothing like home, where he had air conditioning and a brand new pillow-top mattress. His room here was tiny and practically bare. How would he ever survive for a year in this place?

Mom said living on a ranch would be exciting. Who was she kidding? Oh sure, there was that rope-twirling cowboy who’d been showing off earlier. He could stand perfectly still, hold a rope from the top, and watch it fan out into a wide circle at the bottom as if he was performing a fancy yo-yo trick or something. It looked easy until Francis gave it a try. The red-faced boy was practically tied up in knots before he handed the rope back to the smirking cowboy. Then there were the nearby ranch hands that’d seen the whole thing. Their laughing and jeering echoed through his head as loudly as if the men were still standing there, pointing at him.

Unable to decide if it was the heat or his thoughts keeping him awake, Francis finally sat up. He reached for the small red wind-up clock on the nightstand and squinted to see the time. It was only 12:30, so morning was still far off.

Francis stretched out his arms, trying to ease his tired muscles. He finally gave in to the sleeplessness, stood up, and pulled his T-shirt over his head. It stuck to his body as he tugged and twisted it down over his back. The boy headed toward the kitchen, hoping a late night drink of cold milk would settle him. He stopped at the top of the rustic wooden stairs, though, when he heard familiar voices below. As he stood there, silently listening, he ran his fingers across the handrail that had been worn smooth from years of use.

His mother was talking. I know it’s been tough since Mama died, but we can turn this around. As always, she was upbeat and encouraging. It made him grin as he wondered if she’d ever seen the down side of anything.

Doris, you and I both know I’m not getting any younger, Grandpa replied in his slow country drawl. And you know this ranch can’t run itself, the way it seemed to when your mama was alive. I can’t sell cattle if some of them are dropping dead from something even Doc Peterson can’t figure out. The truth is I don’t have the cash to see us through another winter. Unless something changes soon, I’ll have to sell. His grandfather sounded tired, the kind of tired that comes from years of hard work.

Francis sat down on the top step and leaned forward to listen more closely. How could Grandpa think of selling the ranch? His family had lived here for more than a century. Didn’t Mom always say she was the fifth generation to grow up in this house?

Papa, we’ll find a way, Mom said encouragingly.

Of course we’ll try, but this is bigger than either of us. As Grandpa spoke, his voice grew louder with resentment. They’re building that new highway, and what was once a day’s journey to the city now takes less than an hour. People are buying up land around here and putting up shopping malls, restaurants, and who knows what’s next. I’ve even had some men trying to talk me into selling. Some development company. They want to build some big fancy complex on our land.

What? Mom sounded outraged. How long did it take them to get the message we’re not for sale?

Grandpa cleared his throat. Don’t be in such a hurry to write them off. With these dead cattle, we may not have a choice. Things aren’t like they were when you lived here.

Mom’s voice remained steady, but she sounded as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Pa, you can’t be serious. You can’t sell this place. It’s been your whole life. We’ll do all we can to help. Maybe Francis can figure out what’s killing the cattle. He’s really smart, you know.

I don’t doubt he’s smart, but he doesn’t know anything about a ranch. Can he even ride a horse? Francis heard a touch of disappointment in his grandfather’s voice. It sounded even worse when the older man added, And can you at least call him Frank while he’s here? He needs a tougher name to survive on a ranch.

Mom still didn’t waver. Papa, you know he’s named after Hank’s father.

Francis headed back to his room, his grandfather’s words ringing in his ears. I know, but I don’t want the boy to face any more fights than necessary. This is tough land, and you know it.

Tears filled Francis’s eyes as his thoughts drifted back over the past few weeks to his father’s departure. He picked up the sheath knife Dad gave him before he left and turned it in his hand. This is for you, Dad had said before he left for his military tour of duty overseas. You’re older, more responsible now, and I’m sure it’ll come in handy at Grandpa’s. Mom had worried, but Dad insisted Francis was old enough and had his way in the end. After all, Son, you’ll be the man of the house while I’m gone this year, he’d said.

I’ll do my best, Francis had promised. You’ll see. It was hard enough trying to fill Dad’s shoes at home, but this was a ranch, and Grandpa was right. Francis had lived in the city his whole life and had only visited here two other times, once when he was two, and then for three days last year when Gram died. He didn’t know how to ride a horse, much less help run a ranch. He could build a computer out of spare parts, he’d won the science championship three years in a row, and he was one of the top students in his class at his last school. What good was any of that on a ranch?

Taking his shirt off again and sprawling across the bed, Francis looked around the tiny room. There was no computer, no desk, no fish tank, and no bookcase to hold his treasured library. This room seemed hollow and lifeless. Other than the bed, the little nightstand holding the clock, the old black fan that hummed its tune, and a small wooden dresser to hold his clothes, the room was empty. One tiny window teased him with its promise of fresh air, yet nothing entered to refresh him.

Lost again in his thoughts, Francis scrunched the pillow under his head and tried to get comfortable. If Dad were here, he would figure out what was killing Grandpa’s cattle. Dad wasn’t here, though, and Francis had promised to be the man of the family. Somehow, in some way, he had to find out why Grandpa’s cattle were dying.

His thoughts turned back to Grandpa wanting to call him Frank. How could a tougher name help him learn about ranching? Would it help him learn to twirl a rope or ride a horse? Would it silence the laughter of the men as he tried new skills? Slowly his thoughts and questions turned into dreams as the melody of the fan finally lulled him to sleep.

2

Morning

T he next morning came too soon, and Francis wakened to sounds of men talking downstairs. He recognized Grandpa’s voice, but he didn’t know the others. Wanting to find out what was going on so early, he slipped out of bed and quickly dressed for the day. On the stairs, the aromas of hot coffee and fresh bacon greeted him. Downstairs the house was in a flurry of activity as his grandfather and a few of the ranch hands milled around the kitchen, drinking steaming cups of coffee and eating heaping plates of food. His mother sat at the long wooden table that had served the family for generations. She must not have heard him come down the stairs, because she didn’t look up from the local newspaper she was reading.

Grandpa put his arm around Francis’ shoulders and welcomed him with a big smile. This is my only grandson, boys, he said as he puffed his chest out like a proud rooster. Francis pulled back a little, not sure how to take Grandpa’s new stance after the disappointment he’d heard in the man’s voice the previous night.

Good morning, his mother’s cheerful voice added as he tried to absorb everything he saw and heard. Did you sleep well?

Grandpa answered for him, I’m sure he did, Doris. Everyone sleeps in the country. Frank, come get acquainted with the boys. His grandfather called him by his new nickname, but it was much friendlier than Francis expected.

I go by Francis, he replied, still not sure of the new name.

I know. Francis is a fine city name, but out here you’ll need a good ranch name that won’t cause you trouble. You’ll have enough battles to fight. One of them shouldn’t be about your name. And so Francis became Frank, at least to Grandpa. Without waiting for a response, the older man began introducing Francis to the others. You remember Calvin. He’s been here since before you were born, and this is Curly. Treat him right. He does all the cooking. Grandpa winked as he added, Sometimes it’s even pretty good.

The burly man put one hand on his chest as if in pain, but his twinkling eyes said he was enjoying the friendly bantering. Don’t you go listening to this old coot, young fellow. I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. His last cook served him so much shoe leather it made him tough.

Now it was his grandfather’s turn to look shocked as the two men reveled in their friendly barbs. Then Grandpa turned toward a much younger man, one silently standing near the sink eating a stack of pancakes. This man wasn’t much older than Francis, and looked more like one of the boys back East than the other cowhands. Let’s not forget Harry, our newest member. He’s only been here a few months, but he’s doing a bang-up job of learning the ins and outs of ranching.

Harry’s