Ghost Rustlers

By B.K. Smith

About the Book
Ghost Rustlers explores the wild west from an adolescent point of view with mystery and intrigue. Young, strong-willed characters look for their independence as they pave the way for their own future while fighting for friendship and loyalty.

About the Author
B.K. Smith grew up in the southwest. She is a tribal role member of the Pottawattamie Indian tribe and she is inspired by her father’s and uncle’s pride in their ancestry. She has treasured her travels with her family discovering the history of the southwest – especially New Mexico.
Smith has published articles in children’s magazines with subjects such as dust devils, Christmas traditions such as luminaries and biscochitos, as well as roadrunners and Mexican jumping beans. Smith is currently a full-time RV traveler exploring the southwest with her husband of 37 years and her little Yorkie, Sprinkles. Smith haunts local bookstores, looking for local folklore writings, intrigued by early stories of road weary travelers, gold searchers, and rogue gun slingers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: May 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888127544

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE ROUNDUP

Will McDaniels scrutinized the lean, skilled ranch hand as he whirled his horse sharply through the excited group of cattle, cutting out an unmarked calf. He admired the cowboy’s horsemanship. With more practice, soon he too would ride that well. He rides almost as good as Miguel, he said to his two friends seated next to him on the fence. I don’t remember him from the last roundup. He must be new. Will was envious of the new ranch hand. He can’t be more than a year or two older than me, he thought. Yet my father hired him to go on the drive.

When do they leave? asked Sam, a tall, skinny boy perched to Will’s right.

Just after sunrise, Will replied. He was excited about the cattle drive and hoped he too would be leaving in the morning. For years he had listened to the exciting stories that the cowboys told. They spoke of storms so fierce that the ground rumbled continuously under their horses. The wild tales about outlaws stirring up trouble in the cattle towns particularly fascinated him. He, however, had yet to experience such adventure because his father had never let him go. But this spring was going to be different. He was twelve – almost thirteen – and if Miguel put in a good word, he just knew his father would let him go this time.

I thought they finished the branding yesterday, Joel observed.

Nothing left but the dogies. Will tipped his wide-brimmed felt hat and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve. The fence was beginning to dig into his backside. He hopped down, creating two small dust clouds where his boots landed. Miguel will see that my father gets his share of the strays.

Jacob McDaniels was an excellent rancher. Every year, his cows were the fattest and healthiest in all of northern New Mexico. He also took good care of his ranch hands who, in return, worked hard for him. But his relationship with his son was less than smooth. Lately, the two of them couldn’t be anywhere near each other without an argument breaking out. Mr. McDaniels wanted his only child safely tucked away on the ranch, but Will was tired of being treated like a baby. When he had mentioned his dream of becoming a bounty hunter, Mr. McDaniels had exploded like a cannon.

There’ll be plenty to keep you busy around here when you’re grown, he had shouted. Bounty hunters have short life spans.

Mr. McDaniels had refused to discuss the subject any further. Will’s desire to see beyond his current boundaries didn’t seem to matter. He wished his father could understand him as well as he did his cattle.

Wisps of smoke rose from the campfire where the branding irons glowed. The three boys watched as another cowhand lassoed the legs of the frightened calf, knocking him to the ground. Men grunted as the calf was dragged to the fire and Will’s father’s Wild River Ranch brand was burned onto its hip.

What a smell, said Joel as he picked at some scabs on his knuckles.

The calf bellowed as the stench of sweat and burned hair hung in the dry desert air.

What did your mother say about the fight? Sam asked Joel.

What she always says – fighting never solves anything and that a gentleman solves his problems with careful thought and wisdom, not with his fists. Joel’s jaw tightened.

Two days ago in Cimarron, Joel had it out with a mouthy man twice his age. Joel’s sister’s thick red hair had come loose from its clip and the stiff spring breeze ruffled up her skirt, stirring her white petticoats beneath. The young man started hooting and whistling. Joel pounced on him. He was so mad, his freckles practically jumped off his beet red face. The rude fellow may have been older, but Joel was big for his age and had the advantage early on. The sheriff pulled the two apart and sent Joel home. Will knew he had probably gotten a whipping when his parents found out.

Joel’s family had come out west with the other gold-seekers when Joel’s father was just a boy. They never struck it rich, and Joel’s grandfather nearly starved his family before trapping landed them in New Mexico. As more trappers flooded the region, pelts became harder and harder to come by so Joel’s father gave up trapping altogether and opened a livery stable in nearby Cimarron. He met Joel’s mother as she traveled through on the stagecoach with her folks.

As restless as Joel was, Will figured he would have been happier if his family would have continued hunting and trapping as they roamed the west.

More calves were dragged to the fire. The smell grew heavier. The bawling continued.

Joel slid off the fence. Come on. Let’s find something to do. I’ve had about all the crying I can take.

As Sam tried to unwind his long legs from around the fence rails, he lost his balance and fell face first into the dirt.

Joel grabbed his sides and laughed until the tops of his ears turned red.

Sam spit out a mouthful of dirt and glared at Joel.

Will grinned. Sam did look funny all sprawled out in the dust. He picked up Sam’s hat and swatted it across his knee, dusting the brim with his hand. Here you go, he said handing the hat to Sam. You aren’t hurt, are you?

Will looked with horror at Sam’s watery eyes. Oh, don’t, he whispered under his breath. He knew Joel would be merciless if Sam commenced to crying. Sam lived alone with his mother, the schoolteacher. Mrs. Weston had grown up back east and had even attended a university. When Sam’s father moved them to New Mexico, she started teaching. She claimed she wanted to bring some refinement to the west. Will’s mother thought it odd that such a sophisticated lady could be happy with a sheep herder, but when Mr. Weston died from pneumonia the winter before last, Sam’s mother almost died from grief.

Will breathed a sigh of relief when Sam rose out of the dust, hitched up his pants, grabbed his hat, and shoved it down on his head. Sam got picked on a lot because he was smart and because he cried easily. Will admired him, however. He figured Sam had a hidden strength. How else could he bear all the abuse and still get up every morning?

Let’s see if Old Dumpling needs any help, Will said, leading his friends to the chuckwagon. The trail drive cook had arrived earlier that morning.

Miguel, the ranch foreman had given the cook the name Old Dumpling a couple of years back because the large black man was plump with cheeks as round and smooth as a baby’s. He smiled constantly, rounding those cheeks even further. He also made the best apple dumplings this side of the Mississippi, according to Miguel. Not that Will would know. His father barely let him off the ranch.

Need some help? Will asked.

I was never one to turn down a helping hand. Old Dumpling grinned. Especially when the offer comes from such fine, strapping boys.

We’re not boys, said Joel as he swung a flour sack over his shoulder. We’re practically men.

Old Dumpling pointed as the boys loaded sacks of flour, sugar, and salt on the special wagon. There seemed to be just the right spot for everything. Next came beans, boxes of bacon, and an amazing amount of coffee.

I thought you were driving the cattle to Dodge City, said Sam who was starting to pant heavily from the strenuous work. This much coffee ought to get you all the way to Virginia!

Old Dumpling chuckled. "Boy, you’ve never been on a drive so take