Free Pete (The Cowboys) by Leigh Greenwood Page A

have to watch his tongue. At this rate, he’d have blabbed about his entire family before the week was out. They’d only have to compare notes to be certain he was the imposter Belser claimed him to be.
    “A man I knew,” Pete said. “He lost nearly everything he had during the war. He didn’t believe in waiting.”
    “I didn’t know there was any fighting in Illinois.”
    He was going to have to sew his mouth shut. “There wasn’t. He was from Texas. He moved to Illinois after the war.” The mere thought of leaving Texas, especially to go someplace like Illinois, would cause Jake to choke.
    “Anyway, I want you to start making preparations for a roundup. If we get them to market quickly, we’ll get in ahead of anybody else.”
    “Everybody around here is waiting as long as possible, hoping the steers will put on a little more weight.”
    “They won’t. There’s no grass. And that reminds me of something else. We’ve got too many strays from other herds on our land. Tell the boys to chase back anything that isn’t ours.”
    “That’s going to make people angry.”
    “They’re welcome to run mine back in this direction. In fact, I’d be obliged. It’ll make the roundup easier.”
    “I never heard of anybody doing this.”
    “That’s one advantage of being the foreman and not the owner. You still get paid if I make a mistake.”
    Eddie half grinned. “Okay, you’re the boss.”
    “Good. Now let’s get cleaned up. My stomach’s already growling at the thought of the supper Dolores has cooked up.”
    After years of cooking his own meals over a campfire, or getting what he could at a local saloon, a properly prepared meal was a treat.
    Pete looked around quickly as they neared the corrals. Belser hadn’t shown up all day. He felt uneasy not knowing where he might be. He wasn’t comforted by not finding Belser’s horse in the corral. That meant he’d been gone most of the day. There was more than enough work to do on the ranch, but Pete didn’t think it was work that had kept Belser out of sight.
    Dolores stuck her head out of the kitchen as they rode by. “I’ll have the food on the table by the time you’ve unsaddled the horses.”
    “Give us fifteen minutes. I’ve got to wash up and change my shirt,” Pete called back.
    This was almost like being back at the Broken Circle with Jake and the rest of the boys—Isabelle cooking mountains of food, everybody crowding around the trough so they could wash up and get to the table first. He’d hardly had time to unsaddle his horse when Belser rode up. He looked dusty and tired.
    “You’d better hurry and wash up,” Pete said. “Dolores said she’d have food on the table in twenty minutes.”
    “I eat like I am,” Belser growled.
    “Not anymore.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean you wash and change your shirt before you come in to eat. It’s one way to show your appreciation for the work it takes to put a good meal on the table.”
    “Dolores is paid to cook. She don’t need my appreciation.”
    “Then there’s the fact that the sight of perspiration running through the dust on your forehead offends me. As does your odor.”
    “I’ll be damned if I’m washing just to eat.”
    “Then you can eat at the chuck wagon. Be sure to sit downwind. I wouldn’t want you ruining the men’s dinner.”
    Belser dismounted and walked up to Pete. He wasn’t quite as tall, but he outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. “You telling me you’re throwing me out of the house if I don’t wash up?”
    “That’s about the sum of it.”
    “Uncle Carl never made me wash.”
    “Uncle Carl is dead.”
    They stood facing each other.
    “I could kill you,” Belser said.
    “You could try.”
    Pete hadn’t expected Belser to challenge him so openly, but he was ready when the big man charged him, fists waving in the air. Pete nearly laughed when he saw what Belser considered fighting style. If he’d had to survive twelve years in the