Ricardo held the horse as Caro mounted and then led her over to them. “Take care, mi prima.”
Prima? Chisholm racked his brain for the translation. He’d spent hours with Perla, the Harts’ Mexican cook. After his ma died, she’d been like a second mother to him, and he’d learned to speak Spanish quite well from her. So, why was the meaning of that word escaping him? Was it a term of endearment? Ricardo turned to Chisholm. “Se?or Reynolds suggested you start at the Mesquite. They’ve been hit the hardest by the rustlers. He sent word you were coming, so they’ll be expecting you.”
“Thank you.” Chisholm nodded. “And don’t worry. We’ll bring Miss Cardova back safe and sound.”
Ricardo shared a look with Caro. “She can take of herself, se?or. It’s you who should be careful.”
Chisholm nodded toward Caro to lead the way, but inside he chafed at the idea that the Mesquite Ranch’s owner and hands had been forewarned of their arrival. If anyone there was involved, the advance notice would give them ample time to cover up their participation.
He rode alongside Caro on the dirt road with Whit bringing up the rear. The morning sun had claimed the day by the time they finally got on the road, but one thing was for sure. Caro had been telling the truth about her riding ability. Although he’d witnessed her skill the day they met, he was even more impressed today. Not only was her riding excellent, but when they asked her some questions, her knowledge of the area proved outstanding, and she was truly helpful. She’d explained that the Mesquite Ranch sat between Se?or Reynolds’s Walking Diamond and another ranch called Tall Trees.
For the next few hours, they prodded her with more questions about the land and the ranch hands in the area. From what she’d heard, Tall Trees had only lost a few head, while the Mesquite had been hit hard by the rustlers, losing over fifty head. Reynolds claimed the Walking Diamond was down about thirty.
Chisholm did a quick mental calculation. If these men drove their cattle to Wichita, they could make over twenty dollars a head, so that meant combined they’d lost well over $1,600. No wonder he and Whit had been sent here to capture the rustlers.
Whit scratched his head. “What about the layout of the land? Is there somewhere a rustler could hide eighty-plus longhorns?”
“The Mesquite has a lot of hills and valleys, but I can’t imagine being able to hide that many cattle anywhere. The men are just finishing spring roundup, so there are cowboys out and about all the time.” Caro kept her eyes trained on the road without meeting the gaze of either man. She might be cooperating, but she seemed determined to keep a distance. “I’m thinking that we may have several culprits working as a team.” Chisholm reined Bullet in when they reached a creek. “What do you say we get off this road and do a little sightseeing before we get to the Mesquite?”
Caro laughed as she dismounted. “This is Brady Creek. It runs between the Mesquite and the Walking Diamond, so you are already there, but we can go wherever you’d like.”
Chisholm led his horse to the water. “You’re cooperating?”
“For the moment.” She smiled. “But I don’t think Se?or Slade will cooperate if you delay much longer.”
“Whit, why don’t you go on to Slade McCord’s ranch while Miss Cardova and I check things out around here? We’ll catch up to you at the ranch in a little while.”
“Sounds like a plan.” His stomach groaned. “Why didn’t we pack any grub?”
“It’s not even noon yet.” Caro rolled her eyes, and then dug into her saddle bag. She produced three bundles wrapped in linen napkins. “Perhaps you can leave for the Mesquite after your second breakfast.”
Chisholm chuckled, and the three of them sat on an outcropping of rocks. Both men unfolded their napkins and started to dig in.
“Gentlemen,” Caro spoke firmly, “there will be no heathens around me. I expect a proper grace even out here.”
Chisholm’s gut cinched. He should have thought of that, and did she really think him a heathen? He could set her straight on that when they left. For now, he took off his hat and offered a prayer of thanksgiving, making sure to add a thank-you for Caro Cardova’s thoughtfulness.
At the “amen” he looked up to see her smiling, but she tugged the frown back in place within a fraction of a second. She might love the Lord, but she wasn’t about to let any joy into her heart.
He drew in a long, slow breath. He’d have to do his best to change that. After all, it was the Christian thing to do.