Roy Rogers

and the

Lost Valley Landgrab

By N Hansen

          Part 1: A Letter from Gabby

          Dear Roy,

Dad burn it! It’s been so durn long since I tried ter write a letter that I shore ‘nough don’t know how. But I’m a-goin’ ter have ter figure it out somehow or t’other, ‘cause I got ter talk ter ya.

Drat it! Letters ain’t nothin’ but beatin’ round the bush! I’m gonna quit that now an’ git right ter the point. Roy, ye’d better get out here right smart quick. Recomemmber Dale Evans? Ye’d bettered—best lookin’ filly this side o’ the Rockies, an’ a sight less trouble then most—‘long as ye don’t want her ter do nothin’ she don’t want ter do.

Dad blast it! Thar I go gittin off’n the point agin. Ter rope it all tergether, Roy, Dale’s got a hull catus full of trouble smacked inter her lap, an’ she shore ‘nough does need some o’ somebody’s help.

Jumpin’ hoptoads, that’s ‘nough o’ this here letter writin’. I’m a-goin’ ter shet up fer now an’ give this here thang ter the mailman. Ye know the phone number o’ the Lost Valley store. I’m goin’ ter be headin’ in that way round ‘bout Saturday noon. The storekeeper’s an ol’ warhorse, but she ain’t a-goin’ ter listen in on any tellyphone calls. So jist ye give the store a ring round noon Saturday, an’ I’ll explain all this a hull durn lot better.

Gabby Whittaker.

P.S. Don’t ye firget! 

            Roy Rogers folded the letter shut, and ran his hand through his dark wavy hair. “What do you think of that, boys?” he asked, turning around to meet the gazes of the Sons of the Pioneers, co-owners with Roy of the Double R Bar ranch, and in their off time a music band.

            Bob Nolan scratched his head. “I don’t know, Roy, but it must be important if it got old Gabby to write a letter!”

            “You betcha!” nodded redheaded Pat Brady. “I bet it’s got something’ to do with that Dale Evans!”

            Roy sighed. “I think it probably does, Pat,” he said sardonically. “Seeing as he mentions her as the reason for him writing.”

            Pat shivered. “She’s enough trouble to make anyone write a letter! Why, I remember back when she was just a kid, she used to stick cactus in my chair!”

            “After you did the same to her,” said Hugh firmly. “Anyway, Gabby says Dale’s in trouble, not that she’s causing trouble.”

            “I still bet she is,” insisted Pat, squirreling down in his chair.

            Bob gave him a ‘look’, and Roy chuckled as Pat sucked in his chin reproachfully. Glancing down at the letter, in his mind’s eye Roy could see Gabby as he wrote it, in his tattered black hat, his gray beard bristling with especial vigor at each expostulation.

            Then Roy opened the letter again, and scanned it through. As he came to the words, “Dale Evans” he saw another picture in his mind, this time of a laughing girl, her dark red hair dangling in long braids, and her green Irish eyes sparkling. He hadn’t seen Dale for nine years, not since he’d left the California town where he finished high school. That had been when he was twenty, and she was a fourteen-year-old tomboy.

            “Long time ago,” he said to himself, and suddenly realized he’d spoken out loud. He looked up, to see Bob and the Pioneers looking at him.

            “What are you going to do about this?” asked Bob, poking the letter.

            “Call tomorrow at noon,” answered Roy promptly. “I know Gabby. He didn’t write that letter for nothing. Something’s wrong in Lost Valley.”

            “Wonder why he didn’t call from Dale’s place,” said Bob. Although Hugh, Karl, Roy and Pat were the only ones of the Pioneers who’d lived in Lost Valley as kids, Bob, Shug Fisher and Tim Spencer had all been there at some time, and all had met Gabby.

            “I don’t know why Gabby didn’t call from Dale’s,” answered Roy. “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

            “What’re you going to do after you talk to him?” asked Pat.

            “That’ll depend on what he says,” answered Roy with a half grin. “Now boys, I seem to remember that we got a little date with some broken fence…”

            “Taskmaster!” grumbled Shug Fisher, getting to his feet. “Always orderin’ us around. A body can’t do nothin’ around here without getting told to do somethin’.”

            Bob reached over with a long arm and picked up the small Shug by the seat of his pants. “Aw, pipe down,” he told him, depositing on the porch outside the door. “Roy does as much and more of the work around here as anyone.”

            “Well, maybe so, but he’s got an advantage,” grumbled Shug. “He’s got a horse and a dog that do everything he says!”

            “Not like you, huh?” drawled Pat. Shug was well known for his stubborn-as-a-mule gelding, who never did anything he was told without throwing a few bucks.

            Shug glared. “You’re a fine one to talk! You never even get close to a horse if you can help it!”

            Pat stuck his nose in the air. “Why should I, when Nellybelle always does everything I want her to?”

            “That old jeep?” snorted Shug. “That’s a good one!”

            “Are you insinuatin’ that she don’t behave?” demanded Pat, sticking both fists into his waist and leaning threateningly toward Shug.

            “I ain’t insinutatin’ nothing,” snapped Shug. “I’m tellin’. That jeep’s more trouble than any horse I ever got bucked off of.”

            “Why, ya little—”

            Pat got no further. Grinning, Roy reached over and loaded him down with a bale of wire and four heavy pliers.

            “Ouch!” yelped Pat. “What’s this?”

           “Fence fixing stuff,” answered Roy. “Toss it in Nellybelle and meet us down by the south range. Since she’s so speedy, try to get there before us.”

            Pat groaned, and limped off towards the barn under his load. “Don’t let me down now, Nelly!” he muttered, as he disappeared into the building.

                                                                        µ

            Next day at noon on the dot, Roy leaped up the porch steps and into the ranch house. Tossing his cowboy hat onto the coat tree, he reached over and picked up the phone.

            “Operator? This is the Double R Bar. Can you connect me to the general store in Lost Valley please?”

            “One moment,” replied the operator.

            Roy held the phone, as the operator made the connection. “There you go,” she said finally. “Your party is on the line.”

            “Hello?” said Roy.

            “Howdy,” said a woman’s voice with a broad Texas accent. “What d’ya need?”

            “I’m a friend of Gabby Whittaker’s,” explained Roy. “He told me that I should call him at the store—”

            “The old goat’s been hoverin’ around the counter for all of an hour,” remarked the woman. “I’ll put him on.”

            In a moment, Gabby’s voice came on, muttering indignantly. “Old goat herself,” he grumbled into the phone.

            “Hi ya, Gabby,” said Roy, smothering a laugh. “I got your letter. What’s all this about Dale Evans being in trouble?”

            “She shore is,” said Gabby. “Dad blast it, Roy, but I’m glad ye called. I’m plumb out o’ my pants in this-here deal.”

            “Well, what is it?” demanded Roy. “Did something happen to Dale?”

            “Wal, not ter her direct,” rumbled Gabby, “but it shore ‘nough gits ter here too. You know her older brother, that thar Will fella?”

            “Sure I remember Will Barry,” said Roy promptly. “He was a great guy—used to take us kids hunting sometimes.”

            “Ye know he got hitched?”

            “Sure do,” said Roy. “He married Mary Barton a couple of years before I left.”

            “He did that,” pronounced Gabby. “Wal, Will took real bad sick last year, tuber-somethin’ the doc called it.”

            “Tuberculosis?” exclaimed Roy. “That’s awful, Gabby!”

            “That ain’t nothin’ to the rest of it,” said Gabby gloomily. “Right afore Will took sick, Mary got inter a ridin’ accydent. She got tossed off’n a bronc an’ she didn’t make it.”

            Roy stood in shock as Gabby said this. He couldn’t imagine gentle, fun-loving Mary Barton dead, and now that Will was sick—

            “What about children?” he asked quickly. “Did Will and Mary have any kids?”

            “They shore did,” said Gabby. “Three o’ the cutest little tykes ye ever did see. An’ that’s the trouble, Roy. When this happened, round ‘bout last year, Dale came sky-hootin’ it over ter the ranch, an’ she’s been keepin’ the Lazy Rose goin’, plus takin’ care o’ Will an’ the kids.”

            Roy whistled. “Dale’s doing all that by herself?”

            “She shore is,” said Gabby. “An’ what’s more, Will jist got shipped off ter a fancy get-well place, ter git him over that tubby thang.”

            “Tuberculosis,” said Roy mechanically, thinking hard. “So Dale’s all alone on the ranch with just three little kids?”

            “Yup,” Gabby pronounced. “Jerry, the oldest boy, is a good kid, an’ responsyble fer his age, but he kin’t do more’n a half day’s work. I been goin’ out thar every day or so, an’ so have some other folks, but now thar’s more trouble.”

            “More trouble!” exclaimed Roy. “How could there be more trouble than that?”

            “Dunno, but thar is,” said Gabby. “Will had ter put a mortygage on the Lazy Rose a couple o’ years ago when he needed some extry cash. He’d been doin’ real well with it, payin’ up reglar, but now all this happened thar jist ain’t ‘nough money ter go ‘round! ‘N besides, thar’s been some funny stuff goin’ on ‘round the Lazy Rose lately.”

            “Funny stuff?” repeated Roy. “What kind of funny stuff?”

            “Strangers, prowlin’ ‘round,” said Gabby. “And thar’s been some’un messin’ with the cattle.”

“What happened?”

“Dale run ‘em off,” snorted Gabby. “She jist yanked her brother’s rifle out o’ its rack an’ sent them prowlers runnin’ with a load o’ buckshot chasin’ ‘em. But I got a feelin’ they’ll be back. That thar’s the reason why I got ahold of ye, Roy. I want ye ter git on out here an’ round up whichever skunks is givin’ Dale trouble.”

“Well—” Roy hesitated for only a moment. “I’d be glad to, Gabby,” he said then. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken any time off—I guess I could get some of the boys to come with me too.”

            Gabby’s voice was relieved and delighted. “That’d be dandy, Roy, jist dandy. Oh—jist one thang. Ye kin’t go tellin’ Dale I sent fer ye. She’d throw a tailspin an’ flat out refuse any o’ it.”

            Roy grinned. “I get it, Gabby. I’ll see if I can think up some excuse.”

            “That’s dandy,” repeated Gabby. “Ye’ll stay at my place, o’ course. Oh-oh, Roy! I got ter git off. Dale jest came inter the store. Bye!”

            Roy heard a click, and the phone went dead. Still grinning a little, but with a frown of worry beginning on his forehead, he set the phone down.