Badlanders (11 page)

Then, shrugging into his frock coat and donning his black hat, and with his derringer up his sleeve and his pistols in their pockets, Beaumont went out to meet the woman from his dream.

A
lexander Jessup was delighted. He'd only been at the Diamond B a short while and already he could tell he was going to love his new work. Secretly he'd been a little worried it might not be a good fit. What did he know about the West and cattle, after all? But he'd always been a fast learner, and his knack for business management inevitably served him in good stead.

And, too, a ranch wasn't all that different from a dairy farm in certain respects. Both had similar expenses in the form of employees on the payroll and for the upkeep of the stock. Dairy cows, it turned out, required more. Longhorns were practically self-sustaining. The cost of fattening them for market was so low that the profits to be made were considerable. He could see why the consortium had been interested in the venture. The investors stood to reap huge returns on their investment.

Truth to tell, Alexander also found himself warming to the endlessly fascinating landscapes in the Badlands. They possessed a natural beauty that had to be seen to be appreciated.

It was the middle of the afternoon when Neal Bonner
brought them back from their tour of the range. Bonner immediately went to spread word about the dead longhorn. It was only one of the many thousands the Diamond B owned, yet as the foreman remarked, “Losin' a single one isn't somethin' we should take lightly.”

Alexander liked that. It showed that Neal Bonner had his priorities straight. The cattle came before all else.

Alexander wasn't so fond of the fact that his older daughter showed signs of being smitten. He'd noticed some of the looks she gave Bonner, and her tone when she talked to him sometimes, a tone Alexander never heard before.

He'd always known it would happen, eventually. Human nature being what it was, sooner or later his girls were bound to grow up. He wasn't an expert on females by any stretch, but there came a point in many a woman's life where she cast about for someone to share that life with. He hadn't expected it to happen here, of all places, and certainly not now, of all times.

Not that there was anything wrong with Neal Bonner, Alexander decided. The foreman seemed to be an upstanding young man. He inspired respect in the cowboys, which said a lot for his character right there.

As for the cowboys themselves, Alexander was intrigued. They were so unlike the workers at the dairy farms. It was like comparing the dairy cows to longhorns. The former were so tame they went through life eating and giving milk and that was it. The latter had a wild streak and were unpredictable.

Alexander's initial assessment of the punchers was that they were as self-reliant as the longhorns they rode herd over. Their colorful talk, the way they dressed—it was like being in a different country. They were well-mannered, though, and respectful of womanhood.

And then there were their pistols.

Alexander had been told a lot of Westerners wore sidearms, but it hadn't really sunk in. The reality of so many men going around with guns had been a little startling.

That incident in town, with the man called Wratner, had demonstrated that some of them would resort to a revolver at the drop of a feather, and they'd drop the feather.

Which brought Alexander's train of thought around to Jericho. The man was an enigma. That he was deadly was indisputable. But Alexander still wasn't certain he wanted someone like that on his payroll. If he were being honest with himself, he'd let Jericho go. But if he did that, he'd lose Neal Bonner, too. So for the time being the status quo would continue.

Now, having cleaned up after hours in the saddle, Alexander stood on the porch surveying the ranch. Smoke rose from the cookhouse chimney, and at the blacksmith shop, the smith was forging a horseshoe. A puncher was carrying tack into the stable, and another man was painting a shed. Over at a corral, their bronc buster was at work.

The screen door squeaked and Edana joined him. She had changed from her riding outfit into a dress and, rare for her, put on a bonnet. “What did you think of our excursion, Father?”

“Instructive,” Alexander said. “You?”

“I find myself falling in love with the place,” Edana said, “which is preposterous, I know, given how short a time we've been here.”

“Not preposterous at all, daughter,” Alexander said. “I find myself feeling the same.”

“You do?”

“You sound surprised.”

Edana leaned on the rail. “Why do you suppose we like it so much? Because it's new and different?”

“There's an intangible quality I can't quite put my finger on. It's not just the cowboys and the cattle. It's the land itself. Something about it seeps into you, changes you.”

“Yes,” Edana said, nodding, “I've felt that, too, and felt silly for doing so.”

Alexander chuckled. “I've heard some people say that the West gets into the blood and changes a person. I always scoffed at the idea, but now I'm not so sure they weren't right.”

“I like Neal Bonner. He'll be a fine foreman.”

“Oh?”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Do you remember Tim Burbank, our dairy farm overseer?”

“Of course. He was good at his job, too.”

“He wasn't at all like Mr. Bonner. Sort of scrawny, and skinny, and that Adam's apple of his was so big he looked like a turkey buzzard.”

“What are you saying? That I'm impressed by Neal more because of his looks than his competence?”

“I wouldn't go that far. He's quite excellent at what he does. But his looks might be a factor in another regard.”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Alexander grinned and put his arm around her shoulders. “I trust your judgment. You've always had a good head on your shoulders. Especially when it comes to business. Your sister, on the other hand, can be a bit flighty. She doesn't invest herself in her work as fully as you do.”

“Don't expect me to speak ill of her. We're as close as two sisters can be.”

“Are you? I hope so,” Alexander said. “You don't bicker much, like some sisters do. It would please me greatly if you two continue to get along, even after I'm gone.”

“You're not going anywhere,” Edana said. “You're young yet.”

“Oh, I have a few decades left,” Alexander said, smiling. He nodded toward the corral. “What do you say we go watch our horse tamer at work? I understand it's a popular sport.”

“Why not?” Edana said.

They went down the steps.

“I hope your sister gets back soon,” Alexander remarked. “I worry about her being off by herself.”

“Jericho and Stumpy are with her. Neal says she'll be perfectly fine.”

“Well, if Mr. Bonner says it . . . ,” Alexander said, and laughed.

“Oh, Father,” Edana said, but she laughed, too.

•   •   •

The world was a funny place. That was a conclusion Isolda had come to years ago. She had looked around her one day and seen how silly people were and had been amused by their antics ever since.

Most people worked at jobs they hated, for a pittance. They went through each day doing the exact same thing they'd done the day before. They ate the same food and wore the same clothes.

If that wasn't silly, Isolda didn't know what was.

The men in the Three Aces were certainly silly. Since she'd come in, they moved as if on eggshells and spoke only in low tones. There was no coarse behavior, no crude jokes or gruff laughter or even any swearing. It was as if a saint had walked into their lives, not a flesh-and-blood female. They accorded her the respect they'd give a nun.

It amused Isolda no end.

When Dyson returned and informed her that Beaumont Adams would join her in a few minutes, she thanked him. Dyson whispered to Stimms and Stimms went over to the bar and said something to the weasel who had approached her earlier. The weasel reacted as if he'd been kicked and kept glancing at the hallway to the back and nervously licking his lips.

Dyson then asked if there was anything she wanted, anything at all.

Out of sheer contrariness, and to add to her amusement, Isolda nodded and said, “I could really go for some milk right about now.”

“Milk, ma'am?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“But this is a saloon, ma'am.”

Isolda smiled sweetly. “What's your point?”

Coughing, Dyson replied, “Nothin', ma'am. If it's milk you want, it's milk you'll have.” He turned to the bar. “Floyd, get over here.”

Wiping his hands on his apron, the barkeep joined them. “What would the lady like?” he asked genially. “Brandy? Or wine maybe? We have a few bottles. Or I could fix one of those new drinks ladies back East like.”

Dyson enlightened him. “She's hankerin' for milk.”

“This is a saloon.”

“I told her that. She'd like milk anyway.” Dyson held up a hand when Floyd when to speak. “The boss says to give her anything she wants. So either find her some or send someone to fetch some or you can tell the boss your own self that you couldn't do it.”

“No, thank you,” Floyd said. “Milk it is.” He made for the batwings.

“Hold on,” Isolda said. Her little joke had gone far enough. “I've changed my mind. What I'd really like is a glass of water.”

“Now, that we have,” Floyd said in relief.

“Then why are you standin' there?” Dyson said.

Isolda smothered a laugh. These two were comical. She liked how they were willing to wait on her hand and foot. All because Beaumont Adams said so. And speak of the devil.

The gambler came out of the back like a sleek mountain cat coming out of its den. He stopped and stared, and Isolda had the impression he was drinking the sight of her in as he would drink fine whiskey.

“Mr. Adams. What a pleasure to see you again.” Isolda offered her hand.

Beaumont clasped it and gently squeezed, his forefinger rubbing her palm. “I confess to bein' taken aback,” he said politely. “We were never introduced yesterday.”

“Let's not stand on ceremony.” Isolda motioned at
the onlookers. “And I apologize for disrupting your establishment. Half the men have stopped drinking.”

Beaumont gazed about them and laughed that easy laugh of his. “Why, so they have. Females spook them, I reckon.”

“Unless the female wears a tight dress and has a saucy sway to her hips.”

“Doves aren't like ordinary gals,” Beaumont remarked. “A man doesn't have to put on airs around them.”

“I'd rather they didn't put on airs around me, either,” Isolda said. She was going to invite him to sit, but just then he glanced over at the bar and his face hardened.

“Will you excuse me a minute? There's somethin' I need to do.” Sliding his hands into the pockets of his frock coat, Beaumont walked over to the man who had accosted her. “Rinson,” he said.

Rinson seemed to be trying to shrivel into the floor. “You're up early today.”

“I hear tell you've appointed yourself the welcomin' committee,” the gambler said.

“What? No. Where did you hear that?”

“I've heard you invite folks to become better acquainted with you,” Beaumont said. “Which sounds to me like a good idea.”

“It does?” Rinson said dubiously.

“Sure. If you'd been better acquainted with me, you wouldn't have made the mistake you did.” Beaumont's right hand flashed out, holding a pistol. With an oath, he slammed it against Rinson's jaw and Rinson fell where he stood. Still conscious, Rinson tried to rise and Beaumont kicked him in the ribs.

Rinson yelped and flipped onto his side. “I'm sorry,” he cried.

Beaumont hit him again and again, raining blows until Rinson lay unmoving with gashes on his forehead and temple. Isolda thought the gambler would kill him, but Beaumont stepped back, breathing heavily. “Stimms,
drag this pile of manure out of here.” He came back to her table, the Colt at his side, blood dripping from the barrel.

“I guess you taught him,” Isolda said.

Beaumont inhaled and steadied himself. “I apologize. I know most ladies would find that distasteful.”

“I'm not most ladies,” Isolda said. It hadn't sickened or disgusted her; quite the contrary. She patted the chair next to hers. “Have a seat so
we
can become better acquainted.”

“Is that why you're here?”

“Can you think of a better reason?”

“I do believe, ma'am,” Beaumont said, grinning, “that I'm in danger of fallin' for you.”

“I certainly hope so,” Isolda said.

N
eal Bonner had a lot on his mind.

There was his new boss, for starters. Alexander Jessup was proving easy to get along with. Jessup didn't act as if he were the Almighty, as some bosses did, and the man seemed genuinely eager to learn all there was about raising cattle so he could do his job that much better. Neal liked that.

There was the boss's older daughter. When it came to the ranch, she was as devoted as her father. Her enthusiasm was a joy to behold. So was she. The more Neal was with her, he wanted to be around her even more. Neal liked that, too.

Isolda was the wild card in the family's deck. Neal wasn't sure what to make of her. The little he'd seen, she didn't act as if she cared one whit about the Diamond B or learning the ins and outs of the cattle trade. She didn't seem interested in much besides herself. Neal didn't like that, but it was her life and she could do as she pleased.

Neal was glad he'd sent Jericho to watch over her. He had unbounded faith in his pard. It felt peculiar, though, going around without Jericho at his side. They were
together so much that Neal felt as if a part of him were missing.

Neal was thinking of that when he emerged from the stable and saw Alexander and Edana making for a corral. He hastened over. Edana heard his spurs jingling and looked around with a wide smile.

“Mr. Bonner. What a delight to see you again so soon.”

“Honestly,” Alexander said. “Have you no shame?”

“Sir?” Neal said uncertainly. “What are you two up to, if you don't mind my askin'?”

“I've never seen a bronc buster work,” Alexander said, “and since I must acquaint myself with every aspect of ranch life, there's no time like the present.”

The bronc buster's handle was Hollander, but the punchers called him Holland for short. He limped when he walked, a legacy of the time a horse kicked him and shattered his shinbone. It didn't hamper him any.

Holland had a mustang tied to a snubbing post. The horse stood, legs splayed, watching Holland approach with a bridle. Holland tried to slip it on and the mustang jerked away. Holland persisted. The mustang finally let him but didn't like the feel and kept tossing its head. When it stopped, Holland brought a saddle blanket over. The horse stared at it suspiciously and, when Holland flapped it, tried to rear. When it subsided, Holland tried again.

“Why is he shaking the blanket like that?” Edana wanted to know.

“To get the critter used to it so it won't run off out on the range when a puncher saddles up.”

“Are all the wild ones so skittish?” Alexander asked.

“Some take a heap of breakin',” Neal said.

The mustang stopped rearing, but it trembled as Holland placed the saddle blanket over its back. He fetched the saddle next, and no sooner had he started to swing it on than the mustang bucked and kicked. Holland had to dart back. Undaunted, the buster took hold of the rope
with one hand to keep the mustang still, and swung the saddle on with the other. The mustang nearly pulled free and Holland nearly lost his footing. Hanging on, he let the horse quiet down before he did the cinch.

The mustang snorted and pawed the ground.

“Now comes the tricky part,” Neal said.

Holland carefully slid the rope off the mustang. Before the horse could bolt, he grabbed an ear and twisted. The pain held the mustang still for the few seconds it took Holland to fork leather. Once he was in the saddle, all hell erupted.

The mustang arched its back and tried to reach the sky. Legs straight, it came down with jarring force. Holland stayed on. The horse whirled one way and then another. Holland wasn't thrown. The mustang carried on until it was tired and stood panting with its head hung low.

“He did it,” Edana exclaimed.

“Not quite yet,” Neal said,

Another puncher hopped off the top rail and carried a slicker over to Holland, then quickly got out of there.

Holland held the slicker close to the mustang's face and flapped it as he had the blanket. The horse launched itself straight up, then bucked and whirled as if there'd be no tomorrow.

Edana was mesmerized. “How can he stay on like that?” she asked in awe. “If it was me, I'd have been thrown by now.”

“Holland has been bustin' broncs since he was knee-high to a calf,” Neal said. “I can't recollect the last time he was tossed.”

“It must be hard on his body,” Alexander observed. “The pounding he takes.”

“Most peelers quit young, while they still have bones left.”

“Which is it? Busters or peelers?” Alexander asked.

“Either will do,” Neal said. “We also call them scratchers and squeezers on occasion.”

“My word. Can't they make up their minds?” Alexander said. “I think I'll call him my horse tamer and let it go at that.”

In the corral, the mustang stopped bucking and Holland rode in circles while continuing to flap the slicker.

“Look at that,” Edana said. “He's tamed him.”

“The mustang ain't full broke yet, ma'am,” Neal said. “Holland will work with it some more before we add it to the string. Some ranches aren't as particular, and that creates trouble for the punchers. There's nothin' worse than tryin' to herd cattle on a horse that doesn't want to herd.”

“I'd like to ride that animal,” Alexander declared.

“As soon as Holland is done with him in a few days, I'll get word to you,” Neal said.

“I'd like to ride it now.”

Both Neal and Edana said, “What?” at the same time.

“To see what it's like to ride a horse like that,” Alexander said.

“I'd rather you didn't,” Edana said.

“There's no need, Mr. Jessup,” Neal said. “Even the punchers wouldn't. It's askin' for trouble.”

“Nonsense. Call Mr. Holland over here.”

Against his better judgment, Neal hollered and beckoned.

The bronc buster dismounted, handed the reins to his helper, and limped over, swatting dust from his shirt and pants. “What can I do for you, Neal?”

“You can do it for me,” Alexander said. “I'd like to ride that horse you just broke.”

“Mr. Jessup?”

“You heard me,” Alexander said. “I want to show the men I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. A couple of times around the corral should do it.”

“You're the big sugar,” Holland said. “You don't have to prove nothin' to nobody.”

“He's right, Mr. Jessup,” Neal said. “The punchers won't think poorly of you if you don't do all the things
they do. You have different responsibilities than the rest of us.”

“I'd like for them to respect me,” Alexander insisted, and turned to Holland. “I appeal to you as our expert. A couple of turns is all I'm asking. Is it safe or not?”

“Safe enough,” Holland said, “but it would please me considerable if you changed your mind.”

“I'm determined to do it and I won't be denied.” Alexander moved toward the gate. “Tell them how I am, daughter, so they'll understand.”

Edana moved after him, saying quietly to Neal, “I'll try to talk him out of it.”

“What do I do?” Holland asked.

Neal, for one of the few times in his life, hesitated. Were it up to him, he'd flat-out say no. But Jessup was his boss. And if he made a fuss over it, Jessup might think he was being coddled. “You stay next to the horse,” he directed. “Tell him it's a bucker and you don't want him thrown. Say it's not all the way broke yet and you'd blame yourself if somethin' happened to him.”

“I'd do that anyhow,” Holland said, and hurried back.

Alexander had gone over to where the helper was holding the mustang. The horse was exhausted from its efforts to throw Holland, and stood still when Alexander patted it.

Neal took that as a good sign.

“I'm ready,” Alexander said as Holland came up.

“I'll hold him steady,” Holland offered, gripping the bridle. “Go nice and slow so as not to spook him.”

“I doubt he has any fight left,” Alexander said.

More cowboys were coming from every direction as word spread.

Neal climbed to the top rail, frowning. He saw Edana talking in a low voice to her pa.

Alexander shook his head.

“What's goin' on, Neal?” Billy asked.

“We heard the boss is fixin' to ride that mustang,” Yeager said, and spat tobacco juice. “What the hell for?”

“To show us he can,” Neal said.

“Well, that's silly,” Billy said. “If I was runnin' things, I'd sit around takin' it easy and let the rest of you get your necks busted.”

No one laughed.

Alexander was walking around the mustang with his hands behind his back.

“What's he doin'?” Billy asked. “Tryin' to figure out which side to climb on?”

“Hush, you infant,” Yeager said.

Neal decided to go in. If he didn't like how things were unfolding, he'd put his boot down and end it. Trying to act casual, he climbed over and went to Edana. She gave him a worried glance.

“I tried to get him not to. He won't listen.”

“I heard that, daughter,” Alexander said. “I want all of you to stop treating me as if I'm worthless. I resent it.” Turning, he gripped the saddle horn. The other puncher moved to help him, but Alexander angrily motioned him away and climbed on.

Holland handed him the reins.

All the mustang did was twitch an ear. Its head was still down, and it was slick with sweat.

“Are you ready, Mr. Jessup?” Holland asked.

“Doesn't it look like I'm ready?” Alexander said. “Release him.”

Holland let go of the bridle. “Easy does it, sir.”

“I know how to ride a damn horse,” Alexander said. He flicked the reins and said, “Get on, there.”

The mustang tiredly obeyed.

Neal had to admit that the horse looked about as fierce as a half-drowned kitten. He moved back to give it room, and Edana followed his example.

Holland stayed close to the mustang.

“Please be careful, Father,” Edana said.

“I won't be coddled, daughter,” Alexander said. “Not even by you.”

“At least he's not wearin' spurs,” Neal said for Edana's
ears only. Jessup might jab too hard and set the mustang off.

Apparently unconscious that she was doing so, Edana gripped his arm. “I never would have expected him to try anything like this.”

It was pride, Neal reckoned. Jessup wanted to prove he was worthy to be their boss. Neal just hoped the man wasn't overreaching.

The mustang plodded in a circle, Jessup holding the reins higher than he should but otherwise seeming relaxed and confident.

“That should do it,” Holland said as the horse drew close. “You've gone around once.”

“I'll go around twice,” Jessup said. “This animal is tamer than some I've ridden back East.”

“You can't really trust a horse until it's been on the string awhile,” Holland replied. “Breakin' is only the first step.”

“Be that as it may,” Jessup said, and went past them.

“He can be so stubborn,” Edana said.

Neal only had eyes for the mustang. So far it showed no signs of being agitated. When Holland broke a horse, it usually stayed broke.

“I hope to heaven he doesn't do anything like this again,” Edana said. “I'll be worried sick that he might.”

“Men will be men, ma'am,” Holland said.

“There's such a thing as common sense,” Edana replied. “As you pointed out, he has nothing to prove to anyone.”

Alexander was holding his head high and nodding at some of the punchers lining the rails.

“If my sister were here, she wouldn't have let him,” Edana said. “She's much more outspoken than I am. I indulge him too much.”

“What was there to indulge, ma'am?” Neal asked. Dairy farms didn't strike him as particularly dangerous.

Alexander was coming around toward them again. “See?” he said. “I told you there was nothing to worry
about.” He rode past and over near the snubbing post. “How about that?” he said to the onlooking cowboys. “Two whole times and I'm still alive.”

Some of the punchers chuckled and grinned.

“Do you want to help me down now, daughter?” Alexander continued his little act. “Maybe hold my hand while you're at it?”

There was laughter, and Edana turned red.

Holland limped toward the mustang.

Neal let out a breath of relief. It was over. He'd escort the Jessups out and come back to tell the bronc buster that under no circumstances was Alexander to do that again without his say-so, boss or no boss.

That was when Neal saw the yellow jacket.