Wyoming Bride (36 page)

Ransom held the saddlebags that contained the double-branded pieces of hide from cows slaughtered at the fort, a letter from Colonel Simmons confirming that he’d collected the strips of hide, and the colonel’s letter from the New Haven Arms Company regarding Ashley Patton’s recent purchase of Winchester ’73s.

“What you got there, Ransom?” Hoot asked as the men settled around the parlor in wing chairs and sofas and an upright piano bench.

“Evidence,” Ransom replied. He handed the saddlebags to Flint, who would present their case to the Association.

There was an immediate hubbub among the gathered men, who turned to one another to speculate on what Ransom had meant. Flint found Patton staring straight at him, his lips pressed flat, his eyes narrowed.

“Why don’t you call the meeting to order, Hoot,” Flint said. “Then I can make my case.”

“This isn’t a courtroom,” Patton said.

“Hoot?” Flint said.

“I call the December meeting of the Laramie County Stock Association to order. Warren, will you read the minutes from the previous meeting?”

“I move that we waive the reading of the minutes,” one of the members interjected, “and hear what Flint has to say.”

After the majority voted to waive the minutes, Hoot said, “Don’t have any old business to take care of, which leads me to ask if there’s any new business.

Flint?”

Flint fumbled at the buckle on the side of the saddlebags but finally got it open. He reached inside to collect the two letters, which he set on the coffee table in front of him. Then he unbuckled the other side and pulled out numerous squares of cowhide. He stood and draped the saddlebags over the arm of the chair where he’d been sitting. He handed half the squares to Ransom, then fanned out the rest of them, skin side out, so the gathered men could see what the brands on each of the hides had originally been.

“These are all brands from steers belonging to Association members in this room.” Then he turned the hides over to reveal the OOX brand on the other side. “These steers were delivered by Ashley Patton to Fort Laramie for slaughter, as part of his contract to supply beef to the fort.”

Ransom held up the rest of the hides, turning them to show the incriminating hot-iron brands.

The men rose almost as one and gathered around Flint and Ransom, claiming the strips of hide that held their brands.

When they were done, John Holloway held four. Hoot Beaumont held two. Warren MacDougall held one. Jim Grayhawk held two. And Flint and Ransom were left with the last six.

“This appears to be pretty damning evidence,” Hoot said as eleven men turned to confront Patton.

“It might be, if I were responsible,” Patton said. “These two boys have had it out for me ever since I moved into the neighborhood. They’ve got the best water, and they’re determined not to share it.”

That was news to Flint. There had never been any question of Patton using the Laramie River to water his beef. He realized it was a red herring to take focus away from the rustled cattle. Instead of commenting on the accusation, he said, “Are you suggesting we changed these brands?”

“Who else?” Patton said.

“To what purpose?” Flint demanded.

“To give me a bad name,” Patton retorted. “To paint me as a thief.”

Ransom said, “You
are
a thief. A liar and a thief.”

“Those are strong words,” Hoot said.

“How else do you explain all these changed brands?” Ransom argued.

Hoot’s lined face looked harried. “What other evidence do you have that Ashley is responsible?” he asked Flint.

“I have this letter from Colonel Simmons, confirming that these brands came from cattle delivered by Patton under his contract with the fort,” Flint said, picking up one of the letters from the table and handing it to Hoot.

“Why would I take the chance of delivering stolen beef to the fort?” Patton asked.

“Because you thought no one would check,” Flint said. “And that even if someone did, he wouldn’t dare confront you.”

Patton’s face was flushed. His gaze darted around the room looking for support from other ranchers, but Flint could see he wasn’t getting it.

“You’re all making a big mistake,” the accused man said.

“You’re the one who made the mistake, Patton,” Flint said.

“What’s that other letter,” Hoot asked, pointing to the paper on the table.

“More proof that Patton isn’t the good guy he pretends to be,” Flint said.

“What does it say?” one of the ranchers asked.

Flint read the letter aloud. It confirmed that Ashley Patton had bought a dozen brand-new Winchester ’73s from the New Haven Arms Company.

“So what?” Patton said.

“You only have a half-dozen cowhands,” Flint pointed out. “Most of whom have their own rifles. Why did you need a dozen Winchesters? More to the point, where are they now?”

“At my ranch,” Patton blustered. “I need them for defense against the Sioux.”

“I think you gave them to the Sioux,” Flint accused. “I think you’re the source of those brand-new rifles the Sioux have been using to raid the ranches around here.”

“That’s a bald-faced lie!” Patton said. “Another example of Creed producing false evidence. The son of a bitch is too lily-livered to face me on his own. He doctored those brands so you’d help him push me off land he wants for himself,” Patton snarled.

Flint’s face turned white at the insult. He didn’t bother answering because the indictment was so obviously without merit.

Then Patton added, “Which is exactly what you’d expect from a coward like Major Creed, who took his men and ran at the Battle of Cedar Creek.”

Flint felt all eyes focus on him.

“That’s a lie!” Ransom retorted. “Flint didn’t run, he retreated.”

“Without orders to do so,” Patton said.

Ransom said nothing to that.

Flint wished his brother hadn’t come to his rescue. Ransom had only put meat on the bone Patton had thrown to the ranchers. He met the eyes of each of the other men, one at a time, and said, “You all know me. I’ve been a friend and neighbor for nine years. You know what the war was like. Nothing is that cut and dried.”

He saw men look away and realized that whatever he said, it probably wouldn’t be enough to counter that ugly word.
Coward
. Nevertheless, he tried.

“It’s a well-known fact that Jubal Early chastised his officers after the Battle of Cedar Creek for running,” Flint said. “When faced with overwhelming odds after the soldiers on both my flanks had fled in panic, I made an orderly retreat with my men.”

“You ran,” Patton said flatly. “Like the lying yellow belly you are.”

Flint found it interesting that he was now a
lying
coward. But he saw the allegation was finding surprisingly fertile ground.

“I was there,” Ransom said. “Fighting alongside my brother. It happened just like Flint said.”

“I’m not a coward. Or a liar. Or a thief,” Flint began, his gaze moving from one man to another in the parlor. “Consider how difficult it would have been for me to ensure that fifteen steers with this variety of altered brands ended up among the one hundred cattle delivered to the fort last month,” he argued in his defense. “Besides, if I were the one stealing cows, why wouldn’t they have my brand on them?”

“I see your point,” John Holloway interjected. He turned to the other men and said, “Flint would have had to spend a lot of time stealing and branding other men’s cattle in order to get this many to show up in the group that Patton cut out to send to the fort. What motive would he have to do that?”

“I told you, he wants all the land along the Laramie River for himself,” Patton said.

“You’re the one burning out—and then buying out—small ranchers,” Flint said coldly. “Not me.”

Flint saw the agreement with his point in the nodding heads of the Association members.

Patton scowled and searched the eyes of the gathered men. “You’re taking the word of a coward over mine?”

“I haven’t known you for nine years,” John Holloway said. “I’d ride the river with Flint any day.”

Flint felt a weight shift off his shoulders. At least one of his neighbors wasn’t going to ostracize him for what had happened during the war.

“Me, too,” Warren MacDougall said.

“And me,” Jim Grayhawk added.

“I don’t have to stand for this,” Patton retorted. “I could buy and sell every one of you here!” Instead of winning him friends, that statement seemed to have the opposite effect. Patton put his hands on his hips and said, “Why would I need to steal your cattle?”

“Because you can,” someone muttered.

“Who said that?” Patton demanded.

“Whoever said it hit the mark,” Hoot said. “Do I have a motion to rescind Ashley Patton’s membership in the Laramie County Stock Association?”

“I so move,” Warren MacDougall said.

“Second?” Hoot asked.

“I second,” John Holloway said.

“All in favor?” Hoot said.

Not every hand went up. Ritter Gordon and Willis Smithson both abstained.

“All opposed?” Hoot said.

Ashley Patton didn’t bother raising his hand, but it was clear from his red face and blazing eyes that he was definitely opposed. “You’ll all pay for this,” he said through tight jaws.

“I suggest you stop rustling our cattle,” Hoot said. “We string up cattle rustlers out here in the Territory. You might want to tell your hired dog to put his tail between his legs and head for wherever he came from, because he’s not welcome here any longer. Neither are you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Patton said. “Neither is Tucker.” He headed for the door, grabbing his Stetson from a table full of them, and his wool coat from a rack near the door, before stalking out. He never looked back.

Hoot glanced around the room and said, “Well, boys, you heard the man. We can count on trouble. Keep a sharp lookout, and send for help if you need it.”

“You take special care, Flint,” Hoot said as he shook Flint’s hand. The other men crowded around to wish him well and offer their support.

Flint wanted to say thank you to his neighbors, but his throat was too swollen with emotion to speak.

Ashley Patton had left the Association meeting early and angry, and Flint had a feeling of forboding as he headed south to Cheyenne from Hoot Beaumont’s ranch. He rode beside Hannah, who was driving the buckboard. Emaline sat beside her, with Ransom riding alongside his wife. The brothers had agreed in advance to flank the wagon to protect the women in case there were gunshots from ambush.

Flint’s eyes were constantly moving, scouting the horizon for signs of movement, and he knew Ransom was doing the same. To complicate matters, the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since they’d left Hoot’s ranch house. What looked like snow clouds had moved in, and the wind had picked up.

Flint leaned over and tucked the blanket around Hannah’s legs. “Are you warm enough?”

She shivered and said, “Warm as any iceberg at the North Pole.” She glanced at him and said, “Don’t worry so much.”

“Does it show?”

“You’re hovering like a concerned husband.”

“I want to keep you safe.”

“I know,” she said, glancing toward Emaline.

Flint felt frustrated enough to say, “Look at me, Hannah.”

Her head swiveled back, and she raised her left brow in question. “What is it?”

He rode closer to her side, so he could speak quietly and not be overheard by the other couple, who were engaged in a conversation of their own. “I care about you, Hannah.”

“I know. I heard you.”

“But you don’t believe me,” he said flatly.

She nodded her head slightly toward Emaline and said quietly, “This isn’t the time to be discussing this.”

“This is the perfect time.”

She looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t,” he muttered. Then he blurted, “I love you, Hannah.”

His comment surprised a trill of laughter out of her. She slipped the reins into one hand so she could cover her mouth with the other.

Flint had known it was too soon, but he’d said the words anyway. He hadn’t been able to contain them, because he wanted Hannah to know. The feelings were new, but they were strong. And they were real.

Hannah had responded with laughter. Amused laughter? Disdainful laughter? Disbelieving laughter? All three, probably, Flint thought with a sinking heart.

“What’s so funny?” Emaline asked, turning to Hannah.

“Yeah, let us in on the joke,” Ransom said.

Flint held his breath, wondering if she would repeat what he’d said. She glanced at him, sobered, and said, “You wouldn’t get it.”

“I thought it might have something to do with this crazy weather,” Emaline said. “Can you believe it’s starting to snow?”

“The way my day has been going, yes, I can,” Flint replied. His eyes searched the horizon, which was quickly becoming obscured by falling snow. The snow would make waiting in ambush a lot less comfortable for Sam Tucker. With any luck, if he was out there, he’d give up and go home.

“Maybe we’ll be snowed in and have to stay in Cheyenne for a whole week,” Emaline said. “I would love to shop and shop and shop.”