Badlanders (10 page)

E
dana Jessup had seldom looked forward to anything as much as a ride around the Diamond B with its foreman. She could hardly sleep the night before for thinking about it. When she eventually did doze off, she only slept a couple of hours and woke up again and thought about it some more.

She told herself that she was excited about seeing the ranch. That she was also looking forward to spending more time with Neal Bonner she attributed to a flight of fancy that would soon pass. So what if he was ruggedly good-looking and competent? It wasn't as if she hadn't been around men before.

Edana resented her sister teasing her about the rope business. Isolda was a fine one to talk. Edana suspected her sister was keenly interested in the gambler they'd met, Beaumont Adams.

But there sure was
something
about Neal Bonner.

Edana felt it was that competence of his. Competence was a trait she admired above all others. Her father had a lot to do with that, since from childhood she'd been in awe of his. Her father always knew exactly what to do
and never let anything stand in the way of his doing it. She had a sense that Neal Bonner was the same, especially when it came to cattle.

For their ride, Edana donned the outfit she always wore back East. It consisted of a long-sleeved blouse with large buttons down the front, a flared skirt that allowed for free use of her legs, and a high top hat with a narrow brim popular with Eastern ladies, tilted slightly. On her feet she wore riding boots with over a dozen eyelets and red laces.

Alexander was on the porch, and smiled as she emerged. He wore a hat similar to hers, along with a coat open at the front, a white shirt and white vest, and pantaloons with tassels at the knees. His boots were made from calf leather and had straps at the top to make them easier to pull on. “I daresay we present quite the sight, wouldn't you say?” He held out his elbow for her to take. “Let's dazzle the locals, shall we?”

Edana laughed. Her father was usually so serious about things. It was rare for him to joke. She attributed it to the raw atmosphere of the Badlands. “I'd wager they've never seen anyone dressed like we are.”

She proved to be right on that score.

Neal Bonner had their horses saddled and ready at the stable. He wasn't alone. Four hands were already mounted, apparently waiting to go along. Neal turned on hearing them come up, and his mouth fell.

The four cowboys looked flabbergasted.

To his credit, Neal recovered quickly. “Mr. Jessup. Miss Jessup,” he said. “You're all set, I see.”

“I'm looking forward to this,” Alexander said. “A tour of my new domain, as it were.”

To be polite, Edana smiled at the cowboys. “Gentlemen,” she said.

“Lord Almighty,” a young hand on a sorrel exclaimed. He had a mop of corn-colored hair and wore a brown shirt and a brown bandanna. Like all of them he also had a Colt high on his hip.

“Hush, Billy,” Neal said.

“Is something the matter?” Alexander asked. “They look as if they've just swallowed flies.”

“It's your clothes,” Neal replied.

“What about them?”

“Nothin',” Neal said. “But it probably wouldn't hurt, the next time you're in town, to buy some new ones.”

“That's no answer.” Alexander turned to Billy. “How about you, young man? Why were you so shocked?”

Billy had an easy grin. “Shucks, Mr. Jessup. I didn't mean nothin'. I just ain't used to folks goin' around dressed like peacocks, is all.”

“Billy, consarn you,” Neal said.

“Peacocks?” Alexander repeated.

“You know, those birds with the pretty feathers on their hind ends,” Billy said. “I saw one once, over to Kansas City. You sort of remind me of them.”

Now it was Edana's turn. “Peacocks?” She saw that the other cowhands were trying not to grin or laugh, and looked down at herself. “I've ridden in an outfit like this for years.”

“Don't pay him no mind, ma'am,” Neal said. “You're dressed different than ladies out here dress, is all, and to some folks, different is the same as peculiar.” He gave Billy a pointed look.

Billy squirmed in his saddle and said to Alexander, “I'm plumb sorry, Big Sugar. It won't happen again.”

“What did you just call me?”

“‘Big sugar' is what punchers call the owner,” Neal translated.

“It's the consortium that owns the Diamond B,” Alexander said. “I merely run it for them.”

“We can call you Little Sugar,” Billy said, and laughed.

Edana almost laughed, too, at her father's expression.

“I'm not sure if I'll ever become accustomed to their vernacular,” Alexander said. “There's no rhyme or reason to it.”

“Verna—what?” Billy said.

Neal stepped to the sorrel and put a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Billy said. “Sure.”

A middle-aged hand with a bulge in his cheek from a wad of chewing tobacco spat on the ground, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and chuckled. “That boy never has learned when to keep quiet.” He wore a tan hat and larger spurs than the other hands. And a Smith & Wesson revolver instead of the usual Colt.

“Don't you start, Yeager,” Neal said.

“How about if we get under way?” Edana proposed. The same bay she had ridden out from town was tied to the rail, and she undid the reins and swung up without asking for assistance. She noticed the cowboys looking at her strangely. “You've never seen a woman climb on a horse before?”

“How did that hat not fall off?” Billy asked. “It's sittin' cockeyed.”

“Hairpins,” Edana said, enlightening him. “You might try using them sometime.”

Billy blushed, the other hands cackled, and Neal gave her one of his warm smiles.

“Can we get under way sometime today?” Alexander said.

The Diamond B was too large to tour in a week, let alone a day. Neal's intention was to take them on a sweep of the nearby range and show them a few of the areas within easy riding distance where the graze was good.

Edana rode on one side of him, her father on the other. She sat her saddle straight and flattered herself that she rode as well as any of the men.

The countryside fascinated her. The mix of bluffs and buttes and the many rock formations made her think of a sculptor gone wild. That the rock came in so many colors surprised her. She'd always thought of rock as bland. But there were reds and browns and yellows and places where the rock was almost white. Interspersed were green valleys and small plains.

They had been at it a couple of hours when Edana remarked, “You know, I do so love this country. It has a beauty about it that's hard to describe.”

Neal looked at her. “A heap of beauty,” he said.

Edana hoped she didn't blush. “A person could get so enamored of the beauty, I'd imagine he'd want to live here forever.”

Alexander harrumphed. “Let's not romanticize, shall we? New York is just as picturesque in its own way, and a lot greener.”

Edana disagreed but held her tongue.

“I will confess that when you travel about in New York, it's always more of the same,” Alexander said. “Out there, go a few miles and the terrain changes.”

They came on a lot of cattle. In groups large and small, and sometimes singly. Most of the longhorns merely stared, but some melted away.

The longhorns fascinated Edana as much as the landscape. They were different from dairy cattle, larger and rangier and deadly-looking with those long horns of theirs. She made a comment to that effect.

Neal stared at the same bunch she was looking at. “They do tend to get wild when they've been off in the brush a spell, but they're right tame the rest of the time. I never saw anybody gored in all the years I worked longhorns down to Texas, although there was a bull or two who tried.”

“What I'm most interested in is the money they'll bring,” Alexander said. “The expense-to-profit ratio.”

“That's where longhorns have other cattle beat,” Neal said. “They don't need much upkeep. You let them loose on the range and they fend for themselves until roundup time.”

“That is a definite advantage,” Alexander said. “Dairy cows require a lot of upkeep.”

They talked business awhile, and Edana was pleased at how Neal held his own. She would never have guessed to look at him that he could calculate costs per pound
and other factors so readily in his head. She found herself warming to him more and more.

They crested a ridge and drew rein. Below spread a small valley, lush with graze. Here and there were longhorns, and a stand of oaks.

Edana unslung her canteen and treated herself to a few sips. “I have to say, Mr. Bonner, that the Diamond B is everything I'd hoped it would be, and more.”

“I'm mighty pleased to hear you say that, ma'am.”

“Wresting a working ranch from the wilderness will be quite the enterprise,” Edana commented. When Neal didn't answer, she looked over and saw that he had risen in his stirrups and was staring intently down into the valley. She looked, and stiffened. “Is that a dead longhorn?”

The hands had seen it, too, and Billy said, “Want us to go have a look-see, Neal?”

“We'll all go,” Neal said.

Edana capped her canteen and had to hurry to catch up. At the bottom they brought their horses to a trot. That the cowboys were so concerned over a single longhorn puzzled her. She imagined that, given the nature of the Badlands, some died all the time. She posed that to Neal.

“It's not all that common, ma'am, no,” he answered. “Longhorns are hard to die, as we say in Texas. They don't get many diseases and most are shipped off to market in their prime, so not many live to old age.”

“What about wolves and other predators?”

“Longhorns can give them quite a scrape and more often than not come out on top.”

The dead one lay on its side, the head and most of the body intact. Only a haunch was missing. The body had started to bloat and a few flies buzzed. There was no evidence scavengers had been at it yet.

Yeager dismounted. His spurs jingling, he walked in a circle around the dead animal, then hunkered by the head and pointed. “Bullet hole.”

Neal scowled. “Saw that.”

Yeager moved to the hind end and hunkered again. He put a finger to the hide where the haunch had been. “This was cut off.”

Neal grunted.

“Someone shot one of our steers and took some of the meat?” Alexander said. “Indians, do you think?”

“Give a search,” Neal said to the hands, and joined them as they gigged their horses around about the carcass.

“They look so grim,” Alexander remarked.

“They take their cattle seriously,” Edana said. “I like that.”

“So do I, but you'd think it was one of them who was lying there.”

In a while Neal and the cowboys returned. “Not a lick of sign anywhere,” he reported.

“So I was right about it being Indians,” Alexander said. “I've heard they're quite adept at hiding their tracks.”

“Could have been,” Neal said, although he didn't sound convinced. “And if it's hostiles on the warpath, they'll be out to kill more than just cattle.”

“You don't mean they'd try to do us harm, as well?” Edana said.

“That's what ‘warpath' means.” Neal regarded the dead longhorn. “My instincts tell me it's not Injuns, though.”

“How so?” Alexander asked.

“Injuns kill animals for food. They're not like some whites who shoot buffalo for the sport of it and then leave the carcasses to rot. To an Injun, that's a terrible waste. They can't savvy thinkin' like that.”

“You've never heard of them slaughtering cows for the fun of it?” Alexander said.

“No,” Neal replied. “That's the point. For them it wouldn't be fun. They'd see it as a terrible waste.” He nodded at the dead longhorn. “Which is why I don't think Injuns are to blame here.”

“Because they took just part of the meat and left the rest?”

“Injuns would never do that.”

“I see,” Alexander said thoughtfully. “But if not Indians, then who? Would one of the hands have done it?”

The cowboys, Neal included, glanced sharply at him.

“I suppose not,” Alexander said.

“What does that leave us?” Edana said. “Someone happened by, a white man, evidently, and decided to shoot one of our cattle for his evening meal?”

“A haunch would last a lot of meals,” Neal said. “But yes, that's pretty much what it leaves us.”

“Would a white man do that, though?” Edana asked.

“Not if he had a lick of sense, no,” Neal said.

“Then we're back to Indians?”

“So it would appear. We'll spread word for the punchers to keep their eyes peeled. I could be wrong, and there might well be some Injuns hereabouts.”

Young Billy patted his six-shooter. “If there are, and they're lookin' for trouble, we'll give them plenty.”

I
solda was so mad at Jericho that it took a few moments for what he'd just said to sink in. She gazed in the direction he was staring and beheld three riders, far off. “How can you tell they're Indians?” she demanded. She couldn't make out any of their features.

Stumpy half rose out of the seat. “I can't tell what they are,” he said, “but if Jericho says they are, they are. He's got hawk's eyes.”

Jericho gigged his zebra dun to where he was between the buckboard and the riders, and drew rein. He waited with his hand on his hip, close to his pearl-handled Colt. “If there's shootin',” he said without looking back, “get her in the bed of the buckboard and stay down low.”

“Will do,” Stumpy said. He shifted his holster on his belt so he could reach it easily. “You heard him, ma'am?”

“I'm sitting right here,” Isolda said a trifle indignantly. She didn't like being treated as if she were helpless. “I still don't see that they're even Indians.”

“Give it a minute, ma'am,” Stumpy said.

The stick figures gradually grew. Two of the riders were men, behind them a woman. The men rode pintos,
the woman a sorrel that appeared to be dragging something behind it.

“I still . . .” Isolda started to repeat herself, and stopped. The men wore leggings and moccasins and one had what appeared to be feathers in his hair. The woman wore a doeskin dress. As they came closer she remarked, “Why, they're all old. And what is that thing the woman is hauling?”

“A travois, ma'am,” Stumpy said. “Injuns stretch a hide between a couple of long poles and use it to cart things around.”

“What are they doing
here
?” Isolda said.

“It's the Badlands, ma'am,” Stumpy said. “Injuns roam about out here from time to time.”

“I mean what are they doing on the Diamond B?” Isolda amended. She almost added, “You simpleton.”

“They don't know this is a ranch, ma'am. To them it's just country they're crossin' to get wherever they're goin'.”

“We should post signs to keep them out.”

“Around the whole ranch?” Stumpy said, incredulous. “It wouldn't do much good. Not many Injuns can read the white tongue.”

“We call that English,” Isolda said drolly.

The Indians drew rein. The one with the feathers in his gray hair held a hand in front of him with his first and second fingers pointed at the sky and the rest closed, then raised it head-high.

“What is he doing?” Isolda asked.

“That's sign language, ma'am,” Stumpy replied. “He's sayin' they're friendly.”

The old Indian launched into a talk in his own tongue, with a lot of gesturing and pointing. He stopped when Jericho moved his hands in a series of gestures.

“What now?” Isolda said.

“The old buck was tryin' to tell us somethin', but Jericho let him know we don't speak Sioux.”

“Is that who they are?”

“Dakotas, ma'am, yes. Minniconjous, I'm thinkin',
although what they're doin' in these parts I can't say, unless they're on their way to visit kin in another band.”

The old warrior used his hands again. Jericho responded in kind, and the old one smiled and grunted and flicked his reins, leading the others around the buckboard and on off to the south.

Isolda glanced at the travois as it went past. Several bundles wrapped in fur had been tied on, along with blankets and a folded buffalo hide.

Jericho reined his zebra dun around. “They were peaceable. We can be on our way.”

“Sign language is one of your many talents, I take it?” Isolda said.

“I know enough to say howdy,” Jericho said. “Learned it from a fella who used to scout for the army. I played cards with him now and then in Texas. He rode the finest Ovaro I ever saw.”

“You don't say,” Isolda said. She couldn't be less interested.

“We should mosey on,” Stumpy suggested.

Isolda agreed and motioned for him to do so. She was still mad at Jericho for refusing to impart his past, but she decided to let it drop. What did she care? She was interested in Beaumont Adams.

Stumpy didn't say a word the rest of the way, which suited Isolda just fine. Jericho rode behind them, as taciturn as ever.

When Whiskey Flats sprouted on the horizon, Isolda sat up and slid her shawl off. She fluffed at her hair and smoothed her dress and wiped dust from her shoes with a handkerchief from her handbag.

“You gals sure do a lot of preenin',” Stumpy commented with a grin.

“Did I ask you?” Isolda rejoined.

“I was just sayin', ma'am.”

“Don't.” Isolda supposed she shouldn't be so abrupt with him, but she was tired of being treated as if her gender were peculiar.

Presently they entered the town. It was the middle of the morning and the streets were busy with shoppers and strollers and the like.

Isolda was eager for sight of the Three Aces. When Stumpy brought the buckboard to a halt in front of the general store, she absently said, “What's this? Why did you stop?”

“You came in for paper and ink, didn't you?” Stumpy said. “Where else would we get any?”

Isolda felt foolish. She went to climb down and suddenly Jericho was there, offering his arm.

“Ma'am,” he said.

Isolda almost slapped his arm away. “Thank you,” she said, and alighted. “I'll be busy for the next couple of hours, so you two do as you please.” She extracted her hand and stepped on the boardwalk.

“I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight, Miss Jessup,” Jericho reminded her. “Remember?”

“My father said no such thing, and I won't have you underfoot while I shop. Stay out here and wait for me. I shan't be long.” Isolda marched inside before he could argue, and peeked out the window.

Jericho, looking unhappy, leaned against the buckboard.

Isolda grinned. Outsmarting the cowboy was child's play. But then, he'd never suspect what she was about to do.

The proprietor, who introduced himself as Guthrie, was at the counter, flipping through a catalogue. Isolda told her who she was and Guthrie mentioned that he'd heard about her father coming to run the Diamond B. He informed her that he carried ink and paper and would set some aside but he'd sold out of ledgers a while ago and hadn't bothered to order more because hardly anyone ever used them. She told him to order half a dozen for the Diamond B, then glanced at the front door and said, “By the way, is there a back way out?”

“The back door,” Thomas Guthrie said. “But why use that when you can go out the front?”

Isolda had her lie prepared. “My father sent a couple of punchers along and one of them has talked me to death the whole way here. I'd like to slip away and have some quiet time to myself.”

“I'll be happy to help,” Guthrie said. He indicated a doorway at the rear. “Go out there and follow the hall. But what do I tell the cowpokes if they ask where you got to?”

“Say you were busy and didn't notice.”

“I hate to lie, Miss Jessup.”

“Even if it's for a good cause like my ears?” Isolda asked.

Guthrie laughed. “All right. I suppose a little white lie won't hurt.”

“You're a dear,” Isolda said to flatter him, and whisked to the hallway. She was pleased at how easy he'd made it.

Although she'd only been indoors a short while, the bright glare of the sun hurt her eyes. Squinting, she went past the backs of several buildings and up an alley to Main Street.

Jericho was still leaning against the buckboard, his head down as if he were pondering. There was no sign of Stumpy.

“Good,” Isolda said. She waited until several women came up the street and stepped in front of them so Jericho wouldn't see her. Keeping the women between them, she hurried down the street. She didn't have far to go. The general store wasn't more than a block from the Three Aces.

At the batwings, Isolda paused. She'd heard that it was improper, if not outright indecent, for a woman to enter a saloon. But few in town knew who she was, and she had her mind set on seeing the gambler. Pushing through, she took several steps and drew up short.

The whole place had frozen. The cardplayers, the drinkers, the men standing around, the bartenders, every last one had stopped what they were doing to stare.

Some wore comical expressions of astonishment. One
man's cigar fell out and he fumbled in catching it and it hit the floor.

A beady-eyed weasel in seedy clothes was the first to recover. “What do we have here?” he asked with a lecherous twinkle, and sauntered toward her like a cat sneaking toward prey.

“I'm looking for someone,” Isolda said.

“And you've found him, honey,” the seedy man said. “How about I treat you to a drink and we get better acquainted?”

“How about if someone tells me where I can find Beaumont Adams?” Isolda said.

Suddenly two other men pushed the lecher aside. One was as thin as a broom handle and wore his holster on the front of his belt instead of on his hip like most men. The other had a beard and carried a big rifle in the crook of his arm. The pair from the other day.

“Miss Jessup, ain't it?” the thin one said. “I'm Dyson and this here is Stimms. We work for Mr. Adams. He's in the back. It's a little early for him to be up and about, but I'll go tell him you're here.”

“I'd be ever so grateful,” Isolda said.

Dyson indicated an empty table. “Why don't you have a seat? Stimms here will watch over you until I get back.”

“I don't need watching over.”

“In here you do.”

Stimms patted his rifle. “Anybody looks at this gal crosswise, I'll blow their heads off.”

“That would be a little extreme, don't you think?” Isolda said.

“For them it would,” Stimms said. “It's hard to get around without a head.”

“I can't dispute that,” Isolda admitted.

Dyson touched his hat brim. “It shouldn't be too many minutes, ma'am. Make yourself comfortable.”

Isolda did.

•   •   •

Beaumont was having the most wonderful dream. He was on a picnic with the vision of loveliness he couldn't get out of his head. Seated on a blanket in a field of clover and flowers, she was spoon-feeding him chocolate pudding, his favorite. He was about to kiss her when a loud thumping intruded. His dream faded and he was back in the land of the living, only to find that someone was pounding on his door. “Who the hell is it?”

“Dyson, boss.”

Beaumont rolled over. One look at his window shade told him something must be wrong. “It's not noon yet.” He had a standing rule he wasn't to be awakened before then unless there was a crisis.

“I know that, boss,” Dyson said. “But this is important.”

Beaumont shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs. “Is someone actin' up? Maybe pulled a knife or a gun?”

“No and no,” Dyson said. “It's her.”

“Who?” Beaumont said, thinking he must be referring to one of the doves. “Darietta? Clarabelle? Miranda? Has one of them come down with somethin' or found out they're pregnant?”

“It's not any of the painted cats, boss,” Dyson said. “It's that other lady.”

Beaumont was annoyed at having his dream interrupted, and vented his irritation with “What lady, you damn nuisance?”

“That Eastern gal.”

“What?”

“That one who laughed a lot and called you handsome. You said how pretty she was. Don't you recollect?”

“What?” Beaumont said again. He wasn't sure he was hearing right.

“She's here, boss. In the saloon. She said she came to see you. I have her waitin' out at a table. Stimms is standin' guard over her.”

“What?” Beaumont blurted again, feeling foolish doing so. “I must still be dreamin'.”

“If you are, that'd make me part of your dream, and since I've been up awhile I must be real—unless you dreamed of me eatin' eggs and bacon and goin' to the outhouse.”

“Stop talkin' a minute.” Beaumont slid out of bed. He couldn't get his brain to work. The whole thing seemed unreal. Padding to his door, he opened it.

“God Almighty!” Dyson exclaimed, and averted his eyes. “Put some clothes on, will you?”

“I need to be clear,” Beaumont said. “Miss Jessup is in the Three Aces right this moment?”

The back of Dyson's head bobbed. “She marched right in as bold as you please and asked for you.”

“For me personally?”

Still not looking at him, Dyson said, “Boss, are you awake or not? Why do I have to say everything twice? Yes, she asked for you. Stood up to Rinson, too, when he got fresh with her.”

Beaumont started to say, “What?” and caught himself. His blood set to boiling, and just like that, his head cleared. “What did Rinson do?”

“He made some remark about gettin' better acquainted. You know how he is. Thinks he's candy for the ladies. He'd only be candy if they like ugly.”

“Two things,” Beaumont said. “Inform Miss Jessup that I'll be there shortly. Ask her if there is anything she wants, anything at all, and get it for her.”

“The other thing?” Dyson said when Beaumont didn't go on.

“Rinson. He's not to go anywhere.”

“He won't.”

Beaumont closed the door and moved to his washbasin. As he filled it, his head was awhirl with what Miss Jessup's visit might mean. That she'd specifically asked for him made it all the more wondrous. Especially since they hadn't been formally introduced, and a high-bred
lady like her wouldn't think of approaching a man like him unless it was deemed proper to do so. Hurriedly washing, he stepped to his closet for his best shirt and pants. As eager as he was to find out why she was there, he took extra time at the mirror. “Whatever can she want?” he asked his reflection.