“Would you do me a favor?” Isolda said. “Would you go there and ask him to meet Mr. Adams and me at Ma’s in half an hour? Tell him I would be ever so grateful if he isn’t late, as I have a lot to accomplish today.”
“You want me to wake Scar up? That could prove dangerous. He’s liable to shoot me for disturbing him.”
“Be discreet,” Isolda advised. “Mention our names so he knows we’re the ones who sent you.” She smiled and said graciously, “Please. For me.”
Deitch frowned and looked down at his feet and then off along the street. “For you I will, Miss Jessup.”
“Thank you. Now off you go.”
Beaumont watched his minion scurry away. “I hope you know what you’re doin’. I’d have waited until tonight and gone over and laid down the law.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Isolda said, “in a manner of speaking.” She clasped his arm. “How about a muffin and coffee, my treat?”
Beaumont let her usher him along. He suspected she was up to something with regards to Scar, but he couldn’t imagine what. She needed to be careful. Scar must be treated with care or he was liable to turn on them. Beaumont placed his free hand in his pocket, glad he had his Colts.
Deitch must have been wrong about Scar being in bed, because it wasn’t ten minutes after they got to Ma’s that Scar barged in with his perpetual shadows behind him. He came straight to their table. “Your errand boy told me I had to get my ass over here. I don’t like bein’ bossed around, gambler-man. I don’t like it at all.”
Isolda smiled her sweetest smile. “It wasn’t Mr. Adams who sent for you, Mr. Wratner. I did. Have a seat, if you please. We have some things to discuss.”
Looking as puzzled as Beaumont felt, Scar hooked a chair with his boot, turned it around, and straddled it. “Are you talkin’ for the card mechanic, lady?”
“You will address me as Miss Jessup. And yes, I am. I feel compelled to point out that Mr. Adams is far more than that, as I’m sure you realize.” Isolda paused. “Now on to other matters. We’ve heard about the incident at the Tumbleweed last night.”
“Now, look, lady—” Scar said, and caught himself. “Look, Miss Jessup. They were askin’ for trouble and they got it.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Isolda said.
“You do?”
“From what we hear, you handled the situation admirably.”
“I did?”
“Which is why I sent for you,” Isolda said, and sat back. “We need to consolidate our power. We’re going to hold an election and arrange things so Mr. Adams is Whiskey Flats’s first mayor.”
Now it was Beaumont who threw in “We are? Lord in heaven, but you work fast.”
“We’ll send out flyers in the next few days announcing that an election will be held in, say, two weeks’ time,” Isolda said. “You’re well liked, Beau. Everyone knows you don’t cheat at the table, and that you deal fairly with people. You should be a shoo-in, but we’ll make sure you are by buying as many votes as we need to ensure that you’re elected.”
“You’re awful free with my money,” Beaumont said.
“Who said anything about money?” Isolda replied. “We’ll quietly spread the word at each of your saloons that you’re offering a free drink to anyone who votes for you. Water down your whiskey a little and it will cost you practically nothing.”
Scar Wratner laughed. “Miss Jessup, I like how you think.”
“Then you should like my next inspiration even more,” Isolda said. “The first order of business for our new mayor will be to appoint a town marshal. For Whiskey Flats to prosper, there must be law and order. And I can’t think of a better man for the job than yourself.”
Scar sat back, astonishment etching his face.
Beaumont was equally dumbfounded but recovered his wits quickly. “You’re forgettin’ his reputation, my dear. That he just gunned down three men won’t help our cause at all.”
“To the contrary,” Isolda said. “He took care of some troublemakers. People will like that. The few who object won’t be an issue.”
“Me?” Scar said. “Tote tin?”
“Think about it, Mr. Wratner,” Isolda said. “Ponder the power you’ll have. You’ll be able to do anything you want under the guise of the law. Anything at all, so long as you don’t get carried away.”
“Anything I want?” Scar said. His eyes gleamed and he broke into a slow grin.
“What do you say?”
“Lady . . . Sorry . . . Miss Jessup, you’re about the craftiest female I’ve ever come across. If anyone had told me a year ago I’d be a marshal one day, I’d have said they were loco. But you can count me in.”
“With my brains and Beau’s money and your guns, we’ll be unstoppable,” Isolda predicted. She raised her coffee cup to them in salute. “Gentlemen, to our alliance. Very soon now, Whiskey Flats will be ours.”
28
Edana Jessup threw herself into her education about ranching with a zeal that had all the hands talking. She’d told Neal Bonner she wanted to learn everything, and she wasn’t kidding.
She was with him every day from sunup until long after the sun went down. They ate breakfast together, ate supper together. The only time they were apart was when Neal went to the bunkhouse to turn in.
Edana soaked up everything he had to teach her as if her life depended on it. She learned all there was to know about longhorns from birth to slaughterhouse. She saw firsthand how devoted longhorn mothers were to their calves, grinned in delight at their frisky antics, learned how when a calf was separated from its mother for whatever reason, it always returned to where it had suckled last and would stay there until its mother returned or it died of starvation.
Edana was impressed over and over by the resilience of the breed. Compared to longhorns, dairy cows were pampered dullards. The one word she would use to describe longhorns was “durable.” Or, as Neal put it one day, “the toughest cattle on God’s green earth.”
To some people they might look ridiculous with their big ears, narrow hips, and bony flanks, to say nothing of their extraordinarily long horns. But not to her. She developed a great affection for the breed.
Edana also had Neal teach her how to rope. How to set a loop over a steer’s head as neatly as you please, and how to bring one down on the fly if she had to, although she could never quite master that skill to her satisfaction.
Edana learned all there was about branding, about the irons, and how when she drew a branding iron from the fire she should smack it against her forearm to shake off the coals that sometimes stuck. She learned she must be quick at it in order not to mar the hide and to avoid unduly hurting the calf.
It wasn’t enough that she immersed herself in every aspect of the cattle. She needed to acquaint herself with every particular of ranch upkeep, as well. She spent time with the cook, with the blacksmith, with the old puncher who oversaw the stable, absorbing what they knew as a sponge absorbs water.
She did it all in what she laughingly called her “man’s clothes.”
The second day after her father’s funeral, Neal sent a cowboy into town with a list of things to buy for her.
“A dress might be fine for cookin’ and sewin’,” Neal had remarked, “but for workin’ the range, you need duds that don’t rip so easy.”
The general store didn’t have much of a selection. The best the puncher could find were a couple of men’s work shirts that fit Edana loosely, but would do, and a pair of men’s pants she took up at the hems. She also wore a narrow-brimmed hat and a brown vest and boots.
One morning not quite two weeks into her education, as she liked to think of it, Edana finished dressing and stood in front of her full-length mirror. She couldn’t believe how different she was. Her face, bronzed by the sun, and her hair, which she wasn’t so fussy about anymore, combined with
her work clothes to lend her the look of a genuine rancher.
Edana was proud of how much she’d accomplished in so short a time. She’d been so immersed in her new role she hadn’t given much thought to her sister. She did hear that Isolda had rented a house in Whiskey Flats and apparently intended to stay awhile.
One evening at supper she brought up the subject with Neal. She started by remarking, “I understand Stumpy went into town for supplies today.”
Neal glanced up from the piece of beef he’d just stabbed with his fork. “That he did,” he confirmed.
“Didn’t he happen to hear anything new about Isolda?”
“She still stayin’ at that house,” Neal said, and looked away so quickly it made her suspect he was hiding something.
“What else?”
“It might upset you.”
“Neal, please,” Edana said. “I’m a grown woman. Treat me as such.”
“Neal set down his fork and took a deep breath. “Your sister is livin’ with that gambler.”
“When you say living,” Edana said, the implication jarring her, “do you mean as in husband and wife?”
Neal nodded. “Only they ain’t married.”
“My goodness,” Edana said. It went against everything their parents had taught them, against everything she’d thought the two of them believed in.
“There’s more,” Neal said. “The town is fixin’ to hold its first election, and Adams is runnin’ for mayor. They say he’s a shoo-in.”
“And my sister will be the power behind the throne,” Edana suspected. “How marvelous for her.”
“Beggin’ your pardon?”
“Nothing. Let’s just say that when Isolda told me she wanted a new life for herself, I had no idea.” Edana laughed without mirth. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“A hotel is goin’ up. People are flockin’ in. Oh. And there’s talk that the town will have a new marshal just as soon as the new mayor is installed. You’ll never guess who.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Scar Wratner.”
Edana arched her eyebrows. “Didn’t we hear he shot three men dead not that long ago?”
“Some towns like to have a man-killer wearin’ the badge. They reckon there’s less trouble that way. It’s why Abilene hired Wild Bill Hickok, and El Paso hired Stoudenmire.”
“I’m familiar with Mr. Hickok, but who is the other gentleman you mentioned?”
“Dallas Stoudenmire, ma’am. He—”
“Neal, what have I told you a hundred times about that ‘ma’am’ business?”
“Sorry, Edana,” Neal said, abashed. “Stoudenmire is well known down to Texas. He cleaned up El Paso, and was involved in a shooting where four men were shot dead in under five seconds, or so folks say.”
“How is that possible?”
“Most shootin’ affrays are over right quick if the shooters know what they’re doin’,” Neal said. “A lot of the time, it’s just a couple of drunks wavin’ their six-shooters and shootin’ all over the place.”
“May I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“I know how fond you are of Jericho. I know you rate him as a highly competent . . . What is it? Shootist?”
“He’s that and more.”
“How does he stand compared to Scar Wratner? Is Jericho better? Who would prevail if they went up against each other?”
“I haven’t seen Scar shoot,” Neal said, “but given what folks say about him, I’d have to say it’d be a coin toss.”
“They’re evenly matched, in other words?”
“Sorry to say.”
“Why sorry?”
“Because if there ever is trouble, and Scar is totin’ a badge, it might give him an edge that would make the difference.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Edana said.
“Jericho is a gun hand but he’s not a bad man. If Scar comes at him in the name of the law, Jericho might hesitate and that would cost him.”
“How do you think of such things?” Edama marveled. “I wouldn’t have in a million years.”
Neal gave her another of those smiles she liked. “I’m from Texas. We take our shootin’ seriously down there.”
“I still don’t understand, but very well. Perhaps you should have a talk with your friend and convince him to be on his best behavior whenever he goes into Whiskey Flats.”
Her suggestion seemed to surprise him. “He always is, and not just there, but everywhere.”
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have him take extra care not to be provoked into going for his gun. Ask him on my account. Tell him I put you up to it so he won’t take offense.”
“Jericho wouldn’t anyhow,” Neal said, not sounding at all pleased.
Edana assumed that was the end of it and changed their discussion to ranch business.
The next morning she was in the saddle by sunrise and heading for a new section of range to inspect the cattle. Neal was at her side, and he’d brought Jericho, Billy, and Yeager along.
Edana loved their rides, loved the spectacular mix of terrain and vegetation. Or as the cowboys liked to say, “Ride a mile and the country will change.”
Ahead stretched a dry prairie dimpled with tumbleweeds. Edana couldn’t get over how no two were alike. You would think all the plants would be the same, as in rows of corn, say, or a field of wheat, but each tumbleweed was different. She’d also learned that while they were picturesque at rest and even more so when they went tumbling and bouncing in the wind, she had to be careful how she handled them should the need arise. They had more thorns than a rosebush.
Past the plain rose a bevy of rock formations. The endless variety of shapes and sizes fascinated her. Here there might be an arch, there a rock shaped like a bird’s beak, nearby another that resembled a mushroom.
On this particular day she experienced something else for the very first time.
Bordering the rocks was a dust plain, Neal called it. Mile after mile of flat, dusty ground. Not so much as a single plant grew. There weren’t any rocks or boulders. Instead of heading straight across, Neal swung wide to skirt it. Curious, Edana asked why.
“You feel that wind?”
Edana nodded. The wind had been strong all day, so much so that she’d tightened her hat strap under her chin.
“That’s why we fight shy of the plain.”
“So what if the wind blows? A little dust never hurt anyone.”
Behind them, Billy laughed and said, “A little, ma’am? We’re talkin’ dust that can blister your skin and blast your eyes.”
Edana was skeptical, to say the least.
Then, when they were about halfway around, the wind intensified. Out on the plain, the dust stirred. Wisps and tendrils swirled into the air and spread to form a cloud that swiftly grew in size, the particles shimmering like so many tiny diamonds.
“Oh!” Edana exclaimed. “Isn’t that pretty?”
“There’s more to come,” Neal said.
Other wisps rose, some thicker than before, becoming, in effect, writhing columns that curved and swayed as if they were alive. Several swiftly swelled in size until they reminded Edana of tornadoes. They rose and rose, not stopping until they were hundreds of feet high, half a dozen whirling all at once, a spectacle the likes of which she had never imagined she would behold.
“They’re beautiful!”
“Not if you’re caught in one,” Billy said. “The dust gets into your eyes and you can’t hardly see, and your horse might spook and throw you.”
Neal nodded. “Don’t ever get close to a dust devil.”
“Is that what you call them?”
“Big or small,” Neal said.
“Don’t forget the invisible ones,” Billy said.
Thinking he was
poking fun at her, Edana shifted in her saddle. “You’re joking, of course.”
“I’m plumb serious, Miss Jessup,” Billy assured her.
Neal nodded again. “Sometimes, not often but every now and then, the wind will be just right to raise a devil, only there’s no dust to be had. Unless you hear it comin’, you can be in trouble.”
Edana had been aware of the keening of the wind, and of something else, a sustained sort of hiss that she realized must be the sound of the spinning dust. Suddenly it became twice as loud, and she glanced up to behold an enormous dust devil sweeping toward them.
“Ride!” Neal bawled at the others, and bending, he smacked her bay on the rump and used his spurs on his buttermilk.
The dust devil whipped toward them faster than a horse could run, sucking more dust as it came, the middle portion bending and curling, its top lost amid the clouds.
Spiked by fear, Edana lashed her reins. The keening and the hissing grew so loud it nearly drowned out the thud of their horses’ hooves. Her cheeks and neck were stung again and again, as if by scores of bees.
Edana felt a tug on the back of her vest, and looked over her shoulder. The dust devil was almost on top of them. It had to be thirty feet across and three hundred feet high. Even as she looked, part of it bulged toward her and the bay as if to envelop them in its coils. A scream rose unbidden to her lips, but she bit it off. Slapping her legs, she grabbed at the saddle horn, afraid she would be torn from her saddle.
The next moment, the keening, and the hissing, faded.
The dust devil had changed direction and was moving away, back toward its point of origin, where others twisted and contorted in incredible gyrations.
Billy let out a loud laugh.
Edana didn’t share his elation. The dust devils were a reminder, as if any were needed, that the Badlands were fraught with perils. And that if she wasn’t careful, she could end up like her father—in an early grave.
29
They hadn’t gone a mile past the dust plain when they came on a dead steer. It lay on a ridge they were crossing.
Badlanders Page 21
