“Aren’t you the one who is always telling me God is in control? If you want to be forgiven, I forgive you. But it was a simple error. There’s really nothing to forgive.”
Mavis did not look the least bit convinced. She handed Cassie her pistol.
Ty Fuller missed his last stationary. Cassie nailed all five of hers. They were now even and in second place.
Mavis took the pistol and handed her the shotgun.
Cassie had never seen a set like this one. Boys on either side of the backstop threw large beanbags up into the air as hard as they could. Beanbags!
“Beanbags?” The fellow next to her looked at her and shrugged.
She shrugged back.
When a beanbag is struck with the shot from a twenty-gauge shotgun, it explodes amazingly. Beans fly in all directions, a spray of many, many beans. It might be an odd target, but Cassie loved the visual effect.
One of the two shooters in the lead missed a beanbag and dropped to second place with Ty and Cassie. Mr. Sands kept his lead. So far he was maintaining a perfect score.
Dinnertime. Cassie led the way to the food tent, an unusual situation; almost always it was Mavis leading the way. But this was Cassie’s world, and she reveled in it. Mavis’s world, where knitting was an art, Cassie could not master. It was slowly becoming Cassie’s as well, but she had a long way to go. She could cook a decent breakfast, make applesauce, clean chickens. She’d never milked. Here she was comfortable. Mavis did not seem to be.
Mavis fit in well, however, and seemed to truly enjoy talking to the people around her.
Back to work. The next-to-last set was stationaries with rifles, then pistols. Cassie and Ty remained tied, neck and neck, but the other two in second place dropped to third.
And now the birds. This first day they were using the clay pigeons. Mr. Sands missed one. One of the third-place fellows dropped to fourth. Ty shot a perfect round.
All those hours of swinging brooms and shotguns paid off right here. When Cassie finished the set with a perfect score, her arm still felt good.
And now everyone was shaking hands with everyone else. “Good shoot!” “Congratulations.” “Good job!” “Good shoot!” “Congratulations, Miss Lockwood!”
“Incredible! The day is over, and it’s not even four o’clock!” Mavis wagged her head.
Cassie was laughing. “So let’s tour around the expo and eat something absolutely terrible.”
What Cassie found incredible was the spirit of this shoot compared to that of Louisville. It wasn’t the shooters, really. Many of the people shooting there were the same ones that were shooting here, at least in the top echelon. It certainly wasn’t Mr. Fuller, who had organized that Louisville shoot, or even Mr. Tamworth, who was orchestrating this one. In part, it was that Cassie did not have a second there, and Mavis filled that role here. But that wasn’t all of it.
“Mavis, you were absolutely right again.” Cassie paused beside a booth offering a prize if you knocked over milk bottles with a ball. “I really cannot travel to a shoot by myself and expect any measure of success. Thank you again for coming.”
“And thank you for recognizing that I was right. Thank Ransom too. When we were discussing this, he and I agreed on that and on the idea that I should come.”
Ransom. Very well. When they got back she would thank Ransom. Why did she feel so much stronger and in control at a shoot, so much bolder? Was it that at a shoot, she was treated as an equal, a colleague, and on the ranch she was the new bumbling girl who had never seen a toboggan? Quite likely. Probably when they returned to the ranch, she would lose her nerve as usual and say nothing. She was not bold there.
The next morning they again took a hansom to the fairgrounds. The driver tipped his hat as they got off. “Good luck, Miss Lockwood!”
“You know me?”
“I watched you yesterday, and I’ll watch you again today.” He drove off.
“Well, I’ll be.” Mavis looked a little dazed. “I don’t think anyone in all of the Dakotas realizes you’re famous.”
Cassie laughed. “Chief and Micah, maybe. Let’s set up.”
They found the fifth shell under the table. It had rolled off when Mavis was loading the rifle, and she hadn’t noticed. Today she carefully, laboriously counted each shell, double-checked the loads.
Ty Fuller arrived with his second. “There they are! Good morning, Mrs. Engstrom, Cassie!”
“Good morning,” Mavis returned cheerily.
“Good morning! And good luck today,” Cassie replied. She even extended her hand without thinking, a very unwomanly thing to do. Boldness, which she totally lacked on the ranch.
And Ty Fuller, master marksman, shook hands, the acceptance of an equal, chuckling. “Next-to-the-best of luck to you too. This is a good shoot. We’re all pretty evenly matched. And . . . well, there just seems to be a friendly, lively spirit about it.”
“I noticed that too. The spirit of it especially.” Hmm. Perhaps her traveling alone wasn’t completely to blame for Louisville. “Mr. Fuller, I—”
“Ty, please. We’re friends and colleagues.”
“Ty, I owe you so much. You helped me get back into the game. Thank you! However”—she smiled as she added—“I was looking at the difference in prize money between first and second place, and I’ve decided I don’t owe you enough to let you win.”
He roared with laughter, and she thought for a moment he was going to hug her.
They lined up. They were introduced. The crowd was even larger today, but then, the second-day audience was almost always larger. They picked up their pistols for the first round. Everyone shot a perfect set, including the fellows who had no chance of winning.
Mavis handed her the rifle for the next set. “There are five shells in this. I counted them!”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Perfect score on the stationaries.
She glanced toward Ty. He looked at her and grinned. Yes, the spirit of this shoot was quite different.
Perfect score on the moving targets.
There were no beanbags today, but the little boys threw fruit or melons of some sort. Very juicy targets, they exploded almost as satisfyingly as had the beanbags.
When the shooters broke for dinner, the crowd seemed quite pleased, with lots of applause both between sets and after. Good. That’s what Cassie was there for.
She and Mavis went through the serving line in the dinner tent. Spaghetti was the main dish today. And the sauce was delicious.
“Excuse me a few minutes, Cassie. I’m going to go find out what they put in this sauce,” Mavis said. “The flavor is so rich.”
So Cassie was not the only one who compared all food to Mavis’s cooking. Mavis apparently did too.
What was that commotion behind her? She twisted on the bench to see toward the door. Jason Talbot was standing outside, arguing with a steward or security person of some sort. It appeared he wanted to enter and the security person was preventing him. And now another fellow, an arbiter of some sort, was there talking to Jason.
Cassie asked Ty down the way, “Do you know who that is?”
“Never saw him. The man who ended the ruckus is Hec Tamworth.”
“That’s the one I meant. The other person is Jason Talbot. He used to co-own the show with my father.”
Jason apparently gave up, because he walked off.
“That Talbot! Well, I’ll be. So that’s Jason Talbot.” Ty nodded. “Interesting.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never met him. I’ve only heard the name, and of course there was your Wild West Show. By reputation he’s quite a heavy bettor. Even bets on shooting matches.”
“I didn’t know that. I do know, though, that my father won co-ownership of Mr. Talbot’s show in a poker game.”
“Sounds like his gambling goes way back.”
Then Mavis returned, so Cassie told her all about it. She didn’t seem surprised.
When they returned to the shooting line, the remaini
ng participants were introduced all over again, for the grandstand held even more people now than it had that morning.
All but five contestants had dropped out. Cassie and Ty shot perfectly. A gusty breeze picked up that she failed to factor in well enough, and she missed one of the moving mechanical targets. Ty led by one. Cassie glanced at Mavis. The lady was standing quietly, eyes closed, head bowed.
The next round was clay pigeons with rifles. Cassie missed one, Ty missed two, putting them neck and neck again. Mr. Sands missed four. The fourth shooter moved into third place ahead of Mr. Sands, and the fifth dropped out.
Ty called, “Are you certain you can’t let me win, just this once?”
“Not a chance.” Cassie hefted her shotgun.
The next round was live pigeons, always harder to hit than clay discs. The discs sailed in a smooth, predictable arc, while the pigeons often veered in unexpected directions.
Mr. Sands got them all, but it was too late. He was secure in third place, and unless Ty and Cassie missed several each, he could not win.
Ty missed one bird that flew up, then ducked suddenly aside. That could happen to anyone. To Cassie.
It all hung on this last set. Cassie raised her shotgun. One down. The gray breast feathers floated lazily behind the plummeting bird. Two down. Three down. Four.
Five down!
The crowd erupted with wild clapping and stomping and cheering! Cassie stepped forward, raising her arm and shotgun high to salute the audience, so happy she had tears in her eyes. She had won! She was back! Her arm was good again. She had found her old form, recovered the skill she once had.
She’d won.
She’d won.
Mavis was actually jumping up and down, shouting, “Praise God! Praise God!”
Ty appeared beside her and grasped her hand in both of his, a bear-tight grip. “Cassie, I consider this the best shoot I’ve had in a long time. You’re a splendid competitor!”
“As are you. It was pure chance that sent your pigeon off in the wrong direction. That pigeon could just as easily have been one of mine.” No, it wasn’t pure chance, Ty, not with Mavis praying full time.
“I insist on taking you and your charming second here to dinner. Six o’clock at the Cattlemen’s?”
Cassie glanced toward Mavis, who was smiling. “We would be honored. Thank you, Ty.”
He moved off, congratulating everyone, not just the top finishers.
She helped Mavis bag the guns. “Make absolutely certain they’re all unloaded.”
“I still feel bad about that mistake.”
“I hope you get over that. God’s will prevailed.”
“It certainly did.”
Here came Mr. Tamworth, extending his hand. “Fine work, Miss Lockwood. Ty was right—you’re an up-and-coming star.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tamworth. Mavis, may I present Mr. Tamworth. Mr. Tamworth, my second, Mavis Engstrom.”
“Delighted! Do you accompany her to all her meets?”
Mavis shook his hand. “I’ll probably do so frequently. You can’t argue with success.”
“Success indeed.” Mr. Tamworth handed Cassie the cashier’s check. “I trust we’ll meet again soon.” And he went off to distribute the other checks.
Cassie passed her check to Mavis.
Mavis’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my.” She picked up Cassie’s gun bag. “I think we can afford a hansom back to the hotel, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
They were giggling like schoolgirls again as they left the arena.
Mavis suddenly lost her happy grin. “Look who’s coming.”
Cassie turned. Jason Talbot came hustling over, glowing. “Cassie! Now can Uncle Jason have that hug?”
Cassie really was emboldened. She said simply, “No.” And she meant it. She didn’t even say, “I’m sorry.”
He wilted momentarily and then recovered his happy mien. “Your shooting was perfect! Just perfect! Tell me. Are you driving nails into boards, like you used to?”
“Now and then.”
“Good afternoon, Jason.” Mavis didn’t seem particularly thrilled to see him either.
He tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, fair Mavis. Will you two ladies join me for dinner?”
“I’m sorry.” Mavis did not sound particularly sorry. “We already have a dinner engagement.”
“Oh? Who?”
Cassie replied, “A friend and colleague.” And there she stopped. He seemed so like the old days, smiling and glad-handing everyone. She supposed she should trust him. After all, he’d sent her off with the wagon, horses, livestock, even George. He had given her ownership of them all. He had demonstrated that he had her best interests at heart even as his business was collapsing. He’d earned a fair hearing.
She couldn’t do it.
“Well then, perhaps drinks afterward. You’re at the Cattlemen’s tonight yet. Right?”
“I believe our evening will be booked.” Cassie would book it with something. He should know that she and Mavis didn’t drink.
Suddenly Jason raised an arm and waved. “George! Over here!”
Out by the gate, George Sands changed direction and came striding up, his gun bag over his shoulder. “My congratulations, Miss Lockwood. It was a delight shooting against you.”
“You were doing so well, Mr. Sands, I fully expected you to win. Next time.”
He smiled. “Next time. Actually, I usually do win, just not when up against you and Ty.”
Jason said expansively, “Cassie and I go way back, since her birth. Her parents and I were close friends.” He reached out suddenly, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and drew her in close in a sideways hug.
She stiffened, rigid. How could he, in public like this? Her face must have betrayed her feelings. George looked at her face, at Jason, and frowned. Jason stepped away.
“See you, Jason. Safe travel returning home, Miss Lockwood.” George tipped his hat and walked off.
“Thank you,” she said to his departing back.
A hansom pulled up alongside them. It was not the young man who had conveyed them this morning. Cassie almost wished it were.
Jason whipped off his hat and swept it toward the step into the carriage. “Ladies?”
“You go on to the hotel, Mr. Talbot. We’re not done looking about downtown yet.” Cassie watched his face fall. Well, that was the way she felt.
“Are ye going, sir?” the driver asked.
“Yes. Ladies, I’ll see you later. If not here, then in Hill City. I wouldn’t miss the show in Hill City for anything.” He climbed aboard the hansom and waved over his shoulder, a benign smile still in place.
Cassie turned to Mavis. “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t.”
“I’m glad you handled it that way, and I totally agree with you. Say, the trolley line is only three blocks over. Let’s repeat our new experience.”
“Let’s!”
Riding on the trolley was fun. Cassie was beginning to really like Denver.
They arrived at the hotel in nearly no time and strolled across the lobby to the staircase. As they were climbing the stairs to their room, they saw Jason enter the front door. He looked preoccupied and failed to notice them.
“So the trolley is faster than the hansom.” Mavis’s smile could definitely be called smug.
“And only costs two cents.”
Every time they looked at each other, the chuckles burst forth again. When they reached their room, Cassie got the giggles so bad it took two tries to get the key in the hole and turn it. Once inside, she dropped her gun case and collapsed backward on the bed.
“I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”
Mavis sat down in the wing-backed chair. “You know, if I never see Jason Talbot again, it will be too soon.”
“He’ll be at Hill City.”
“I know. I wonder what we can do to discourage him.”
Cassie shook her head. Should she trust him or not? What was the right thi
ng to do?
28
Farm wagon? Hansom cab? Wagon, cab? Cab, wagon? Mavis couldn’t decide which she liked better. The cabs were well sprung, providing a very comfortable ride. But then, city streets were so smooth compared to the rutted track they were rattling along on now. On the other hand, she could not imagine using a hansom to haul those dead wolves up to Runs Like a Deer to skin, or fitting a cab with runners to handle the snow, or bringing a big load of melons or apples into town to sell. For a practical person, and Mavis was certainly practical, this farm wagon was the way to go. They hit a sudden bump, and she almost slid off the seat. Make that usually the way to go.
They rounded the last curve, and her familiar valley opened out before them, so green and spacious. Home. They’d had a lovely and exciting trip, and their time of sightseeing had been absolutely delightful. It made her feel as young as Cassie. But now Ransom had picked them up at the train station and she was home, her most favorite place in the world to be.
Squeezed between her and Ransom, Cassie sighed contentedly. “It’s so beautiful, everything about it.”
Ransom cocked a boot up against the dashboard and let the horses have their heads. “The lettuce and onions survived the snow and are all perked up again. We’re eating off ’em. The starts you replanted just before you left are doing fine, and we’re going to put them out soon. And I hired three young fellows to help out around here.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mavis felt so good to be home. “We’re gone two weeks and the ranch prospers. I’m going to have to think about that. Maybe I should retire.”
“Don’t you dare!” But then Ransom obviously realized that she was joking. “You had me going there. The employees are the three oldest brothers from the Stilson place over beyond Argus. Reverend Brandenburg says they’re good workers and they can use the money.”
“Stilson. They have how many children?”
“Reverend Brandenburg says nine. Used to be eleven but two died. The youngest brother I hired, Zeke, is only fourteen, doesn’t have his growth yet, but he’s a willing worker and he’s real handy for barn chores. Good milker. His hands are so small he has to turn his thumbs under when he milks, but he strips the cows real good. Gretchen is tickled pink.”
Place to Belong, a Page 28
