For the Brand

by Ralph Compton

  Her hat had become as much a topic of talk as Willis and Laurella, themselves. Everyone had noticed that she never took it off. Everyone wondered why. Even there at the dinner table, Fred Baxter and Reverend Merford could not keep from glancing at it from time to time. Reuben Marsh was curious, too, but he had better manners.

  The meal consisted of chicken soup and a salad, followed by thick slabs of beef, a heaping bowl of potatoes, succotash, corn pone, brown betty pudding, and for those who had any room left in their bellies, slices of apple or cherry pie or, in Willis’ case, slices of both.

  Little Sparrow cleared the dishes. The ladies were served A & P tea, the men brimming cups of piping hot coffee. Then, at long last, they got down to business.

  Laurella started things by clearing her throat and saying, “I would like to thank my host and hostess for their generous hospitality, and for being so patient with me.”

  “Not at all, my dear,” Elfie said. “It’s the least we could do.”

  Abe leaned forward. “The suspense is killing me. Will you or will you not buy the Bar T?”

  “I will,” Laurella said.

  The Tylers smiled at each other. Reuben shifted in his chair, and Little Sparrow immediately refilled his cup even though it was only half empty. Fred Baxter nodded. Only the parson sat cold and unmoved.

  “I will buy the Bar T,” Laurella went on, “provided several conditions are met beforehand.”

  At this, the smiles evaporated. Willis sipped his coffee to hide his smirk.

  “Conditions?” Elfie said.

  Laurella addressed herself to Abe. “First, let me say you have an extremely well-run ranch. I would stack it against any in Texas even if it is small by Texas standards.” The smile in her tone brought a smile to Abe. “The cattle are well-fed and well-managed. The house and the stable and the bunkhouse are well-maintained. Your punchers are as loyal to the brand as any I’ve seen. There’s plenty of grass and plenty of water and more timber than ten Texas ranches can boast of.”

  “In other words,” Elfie interrupted, “it’s everything I told you it would be.”

  “And then some,” Laurella acknowledged. “There are no Indian problems to speak of—at the moment, anyway. Since you’ve never had Comanches to contend with, you can’t appreciate what a blessin’ that is.”

  “If everything is so perfect,” Elfie said, “why must you insist on imposing conditions?”

  “Because I’m not a fool,” Laurella bluntly responded. “My pa taught me that when it comes to business, you do what has to be done and personal feelin’s be hanged.”

  “Then let’s hear them,” Abe said.

  “First and foremost is that the Wilkes gang must be dealt with. I won’t take over with a cloud hangin’ over the ranch. Either hang them or drive them out of the country, but I want them disposed of before I sign the papers.”

  Reverend Merford had not said much all during the meal but now he placed his forearms on the table and said sternly, “Perhaps you have heard of the Ten Commandments, my dear? One of them is ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ I grant you rustlers are an odious thorn in any rancher’s side, but your attitude, young lady, is much too cold for my tastes.”

  “With all due respect,” Laurella said, “if a rancher were to turn the other cheek every time a cow was stolen, pretty soon there wouldn’t be any cows left. And when it comes to killin’, have you forgotten the shoot-out in town? Have you forgotten your marshal and those others?”

  “Of course not,” Reverend Merford said indignantly. “Marshal Keever was a close friend of mine. I was devastated by his death. I thought highly of him and he thought highly of me.”

  Willis happened to know different. He had been in the saloon one night over a year ago when the subject of the minister came up. The marshal had been there, and had made the comment that for a man of the cloth, the reverend was remarkably short on forgiveness. As Keever had put it, “I’d like him a lot better if he wasn’t always lookin’ down his nose at everyone who doesn’t measure up to his idea of perfection.”

  “If the two of you were so close, then you should want to see his murderers brought to justice,” Laurella said.

  “God’s justice is not necessarily man’s justice. An eye for an eye has not applied since Calvary.”

  “That will come as a shock to most Texans,” Laurella said. “And it applies for me, Parson. But we were talkin’ about the rustlin’. If you have a way of gettin’ the Wilkes gang to stop without gunplay, I’ll gladly listen.”

  Abe had been tapping the table during the theological debate. Now he said, “You mentioned several conditions, Miss Hendershot. What are the others?”

  “I need to know, in advance, how many of your punchers will stay on and how many refuse to work for a woman.”

  Elfie indulged in a condescending little laugh. “Your gender is of no consequence, my dear. The men have never given me any problems.”

  “You’re the big sugar’s wife,” Laurella said. “I’ll be the big sugar. There’s a difference.” Her veil swiveled toward the Bar T’s foreman. “How about it, Mr. Marsh? Will they stay or not?”

  Reuben had been staring at Little Sparrow. “You’re askin’ me, ma’am?” he stalled.

  “Tell her, Reuben,” Abe said.

  “To be honest, ma’am, most haven’t made up their minds yet. Charlie Weaver will do whatever Will does. And Bob Ashlon has been singin’ your praises since the other day up in the mountains. He says you have sand, and female or not, that’s enough for him.”

  “And you, Mr. Marsh? What do you say?”

  “I tend to agree with Ashlon. It’s not whether the boss is a man or a woman, it’s whether they can do the job.”

  “I’d like very much for you to stay on as foreman,” Laurella said. “No one could do it better.”

  Marsh’s cheeks became pink. “Well, I thank you, ma’am. But since we’re bein’ so honest with each other, I kind of thought the foreman job was already taken.” He glanced meaningfully at Willis. “So do most of the other boys.”

  “Oh,” Laurella said. “It’s unwise to assume things. You should have come right up and asked me. I’d have told you that the idea of Will bein’ my foreman never entered my head. As my husband, he’ll be runnin’ the ranch at my side.”

  Willis nearly choked on the coffee he was swallowing. Complete silence fell. No one moved. No one seemed to be breathing. Then Abe stirred and said, “Did I hear correctly? There’s a marriage in the offing?”

  “He hasn’t asked me yet but I expect him to once he finds the courage,” Laurella said.

  All eyes swung toward Willis. The truth was, he had thought about it several times over the past few days but had not said anything for fear of her thinking he was rushing things. “You sure don’t beat around the bush.”

  “Isn’t this a bit sudden?” Elfie asked. “I mean, marriage isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

  An unlikely ally had an opposing view. “I think it’s simply marvelous,” Reverend Merford declared. “When a man and a woman are in love, what does it matter if they marry after only two weeks or wait two years?”

  “But it hasn’t even been two weeks,” Elfie said.

  “I must say,” Frank Baxter spoke up, “that regardless of any wedding, it will leave poor Cottonwood in the lurch. We were counting on Mr. Lander to agree to our proposition.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Willis asked.

  “Oh, just that a dozen of the town’s leading citizens got together the other night to discuss the marshal situation. Cottonwood needs a lawman. We considered sending flyers to some of the Kansas cowtowns advertising the position but then it occurred to us that we have the perfect candidate.” Baxter’s thin mustache curled upward. “You.”

  “Were all of you drunk when you came up with this brainstorm?”

  “As sober as church mice,” Baxter said. “We don’t want a gun hand. Lawmen with itchy trigger fingers tend to shoot before they think. We�
��d rather have someone dependable. Someone who knows the community. Someone who saw the town take root and grow. Someone like you.”

  Willis had never heard anything so silly. “Have you forgotten about my leg? I’d be no use in a scrape. And I can’t run fast enough to catch a snail.”

  Baxter’s mustache tweaked again. “That’s what deputies are for. We’re quite serious about the offer, Mr. Lander. I was going to present it to you before I headed back to town. Now I guess the whole issue is moot.”

  Laurella shifted in her chair. “I wouldn’t stand in your way if you wanted to pin the badge on.”

  Willis took refuge in his coffee. Too much was being thrown at him all at once.

  “As for the question of whether the Bar T punchers will stay on or not,” Laurella said to Reuben Marsh, “I believe I can’t help them make up their minds. If you would be so kind, go down to the bunkhouse and gather everyone up. I’ll be out front in ten minutes to talk to them.”

  “Only about half the hands are here,” Reuben said. “The rest are ridin’ guard on the herds.”

  “That’s all right. The ones who come can tell those who can’t all about it.” Laurella paused. “I’m sure it will be the talk of the territory.”

  “Ma’am?” Reuben Marsh said.

  “Nothin’. Off you go.”

  Fred Baxter was preoccupied with his own problem. “What do I tell the town’s civic leaders, Mr. Lander? Will you at least consider our offer?”

  “It’s plumb ridiculous,” Willis said.

  Laurella apparently disagreed. “He’ll consider it, Mr. Baxter.”

  Pushing back his chair, Willis stood. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said to Abe, “Miss Hendershot and I need to get some air.” He did not wait for her but turned and limped down the hall to the parlor and out the front door. He was by the rail when she caught up. “Why are you puttin’ words in my mouth?” he demanded without turning around.

  “I figured you might be holdin’ back on my account,” Laurella said softly.

  Willis faced her. “Now who is the one doin’ the assumin’? And that marryin’ business. We’ve known each other all of five days. Is that long enough for you to be sure you want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

  “You can ask that after the other night?”

  Willis’ ears burned and he had to try twice before he could say, “I’m not that fine a catch. You can do better.”

  “That’s the first stupid thing you’ve said to me since we met,” Laurella responded. “You’re the one who likely as not will have regrets.”

  “Over what? Not bein’ alone anymore? Havin’ someone who cares for me—honest to God cares for me as I am? What do I have to regret?”

  Laurella touched her veil. “This.”

  “My knee. Your face. Neither of us is perfect, not in our bodies. But it’s not the bodies that count. It’s what’s in our heads and”—Willis had so rarely said what he was about to say that he had to force the words out—“our hearts.”

  Her hand found his and grasped his fingers tight. “You have just made me the happiest woman alive, Will Lander.”

  “Don’t get too happy. There are your folks to consider. How will they take it, you marryin’ a Wyomin’ cowboy you’ve barely met? Armando doesn’t much like me, and I reckon your pa will feel the same.”

  “Armando has nothin’ against you,” Laurella said. “He thinks I should take it slower, is all. Have you court me for six months or so before we talk about marrying.”

  “Maybe we should.”

  “Six more months of loneliness? Six more months of the livin’ hell my life has been? No, thank you. You’re loco enough to want me to be your wife, and by God, I aim to take advantage of it before you come to your senses.”

  They both laughed, and Laurella’s hands rose to his shoulders.

  “Thanks to you, I realize I’ve been goin’ about my life all wrong. I shouldn’t hide like a rabbit cowerin’ in a hole. I need to start livin’.”

  “Then set the date. But allow enough time for your folks to come. I won’t step into your loop unless they do.”

  “We’ll make Armando happy then. Six months from this very day we’ll share our vows. That stuffy parson can do the honors, although I’d just as soon it was a justice of the peace.”

  “No, a church weddin’ with all the trimmin’s,” Will said, “or as many as I can afford.”

  “As we can afford,” Laurella corrected him. “What is mine will be yours and what is yours will be mine.”

  “I’m gettin’ the best of it. All I have is a saddle, a horse, and a few odds and ends. You come with a ranch.”

  “I’d give you the whole territory if it were mine to give.”

  Willis embraced her and felt her tremble. “We’re addlepated, the both of us. That’s what people will say.”

  “For the first time in my life, I don’t care what other people think. I don’t care what they will say. I’m yours and you’re mine, and nothin’ else in the whole world matters.”

  “Well,” Willis said.

  “Well, indeed.”

  Cowhands were drifting toward the house from the bunkhouse and the cook shack and other buildings. They stood a respectful distance from the porch, some with their hands in their pockets, others with their thumbs hooked in their belts, saying little.

  “What are you up to?” Willis asked.

  “We need them to stay on,” Laurella said. “It’s too late in the season to find enough new hands for the trail drive to the railhead.”

  Willis hadn’t thought of that. Her business savvy beat his all hollow.

  Laurella put her hands on the rail and bowed her head. “Life sure is peculiar. It never works out like we think it should. When I came up here, all I wanted was a place I could live where no one knew about me—a hideaway where I could live out the rest of my days in the solitude to which I had become accustomed.”

  Reuben Marsh came through the assembled hands. “This is about all of them, ma’am.”

  A few stragglers were hurrying from the cook shack. Laurella waited until they arrived, then squeezed Willis’ hand and moved to the top step. “I want to thank all of you for coming.”

  The sun had not yet set. Bloodred, it cast the porch and the cowboys and the lady from Texas in a crimson glow.

  Armando came out of the house and moved close to Laurella. Behind him filed the Tylers, Reverend Merford, and Frank Baxter.

  “I’ll make this short,” Laurella said. “As all of you are aware, I aim to buy the Bar T. I would like all of you to stay on, and I’m aware some of you haven’t made up your minds yet. So I’ll help you decide.” She raised her voice. “My pa taught me that a rancher should always be honest with his hands. That he, or she, should extend the same trust to those who ride for the brand as those who ride for the brand extend to the man or woman they ride for. So I am about to show you exactly who you will be workin’ for. If you still want to quit, go right ahead. I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Don’t,” Willis said.

  Some of the cowboys were looking at one another and shrugging shoulders and shaking heads.

  “Ma’am,” Sam Tinsdale said, “what can you show us that we don’t already know?”

  “This.”

  Laurella took off her hat.

  Chapter 16

  The bunkhouse was the quietest Willis ever remembered it being. He lay in his bunk waiting for someone to say something but no one did—not even Charlie Weaver or Sam Tinsdale, either of whom could talk until the cows came home. He was willing to bet his last dollar that it would be one of them who broke the silence, but he was wrong.

  “That there is some woman,” Bob Ashlon said.

  As if a dam had burst, unleashing a torrent of water, Ashlon’s comment unleashed a torrent of talk. Not one cowboy made reference to Laurella’s disfigurement. The talk was about her as a person: how she knew ranching inside out; how she could ride better than any female any of them h
ad ever seen; how there wasn’t a thing about cows she hadn’t learned.

  Then Charlie Weaver said, “Can you imagine how hard it must have been, growin’ up like that?”

  “That there is some woman,” Bob Ashlon repeated.

  “I reckon I wouldn’t mind ridin’ for the brand with her in charge,” Sam Tinsdale said.

  “Me either,” Rafe Carter said. “And I wouldn’t stand for anyone speakin’ ill of her neither.”

  A change had taken place. They no longer regarded her as an outsider. The fact she was female had become irrelevant. She was a cowman, whether she wore skirts or not, and she had grit. Those were the two qualities that counted most as far as the punchers were concerned—those and her honesty.

  “It took courage to do what she did,” Gus said, “more courage than I have—that’s for sure.”

  “So you’ll cook for her?” Charlie asked.

  “And be damned proud to do so,” Gus replied.

  His pride was contagious. Willis detected it in all of them, in their expressions, in how they spoke of her. They seemed to have forgotten he was there but he was wrong again, for no sooner did the thought cross his mind than Charlie Weaver swiveled in his chair and looked at him.

  “What I want to know,” Charlie loudly declared, showing more teeth than a patent-medicine salesman, “is what a fine gal like our new boss sees in that bronc peeler yonder.”

  Laughter and chuckles greeted the jest but Willis was not all that amused. “She has good taste in men, is all.”

  “Wait until she finds out you don’t bathe but three times a year,” Charlie said.

  Sam Tinsdale had to get his two bits in. “That will change once he says I do. I’ve never seen it fail. He’ll be takin’ a bath every day and twice on Sundays.”

  “Says the gent who has never been hitched,” Willis said.

  “I don’t need to be kicked by a mule to know it hurts,” Sam said, “the same as I don’t need to be married to know that once a woman has a man drool-in’ over her, she can tell him to jump and he’ll ask how high.”

  The door opened and in strode Reuben Marsh. He had been at the house huddled with the Tylers when Willis left. His hat was pushed back on his head and the top four or five buttons of his shirt were undone. He was whistling softly to himself but he stopped as he came down the aisle to Willis’ bunk. “So how do you want us to handle it?”