“I’m a damned good-looking woman.”
“You’ll do fine for the likes of Mr. Croley, but you can put Mr. Cord out of your mind. He loves Miss Eliza, and they’re going to get married.”
“They’ll have to start talking to each other first.”
“That’ll happen a whole lot sooner if you don’t show your face every time he comes around. It takes the bloom off things right smart.”
“I imagine it does,” said Iris with a satisfied grin. “Cord hasn’t ignored me yet.”
“He’d take notice of the kitchen garbage if it was dumped at his feet. You wait till someone comes around asking to see you before you start to crow.”
“I want this dress done by tomorrow,” Iris demanded, livid with fury. “If not, I’ll fasten your hide to the wall with your own pins.”
“Ain’t nobody put on this earth to have all her wants satisfied, but I’ll see what I can do,” Lucy relented, going back to her sewing and blatantly dismissing Iris, who turned on her heel and stormed down the hall, where she slammed the door so hard that downstairs the top row of glasses danced merrily along the shelf.
Cord followed the quaking clerk into the inner office of Sanford Burton’s Buffalo National Bank. The man had never seen Cord before, but he had fed on the idle remarks made by waiting customers, and unable to separate the reasonable from the fantastic, believed everything he’d heard. Cord’s imposing statue, his brusque demand for Mr. Burton, and the unmistakable air of dark displeasure made the clerk so nervous that, as he later told his wife, he was unable to swallow more than two bites of his lunch.
Cord came to a halt two steps inside the door and leisurely passed the occupants of the room under review. In an unconscious gesture, he pulled the brim of his hat a little lower over eyes that seemed to have already receded into his head. Cord had never been a member of the Association, but it only took him a few seconds to realize he was face to face with the owners or foremen of every major cattle operation in two counties, and every nerve in his body was alert.
“I’m not sure you all know Mr. Stedman,” Burton said, rising to greet Cord, “but I asked him to join us.”
“We’ve met,” said Chet Winfield, the roundup boss who had gotten in trouble for selling Cord unbranded calves at prices reserved only for Association members.
“We’ve done business from time to time,” said another. But most were meeting for the first time a man they had heard a lot about and one they had come to fear, distrust, or respect as their interests happened to agree with or run counter to Cord’s. A somber, unattractive lot on the whole, they nodded a greeting without getting up to shake his hand. Cord returned their salute with an equally noncommittal nod and took a seat next to the door.
“The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the rustling that’s a continual drain on your herds and is threatening to reduce your revenues to nothing,” explained Sanford.
“I’m not here to discuss,” grumbled one owner, rising to his feet. “I’m here to do something. Everybody knows the courts won’t do a damned thing about the rustlers that infest Johnson and Natrona counties. It’s time we took things into our own hands. You don’t see Montana having trouble with rustlers, not after they hanged every one they could get their hands on.”
“I don’t think we should consider a vigilante action—”
“Then we might as well all go home. We’ve tried everything else and gotten nowhere.”
“That’s why I invited Mr. Stedman,” Sanford interposed quickly. “I thought he might share some of his methods with us.”
“Besides breaking arms,” one man said derisively.
“Men with broken arms don’t steal cows,” Cord said simply.
“Yes, well, you have to catch them first, and they don’t exactly stand.”
“You have to be on the spot. Lying snug in your bed isn’t going to catch rustlers.”
“But our men can’t be depended upon to do anything once we find them. Half the time they look the other way, and the other half they just let the rustlers run right over them.”
“You’ve got to give them a reason to fight. No man is going to face death for somebody else’s property unless he feels he has something to gain.”
“What do you suggest?”
“A decent wage, year-round employment, and letting them have a piece of the game.”
“What do you mean by that?” the first owner asked suspiciously.
“I let any man who can save enough money buy a few head and run them with mine.”
“But they’re using your grass.”
“They’re also watching my cows with sharpened vision.”
“But you’re already paying them to do that.”
“No hand will face a rustler’s gun for thirty dollars a month, but if he has his own cows to watch, he’ll stay in the saddle an hour longer, ride over one more ridge, or inspect a boxed canyon even though it will make him late for supper. He tells me everything he sees because he identifies his cause with mine, and I have his expert skills year after year instead of losing him in the annual turnover.”
“But what you’re suggesting will cost a lot of money. We’re losing too much already.”
“This policy has enabled Cord to put together one of the largest spreads in our area.”
“That and buying mavericks at ten dollars a head.”
“You do it,” countered Cord. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re not a member of the Association,” one man said boldly, “and I don’t see any reason why you should have been taken off the blacklist.”
“Just because I’m better at ranching than you is no reason to think I’ve done anything illegal, Gene. If you’d get off your ass, you’d be able to turn a profit too.”
Gene started up from his chair, but when Cord calmly rose to his feet, contrasting his six-foot, four-inch, well-muscled body to Gene’s shorter and fatter one, the man’s fury sputtered ludicrously.
“You even allowed rustlers to invade your roundup last spring and cut out the best steers right from under your nose,” added Cord.
“They were armed,” Gene protested, “and they were gone before I could get my crew together.”
“When that same gang stole one of my herds, I went after them into Montana. They were armed then too, but you can bet they won’t try it a second time.”
“That’s fine for you, you don’t have a wife and children, but the rest of us can’t be throwing ourselves in front of a gun for the fun of it. I still say we ought to back the Association. They’ve promised to send help come spring.”
“What are they planning to do?”
“That’s still a secret, but the Association secretary assures me come fall there won’t be any rustlers left in Wyoming.”
“What’s the cost?”
“No more than five or six hundred each, and that’s less than the cost of two steers. Think how much well save.”
A spirited discussion followed, but everyone agreed the cost would more than be made up for by their savings.
“Are you with us, Stedman?” Gene asked.
“I don’t need help.”
“Then you’re against us.”
“I’m not against anybody. I just don’t need to pay outsiders to defend my property? He stood up. “You won’t want me listening to your business, so I’ll leave.”
Sanford Burton hurried after him. “Don’t turn your back on us, Cord.”
“Why are you siding with them, Sanford? You don’t have any cattle.”
“They’re my customers.”
“If you don’t unhitch your wagon from that runaway team, you’re going to end up smashed to pieces. Sounds like they’re up to something dangerous. This county is hot enough to blow sky high right now. All it needs is one fool with a match.”
“But these are the men with power. You ought to be one of them. Remember what I said about being willing to help a son-in-law? That son-in-law would have to stick by me too.�
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“I’m not going to be your son-in-law, and if you keep bothering me about it, I’m liable to pull my money out of your bank and start my own. There’re a lot of people who would welcome an alternative to doing business with the Buffalo National.”
“Don’t threaten me, Stedman. I can destroy you.”
“I’m just saying I don’t need your friends in there, but I’m not afraid to butt heads with you. I beat them, I can beat you.”
“You’re a fool to think you can stand alone against the Association.”
Cord opened the door on the quaking clerk. “But not a stupid fool, Sanford. And you are.”
He departed, leaving Sanford cursing and the clerk hopping with excitement. At last he was seeing the violence and passion of the West at first hand, and the excitement was almost too much for the clerk’s thin blood.
“And I think every saloon in Buffalo should be closed on Sunday. It’s disgraceful for our citizens to get drunk before Reverend Fry has even started his sermon.” Jessica had invited Buffalo’s most influential citizens to a special meeting to discuss the increasing rowdiness of the habitués of the town’s many saloons, and her parlor was filled with a confused babble of protest and assent.
“And you men needn’t think you can shout me down, and then proceed undeterred in your greedy attempts to extract the last possible dollar from those unfortunate men,” Jessica said sternly, refusing to yield the floor. “Everyone, including the ladies, shall have their say before a decision is taken.” There was a chorus of groans from the men.
Sanford Burton succinctly expressed the position of the saloon keepers when he said there was no point in closing their doors to dollars that were going to be spent “in Sheridan or Douglas, if not in Buffalo. The men need somewhere to eat and sleep. You ladies forget our saloons provide many more services than just access to fine liquor.”
There were several derisive hoots at that, mostly from the men.
“What you say is all fine and good,” said Ella Baylis, her powerful voice carrying easily throughout the noisy room, “but nobody’s objecting to giving people dinner and a place to sleep. What we don’t like is to see a street full of stumbling drunks on our way to church.”
The women signified their agreement in chorus, and the battle was joined. The issue swayed back and forth, first toward the ladies and the moralists in the group, and then back toward the merchants and the business interests. Soon the lines were firmly drawn, and sharp words began to stray from the issue of saloons into the arena of personal remarks.
“I don’t suppose I should be saying anything, not living anywhere near town,” said Cord, taking advantage of a momentary lull, “but since it looks like neither side is going to budge, maybe some of us outsiders will be the ones to decide the issue.
“As you all know, there’s a good bit of bad feeling between the big ranchers and the little ranchers and homesteaders. It’s been a dividing factor in this county for nearly two years, and it’s getting worse. Each seems to think the other is out to ruin him, and the two camps regard each other with open hostility. The big ranchers gather down in Cheyenne. The folks here gather in the saloons and talk of nothing but their wrongs, imagined slights, and what can be done to get even.
“This talk is bad at any time, bad for the men, bad for the community, but it’s especially bad when the men doing the talking are too drunk to think straight. If everyone had at least one day to look at things with unclouded judgment, maybe this situation could be defused.” Cord paused a moment. “I think it would be mighty interesting if Miss Smallwood would tell us what she thinks,” he said, and sat down.
Eliza nearly jumped out of her skin. After what had happened between them, she was surprised Cord had any interest at all in her opinions. She had only attended the meeting at her uncle’s insistence, and hadn’t given the matter any serious thought, yet a brief look around showed everyone was waiting for her to speak. She rose to her feet desperately trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her look like a fool.
“Mr. Stedman referred to outsiders, and that’s very much how I feel,” she began tentatively, “but I suppose people are the same everywhere, and their problems aren’t much different. Maybe there is a way each side can give up a little in order to keep what’s most important.” Eliza paused, hardly daring to put the barely formed idea into words.
“Is it possible for the saloons to remain open on Sunday”— the murmur from the women nearly drowned her out—"but not serve spirits?” Now it was the men’s turn to mutter. “The merchants could still make money, the citizens would still have a place to eat and sleep, and the ladies would be confronted by none but sober men.”
“Why didn’t we think of that?” Ella asked. “It’s so simple one of the men could have come up with it.”
“Let’s have none of that, Ella,” said Sanford, taking charge. “I think Miss Smallwood has given us an excellent suggestion.”
“But we make twice as much money on liquor as everything else put together” protested one owner.
“You won’t get a dime if we set a match to that firetrap you run, Craig Little,” snapped Ella, “Take what you can get before we overturn the whole table in your lap.”
Naturally that exchange couldn’t be taken lying down, and it was several minutes before Sanford could be heard. However, when Colonel Davis, the commander of the army fort outside of town stood up, the noise abated quickly.
“I’m not a local citizen either, but since my soldiers are some of the most frequent patrons of your saloons, I think you should know I’m being forced to consider placing Buffalo off limits, at least during the weekend. I don’t blame anyone here, but I can’t afford to have my men coming back too drunk to be of any use.”
A stunned silence fell over the gathering. There were only a couple of hundred soldiers at the fort, along with the wives and children of some of the officers, but the money they spent was a major prop to Buffalo’s economy. Without it, some businesses would close up. Taking advantage of the silence, Sanford stated Eliza’s suggestion as a motion, and it was voted on and accepted with only the most diehard holding out. There being no further business to discuss, they broke up into groups of like views, each determined to hold to its position while trying to belittle the opposition.
“That was an admirable speech, Miss Smallwood,” said Sanford, cornering Eliza. “But then one expects a school teacher to be an arbiter in this kind of debate.”
“Brains are where you find them,” Ella told Sanford. “It’s got nothing to do with teaching school.”
“You were most impressive, Miss Smallwood,” Jessica agreed primly. “I can see why the children admire you so much.”
“I can see other reasons for her popularity,” Cord said, coming up. “At least with the boys.”
“That doesn’t account for the success of her female pupils,” Jessica said austerely.
“Don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s not easier for a girl to be taught by a pretty face than one screwed up like a sour prune,” Ella declared. “I can still remember the green persimmon who tried to terrorize me into learning my letters. Gave me such a distaste for books I can’t stand to read more than a mail-order catalog to this day.”
“A lot of women in Buffalo must have gone to the same school,” noted Mr. Burton, chuckling.
“It’s time to bid our guests good evening,” Jessica said, bearing her husband away.
“Sanford won’t be allowed to forget that remark any time soon,” Ella declared.
“I’m surprised he supported our side,” said Eliza.
“He thought it was the best he was likely to get,” Cord explained. “Things have been getting a little rough lately, and it’s not at all unlikely the ladies could have voted to close the saloons altogether. Since they vote in a block, he wasn’t at all certain of the outcome.”
“Is everything always decided by money?” Eliza asked, dismayed.
“No. Sometimes it’
s an unfortunate misunderstanding or a bad combination of circumstances—” Cord began.
“Or not knowing when to leave well enough alone,” Ella finished up for him.
“You don’t have to talk for him, Ella. I know what he’s talking about.” Eliza colored, and then continued. “I know I sometimes don’t understand why people act the way they do, but I have come to realize there is more than one way to look at everything.”
“And …” prompted Ella.
Eliza hesitated, and then faced Cord squarely. “Do not take this to mean I have changed my position, but I am aware I have been unfair to you. Your kindness to Sam and Susan and your sensitive stating of a very difficult situation prove that beyond question. Now I must go. Uncle Ira has threatened to come after me if I’m late.”
Ella trod on Cord’s toe before he opened his mouth. “Won’t you ever learn when to shut up?” she whispered urgently as Eliza moved away.
“But she practically said she was changing her mind,” Cord pointed out.
“I know what she said. I’m not deaf. Neither am I fool enough to go rushing at her and scaring her off again.”
“You think I was going to scare her?”
“Do you deny you were bursting your buttons to ask her to marry you?”
“I guess so,” Cord admitted, smiling so charmingly a woman across the room who thoroughly disliked Ella almost decided to come over and inquire after her corns.
“You know you were, just like before when you couldn’t wait to shove Ira’s guilt in her face. Let her alone. She’s as shy as can be, but she’s not a frightened little girl anymore. You push her too far, and she’s capable of leaving Wyoming altogether.”
“But what would she do?”
“With her looks and voice she could perform almost anywhere she wants. Any place has got to be better than singing in a saloon in Buffalo, Wyoming.”
Cord watched Eliza intently as, across the room, she said good night to Jessica. “She won’t leave,” Cord said finally.
“No, I don’t think she will either, though the thought has crossed her mind, but neither will she jump through your hoop. She knows she can make her own way now, alone if she has to.”
Wicked Wyoming Nights Page 30
