by Edson, J. T.
‘Why thank you ‘most to death for those kind words, ma’am,’ Smith drawled. ‘And I hope you’ll let me have another dance tonight?’
‘I think my feet can stand it,’ the girl assessed. ‘Will you join us?’
‘I reckon I’ll just sort of drift around and be sociable first,’ the sergeant answered, having already discovered the attitude of the Rancho Mariposa’s hands had not warmed to any great extent and wanting to avoid any suggestion that he might be present as a member of their party. ‘Excuse me, please, ma’am.’
‘You’re excused,’ Ransome confirmed, disengaging her arm and joining the five young men, led by Tom ‘Halcón Gris’ Grey, who had arrived with her.
Walking away from the girl, Smith glanced around in the hope of discovering some clue to the strange circumstances in which he had found himself!
In spite of the interest aroused by his eventful arrival at Flamingo, except for having received the two offers of employment, Smith had not made any noticeable progress in his assignment. Hoping to capitalize upon the notoriety he had had forced upon him, he had spent Friday visiting saloons and other places which he considered might prove informative. As was the case in other towns, the barber from whom he received a shave and the hostler at the livery stable where his claybank was accommodated had proved to be useful sources of local news and opinions. Unfortunately, what little he had learned from them and elsewhere only deepened the mystery.
In fact, although Smith could hardly believe this was the case where such a competent and experienced peace officer was concerned, as a result of his findings, he had begun to wonder whether the request for assistance from the Texas Rangers was premature.
As no further theft of cattle had been reported, either the cow thieves had ceased operations or their activities could merely have been curtailed due to the continued good weather. What was more, it seemed Sheriff Tobin over-estimated the threat of a range war erupting.
Despite Smith having received the offers from Sir John Besgrove and Bradford Drexell, he had not heard anything to suggest there was going to be open friction between them or with either and the other two local ranchers. Going by what he had gathered in conversations with the genuine professional fighting men around the town on Friday, none had been summoned by a specific employer. Instead, they had picked up news that there could be lucrative employment in Bonham County and, things being quiet elsewhere around Texas, had come to look into such possibilities as the area might offer. Some were talking of leaving as no offers of work appeared to be forthcoming.
According to the barber and the hostler, while the present occupants of Rancho Miraflores were generally disliked, this appeared to be on account of less than sociable behavior and an insistence upon keeping others off their range. However, the hard cases hired by the new owners had never mingled with, much less sought to cause trouble for the cowhands of the other ranches when visiting Flamingo. Furthermore, despite having taken on such men, the fact that the Fuentes’ family had suffered the first loss of human lives and cattle prevented there being any reason for the present incumbents of the property to be suspected of implication with whoever was responsible for the killings and thefts.
On Friday evening, using the pretence of obeying an instruction to report his decision with regards to remaining in Flamingo for longer than he had stated during the previous interview, Smith had attempted to seek enlightenment from Tobin upon the reason why outside assistance was sought. He was informed by the deputy on duty at the office that the sheriff had left upon some undisclosed urgent private business in the next county and would not be returning until Monday evening at the earliest.
Based upon what the barber had told the sergeant when he raised the subject, the dance Ransome had mentioned was a popular source of entertainment in Flamingo on Saturday nights. Although the Fuentes’ hands ignored it, contingents from the other ranches always attended. Therefore, by Saturday—in addition to not having been averse to seeing the girl again—Smith had already concluded it could offer him an opportunity to study at first hand the attitudes of the various crews towards one another.
Furthermore, while taking his midday meal at a small cantina on the fringes of Flamingo’s poorer section which had become a rendezvous for the hired gun hands, something the sergeant had learned suggested his presence at the dance might prove more than just informative. After paying a genuine compliment to the excellence of the chili con carne, a dish to which he was partial, he was informed by the Chicano owner that word had been spread for ‘men like him’ to wait around as employment would be forthcoming shortly. Asked for details, the man had claimed he knew nothing more than he had received a sum of money from an unknown source. It was accompanied by instructions to supply food and drinks as an inducement to stay for those who were short of cash and thinking of leaving to look for work elsewhere.
Disturbed by the information, Smith had paid particular attention to the behavior of half a dozen cowhands from each of the three crews when—arriving along the trails which radiated from the town to serve as long established and accepted boundaries between the properties—they had accompanied their respective employers into Flamingo on Saturday evening. In every case, while five were young, there was an older man present. There was none of the wild dashing about on their horses and reckless indiscriminate discharging of revolvers which had so frequently been recorded as normal activities of their kind when visiting a town for relaxation.
Aided by experience in other parts of the Texas’ range country, Smith had realized there were two reasons for the omission. Firstly, it was not pay night with the attendant possibility of drinking ‘not wisely but too well’. More important, however, was the fact that most of them had been born and raised in the area. While they might whoop it up in an irresponsible fashion elsewhere, especially after having completed the long and arduous work involved in making a trail drive, they tended to refrain from doing so in their home town except upon very rare occasions.
Not only had the groups from the three spreads come in quietly, the few cowhands who called at various saloons did no more than take a couple of drinks on the premises and buy others to carry away in concealment, before going on foot to the schoolhouse. Even the latter purchases had not been excessive. What was more, prior to entering the main classroom, all who were armed had surrendered their visible weapons to the deputy sheriff standing at a table just inside the open front door. As Smith had not been asked to give up his holstered Colt, it was obvious their actions were voluntary or in response to orders given by their respective employers. Nevertheless, despite what appeared to be evidence to the contrary, the good behavior of the cowhands failed to dispel the conclusions he had arrived at earlier.
Inside the large room, which had had its desks removed and a large clear space made available for dancing, the crews remained in their respective groups—each with its coterie of friends and relations who lived in the town— instead of mingling with one another. Nevertheless, the sergeant still could not detect any indication of why Tobin had considered it necessary to ask for assistance. Having failed to find any suggestion of trouble elsewhere, he had started to wonder whether it was sought as an aid to quelling another kind of problem which should have been the sole province of the local peace officers. However, there was not even any sign of the hostility which sometimes developed as a result of rowdy behavior on the part of cowhands antagonizing the citizens.
As he had told Ransome was his intention, being willing to act upon his suppositions, Smith started to try to ‘be sociable’. Prior to his enrolment in the Texas Rangers, he spent two years as deputy marshal to a peace officer whose family had had a long association with the enforcement of law and order throughout the Lone Star State. xxvi An important part of his education from Marshal Sherman Tragg of Waxahachie had covered the signs to watch for when seeking to locate possible trouble-makers. However, it was soon obvious that his pose of being a hired gun fighter was successful. Nobody was objectional to
him, but there was a lack of cordiality from the people in the room who showed no sign of adherence to any ranch crew which was all too obvious to anybody with his knowledge of such matters. It was the same with the cowhands. As yet, neither Sir John Besgrove nor Bradford Drexell had put in an appearance and their respective crews showed a similar disinclination to that of the Rancho Mariposa hands towards accepting his company. Nevertheless, he concluded that—with one exception—they were little different in character from those hired by Don Jose Cordoba.
‘Do you know why Mexicans make refried beans?’ xxvii asked a loud voice with a North Texas’ accent. ‘It’s ‘cause no greaser can ever do anything right the first time!’
Hearing the words, Smith knew without looking the speaker was the exception. Despite wearing a gunbelt with its holster empty, indicating that—like the rest of the group from the B Bar D—he had surrendered the weapon it had held on arrival, he had already struck the sergeant as being worthy of extra attention. Addressed by one of the cowhands as ‘Cousin Cyrus’, his attire was much the same as the others and his face bore a tan indicative of much time spent outdoors. However, Smith’s keen gaze had detected a bulge under the left side of his loose fitting jacket which could have significance. What was more, a careful look at his hands had established they bore none of the roughness acquired through working cattle. Against that, he gave the impression of being a man possessed of much good humor and a desire to be the ‘life of the party’. He was a regular visitor to the punch bowl on a table between where his party and the men from Rancho Mariposa were standing. Although its contents were non-alcoholic, like others among the cowhands and townsmen—albeit more frequently than anybody else—he surreptitiously added to the contents of his glass from a flask he produced out of his hip pocket. Perhaps provoked by these additions, jokes and puns flowed from him almost continuously in stentorian tones. Some were less than flattering to the mentality of Englishmen. Others, like the latest, had been just as derogatory about Hispanics. They had provoked annoyed glances from the crews of the Rancho Mariposa and the Union Jack. However, Grey and Besgrove’s foreman—as Smith deduced the oldest of the group from the former ranch to be—had prevented objections being made.
Ever since they had parted, Ransome had been watching Smith. She had noticed the less than sociable reception he was receiving, but had been too occupied elsewhere to do anything about it. However, at last she found herself free from the various friends and acquaintances amongst the townspeople with whom she had been in conversation and, being without a partner, decided to offer him an opportunity to ask her for the next dance. With that in mind, she started to walk across the floor towards where he was standing. Although she realized she would have to pass the cowhands from the B Bar D, despite the way they had stayed clear of the other crews, she thought nothing of it. Except for the one with the loud voice, she knew them all and had never found them in any way objectionable in their behavior.
‘How’s about you and me having the next dance?’ asked the joker, after having glanced at the main entrance and stepped with a slight teetering motion away from his companions to confront the girl.
‘No, thank you,’ Ransome replied. She decided the man’s attitude and tone were suggestive of one who had drunk more than was seemly, but sought to avoid causing offence by the refusal. ‘I—!’
‘Well I’ll be switched!’ “Cousin Cyrus” ejaculated, before the girl could claim she already had a partner. ‘We let your kind take up white folks’ land ‘n’ live over here in Texas, so how come we ain’t good enough for you to dance with?’
Spoken in an even louder voice than was used for the jokes, the words carried sufficiently to be heard all around the room. Every conversation ended and a silence which could almost be felt descended. It was like the still which frequently came before a violent storm erupted.
Such was the shock caused by the insulting words, nobody spoke or moved for almost ten seconds!
Color flooded into Ransome’s cheeks, but she could hardly believe her ears. She was aware that animosity existed between some Anglos and Chicanos. Nor, she realized, was it only the former who preached racial antipathy. In addition to some other Hispanics, despite hiring a mixed crew of hard cases, the new owners of the Rancho Miraflores always professed a dislike for white men in general and Texans in particular. However, regardless of the Fuentes brothers’ attitude, Bonham County had generally enjoyed a cordial relationship between its two main ethnic groups. Certainly, until that moment, she had never been subjected to any such adverse comment with regards to her racial origins. What was more, the cowhands of the B Bar D had always treated her with politeness and respect.
After the surprise died down, there was a more noticeable reaction to the comment from the other occupants of the room than was being shown by the girl. A growl of anger rumbled from the throat of Grey and it was echoed in an equally furious way by every other member, white and Chicano, of the Rancho Mariposa’s party. A similar indignation started to be shown by others in the classroom who did not belong to the party from the B Bar D. Even the latter looked startled by the remark ‘Cousin Cyrus’ had made. Nevertheless, as was generally the trait of cowhands, their instincts caused them to be ready to stand by him as one of their own in the face of the obvious hostility from people who did not ride for their brand.
Watching and listening to the response, Smith realized the situation was grave and potentially dangerous. Wondering why the deputy sheriff who had been at the front entrance to the schoolhouse was not coming to intervene, he glanced around. Discovering the peace officer was nowhere in sight and the firearms surrendered by their owners were left unattended, he concluded that he must take action personally in an attempt to prevent the situation he had envisaged from happening. He was equally aware that he could not announce his official status as a means of averting the trouble which would certainly be forthcoming unless it was nipped in the bud without delay.
‘Happen you’d waited for Miss Cordoba to finish, ‘stead of sounding off that way, hombre,’ the sergeant announced, in as loud a voice as the other man had used and advancing before anybody else could move or speak. ‘She’d have told you she’d already gotten the next dance spoken for.’
‘How’s that come to be any of your never-mind?’ “Cousin Cyrus” demanded, swinging his gaze around and teetering slightly on his heels as if just a little the worse for liquor. Then, glancing pointedly at the holstered Colt worn by Smith and giving the impression of realization coming, he went on, ‘Hey, though, ain’t you that hired gun’s Cordoba’s took on?’
‘Nope!’ the sergeant denied emphatically. Knowing cowhands, he appreciated the necessity to refute the suggestion that he was employed by Cordoba and, therefore, aligned with the Rancho Mariposa’s party. He noticed from the corner of his eye that they had halted on receiving a signal to do so from Grey. However, despite this passive response, the rest of the B Bar D men would be willing to give support to one of their number if they thought he was being threatened by a hired gun from another spread. ‘I’ve not been “taken on”—as you put it—by anybody, but I’m the feller who’s spoken for Miss Cordoba’s next dance.’
‘You are, huh?’ “Cousin Cyrus” said, his manner defiant. Once again, he turned his gaze to the staghorn handled Peacemaker in the holster of the well designed gun-belt. Then, making a gesture which indicated his own unburdened rig and then Ransome, he continued, ‘I’m not toting a gun, but I ain’t too scared neither to say there’s some’s might reckon any gal’s been raised right ‘n’ proper ought to be more choosing about who she dances with.’
‘There’s some’s reckon’s how a feller shouldn’t expect a lady to dance with him when he’s got liquor on his breath,’ Smith countered, despite suspecting the drunkenness was a pose. He also guessed, should he or the Rancho Mariposa’s party make an objection over the comment about the girl’s selection of a partner, the reference to him being armed was intended to ensure the support which the B Bar
D party would feel honor bound to give one of their number who was not. ‘And you act like you’ve been pouring from your hip flask into your punch real frequent.’
‘Are you saying I’m drunk?’ “Cousin Cyrus” demanded.
‘Was I you,’ the sergeant answered. ‘I’d hate like hell to have folks think I’d talk that way to a lady when I was sober.’
‘Well if that don’t beat all!’ “Cousin Cyrus” claimed and glanced at the cowhands to his rear. ‘This gunny allows it ain’t right for us to take a lil drink when we’re so minded, Cousin Tule, fellers. Maybe he reckons there should be a law again’ it.’
‘There is a law against it,’ Smith claimed, giving the B Bar D crew no time to respond to what was clearly a request for backing. Then, being aware that cowhands were often impressed by what appeared to be a knowledge of the law far in excess of their own, he adopted a method he frequently employed to imply he possessed it. xxviii ‘Leastwise, Article Eleven, Twenty-Three, Sixty-One of this here Sovereign State of Texas’s legal rulings say it’s again’ the law to bring drinking liquor into a schoolhouse. But that don’t make no never-mind to me. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with anybody taking a lil drink, nor even more than one. Not ‘less’n it makes the jasper go to mean-mouthing a lady without waiting to hear her tell why she couldn’t have the next dance with him.’
‘What’s going on here?’ demanded an authoritative voice.
Smith identified the speaker without needing to take his gaze from the apparently drunken man, who he sensed had made a similar recognition and did not care for it. What was more, he could see the members of the B Bar D crew were regarding the arrival of the newcomer with mixed emotions. All were showing relief, but the one who claimed kinship with the cause of the disturbance in particular was also clearly disconcerted by seeing his employer crossing the room.
