by Rain Trueax
“Some see these ranches as just investments. They don’t work it at all and take land out of production. They don’t care about the schools, the socials, none of it. Another kind of fella, he sees the land and the people here as a responsibility, a way to feed his family and other folks. He takes care of it, like it's in trust or something. Looks after his neighbors. He's the kind of man we say it'll do to ride the river with."
Amos chuckled. "It ain't the hat so much. It's what's under that hat. We got a saying out here--the bigger the hat, the littler the outfit. I think though you're not so much asking what makes the West what it is, but more what is we're tryin' so hard to hold onto that we feel threatened by newcomers?" He waited for an answer.
Phillip nodded. "It is something of what I see."
Emile answered. "Some of it's a feeling of self-sufficiency in the community, a caring for each other. A man takes care of himself but also helps out those around him. There’s knowing you can leave your door unlocked and if your neighbor comes by the only thing he'll be going into your house for is to leave you a pie or loaf of bread his wife baked."
"It sounds Edenic," Phillip said, remembering the neighborhood he'd grown up in. If you left your door unlocked there, you'd find the place destroyed and emptied out when you got home; and if you were lucky, the burglar was gone and was not waiting to beat you to a pulp.
"I suppose it is and a lot of it's already gone,” Emile agreed. “When I was a kid, everybody used to get together at the county grange on Saturday nights for pot lucks and at each other's barns for dances. Us kids would watch them as they’d dance all night and the worst thing that would happen might be a couple of hotheads fighting over some pretty little thing down behind the barn.”
Amos chuckled. “Yep, when the boys'd get through trying to knock each other's heads in, they'd shake hands. If a man's barn or house burned, the whole valley'd show up to put up a new one. You saw a fellow driving his rig down the road, and you not only knew who he was but who his people were. Nowadays, I don't hardly know half the people three miles from me, let alone all the way into town."
"You can't blame that totally on city people who moved in though," Phillip said. "Change happens. Nobody can hold onto anything forever." He ought to know the truth of that. He'd never lived in any home longer than a year, and father figures had changed with the seasons—sometimes twice in a season.
"We can damn well try," Emile retorted argumentatively.
Amos shook his head. "No, he's right. We can't hold onto what was, and we probably do glamorize the old West too much, make more out of it than it was, like it really was John Wayne running things back then."
He stopped for a moment and then, as though thinking aloud, mused, "It's a funny thing about the Western way of thinking. On the one hand, it's a man helping another man by choice, but on the other hand, it's a man being independent, doing for himself. I think that's what we don't want to lose the most... independence."
"You don't think people from the city can be independent?" Phillip asked, knowing what the answer would be.
"City folks want somebody else to do everything for them," Wes said. "Get the government into every part of life. Raise taxes, ask for services. They want to butt into everybody else's business and tell them how to run it. You get a man from the city out here and the first thing you know he wants sidewalks, street lights and expects you to help pay for them."
Waiting until the laughter died down, Amos quipped, "Well now, I don't want you to think this business of Western independence goes too far with us. You go taking away our electricity, and we'll be squealing like stuck pigs."
Chapter Seven
The sound of a truck driving up to the ranch was not an unwelcome diversion for Phillip--a convenient excuse to stop cleaning out the horse stalls. Since Amos had just driven off for town, he half expected to see the old man had forgotten something. Instead it was Wes Carlson's truck that came to a stop, horse trailer on behind.
"I was hoping you'd be here," Wes said, stepping from his truck.
"Any special reason?"
"I thought maybe we could have a little chat."
"About?"
"Nothing much. How you handling a horse these days?"
"You talking about riding or currying?" Phillip asked wryly.
"Riding."
"I'm no top rider if that's what you're asking, but I can stay on."
"How about us going for a ride then? There's a couple of things I wanted to talk about and maybe show you. That's why I brought my horse."
“Involving Amos’s land?”
“I have lived here pretty near all my life. I know all the land. You were curious about that hot spring. I thought I’d show it to you.”
Phillip stared at him a moment, then shrugging, headed back into the barn to saddle the gelding, Sunshine. By the time he rode out of the barn, Wes was on his horse. Phillip wondered if his intent was to show him up on horsemanship, if so, it shouldn't be hard.
Looking toward the porch, Phillip saw Helene standing there. "Where are you two headed?" she asked, shielding her eyes against the low lying sun. Hobo stood at her side, showing no interest in running out to join the men.
"We won’t be long," Phillip said. He had no idea what Wes wanted to talk about; and even if he had, he wasn't sure he'd have shared the information with Helene. "Wes had something he wanted to show me." He watched as Helene nodded, then disappeared back in the house
They rode in silence up the lane, turning onto the rutted road that headed up the hill. "You and Helene are getting a divorce, right?" Wes asked after a few moments.
“So this isn’t about the spring?” Phillip shrugged. "She and I haven't talked about it recently."
"How long you planning on staying up here?"
"Is it any of your business?"
"It might be."
"But more likely it isn't. If you think you're going to get any information about Helene from me, I can save you some time. We can turn around right now. Ask her."
Wes chuckled. "No, I don't have that in mind. Just I'm concerned about Amos and this place. I wouldn't like to see you building up his hopes that you were going to stay and then you taking off."
"That's seems more like Amos's problem than yours."
"Maybe, but I see you doing the same thing to Helene. You're not acting much like a man who wants a divorce."
"I wasn't the one who wanted one," Phillip retorted, striking a match and cupping his hands to protect the flame from the wind as he lit his cigarette. His comfort on a horse was growing.
"I kind of figured that. So you followed her out here." It wasn't a question.
"More or less. What's all this to you, Carlson?"
"Well, I'll tell you, Drummond. I got the idea that Helene was free and available, and I liked that idea."
"A man can be wrong."
"Could be," Wes said with a smile.
They rode a little farther in silence. The sun was weak in the sky and the air briskly cold. In the distance Phillip could see clouds gathering against the hills.
"You ever ride a roping horse?" Wes asked abruptly.
"No." Phillip eyed Wes skeptically, wondering what he was driving at now. Didn't Western men ever directly say anything?
"Roping's a good thing to know. You know how to do it?"
Phillip snorted. "Now what do you think?"
Wes pulled his rope from the side of his saddle. "Not much to it," he said, loosening the loop, widening it and playing out a little of the rope. "You wrap one end around the saddle horn. Shake out the loop and let fly." Almost before Phillip realized what was happening, the loop had flown out and settled around his shoulders.
"What the hell!" he grunted as it tightened, pinning his arms to his side at waist level. "Is this some kind of game?"
"Maybe so," Wes said, stopping his horse abruptly. The action pulled Phillip from his own still moving horse and landed him winded on the dirt road, his cigarette knocked from his lips. He
tried to struggle to his feet, to pull the lariat from his arms, but as Wes stepped from the saddle, his horse backed up, neatly pulling Phillip off balance again.
Wes ran to him and almost before Phillip realized what was happening, had wrapped a piece of rawhide around one wrist, pulled the other to it and bound his wrists tightly in front of him.
Phillip swore and tried to gain his feet, only to be pulled flat again by the horse's movement. Wes moved to his feet and using another of the cords, tied his ankles. Phillip glared up at him. "What kind of game are you playing?" he growled, angry and frustrated. It was obvious the horse could drag him wherever he chose, and Phillip was helpless to stop him. He hadn’t taken Wes for the violent sort. He hoped he wasn’t wrong as he could be killed this way and it’d be hard to prove how it happened.
Wes knelt at his side, a pleased smile on his face. "Well, I'll tell you. You just got yourself a prime example of calf roping. I can do that in eight seconds flat in the arena."
"I'm impressed," Phillip grunted, twisting his wrists. "Now, let me go."
"I can't do that just yet." Wes laughed. "You want to know the truth about what this is all about. I want to talk to Helene. Alone. The way I see it, there's only one way I'm guaranteed to do that." The cowboy walked back to his horse, freed his rope and dragged Phillip to the side of the road. Pulling him up against a pine tree, he began dallying the rope around the tree and Phillip until he'd fastened him snugly against the rough bark. "It's not so cold out here that it's going to hurt you waiting an hour or so."
"If you come back," Phillip grated out, furious with himself and Wes.
Wes grinned, reached out and lifted Phillip's chin. "Now, does that mean you don't trust me, Phil?"
"About as much as a snake. Grind out that cigarette will you? I’d as soon not die in a forest fire."
Wes laughed as he did it. "Maybe I shouldn't come back for you. A night out here might improve your mood considerable."
"It won't do much for you when I get free," Phillip said through gritted teeth. He didn't suppose that was one of the smartest things he'd ever said. If Wes didn't come back for him, it was going to be a long, cold night. Wes could make up any excuse he wanted about where Phillip was, and the chances of anyone coming looking for him before dark didn't seem good.
Wes grinned as he used Phillip’s scarf to gag him. “Wouldn’t want you yelling for help before I get back.” He loosely tied Sunshine to a nearby tree, and stepped back up into his saddle. "Well, I'm not going to worry much about that right now. I'm going back and get me a cup of hot coffee. I'll tell Helene you're all tied up." He laughed, doffed his hat and giving his horse a kick in the side rode back down the hill, leaving Phillip securely bound to the tree and angry enough to finally understand the expression mad enough to chew nails.
Struggling with the ropes made Phillip more and more furious. He felt like a complete idiot which only added to his growing wrath. What had possessed him to trust Wes Carlson? He deserved to have his head examined.
It was obvious the ropes weren't going to loosen by themselves, and he didn't seem to be getting anywhere by twisting his wrists, except tearing the skin. He glared down the road and thought of several succinct curses he’d have used had he not been gagged. Then he realized he had to get control of his temper--at least long enough to think of a way out of this mess. There had to be a way out.
Gritting his teeth against the gag, he considered his situation; then remembered his pocket knife in the front pocket of his jeans. Wriggling his wrists, ignoring the pain, he struggled against the ropes. Now, if he could just get his hand into that pocket. If he couldn't, he was going to be out here a long time.
#
Helene looked out the window and saw with surprise Wes riding in by himself. Frowning, she went out onto the porch, Hobo following her. "Where's Phillip?"
Wes smiled. "He found a hole in the fence, insisted he had to fix it. I offered to help, but son of a gun, he said he didn't need any help. Said I oughta come back and keep you company."
Wes tied his horse to the post and grinned. "Got any coffee?"
"Of course." She led the way back into the kitchen. The big dog sniffed of Wes but unimpressed, quickly took up his place by the stove.
"You're looking might pretty today, Helene," Wes said sitting at the table and taking a sip of the coffee. "I like you in jeans."
"Thank you." She went back to the batch of biscuit dough she'd been mixing up. Kneading it lightly, she turned it out onto a floured board as she wondered what Wes wanted.
"You serious about staying out here?" Wes asked, watching her.
She stopped for a moment. "Why?"
"I don't know. Like I said last night, I been a little worried about Amos, up here alone. I just wondered if you'd be staying around, keeping an eye on him."
"I hardly think Uncle Amos needs a caretaker," Helene said, rolling out the dough.
"He's an old man, Helene. I've been talking to him about this ranch. About what he's going to do with it."
"He’s is barely seventy. I don’t see that as that old. And why should he do anything with it?" she asked, pressing a floured drinking glass into the dough again and again to form the biscuits.
"Surely you don't think he can continue working it by himself." Wes shook his head at his evident perception of her naivety.
"I don't see why not. Besides he's got Curly and now Phillip."
"Phil's not going to stay around. He's a city slicker, and he'll be heading back one of these days."
"Maybe." She knew it was probably true but she didn't like hearing Wes say it.
"You can't believe a guy like that could be satisfied in a little place like this, can you?" Wes rose from the table and came to stand behind her as she set the biscuits onto a baking sheet.
"I haven’t thought of it,” she lied.
"You know I'm right. You just don't want to admit it." He put his arm out as though to slide it around her shoulders, missing his grip as she stepped back. "Look, Helene," he said, not following her. "You have to realize what your uncle has to do now."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her eyes narrowing with irritation at the pushy way he was invading her space.
"This ranch is worth a lot of money for the right uses. Raising cattle isn't worth so much but dude ranching, developing the hot springs up in those hills, dividing it up into homesites, those could let your uncle retire in style. It is a far better use of this land. He could even keep the house and barns with say a couple of acres although I think he’d be happier in town."
Helene laughed at him. "You really are a real estate salesman, aren't you?"
"What are you talking about?" Wes asked, raising his eyebrows innocently.
The door burst open and Phillip came through it, barely stopping to take in the scene of Helene against the counter and Wes leaning over her. "Outside," he said through clenched teeth.
"Phillip," Helene said, eyes widening at the murderous expression on his face as Wes whirled to face him.
"You heard me, Carlson. Outside."
"Look, can't we talk about this?" Wes asked, smiling and raising his arms in a gesture of peace.
"Outside. Now!" Phillip rasped his eyes hard and angry.
"I don't want to take advantage of you, city boy," Wes said, giving off a little laugh.
"Don't worry. You won't." Phillip advanced on him.
"What is going on here?" Helene asked, trying to get between the two men.
Uneasy at the tension in the room, Hobo circled the edge of the room, his fur bristling.
"Nothing," Wes said and then shrugged his shoulders. "Okay. If that's what you want."
"It's what I want." Phillip wheeled and walked back out the door, followed by Wes and Helene. "Have I told you you're a dirty, yellow, cowardly dog, yet?" Phillip snarled when they were standing in the yard.
"Nope, but I got the idea." Wes swung, his fist just missing as Phillip danced back.
Unable to beli
eve her eyes, Helene watched as the two men swung at each other, one fist after another, some connecting, some missing, but the meaty sound of colliding bodies and blows hitting home seemed to fill the yard. "Stop it!" she yelled as they ignored her and continued their mayhem attempting assaults. When Hobo acted as though he was going to become involved in the brawl, on whose side Helene had no idea, she took his collar and ordered, "You, sit!"
Phillip landed a fist solidly in Wes's face, sending him stumbling to the ground. Before he could follow up, Wes propelled himself forward, striking Phillip squarely in the stomach and sending them both to the ground.
Helene watched horrified as Wes's fist landed a punishing blow against the side of Phillip's face where he'd so recently been cut by the barbed wire. For a moment, she felt frozen at the violence. She couldn't get between them, or she'd end up on the receiving end of one of those flying fists, but she couldn't stand seeing Phillip being struck, his head snapping back with the force of a blow that opened a cut over one eye. Even though he appeared to be getting the best of the fight, it was not without a cost.
Running back into the house, she almost tripped over Hobo, who was pacing nervously on the porch,. She turned on the sink spigot and filled a large pan with cold water. By the time she got back to the fight, the men were rolling on the ground, their fists still pounding each other. Wes's nose was bloodied and Phillip had blood running down the side of his face. Not stopping to think Helene threw the pan full of water over the two combatants.
It had the desired effect as both men yelped a protest, rolling away from each other.
"What'd you do that for?" Phillip asked, eyes wide with shock as he looked up at her. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his chest, water beading with sweat and blood on his face.
"Keeping you two from killing each other. I hope, and if you don't stop now, the next pan of water will have bleach in it." She glared from one bloodied face to the other.
Wes muttered through a battered mouth as he put up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm leaving." He gave Phillip a wary glance as they both rose to their feet.