Badlanders

by David Robbins

  Isolda almost slapped his arm away. “Thank you,” she said, and alighted. “I’ll be busy for the next couple of hours, so you two do as you please.” She extracted her hand and stepped on the boardwalk.

  “I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight, Miss Jessup,” Jericho reminded her. “Remember?”

  “My father said no such thing, and I won’t have you underfoot while I shop. Stay out here and wait for me. I shan’t be long.” Isolda marched inside before he could argue, and peeked out the window.

  Jericho, looking unhappy, leaned against the buckboard.

  Isolda grinned. Outsmarting the cowboy was child’s play. But then, he’d never suspect what she was about to do.

  The proprietor, who introduced himself as Guthrie, was at the counter, flipping through a catalogue. Isolda told her who she was and Guthrie mentioned that he’d heard about her father coming to run the Diamond B. He informed her that he carried ink and paper and would set some aside but he’d sold out of ledgers a while ago and hadn’t bothered to order more because hardly anyone ever used them. She told him to order half a dozen for the Diamond B, then glanced at the front door and said, “By the way, is there a back way out?”

  “The back door,” Thomas Guthrie said. “But why use that when you can go out the front?”

  Isolda had her lie prepared. “My father sent a couple of punchers along and one of them has talked me to death the whole way here. I’d like to slip away and have some quiet time to myself.”

  “I’ll be happy to help,” Guthrie said. He indicated a doorway at the rear. “Go out there and follow the hall. But what do I tell the cowpokes if they ask where you got to?”

  “Say you were busy and didn’t notice.”

  “I hate to lie, Miss Jessup.”

  “Even if it’s for a good cause like my ears?” Isolda asked.

  Guthrie laughed. “All right. I suppose a little white lie won’t hurt.”

  “You’re a dear,” Isolda said to flatter him, and whisked to the hallway. She was pleased at how easy he’d made it.

  Although she’d only been indoors a short while, the bright glare of the sun hurt her eyes. Squinting, she went past the backs of several buildings and up an alley to Main Street.

  Jericho was still leaning against the buckboard, his head down as if he were pondering. There was no sign of Stumpy.

  “Good,” Isolda said. She waited until several women came up the street and stepped in front of them so Jericho wouldn’t see her. Keeping the women between them, she hurried down the street. She didn’t have far to go. The general store wasn’t more than a block from the Three Aces.

  At the batwings, Isolda paused. She’d heard that it was improper, if not outright indecent, for a woman to enter a saloon. But few in town knew who she was, and she had her mind set on seeing the gambler. Pushing through, she took several steps and drew up short.

  The whole place had frozen. The cardplayers, the drinkers, the men standing around, the bartenders, every last one had stopped what they were doing to stare.

  Some wore comical expressions of astonishment. One man’s cigar fell out and he fumbled in catching it and it hit the floor.

  A beady-eyed weasel in seedy clothes was the first to recover. “What do we have here?” he asked with a lecherous twinkle, and sauntered toward her like a cat sneaking toward prey.

  “I’m looking for someone,” Isolda said.

  “And you’ve found him, honey,” the seedy man said. “How about I treat you to a drink and we get better acquainted?”

  “How about if someone tells me where I can find Beaumont Adams?” Isolda said.

  Suddenly two other men pushed the lecher aside. One was as thin as a broom handle and wore his holster on the front of his belt instead of on his hip like most men. The other had a beard and carried a big rifle in the crook of his arm. The pair from the other day.

  “Miss Jessup, ain’t it?” the thin one said. “I’m Dyson and this here is Stimms. We work for Mr. Adams. He’s in the back. It’s a little early for him to be up and about, but I’ll go tell him you’re here.”

  “I’d be ever so grateful,” Isolda said.

  Dyson indicated an empty table. “Why don’t you have a seat? Stimms here will watch over you until I get back.”

  “I don’t need watching over.”

  “In here you do.”

  Stimms patted his rifle. “Anybody looks at this gal crosswise, I’ll blow their heads off.”

  “That would be a little extreme, don’t you think?” Isolda said.

  “For them it would,” Stimms said. “It’s hard to get around without a head.”

  “I can’t dispute that,” Isolda admitted.

  Dyson touched his hat brim. “It shouldn’t be too many minutes, ma’am. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Isolda did.

  • • •

  Beaumont was having the most wonderful dream. He was on a picnic with the vision of loveliness he couldn’t get out of his head. Seated on a blanket in a field of clover and flowers, she was spoon-feeding him chocolate pudding, his favorite. He was about to kiss her when a loud thumping intruded. His dream faded and he was back in the land of the living, only to find that someone was pounding on his door. “Who the hell is it?”

  “Dyson, boss.”

  Beaumont rolled over. One look at his window shade told him something must be wrong. “It’s not noon yet.” He had a standing rule he wasn’t to be awakened before then unless there was a crisis.

  “I know that, boss,” Dyson said. “But this is important.”

  Beaumont shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs. “Is someone actin’ up? Maybe pulled a knife or a gun?”

  “No and no,” Dyson said. “It’s her.”

  “Who?” Beaumont said, thinking he must be referring to one of the doves. “Darietta? Clarabelle? Miranda? Has one of them come down with somethin’ or found out they’re pregnant?”

  “It’s not any of the painted cats, boss,” Dyson said. “It’s that other lady.”

  Beaumont was annoyed at having his dream interrupted, and vented his irritation with “What lady, you damn nuisance?”

  “That Eastern gal.”

  “What?”

  “That one who laughed a lot and called you handsome. You said how pretty she was. Don’t you recollect?”

  “What?” Beaumont said again. He wasn’t sure he was hearing right.

  “She’s here, boss. In the saloon. She said she came to see you. I have her waitin’ out at a table. Stimms is standin’ guard over her.”

  “What?” Beaumont blurted again, feeling foolish doing so. “I must still be dreamin’.”

  “If you are, that’d make me part of your dream, and since I’ve been up awhile I must be real—unless you dreamed of me eatin’ eggs and bacon and goin’ to the outhouse.”

  “Stop talkin’ a minute.” Beaumont slid out of bed. He couldn’t get his brain to work. The whole thing seemed unreal. Padding to his door, he opened it.

  “God Almighty!” Dyson exclaimed, and averted his eyes. “Put some clothes on, will you?”

  “I need to be clear,” Beaumont said. “Miss Jessup is in the Three Aces right this moment?”

  The back of Dyson’s head bobbed. “She marched right in as bold as you please and asked for you.”

  “For me personally?”

  Still not looking at him, Dyson said, “Boss, are you awake or not? Why do I have to say everything twice? Yes, she asked for you. Stood up to Rinson, too, when he got fresh with her.”

  Beaumont started to say, “What?” and caught himself. His blood set to boiling, and just like that, his head cleared. “What did Rinson do?”

  “He made some remark about gettin’ better acquainted. You know how he is. Thinks he’s candy for the ladies. He’d only be candy if th
ey like ugly.”

  “Two things,” Beaumont said. “Inform Miss Jessup that I’ll be there shortly. Ask her if there is anything she wants, anything at all, and get it for her.”

  “The other thing?” Dyson said when Beaumont didn’t go on.

  “Rinson. He’s not to go anywhere.”

  “He won’t.”

  Beaumont closed the door and moved to his washbasin. As he filled it, his head was awhirl with what Miss Jessup’s visit might mean. That she’d specifically asked for him made it all the more wondrous. Especially since they hadn’t been formally introduced, and a high-bred lady like her wouldn’t think of approaching a man like him unless it was deemed proper to do so. Hurriedly washing, he stepped to his closet for his best shirt and pants. As eager as he was to find out why she was there, he took extra time at the mirror. “Whatever can she want?” he asked his reflection.

  Then, shrugging into his frock coat and donning his black hat, and with his derringer up his sleeve and his pistols in their pockets, Beaumont went out to meet the woman from his dream.

  19

  Alexander Jessup was delighted. He’d only been at the Diamond B a short while and already he could tell he was going to love his new work. Secretly he’d been a little worried it might not be a good fit. What did he know about the West and cattle, after all? But he’d always been a fast learner, and his knack for business management inevitably served him in good stead.

  And, too, a ranch wasn’t all that different from a dairy farm in certain respects. Both had similar expenses in the form of employees on the payroll and for the upkeep of the stock. Dairy cows, it turned out, required more. Longhorns were practically self-sustaining. The cost of fattening them for market was so low that the profits to be made were considerable. He could see why the consortium had been interested in the venture. The investors stood to reap huge returns on their investment.

  Truth to tell, Alexander also found himself warming to the endlessly fascinating landscapes in the Badlands. They possessed a natural beauty that had to be seen to be appreciated.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when Neal Bonner brought them back from their tour of the range. Bonner immediately went to spread word about the dead longhorn. It was only one of the many thousands the Diamond B owned, yet as the foreman remarked, “Losin’ a single one isn’t somethin’ we should take lightly.”

  Alexander liked that. It showed that Neal Bonner had his priorities straight. The cattle came before all else.

  Alexander wasn’t so fond of the fact that his older daughter showed signs of being smitten. He’d noticed some of the looks she gave Bonner, and her tone when she talked to him sometimes, a tone Alexander never heard before.

  He’d always known it would happen, eventually. Human nature being what it was, sooner or later his girls were bound to grow up. He wasn’t an expert on females by any stretch, but there came a point in many a woman’s life where she cast about for someone to share that life with. He hadn’t expected it to happen here, of all places, and certainly not now, of all times.

  Not that there was anything wrong with Neal Bonner, Alexander decided. The foreman seemed to be an upstanding young man. He inspired respect in the cowboys, which said a lot for his character right there.

  As for the cowboys themselves, Alexander was intrigued. They were so unlike the workers at the dairy farms. It was like comparing the dairy cows to longhorns. The former were so tame they went through life eating and giving milk and that was it. The latter had a wild streak and were unpredictable.

  Alexander’s initial assessment of the punchers was that they were as self-reliant as the longhorns they rode herd over. Their colorful talk, the way they dressed—it was like being in a different country. They were well-mannered, though, and respectful of womanhood.

  And then there were their pistols.

  Alexander had been told a lot of Westerners wore sidearms, but it hadn’t really sunk in. The reality of so many men going around with guns had been a little startling.

  That incident in town, with the man called Wratner, had demonstrated that some of them would resort to a revolver at the drop of a feather, and they’d drop the feather.

  Which brought Alexander’s train of thought around to Jericho. The man was an enigma. That he was deadly was indisputable. But Alexander still wasn’t certain he wanted someone like that on his payroll. If he were being honest with himself, he’d let Jericho go. But if he did that, he’d lose Neal Bonner, too. So for the time being the status quo would continue.

  Now, having cleaned up after hours in the saddle, Alexander stood on the porch surveying the ranch. Smoke rose from the cookhouse chimney, and at the blacksmith shop, the smith was forging a horseshoe. A puncher was carrying tack into the stable, and another man was painting a shed. Over at a corral, their bronc buster was at work.

  The screen door squeaked and Edana joined him. She had changed from her riding outfit into a dress and, rare for her, put on a bonnet. “What did you think of our excursion, Father?”

  “Instructive,” Alexander said. “You?”

  “I find myself falling in love with the place,” Edana said, “which is preposterous, I know, given how short a time we’ve been here.”

  “Not preposterous at all, daughter,” Alexander said. “I find myself feeling the same.”

  “You do?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  Edana leaned on the rail. “Why do you suppose we like it so much? Because it’s new and different?”

  “There’s an intangible quality I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s not just the cowboys and the cattle. It’s the land itself. Something about it seeps into you, changes you.”

  “Yes,” Edana said, nodding, “I’ve felt that, too, and felt silly for doing so.”

  Alexander chuckled. “I’ve heard some people say that the West gets into the blood and changes a person. I always scoffed at the idea, but now I’m not so sure they weren’t right.”

  “I like Neal Bonner. He’ll be a fine foreman.”

  “Oh?”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Do you remember Tim Burbank, our dairy farm overseer?”

  “Of course. He was good at his job, too.”

  “He wasn’t at all like Mr. Bonner. Sort of scrawny, and skinny, and that Adam’s apple of his was so big he looked like a turkey buzzard.”

  “What are you saying? That I’m impressed by Neal more because of his looks than his competence?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. He’s quite excellent at what he does. But his looks might be a factor in another regard.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Alexander grinned and put his arm around her shoulders. “I trust your judgment. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. Especially when it comes to business. Your sister, on the other hand, can be a bit flighty. She doesn’t invest herself in her work as fully as you do.”

  “Don’t expect me to speak ill of her. We’re as close as two sisters can be.”

  “Are you? I hope so,” Alexander said. “You don’t bicker much, like some sisters do. It would please me greatly if you two continue to get along, even after I’m gone.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Edana said. “You’re young yet.”

  “Oh, I have a few decades left,” Alexander said, smiling. He nodded toward the corral. “What do you say we go watch our horse tamer at work? I understand it’s a popular sport.”

  “Why not?” Edana said.

  They went down the steps.

  “I hope your sister gets back soon,” Alexander remarked. “I worry about her being off by herself.”

  “Jericho and Stumpy are with her. Neal says she’ll be perfectly fine.”

  “Well, if Mr. Bonner says it . . . ,” Alexander said, and laughed.


  “Oh, Father,” Edana said, but she laughed, too.

  • • •

  The world was a funny place. That was a conclusion Isolda had come to years ago. She had looked around her one day and seen how silly people were and had been amused by their antics ever since.

  Most people worked at jobs they hated, for a pittance. They went through each day doing the exact same thing they’d done the day before. They ate the same food and wore the same clothes.

  If that wasn’t silly, Isolda didn’t know what was.

  The men in the Three Aces were certainly silly. Since she’d come in, they moved as if on eggshells and spoke only in low tones. There was no coarse behavior, no crude jokes or gruff laughter or even any swearing. It was as if a saint had walked into their lives, not a flesh-and-blood female. They accorded her the respect they’d give a nun.

  It amused Isolda no end.

  When Dyson returned and informed her that Beaumont Adams would join her in a few minutes, she thanked him. Dyson whispered to Stimms and Stimms went over to the bar and said something to the weasel who had approached her earlier. The weasel reacted as if he’d been kicked and kept glancing at the hallway to the back and nervously licking his lips.

  Dyson then asked if there was anything she wanted, anything at all.

  Out of sheer contrariness, and to add to her amusement, Isolda nodded and said, “I could really go for some milk right about now.”

  “Milk, ma’am?”

  “If you would be so kind.”

  “But this is a saloon, ma’am.”

  Isolda smiled sweetly. “What’s your point?”

  Coughing, Dyson replied, “Nothin’, ma’am. If it’s milk you want, it’s milk you’ll have.” He turned to the bar. “Floyd, get over here.”

  Wiping his hands on his apron, the barkeep joined them. “What would the lady like?” he asked genially. “Brandy? Or wine maybe? We have a few bottles. Or I could fix one of those new drinks ladies back East like.”

  Dyson enlightened him. “She’s hankerin’ for milk.”

  “This is a saloon.”

  “I told her that. She’d like milk anyway.” Dyson held up a hand when Floyd when to speak. “The boss says to give her anything she wants. So either find her some or send someone to fetch some or you can tell the boss your own self that you couldn’t do it.”