Memories of a Dirt Road Town

by Stephen Bly

  “That’s a good girl … I’ll just touch you, honey … it’s OK … we’ll just ride home and be out of this storm soon … well, not soon, but eventually.”

  Develyn kept her eyes on My Maria’s. She slowly lifted her hand until her fingers surrounded the chinstrap of the headstall.

  Now, don’t drag me back into that band of …

  When the paint mare felt the tug on her headstall, she bolted forward into the shack.

  “What are you doing?” Develyn blurted out as she staggered back.

  The horse kept shoving forward until she was completely in the cabin.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy? Do you want to be with me? What happened to Romeo?”

  Develyn peered out the window. Wind and rain blasted her face.

  “Is he just going to hang around until you come out?”

  If I lead her out, she’ll bolt with him, and at best I’ll be stranded all night in a slaughterhouse. If I got in the saddle, I could run with them for a while, maybe turn her … of course, that didn’t work last time. Maybe if I run straight north … I don’t have a clue of what direction is north. Perhaps if I run away from the band, she won’t want to follow. What would Robert Redford do? What would Renny Slater do? Tighten the cinch and get back on.

  Develyn adjusted the saddle and yanked the latigo until she could buckle it one notch tighter.

  OK, the cinch. Now, I’ll mount … but if she rears inside this shack, I’ll bust my head on the rafters and get tossed off on the butcher’s block. You’re not in the arena, Develyn-girl … there are no cowboys to rescue you. No one to applaud your triumph and no one to scrape up your busted body.

  Develyn shoved one boot in the left stirrup and bounced up and down on her other foot, then, keeping her head against the horse’s mane, pulled herself into the cold, wet saddle.

  OK, Lord, there was some reason I came out here this summer, and maybe this was it! I’ll make a valiant run, race back to the cabin, and prove that I am a cowgirl at heart. I’ll marry Quint … start a school for rural ranch kids … and live happy all the days of my life.

  She kicked My Maria’s flanks.

  The horse didn’t move.

  She kicked harder. “Giddy-up!”

  The paint mare flinched, but refused to move forward.

  “OK, perhaps that was not why the Lord brought me here.”

  Develyn pulled off her soaked straw hat and ran her fingers through her matted short hair.

  “You don’t like the rain? What kind of wild horse are you? What if it keeps raining all night?”

  Develyn sat in the saddle, her head barely above My Maria’s neck, and peeked out at the rain.

  I’m not one foot closer to the cabin or town, but it feels so good to be in the saddle. I caught her and got back in the saddle. Renny Slater, did you see this hide-in-the-shack ploy? Hah … I bet they don’t teach you that one in mustang-breaker school.

  Within minutes, she felt her eyelids close.

  Just for a moment.

  Or two … or more …

  It was too high-pitched for thunder.

  Even too high-pitched for a pickup truck.

  The whine of a distant engine caused Develyn to blink open her eyes. She stared out the doorless opening.

  A shack … wild horses … it’s not raining. How long did I sleep? She peered out the window opening. The sun hung low in the west, breaking through the clouds with bright orange and purple hues.

  The hum of several small engines caused My Maria to throw back her ears. Develyn spied the buckskin and his crew stomp and mill around the water trough.

  “They’re going to bolt and run off … we are staying in here, girl.” Develyn nudged the mare around the big table to the other side of the shack, facing away from the open doorway. At least I can try to make it tough to race out of here. She noticed a wadded denim object in the corner. I think that’s someone’s jacket, but I’m not getting down to check on it.

  At the top of a rise to the southwest, Develyn saw the silhouettes of two men riding four-wheelers.

  Quarter-Circle Diamond cowboys? Cuban said the “Old Man” wouldn’t let them use four-wheelers. Maybe they are search-and-rescue guys, but no one knows I’m out here.

  She patted the paint horse’s neck. “Whoever they are, girl, they can point us toward Argenta. That’s all we need. I hope they race in here and chase off the buckskin and his bunch.”

  The paint horse paced back and forth, but Develyn held the reins tight to keep her from turning toward the door. In the distance, she heard the engines accelerate. Spraying rooster tails of mud, they raced toward the windmill. The buckskin reared up on his back legs and whinnied, then galloped straight east with all the mares and foals following.

  My Maria swung a hoof at the open window frame, but Develyn yanked her back. “You can’t go through the window honey. You have to let him go. He wasn’t right for you. His interests were too divided. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  The thunder of hooves diminished as the whine of the four-wheelers increased. With the band of wild horses out of sight, Develyn rode My Maria to the far side of the shack, pointed at the open doorway.

  “I’ll wait until they kill those engines. I’m not going to ride out of here, to have you start bucking again. I’ve had my share of wild rides already.”

  Finally, she heard the motors shut down.

  “Porter, did you see those wild horses?”

  Develyn froze. Porter? One of them at Tallon’s cabin last night was called Porter! No … no … no … not them again.

  “How many were there?” the deepest voice asked.

  “I counted the stallion and nine,” the other one called as he swaggered up to the trough at the windmill and splashed water on his muddy face.

  Porter followed him. “If we run out of cows we can sell horse meat.”

  “Who would buy horse meat?”

  “There’s a cannery in Douglass.”

  “Dog food?”

  “Yep.”

  “It don’t pay like the butcher in Lander. He gave us two thousand cash dollars. And that Mexican paid a hundred dollars a piece for the hides.”

  “He was Vietnamese, not Mexican. I told you it would pay.”

  “Not bad for an early mornin’s work.”

  “It would have been better if you hadn’t left your jacket and knives in the shack. Get them and let’s get out of here. I want to be in Montana before anyone misses those cows.”

  “Why don’t we gather them wild horses and sell them up at Miles City? At five hundred dollars a head, that’s five grand.”

  “Only the stallion is worth five hundred.”

  Develyn watched them dry their faces on their shirt tails. The one called Porter had a vertical scar from his belly button to his chest. They are coming over here.

  Develyn locked her knees against the saddle skirt. Cooper Tallon, you were dealing with rustlers. Did you cover up for them with the sheriff?

  She leaned forward and whispered. “Easy girl … wait…”

  “I say we head to Nevada,” the one with the higher voice sneered. “Women are easier there. I need me a woman.”

  The sounds got closer to the shack.

  “You’re goin’ to have to find you one in Montana, cause I ain’t goin’ back to Nevada. Gino and that flat-nosed bunch from the Golden Dream Casino will bust every bone in my body, then bury me alive under some sagebrush. Now get in there and get your coat and knives. I want to get back to the road before it rains any more.”

  As soon as the first man came into view, Develyn slammed her heels into the horse’s flanks and shouted, “Giddyup!”

  My Maria flew out of the shack. The two men dove into the mud to escape her pounding hooves.

  Shouts and curses faded, but soon there was the whine of small engines.

  They must have come in from the west. Surely that’s the closest road. I’ll turn south and try to get into the brush and trees.

 
The breeze was cold, but the rain had stopped. The mud flying from My Maria’s hooves reminded Develyn of the recent downpour.

  Now I’m glad Casey and I raced. I couldn’t have done this three weeks ago. The leather pounded her backside, and her knees began to burn as she transferred her weight to her boots. The noise from the four-wheelers grew closer.

  I’m just an Indiana schoolteacher. I didn’t want this much excitement. If I desired to be attacked, I could have gone to Chicago or Gary or Detroit. This has got to be a dream.

  You chose to ride out here alone, Devy-girl … deal with it.

  The four-wheelers roared closer. She glanced back to see one advancing on the right, the other on the left. She prodded My Maria faster.

  I can’t keep her at this pace. Just a mile or two, then I have to slow down. I need to find some trees … or a creek … no, they can cross the creek. Baranca! I’ve got to find a deep, narrow gulch to jump. I don’t think they can jump.

  If my class could only see me now. They’d say it was a stunt. That’s what I need right now, a stuntwoman.

  “Cut! Double! Let’s do the jump scene.”

  Develyn stood in the stirrups and leaned her head next to My Maria. Her legs and knees felt numb. In the broken sunlight she spied a dark ribbon cut across the rolling prairie.

  “There it is, girl, we’ll jump that!”

  Mud splattered her sweatshirt and hat as she kicked My Maria faster. “We can do it, sweetie, don’t slow down. You’re a good jumper. Pretend that stallion is chasing you and … no … forget that.”

  As the gulch approached, she spied the four-wheelers pull even on the right and left of her. We’ll race to the edge, then jump and they will plunge to their painful death on jagged rocks fifty feet below.

  Develyn stared at the approaching gulch.

  Her chin dropped. Her neck stiffened. He throat swelled.

  That isn’t a barranca. It’s a canyon! Good grief, we can’t jump that! Evil Knievel couldn’t jump that. This is where I wake up, Lord … help me, now.

  She tugged back on the reins, and My Maria pulled her back legs under her, and almost sat down as they slid to the edge of the rough canyon. They were close enough to the edge when they stopped sliding that Develyn could stare down in the shadows at lava rock, at least fifty feet below.

  I think, dear Lord, I just had a near-death experience. I want to go home right now … take a long, hot bath … and have a hot cup of tea.

  The four-wheelers spun to a mud-slinging stop beside her.

  “Did you see her rein that horse, Porter? Can you do that?”

  “That’s a good horse,” Porter mumbled.

  “Shoot, I thought she was goin’ to ride it right off the cliff like the ol’ boy in Snowy River!” the other hollered.

  “Hendrix, I figured she was goin’ over the edge like Thelma and Louise.” Porter waved a black semiautomatic pistol at Develyn. “Get down, lady.”

  Develyn stayed in the saddle but turned around. The one called Porter wore a muddy black knit ski cap pulled down to his ears. Hendrix sported earrings and a baseball cap turned backwards. Porter wore a denim jacket, Hendrix just a sleeveless black T-shirt.

  “I said get down, woman!”

  “Look, this is about as much of this as I will put up with,” Develyn snapped. “Your behavior is intolerable. Either you back off and let me finish my ride in peace, or you leave me no choice but to contact the proper authorities!”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m Develyn Worrell from Crawfordsville, Indiana. Now when I phone the county sheriff, what names do I tell them to come arrest?”

  “Poncho and Lefty …” Porter growled. “Get down, Evelyn.”

  “It’s Develyn—with a D. I warned you I would phone authorities,” she insisted.

  “You get down, and I’ll let you use the pay phone. Shoot, I’ll even give you a quarter for the call!” he hooted.

  Develyn tugged out her cell phone.

  Hendrix attempted to wipe the mud off his face with his T-shirt. “You can’t use that out here!” he chided.

  “Put the phone down, woman!” Porter insisted.

  Develyn punched 9-1-1.

  Porter raised the gun higher. “I said put the phone down!”

  She held it to her ear. The line was dead.

  Where’s that Can-You-Hear-Me-Now nerd when I need him?

  She sucked up a deep breath … “Sheriff’s office? Oh, is that you, Jerry? This is Develyn … listen, run a triangulation on this cell phone and send your chopper out here. I’ve got a couple of cattle rustlers cornered and need you to come pick them up.”

  “I said toss down the phone, Develyn!” the man screamed.

  “One’s name is Porter, and the other is Hendrix. Are you going to shoot me while I talk to the sheriff?”

  “No, but I’ll shoot your horse.” He aimed the pistol at My Maria’s head.

  They butcher steers, and were ready to slaughter the wild horses. He will shoot her.

  “Porter, maybe we ought to cut out of here … if she done got through.”

  The man with the gun stiffened his arm. “Say good-bye to the paint,” he growled.

  He’s going to do it. No! No!

  Develyn turned and threw the cell phone toward the canyon. Like a fifth-grader’s Frisbee on a spring afternoon, it sailed over the edge of the cliff before it dropped deep into the rocks below.

  Hendrix stared down at the canyon. “Why did you do that?”

  “I wasn’t about to have you run up my cell phone bill,” she said.

  “What difference does that make when you are dead?” Porter replied.

  “Are we goin’ to kill her? She might be fun if we took her to Montana. I told you I need a woman.”

  “You like ’em young. She ain’t young.”

  “She ain’t old, either.”

  Develyn tensed. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Porter took another step closer. “Get down now.”

  “I’ll stay up here until the sheriff shows up.”

  He dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out a black cell phone. He opened it up and punched a button. “There ain’t no power reception out here, woman, so don’t give us some crap about talking to the sheriff.”

  “Maybe she had a better cell phone, Porter.”

  “That’s right, you have an analog phone and mine is digital.” Develyn locked her knees to the fender of the saddle and clutched the horn with both hands. I don’t have a clue what that means.

  “If there’s no reception, there’s no reception. It don’t matter what kind of phone. Now get down, or I’ll yank you off myself.”

  “I’m warning you two … I’ve got friends looking for me,” Develyn insisted. That’s pathetic sounding Ms. Worrell. Of course, I am pathetic.

  “Isn’t that nice? You’ll have to introduce us. Get down.”

  “Cooper Tallon is a friend of mine!” she blurted out. “You know Cooper, right?”

  Porter swung the gun around to her chest, his teeth clenched.

  “Don’t shoot her!” Hendrix shouted. “Lady, if he thought it would cause Cooper any grief, Porter would shoot you on the spot.”

  “I’m not that good of friends …” she murmured. “But I know you were at his place last night.”

  “Porter, this lady knows too much.”

  “You might be right, Hendrix.”

  “You goin’ to shoot her? I don’t want no part of that.”

  “We might not have to.”

  “How’s that?”

  “She almost had a wreck. What if that pony didn’t stop. What if she had kept goin’?”

  “The two of them would be dead at the bottom of that canyon.”

  “Just an unfortunate riding accident.”

  “Yeah, that’s too bad, but accidents do happen.”

  “This is absurd talk,” Develyn blurted out. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t even know what you have done or haven’
t done … you ride over the hill and disappear, and it doesn’t matter who I talk to … which will be hours from now on horseback. You’ll be way down the road by then. You might be guilty of lots of things, but that way you won’t be guilty of murder.”

  I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe I’m not in absolute tears.

  “Makes sense, Porter. And we won’t have Cooper Tallon trackin’ us down. She and him might be chummier than she lets on. Maybe she was at his place. She said she knew we were there last night.”

  “Cooper hasn’t had a woman at his place in fifty-five years. He’s not goin’ to start now. Go get your jacket. I’ll take care of things here.”

  He hasn’t? I assumed he had been married … why did I assume …

  “You’re goin’ to do it, ain’t ya?”

  “Go on …” Porter shouted.

  “Cooper Tallon isn’t the only one who will come after you.” Develyn’s voice quivered.

  Porter swung around. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You’re right … Cooper and I are not going together. Actually, I’m going to marry Quint Burdett. This is his place, and he knows I came out here on a ride.”

  “Old Man Burdett?” Hendrix quizzed.

  “He’s not that old.”

  “You and him is engaged?”

  “Eh, yes … just about.”

  Hendrix gaped at her hands. “Did he give you a big diamond ring? That would be worth our while.”

  “I never ride with rings on.”

  “That’s too bad. A ten-thousand-dollar diamond might have ransomed your life.”

  “Hendrix, you’re smarter than you look. We can hold her for ransom. Burdett will pay a whole lot more than ten grand,” Porter said.

  “She’s kinda old for that kind of price ain’t she?”

  Develyn winced.

  “I heard the boys at the Quarter-Circle Diamond once brag that ol’ Burdett keeps fifty thousand dollars in cash in his safe on the ranch,” Porter said. “He could cough that up without goin’ to the bank or anything.”

  Hendrix rubbed his narrow chin. “On TV they always ask for a million.”

  “Yeah, and on TV they always get caught. We ask for fifty thousand dollars and make a run for the border.”

  “What border?”

  “We aren’t goin’ to talk about it in front of her.”