Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago

by Stephen A. Bly

  “OK, folks, that’s the first fifty. I told you, those are the gentle ones. These others have lots of, eh … spunk and potential. We’ll run the mares first. Then bring in the stallions. I see Renny Slater finally made it, thank the good Lord for that. ’Course, he was trailerin’ some purdy yella-haired barrel-racer, no doubt. We’ll take a thirty-minute break and then run the mares. Get out your pocketbook, ’cause there are some beauties in this lot. Don’t forget Margaret’s portable Cantina parked in the shade of Dyton’s cattle truck. She’s got green chili burritos, Indian fry bread, and all the fixin’s. Those of you that bought this first lot come help us get them out of the arena. You can trailer them up now. That is, you can give it a try.”

  Develyn watched Renny tote a saddle over his shoulder as he swaggered out toward the green pickup.

  “Renny looks like every little girl’s image of a cowboy, doesn’t he?” The raspy female voice came from somewhere behind her.

  She turned to see a dark-haired, brown-complexioned woman with a long braid to her waist and a battered straw cowboy hat standing next to her. It looked like her white-and-blue cowboy shirt had the sleeves ripped out at the shoulders by a dull pocket knife. Develyn stepped off the rail and shoved her Popsicle stick in her back pocket. The woman had a round face, full rounded nose, and two sets of feathered earrings dangling from each ear.

  Develyn watched the woman inspect her. “Yes, I suppose the bow legs and dimpled grin kind of fit the stereotype, don’t they? Some things are difficult to conceal.”

  Both women turned and peeked under the top rail back across the arena.

  Slater stopped in the middle of the arena and chewed on a wooden match as he visited with a man in a straw panama hat.

  “How long have you known Renny?” the dark-haired woman asked.

  Develyn glanced at her silver heart-banded bracelet watch. “About nineteen minutes.”

  The woman grinned and revealed a small gap in her front upper teeth. “No, really.”

  The woman was the same height as Develyn, and both had cowboy hats pushed back. “It’s true. I was sitting on Mrs. Tagley’s porch a few minutes ago, and Renny offered me a lift down here.”

  “I thought you were kidding me.” The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Casey Cree-Ryder.”

  Returning the tight clasp, Develyn nodded. “I’m Develyn Worrell, but please call me Dev.”

  “Are you out from Casper?” Cree-Ryder asked. “I hope you aren’t offended, but you have kind of a city look.”

  Develyn tugged off her sunglasses. “I’m afraid I’m even more east than Casper. I’m from Indiana.”

  The brown-skinned woman whistled between her teeth. “I didn’t even know they had cowgirls in Indiana.”

  “They don’t.” Develyn dragged the toe of her boot across the dusty yellow dirt. “I teach fifth grade.”

  Cree-Ryder’s dark eyes relaxed. “Are you on vacation?”

  Develyn tried to brush dust off the front of her pale blue T-shirt. “Yes. I was actually out here years ago. Thought I’d stop back by.”

  Casey jammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “So, you aren’t here with Renny?”

  Develyn felt her neck stiffen. “Not hardly.”

  The dark-skinned woman surveyed the crowd. “He’s a nice guy. Oh, he jokes a lot, but he’s one of the good ones. He’s born-again, you know.”

  “Eh, no … I didn’t know that.”

  “Yep, I was there at the plunge in Thermopolis when he was baptized. So, he has high marks in my book.”

  “Thank you for that recommendation. We just met.”

  “You’re not interested in him?”

  “I’d enjoy having friends in Wyoming, but I’m not looking for anything else.” Develyn studied the woman’s round, dark brown eyes. “Are you interested in Renny?”

  A wide smile broke across the woman’s face. “I might be. Lots of Wyoming cowboys shy away from me … must be the color of my skin.”

  “It’s beautiful. Do you see this pathetic tan?” Develyn held out her arms. “It costs me sixty dollars a month at a tanning salon to have fake brown skin. You are born with it. With a name like Cree-Ryder, I suppose that is Native American.”

  “Well, one granddaddy was Cree, and he married my Mexican grandma. My other grandfather was from Ireland, and he married my African-American granny. So, tell me, what does that make me?”

  “That sounds about as American as a person can get,” Develyn replied.

  “That’s the way I figure, but some see it different.”

  “Small minds can’t see beyond the color of their noses.”

  Cree-Ryder laughed. “Now you sound like a school teacher.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  Casey Cree-Ryder continued to survey the crowd. “You’re not out here by yourself, are you?”

  Develyn studied the woman’s worn brown lace-up cowboy boots. “As a matter of fact, I am. How about you?”

  Cree-Ryder glanced around at the milling men. “Yeah, I’m alone. I live up near Tensleep. Just came down to see if I could buy a couple of prospects cheap.”

  “Tensleep … is that a town?”

  “Yeah, the old Indian village was ten days or ten ‘sleeps’ from Ft. Laramie. I’m living in a twenty-foot gooseneck trailer, but I want to build a log house as soon as my horses pay off.”

  “Do you show horses?” Develyn noticed the freckles on Cree-Ryder’s cheeks were only slightly darker than her skin.

  Most of the crowd sauntered toward the parked trucks. The two women now stood alone by the arena fence.

  “Show? Honey, you’re on the frontier of Wyoming now.” She slipped her arm into Develyn’s. “I’m a barrel racer and break-away roper, and I do some team penning. In my free time I train horses for little girls from Jackson or Red Lodge.”

  “You expect to find those kind of horses here?” Develyn asked.

  “You never know about these mustangs. Besides, I can’t afford a rich-girl horse from those big ranches up at Cody or Sheridan. Hey, you want to go get a chili burrito or something?”

  Develyn shifted the strap of her purse and rubbed her nose. The bright sun warmed her arms, but the slight breeze on her face felt cool. “Are they any good?”

  “Compared to what?” Cree-Ryder laughed. “There’s nothing else to eat out here. They don’t taste like a burrito in Nogales or Juarez or Del Rio, but they aren’t bad for central Wyoming.”

  The horde of men parted as they walked toward the old, silver Airstream travel trailer, converted to a mobile taco stand. Many of the men had a long-neck bottle of beer in their hand, and all seemed to have a cheek full of tobacco.

  Casey and Develyn stopped in line behind a tall man with sweat-stained black hat and broad shoulders.

  “Did you see how all of them were looking you over?” Cree-Ryder whispered.

  “Me? They were fascinated with you and that beautiful braid, I’m sure,” Develyn insisted.

  Casey Cree-Ryder wrinkled her round nose. “Dev, most everyone in this crowd has seen me since I was three. I’ve offended them all by now. Trust me. God gave me the unique ability to make all men angry. And I’ve been faithfully using that gift most all of my life. They are looking at you, girl. You’re like fresh meat at the market, and they are all dreamin’ about grillin’ you.”

  Develyn’s mouth dropped. Her face flushed. “What did you just say?”

  “Whoops,” Cree-Ryder gulped. “How about, eh … you’re like the newest video at the movie rental place?”

  “I like that analogy somewhat better.”

  “I thought you might. If I get too crude, just slug me. I’ve lived by myself since I was fourteen,” Casey added. “I know I’m kind of rough-sounding at times. Shoot, Dev, I am rough. I’ve been in more fistfights than I can count. But I only got knifed once.”

  Develyn opened her
mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  “I’ve been shot at twice, but they didn’t hit me. I think they were just trying to scare me.”

  Develyn Worrell’s hand flew to her chest. She felt her throat tighten. “Are you serious?”

  “Crud,” Casey laughed. “There I go again. OK … you have never been in a fistfight, let alone been knifed or shot at.”

  “I punched my brother in the nose when I was six and sprained my wrist. That was the end of my fistfighting. But on more than one occasion I’ve wished I had a gun or a knife and some courage.”

  “Hmmm.” Casey studied her eyes. “I believe you have a story to tell me some time, Ms. Worrell.”

  “Yes, but not now. Casey, please, just be yourself. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve spent most of my life pretending to be someone I’m not. This summer, I want it different.”

  “Now you’re talking, girl. I’ll do the same.”

  Develyn reached over and brushed several straw stems off Cree-Ryder’s shoulder.

  “I look like I fell off the proverbial hay wagon, don’t I?” Casey said.

  “No … no … I’m just so fussy sometimes I alienate my friends.”

  “Hey, I own a dress. I really do. It’s silver and burgundy. It’s real classy. I keep it in a sealed box in my horse trailer.”

  Develyn stared. I don’t relate to this lifestyle. She keeps her one dress in a horse trailer? Her mind slipped to the walk-in closet at home crammed with dresses.

  “Now, what have you decided to order?” Casey pressed.

  Develyn strained to read the faded print on the signboard fastened to the side of the trailer. Lord, I like Casey. But we are so different. She’s so out there and unpretentious. I sense her friendship already. It’s like one of those dreams, Lord, where I don’t know a soul, and yet it seems so familiar. I keep expecting to look up and see my brother swagger up.

  Casey tapped the blue-shirted shoulder of the man in front of her. “Hey, Burdett, did you ever sell that broken-down coyote dun mare that you wanted way too much money for?”

  The man spun around and grumbled, “Cree-Ryder, that horse had more stamina than your whole …” He glanced at Develyn and pulled off his black hat. His dark brown and gray hair retained its hat curl. “Howdy, ma’am. I didn’t know you were with, eh, Miss Cree-Ryder. I was just trying to figure which of Margaret’s tacos would do the least damage to my …”

  “Quint, this is my good friend, Develyn Worrell. Me and her used to partner down in the Texas circuit. You ain’t never seen anyone turn a barrel like Devy. She beat Charmayne James three weeks in a row.” Cree-Ryder rocked up on the worn toes of her boots. “Develyn, this is Quint Burdett. He ain’t much to look at, but he owns the north half of Natrona County and the south half of Johnson County.”

  Develyn tried to conceal her gasp.

  Burdett shook his head and laughed. “Cree-Ryder, you need to just speak right up and quit being so bashful and shy.” He turned to Develyn. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Don’t believe Cree-Ryder. My place isn’t that big. Just thirty sections, more or less. Say, did she say you’re from Texas? You look more like Houston than Ft. Worth. Am I right?” He held out his hand.

  Develyn shook his calloused hand. “I have been to the livestock show and rodeo in Houston, but, actually I’m …”

  Casey Cree-Ryder laughed. “I was leadin’ you on, Burdett. She’s a school teacher from Indiana.”

  He grinned and jammed his hat back on. “You had me going until I felt that sweet tender hand. That smile of yours and the big eyes reminded me of someone else … sorry for the double take. Are you two going to buy some horses?”

  “If you and the good ol’ boys don’t bid them up too high,” Cree-Ryder insisted.

  “I’m not buying any mares, that’s for sure,” he said.

  “You developed a sudden fear of the ladies, have you, Burdett?” Cree-Ryder chided.

  “Not a fear,” he said. “But I aim to be careful how I choose. I like the ladies to have credentials.”

  Develyn again stared at the crude menu on the side of the trailer. “Which one looks good?” she asked.

  Quint waved his hand toward the far end of the arena. “Watch that wide-hipped skewbald Tobiano. She has potential if she has the brains. Could be the best of the lot.”

  Develyn pointed toward the Airstream taco trailer. “No, I meant, what looks good from the cantina?”

  “Oh …” he grinned. “Eh … anything but the Custer’s Revenge. I ate one of those in ’85 and can still feel the effects.”

  * * *

  Toting a grease-dripping burrito called “Alamo & Olives,” Develyn followed Cree-Ryder to an older red Ford pickup hooked up to a two-horse, battered, silver horse trailer.

  “This is my rig.” Cree-Ryder plopped down on the shaded tongue of the trailer and nodded for Develyn to join her. “Actually I have a nice six-horse slant trailer, but mustangs have a rep for kicking the daylights out of a horse trailer so I use this one.”

  Develyn wanted to brush the dirt off the trailer tongue, but couldn’t find a clean place to lay her burrito. “So, you’re really going to buy a horse?” She eased herself down next to Casey.

  “Maybe. I’ve got nine hundred bucks. I’m hoping I can buy a couple and have enough left to pay my vet bill.”

  Develyn studied the burrito as if it were a cup of hemlock. “You can buy two horses for nine hundred dollars?”

  “Some of these will go for two hundred dollars, but I wouldn’t advise trying to ride one.” Casey took a big bite of burrito and wiped her chin on the back of her hand. “Are you goin’ to buy a horse?”

  “Oh, no … I’m just …” Develyn nibbled the edge of the burrito and bit into a jalapeno pepper.

  “Why are you here?”

  Develyn gasped and fanned her mouth with her hand. “Oh … oh … it’s a long story.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

  “Are you headed up to Cody tonight?”

  Develyn coughed. “No, I’m hoping to find a place to stay here.”

  Cree-Ryder took a big bite of burrito, then mumbled, “What do you mean here? You mean Casper?”

  “No, I mean here.” Develyn rolled back the wax paper. “Argenta.”

  Casey stood and reached into the back of her truck and pulled out a small ice chest. “You got family here, Dev?”

  “No. I thought maybe I could rent one of those cabins over by the cedar grove.”

  “They burned down years ago.” Cree-Ryder opened the ice chest. “All I got is one Diet Pepsi left. You want to split it?”

  Develyn took a deep sip and felt her mouth cool. “They burned down? There are no more cabins?”

  “No, the cedars burned down.” Cree-Ryder took a swig of Pepsi, then propped the can on the back bumper of the truck. “The Harkins boy liked to play with dynamite and caught them on fire one New Year’s Day.”

  “And the cabins?” Develyn asked.

  “They moved one of them out to Burdett’s north ranch. He really does have a large ranch. I hear he stays up in the cabin in the fall. I suppose the home place is a little tough on him since his Miss Emily died.”

  “His wife?”

  “Yep.”

  Develyn glanced back toward the Cantina, but couldn’t see Quint Burdett. “Casey, which cabin burned down?”

  “The one next to the cedars. The museum in Casper came out and trailered one of them all the way to town. Only the two with stone fireplaces remain.”

  “Is anyone living in them?”

  “I don’t think so,” Casey said, “but I don’t get to town too often.”

  “Who owns them? I really want to rent the one on the south.” Get to town? Coming to Argenta is coming to town?

  Cree-Ryder picked what looked like a fish bone out of her burrito and tossed it on the ground. “You really goin’ to stay in Argent
a?”

  Develyn inspected the mysterious contents of her burrito. “That’s the plan.”

  “How long?” Cree-Ryder took another swig of Pepsi and passed it to Develyn.

  “Just for a few weeks,” Develyn explained. “Maybe a couple of months.” The shredded meat was so spicy that Develyn needed to gulp down some soda before she swallowed the bite.

  “What in the world are you going to do around here?” Casey pressed.

  “Ride horses and put my life together.”

  “Divorce?”

  Develyn let out a deep sigh and stared across the parked trucks. “It’s much more complicated than that.” Lord, I just can’t tell that story again.

  “I’ve never been married, but it isn’t because I didn’t try. I proposed to three different guys.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, four if you count Harrison Ford. And they all turned me down.”

  “Harrison Ford?”

  “I was in a fire-fighting crew over in the Tetons a few years ago, and Ford helicoptered in some supplies. I hollered at him, ‘Will you marry me?’”

  “What did he say?”

  “Well, either he didn’t hear me or he ignored me. So I don’t really count that one.” Cree-Ryder pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. “Are you serious about those cabins?”

  Develyn folded the rest of her burrito back in the wax paper and put it on the trailer tongue. “Yes, I am. Who owns them?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Last I heard some guy from Denver owned that place. It’s like he comes up every couple of weeks or so. Burdett would know. He grazes off the creek bottom land. I’m not sure the cabins are livable. I think you might want to take a look at them before you rent one.” She stood and brushed off her jeans. “Now, come on, the auction is about to start.” She held out a brown sack.

  Develyn dropped what was left of lunch in the sack. “What kind of meat do you think is in this burrito? It tasted rather strange.”