“Guns? She's got four old guns?”
“Five. She's got four Henry rifles and a Winchester 1873. This is incredible.”
Develyn scooted over next to Cooper. “Is that good?”
Cooper plucked up the nearest rifle. “Good? I've got one Henry I bought a couple of years back.”
“What did you pay for it?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
“For one gun? Does that mean she has $100,000 worth of guns in here?”
Cooper plucked up the next gun. “Oh, my, an engraved Henry.” He went down the line looking at each one. “This one is martially marked. It was used in the Civil War. I've never seen anything like this.”
“What are those little cardboard tags?”
Cooper turned over the tags and studied the faded pencil marks. “This one says ‘Don Hillard, Rafter H, $30 and groceries, June 4, 1936.’ She bought them during the depression.”
“You mean, she took advantage of their poverty.”
“Just the opposite. They probably couldn't get five dollars for these back then. They didn't make any bullets for them anymore, so they were useless wall hangers. She pawned them, and they never came back for them. Here's another. ‘C. H. Hall, 2 cases of Lucky Strikes, August 20, 1938.’”
“And she kept them all these years?”
“What a cache,” he hooted. “I haven't got this excited since I saw you at that Casper gas station.”
“You play with your toys, honey. I still need to find the cash box.”
“Here's an octagon-barrel '73 first model with a set trigger. It's engraved and still has a little blue…” Cooper shoved the gun at her. “Look at those words on top of the barrel.”
“That's nice scrolled engraving. I think that font is called Regality II.”
“These were done by hand. Read those words.”
“‘One of One Thousand.’ Is that good?”
“Devy, this gun alone is worth at least $100,000.”
Develyn read the faded tag attached to the lever. “‘P. Moyes, for 1927 Model A, broken crankshaft.’Are you telling me she has over $200,000 in just five guns?”
“I'd write her a check in a heartbeat for $200,000, if she wanted to sell.”
“So would I, but my check would bounce.”
“Mine wouldn't.”
Develyn dropped to her knees and searched behind the shoe boxes. “Where is the cash box?”
“Look at the shoe box with this year's date.”
Develyn pulled down the blue Reebok box and slid back the lid. “Yes,” she called out. “No.”
“No money?”
“Full of money. Neatly stapled one hundred dollar bills.”
Cooper leaned over her shoulder. “Ten in a bundle?”
“Yes, but look at all of them.”
Develyn laid them on the carpeted floor of the safe. “…thirty-five, thirty-six…forty-one. Coop, she's got $41,000 cash in a shoe box.”
He grabbed the box labeled for the year before. “This one has more.”
“The boxes are full of money? Oh my word…all in $100 bills. There's got to be a million dollars in here,” Develyn whispered.
“Let's get out of here and get the door locked,” Cooper suggested.
Develyn grabbed a one-thousand dollar bundle, then shoved the other boxes back on the shelves. Without saying another word, they locked the safe, closed the closet, and scurried back into the store. She shoved the bills into her pocket and laced her fingers on top of her head.
“Cooper, did we really see all that?”
“That's incredible, Develyn. Don't tell a soul.”
“No, no, you're right. That's between Mrs. Tagley and the Lord, and we aren't supposed to know.”
Jackson Hill stuck his head in the door. “Hey, did you find the money?”
Develyn closed her eyes, then sighed. “Oh, we found the money.”
Casey puttered around in Mrs. Tagley's kitchen cooking lunch while Jackson shelved the inventory and waited on customers. After one trip home to stir up Delaney, Develyn leaned back on the bench seat in front of the store with an orange Popsicle held in front of her.
A white Ford Taurus with Delaware plates pulled up. Two couples in their sixties climbed out and stretched their arms and legs.
A fluffy white poodle scampered up to Develyn. “Well, hello young man, who are you?”
“General Patton,” one of the ladies called. The dog spun around and scampered back.
With the windows cracked open and General secured, both couples ambled for the store.
A lady in a purple-flowered blouse nodded, “Hello.”
Develyn tipped her straw cowboy hat. “Howdy, folks, welcome to Wyomin'. You got yourself a mighty fine dawg there, ma'am. Mighty fine. Kind of like husbands, ain't they? You find one that will mind you, and you jist keep him forever, even if you got to lock him in the car.”
“Sarah, don't you just love that western drawl?”
“That's something you have to be born with,” the other replied.
One of the men held open the screen door for the others. “Say, is this a shortcut to Yellowstone?” He pointed at the gravel road in front of the store.
Develyn stood, pushed her hat back, then took a long, slow lick on the Popsicle. “Yessir, it is. Jist go down here to where those twin cedars used to be and take a right turn up that dirt road. Go about, oh, fifteen or twenty miles, and you'll dip down to find Miller Crick. It shouldn't be too deep this week. The road slants off to the northwest and is kind of steep in places. You'll want to turn left right back at the stone foundation for the old Windmill Ranch. Now, it don't look like much of a road, but in ten miles or so, there's dirt wide as a chicken coop.”
“A chicken coop?”
“Now that brings you to the oil fields. But don't let all them ‘keep out’ signs slow you down. As long as your rig keeps movin', you have as much a right there as the next guy…well, almost, anyway. Follow that straight west for about twenty more miles. There are several gates across the road. Just make sure you close them after you get through, and whatever you do, don't let the cows out.”
“That's quicker?” he gasped.
“It's shorter. I thought you said shorter. The quickest route is to go back out to the blacktop and follow highway 20.”
“I think we'll stick with the pavement.”
“That's a fine idea.”
They had just entered the store when the woman named Sarah stuck her head back out. “Are those Indians in there?”
“Yes, ma'am. We call them Native Americans. The woman is of mixed descent from the Cree tribe, and the man is purebred Crow.”
“They seem rather…chummy.”
“They do?” Develyn grinned. “It's a cultural exchange program, I'm sure.”
The screen door had just slammed when a long silver Lincoln pulled up next to the white Ford. Dev jogged up to the rig, licking her Popsicle.
“Stewart is still ill,” Lily reported. “He sends his regrets.”
“I'm sorry, honey. Would you like a lick?” Dev held out her orange Popsicle.
“I think I'll pass. So this is Mrs. Tagley's? It's just like you described it.”
Develyn waved her hands. “And this, Ms. Martin, is Argenta, Wyoming. Isn't it wonderful?”
Lily shook her head. “Others dream of Paris or Florence or Jerusalem, and you dream of… ”
“Anyone can dream of Paris, but only a select few dream of Argenta.”
“Yes, I can see why.”
The door swung open. Casey led the Delaware folks out onto the porch. Each carried a bottle of water.
“Lily!” Casey boomed.
The dark-haired woman standing in the dirt yard spun around and glanced at the woman with the thick black braid hanging down her back to her waist. “Casey?”
Cree-Ryder jumped the
steps, and the two women met in the yard and hugged. “Yes, yes, yes,” Casey called out as they danced around in the dirt.
“Casey, I'm so glad to see you!”
“Old friends, I presume,” the lady wearing purple flowers said.
Lily released Casey. “No, we've never met before.”
“Oh, well, I suppose that's western hospitality.” The two couples circled the yard just as a rusted black Ford pickup parked behind their car, and three cowboys piled out and marched straight at the store.
Each tipped his hat and repeated the greeting: “Howdy, Miss Dev.”
Develyn licked on the dripping Popsicle. “Howdy, boys.”
“We came to town for supplies.”
“Mrs. Tagley's in the hospital. Casey will take care of you.”
“You ain't packin' guns and knives, are you, Cree-Ryder?”
“What do you think?”
“You boys missed the boat,” Dev called out. “Casey's going to marry Jackson Hill.”
“That's good news for us,” one of them called out.
“He's a braver man than me,” the blond cowboy said.
“Which ain't sayin' a whole lot,” another added.
“I say,” one of the men from Delaware called out. “We seem to be hemmed in. Could I ask someone to move the truck?”
“Go shopping, boys. I'll move it.”
“Thanks, Miss Dev.”
Develyn drove the truck to the side of the Lincoln, and the people from Delaware dusted back out toward the highway.
“They left the key in the truck?” Lily asked.
“Lil, that one doesn't have a key, just an on and off switch. Who would want to steal it?”
“I suppose I overreacted when I locked the Lincoln.”
A cowboy riding a buckskin gelding rode up to the tree in front of the store. A brown burro trotted up to him.
“Here comes my baby!” Develyn called out.
“Which one?” Lily asked.
“The burro!” Dev laughed.
Uncle Henry ran right up to Develyn and leaned his head on her shoulder. The cowboy swung down to the ground and led the horse over to the ladies. He held out his hand. “You must be Miss Lily.”
She shook his hand and peered over the top of her sunglasses. “If you aren't Mr. Cooper Tallon, I'm going to be terribly embarrassed. I'm Lily Martin; I teach school with Dev.”
He tipped his hat. “You can call me Coop, ma'am. Indiana schoolteachers are a purdy bunch, aren't they?”
Lily laughed. “That does it. I'm moving to Wyoming.”
Develyn stepped over to them. “Lily's friend, Stewart, is feeling sick today and stayed in Casper.”
“My tentative fiancé,” Lily corrected.
“Tentative?” Cooper asked.
“He has to pass Dev's inspection.”
“I like him. Marry him,” Develyn blurted out.
“You hardly met him. You have to wait a few days and then tell me.”
Develyn put her arm around Lily's shoulder. “You know, I've been trying to get her married off for years. She's so reluctant to leave home.”
“Me? Oh, no,” Lily protested. “Coop, can you believe how hard it is for me to try to land this blonde a date?”
“Indiana men are dumber than I thought.” He pushed his black, beaver felt cowboy hat back. “I'm riding out to the springs this mornin'. I saw the cars down here and figured one might be Miss Lily.”
Develyn and Lily stood by the cottonwood in front of the store and watched Cooper ride north across the rolling sage toward the cedar ridge.
One of the cowboys banged open the door and stomped out on the porch holding two videos. “Miss Dev, which do you like better, Tombstone or Wyatt Earp?”
“Wyatt Earp.”
He lumbered back into the store. “I told you!”
Uncle Henry wandered over to the Lincoln and rubbed his ear on the side-view mirror.
“Baby, you get back over by your tree. I don't want you to damage Lily's rental car.”
The burro gawked at Develyn.
“You heard me.”
He plodded back to the shade of the lone cottonwood tree.
Lily shook her head. “Looks like you have Wyoming all organized, Ms. Worrell. They mind you like everyone at Riverbend.”
“Yeah, right.”
They stepped up on the porch, and Lily studied the initial-carved old freight wagon seat. “So this is your famous bench from which I have often received a phone call?”
Develyn licked the orange Popsicle and plopped down.
“Come on, Lil, sit a spell.”
“Ms. Worrell, I don't believe I've ever sat a spell, but I'm willing to learn how.” She sat down beside Develyn.
The three cowboys exited, grocery sacks in hand.
“You know, Miss Dev, if we had one more purdy gal, we could have ourselves a dance.”
The shortest one, wearing the largest silver belt buckle, shifted his sack of groceries from one arm to the other. “Miss Dev makes us take off our spurs and boots when she dances with us.”
“I heard that,” Lily said.
The old pickup lurched down the road.
Lily leaned back against the bench. “This place is exactly as I pictured it. But still, it seems so unreal. This is the twenty-first century. Don't these people know that?”
They heard an off-key trumpet blast and a shout. “Leon, you get back here!”
Uncle Henry's ears shot up, and he trotted down the dirt road to the west.
“What was that?”
“Mrs. Morton sounded the Leon-is-loose warning, and Uncle Henry is going home.”
Casey and Jackson Hill stepped out on the porch.
“Lily, this is my Jackson.” Casey took his arm. “Isn't he the yummiest guy you ever saw in your life?”
“Yummy is the exact word I was thinking of.” Lily offered her hand.
Jackson's dimples framed his smile. “Under this brown skin, I'm turning red.”
“When's the wedding date?” Lily asked.
“We have to figure out some future jobs and things first,” Casey said.
“It's nice to meet you, Miss Lily. I need to go stock some shelves.” Jackson retreated to the store.
Casey plopped down on the bench next to Lily. “Where's your man?”
“He has a stomach problem this morning and needed to stay at the hotel.”
“Where did you guys eat in Casper?” Casey asked.
“At Zapatos,” Develyn said.
“Did he eat the Sonora Steamer?” Casey inquired.
Lily looked startled. “Yes, he did.”
“Don't worry,” Casey shrugged. “Everyone gets sick with that one.”
“They have something on the menu that purposely makes customers sick?”
“Yes, but it's tasty.”
“They should put some kind of warning on the menu.”
“Then no one would eat it. He'll feel better once he…expunges it. Most of the people I know just jam a finger down their throat and barf it up afterward.”
“But how can they get away with making people sick?”
“I guess no one ever complained. No one's ever sued.”
“Stewart is a lawyer. That could change.”
“I'm sure Mrs. Gomez would refund his money. She's a very nice lady.”
“But…” Lily stammered.
A young girl about ten years old, barefoot and wearing a long-sleeved dress that hung straight to her ankles, ran down the road to the east.
“Hi, Miss Dev, I'm in a hurry.”
“Be careful, Sierra,” Develyn called, then turned to Lily. “She's the other orange Popsicle fanatic in town.”
“It's called SOD,” Casey blurted out. “The Sisterhood of Orange Drops.”
A deep, male voice called out from inside
the store. “Casey, babe, I need your help.”
She turned to Develyn and Lily. “Ladies, it just doesn't get any better than this.” Casey scurried into the store.
Sierra sprinted back carrying something in her hand.
“Cap gun?” Lily quizzed.
“I don't think so.” Develyn waved at the girl. “Everything OK, Sierra?”
“Snake in the outhouse. Can't stop now.”
“What did she say?” Lily gasped.
Sierra darted around the house west of the store. “I believe she said…”
A loud explosion, and a shout, “Yes!” interrupted them.
“…there was a snake in the outhouse.”
“They still use outhouses?”
“When the septic tank is full.”
Sierra hiked back to the store with a revolver in one hand and dragging a dead, three-and-a-half-foot rattlesnake. She plopped it right up on the porch.
“I got him with one shot.”
Lily slid her feet back under the bench, hugged herself, and rocked back and forth. “Get it away,” she croaked.
“I'll skin it for you if you'd like to make a belt, Miss Dev. But I can't let you have the meat 'cause I promised that to Mr. Lanley. He let me borrow his gun.”
“I'll pass on the belt, Sierra. I don't have anything to wear it with. But, thank you very much.”
“What's wrong with her? She looks green?”
“This is my friend, Lily, and she ate at Zapatos last night.”
“I bet she had the Sonora Steamer. That's what I always order.”
“After you take the gun and snake to Mr. Lanley, stop back by and I'll buy you an orange Popsicle.”
“Thank you, Miss Dev.”
When Sierra and the snake were out of the yard, Develyn patted Lily's knee. “Relax, honey. That's only the second snake I've heard of in town all summer. Usually they have more.”
“Is that meant to comfort me?”
“Welcome to the frontier, Ms. Martin.”
Lily held a glass of iced tea and surveyed the bare dirt patch that stretched out like a garden plot waiting for spring seeds. “You spent the summer right here?”
Develyn strolled up beside her. “That's where my cabin was until last week.”
“There is no trace of it.”
“Coop cleaned it up and hauled it away yesterday. He's very good at what he does.”
Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago Page 65