by Jim Woolard
It was an admonition of his father’s after he’d observed Nathan being the deliberate lout that came to his rescue. “Someday, young man, you’ll bow and kiss the hand of a female upon meeting her and pray she’s impressed.”
Nathan covered the hammer of his pistol with one hand to keep it from pinching his ribs, bowed, clasped Laura Payne’s fingers with his free hand, and kissed her knuckles. He straightened and was confronted by a bemused, but curious expression on her part.
“I’m Nathan Tanner, and I’m most pleased to meet you, Miss Payne.”
He got those words out in a steady, firm voice, and then instantly began to worry about what he might have to say next. Alana Birdsong spared him that ordeal by saying, “I suggest we be seated. Annie is ready to serve. Laura, since this is the last night of your stay, come sit by me.”
Bodies touched chairs and the kitchen door opened, exposing the diners to the wondrous aromas of fresh baked bread and roasted meat. Annie, the house cook, was wide of beam and heavy of bosom, but her wide-eyed countenance betrayed her excitement. Guests were obviously most welcome at her table, and on this particular evening, Annie Britton did her herself proud.
First to the table, resting in its own liquor was a giant round of beef seasoned with herbs, the names of which the cook chose not to divulge. Next to arrive were platters of skillet-fried chicken. Vegetable dishes—Injun succotash, cabbage baked in cream and sprinkled with bacon, Van Camp’s beans in tomato sauce, and mounds of cubed, boiled potatoes and turnips—followed. Last to the table were loaves of sourdough bread hot to the touch and an inexhaustible supply of butter, beef gravy, and both red and white wine.
Nathan and Heft managed to eat at a mannerly pace despite the large number of heaping portions that briefly visited their plates. Laura Payne surprised Nathan by consuming a solid serving of each of the varied dishes. Neither she nor his aunt displayed the finicky nitpicking about taste and preference common amongst the female guests of the Tanner Mansion.
Like the truly great cooks, Annie Britton saved her best for last. The desert was pan dowdy—apples, sugar and spices baked in a deep-dish crust. It was not a rare or uncommon desert, but Annie made it special by topping hers with fresh cream and brandy.
The virtual absence of conversation during dinner didn’t disappoint Nathan. One couldn’t put one’s foot in his mouth if it were stuffed with food. At the end of the meal, an appreciative Heft Thomas proclaimed, “Best dinner I ever ate, Mrs. Tanner.”
“It’s Annie we must thank,” Alana Birdsong said. “She prizes the opportunity to cook for more than just me. More wine, Heft?”
Laura Payne addressed Nathan as Alana Birdsong was filling Heft’s goblet. “Your arrival surprised me, Mr. Tanner. Alana hadn’t mentioned she was expecting an autumn guest from St. Louis. Will you be visiting long?”
“No, I would think a month or two at most,” answered Nathan with more trust of his tongue than he thought possible. “I’ll be needed back in St. Louis by then.”
Laura Payne pursed her lips. “Most eastern folks travel here in the summer months. If I’m not being too forward, just why did you travel all the way to Colorado in late September, Mr. Tanner?”
Nathan sipped wine and peered over the rim of his goblet at Alana Birdsong. She obviously hadn’t shared the news of the murder of his parents or his personal plight with her friend from town. Wondering how long he could stall without being impolite, Nathan squirmed in his chair and banged his six-gun on the edge of the mahogany table. The meeting of gun butt and polished wood rang in the quiet dining room like a crystal glass pinged by a finger. Silently cursing his clumsiness, Nathan made to open his mouth, but Alana Birdsong spoke for him.
“Nathan will inherit his father’s share of the ST. I’ve been lonely of late and thought he should come and see the ranch first hand. No one in St. Louis objected, and he came ahead.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Nathan knew of his father’s holdings in the ST from his conversation with Sam Darling, the MP conductor, and there wasn’t anybody left alive in St. Louis to object to his current trip. He just hoped their misleading of Laura Payne wouldn’t squelch whatever faint interest she might have in him when she learned otherwise. Her forthrightness suggested those loose with the truth wouldn’t be welcome at her door.
“Mr. Tanner, are you your father’s sole heir?” Laura Payne inquired.
Nathan considered this a harmless query and admitted, “Yes, I have no brothers or sisters.”
“Then you’ll inherit your father’s interest in my father’s company, won’t you?”
Nathan was again caught unawares. His father had always been extremely close-mouthed about his business affairs. Only after Nathan turned eighteen and worked in the Tanner Company warehouse for six solid months had his father begun exposing him to other aspects of the company—banking, bookkeeping, and inventory. Because his father worked in his office for hours every day of the week, including Sundays, Nathan had believed his monies were concentrated in the Tanner Company to the exclusion of other financial investments. Sam Darling had revealed his father’s partnership in the ST. Now, another investment about which he knew nothing had surfaced, and unsure how he should respond to Laura Payne, he again looked to his aunt for guidance.
Alana Birdsong lowered her wine glass. “You’re correct, Laura. Nathan will inherit his father’s holdings in Payne Merchandise just as I inherited Seth’s. The two of us will be partners with your father. That doesn’t sound too terribly awful, does it?”
Nathan could hardly suppress his excitement. He was totally smitten with Laura Payne and his aunt had said she was departing the ST the next morning. Perhaps his stake in Payne Merchandise would enable him to arrange at least one more visit with the violet-eyed creature across from him. Wouldn’t a future company partner call at her father’s place of business out of simple courtesy? Why, of course he would, Nathan assured himself.
His growing infatuation with Laura Payne overrode the fear he might make a lout of himself. “Where is Payne Merchandise located?” he blurted before the girl from town had a chance to answer his aunt.
Laura Payne, thankfully, showed no sign of annoyance. “It’s on Sixth Street in Alamosa.”
The emboldened Nathan forged ahead. “And what does your father sell?”
“Mechanical equipment needed by ranchers and miners—wagons, mowing machines, hay rakes, plows, windmills, drilling equipment, pumps, well casing, and all the nuts, bolts, and hardware to go with them,” Laura Payne said. “I joke that Papa inventories anything so long as it’s big.”
Nathan was impressed with not only the obvious size of Payne Merchandise, but also Laura Payne’s knowledge of what it offered for sale. “You have an unusual grasp of your father’s business,” he commented.
The tawny cheeks of Laura Payne tightened. “You mean for a mere girl, Mr. Tanner?”
Sensing treacherous footing, Nathan paused before replying, choosing each word with great care. “Miss Payne, I’ve never met a single young woman in St. Louis who could assess her father’s business as accurately as you just did. I meant nothing else.”
“I apologize, Mr. Tanner. But in all fairness to your St. Louis girls, they probably didn’t work for their father as I have. I was Papa’s head bookkeeper for two years.”
Nathan whistled softly. “No young lady I know in St. Louis can claim that,” he said, shaking his head in admiration. “I’m not sure any other female can either.”
“Better tread lightly, Nathan,” Alana Birdsong interjected, “or you may insult the old lady at the table.”
Nathan blushed, but Laura Payne couldn’t suppress a hearty laugh. “Alana, you’re a joy to visit. Quiet dinners in excellent company are to be cherished. I’ll miss you as soon as I get back to Alamosa tomorrow.”
To his astonishment, Nathan found himself saying, “Can’t you stay another day or two?”
Laura Payne’s answer was quick in the coming. “No, much as I’d like to, I
dare not. Papa will be expecting me home early tomorrow. If I’m late, he’ll worry and call on the telephone from town.”
Nathan, attempting to sustain their conversation so he could study Laura Payne without having to stare on the sly, said, “Since I’m to be a partner in Payne Merchandise, I suppose I’m not being impolite if I inquire how successful the store is?”
“You’ll be pleased to learn Payne Merchandise has grown every quarter, and the silver boom up the railroad at Creede is making for a banner year.”
“Have you no competition?”
“No, not really. We’re the biggest store of our kind in the whole of the San Luis Valley. The only store near our size is that of the Buckmans, and they specialize in groceries and drugs. I’m convinced it’s our soaring sales that are fostering the Buckman attempt to buy Papa out.”
Alana Birdsong sipped wine and said, “You and I must discuss the Buckman brothers another time, Nathan. Their Circle B is nearly the size of the ST, and they would like nothing better to own both this ranch and the store in town. I cannot allow that to happen, not as long as I draw breath. Your uncle would turn over in his grave if the Buckman’s gained possession of the smallest part of his holdings.”
The tall oaken clock in the corner of the dining room chimed repeatedly. Alana Birdsong sighed. “It’s been a most delightful dinner, Laura, but if you’re to get an early start in the morning, we best call it a night.”
Even shy Heft Thomas looked disappointed that the evening was drawing to a close. He drained his wine goblet, licked his lips as he set the goblet on the table, and said, “If you wish, Mrs. Tanner, I’ll show your nephew to his bunk. The boys should be turning in themselves about now.”
Alana Birdsong rose from her chair. “I’ll have Mr. Ming fetch Nathan’s cap and jacket.”
In the hallway, Nathan was quick to spot his aunt’s beast of a guard dog. He lay in the door of the great room, flat down, chin on his paws, and studied Nathan with dark, gleaming eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. The beast growled low in his chest, and Nathan shied away from him.
At the front door, he thanked Alana Birdsong for the bath, clothes, and meal she’d provided him. Laura Payne stepped forward, slim hand extended, and said, “It was a sincere pleasure to dine with you, Mr. Tanner. I hope we’ll meet again before you return to St. Louis.”
With no forethought, the ecstatic Nathan bowed and kissed Laura Payne’s brown fingers. “I share your hope, Miss Payne.”
Outside, Nathan was near to dancing. The clear night with its countless winking stars, unlike smoke-plagued, cloudy St. Louis, heightened his joy. Colorado with its vast sky and uncluttered landscape seemed a world where unhappiness and mourning were misplaced.
Heft Thomas wasn’t happy he felt obliged to bring Nathan back to earth. “She’s a fine, fine young lady. None better can be found. But she can get you killed, young’un.”
They were in front of the low bunkhouse. Light smudged by dust and grime spilled from its glass windows, providing enough illumination that Nathan could discern Heft Thomas’s features. Same as with his aunt’s guard dog, there was nothing humorous about the steely glint in the foreman’s dark eyes. “What do you mean by that, Mr. Thomas?”
Heft Thomas spat next to his boot toe. “Country hereabouts might be even more dangerous now than it was after your uncle shot and killed Cole Buckman, father to the Buckman boys. And it don’t matter the shooting happened years ago.”
“What does that have to do with me, Mr. Thomas?”
Heft Thomas angled toward a bunkhouse window and fished in the watch pocket of his Levis. His probing finger hooked a piece of paper folded into a tiny square. Using both hands, he unfolded the paper and smoothed it flat on a knee. “Read this,” he ordered, “and you’ll see why you can’t afford to be moonstruck over no girl.”
Nathan took the rectangular sheet of paper and stepped closer to the window. In the brighter light, he made out that he was holding a telegram. He lifted the document smack before his straining eyes. The telegram was from Seth Tanner and addressed to his brother, Lucius. It read:
“The buzzards are circling.”
Seven
Nathan frowned. “What did Uncle Seth mean by ‘the buzzards are circling’?”
“I can’t say for dead certain, though I’ve got my notions,” Heft Thomas said.
The foreman held out his hand. “I’ll hang onto the telegram, if you don’t mind.”
Nathan surrendered the yellowing document. “Has my aunt seen that?”
“No, I never showed it to her,” the foreman said. “Seth didn’t want to worry her. He told me to git for town and send his wire.”
“If Uncle was having trouble here in Colorado, why did he feel he needed to warn my father clean off in St. Louis?” a puzzled Nathan asked.
“That I can’t tell you, Nephew. The big boss wasn’t exactly a gusher when it came to talk. I do believe he planned to meet with the U. S. Marshal before he was killed a-purpose.”
Nathan’s brow lifted. “You don’t think Uncle’s death was an accident?”
“No, it just looked thataway.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Thomas, but are you sure it wasn’t an accident? Father said Uncle’s horse fell on him.”
“I’ll take you up north where he was killed. Thataway you can decide for yourself.”
Nathan buttoned his jacket against the growing cold. “I’d like to ride up there with you, Mr. Thomas. Is it far?”
“No, six miles is all. We’re between haying and roundup. You and me could light out after breakfast in the morning. We’ll tell Mrs. Tanner I’m showing you the windmills and watering holes that direction so you can start getting a feel for the cattle business. That agreeable to you?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Thomas.”
“Good. Now, let’s meet the boys,” the foreman said with a wry smile. “And you best call me “Heft” or the crew will razz me forever.”
The interior of the bunkhouse was long and narrow. A rough-hewn plank table filled the area nearest the south door. Beyond the table stood a six-lidded cast iron stove flanked on either side by hanging utensils and shelves stocked with foodstuffs. Tins of Arbuckle’s coffee, lard, and baking powder, plus bottles of Lea & Perrin’s Sauce, ground ginger, cinnamon, and whole cloves filled the uppermost shelves. Heavier items—sacks of flour, sugar, rice, and pinto beans—rested on the lower shelves. Sage and other herbs hung in dried bunches from the beams of the ceiling. The proverbial sourdough barrel sat alongside the stove.
Bunks lined the long walls of the room from plank table to the burning fireplace on the north wall. Short of the fireplace, half a dozen men, clad mostly in red long johns, surrounded a circular table. Poker game forgotten, the collective gaze of the six men shifted to the south doorway as Heft Thomas and Nathan entered the bunkhouse.
The cowboy with hair the color of red clay said, “Find you a stray did yuh, Heft?”
“Yeah,” Heft Thomas said in return, “but he’s man enough to ride your horse, Brick.”
The older, scruffy bearded cowboy beside Brick came upright. On his feet, the older cowboy was shorter than the diminutive Heft Thomas. A grease-stained apron was tied about his waist. “Gee, Boss, your eyes must be tuckered out. Even you gots to admit he walks like a pilgrim in those fancy boots.”
“Spud, you wasn’t so damn small, I’d beat on you till my stick broke,” Heft Thomas said.
The cowboys erupted into raucous laughter, reminding Nathan of Conductor Rueben Bean and his fellow brakemen. Heft Thomas allowed the laughter to run its course, then said none too gently, “Spud, let’s pray you don’t poison Mrs. Tanner’s nephew here with your lousy pie.”
Nathan could’ve heard rain strike dry sand. Six pairs of eyes stared at him. Chair legs scraped the floor and suddenly every cowboy was standing.
“Didn’t mean no insult, Mr. Tanner,” the one Heft Thomas called Spud said, wiping his hands nervously on his filthy apron. “An
d my cooking ain’t spread dirt over nobody’s face that I knows of.”
Nathan sensed that if he got off on the right foot with the cowboys, they might befriend him. If he didn’t, they might well brand him an easterner unworthy of sharing their quarters. And if they were anything like Heft Thomas, changing their initial opinion would be tantamount to predicting the second coming of the Lord.
Cap in hand, Nathan approached the table. “Don’t fret, Mr. Spud, I’ll be more than happy to eat your pie, whether I’m hungry or not,” Nathan said, grinning broadly.
Joints loosened and the cowboys relaxed. Nathan offered his hand to the closest of them. “I’m Nathan Tanner, visiting from St. Louis. I’ve always wanted to meet the men my uncle picked to ride with him.”
Chests swelled and the cowboys nodded and poked each other in the ribs. The cowboy before Nathan, horribly scarred on forehead and jaw, clasped his hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m Charlie Swain, and don’t worry, I’m tamer than the grizzly that tried to swallow me.”
“Been gnawed on some myself,” Nathan informed Charlie Swain, returning the vigorous handshake.
Two cowboys rushed to get at Nathan simul-taneously. They were of equal height, and given the fact their thick bodies, straight blond hair, pale blue eyes, thin mustaches, and sun burnt skin made matching bookends of them, Nathan was surprised they weren’t brothers. “Liege Towers and Rand Johnson,” one of them said. “I’m Liege, he’s Rand.”
Nathan shook their hands in turn and said, “Sure hope you gentlemen wear different colored hats.”
The stubby cook in the filthy apron stepped forward, his smile crooked as an S-hook. “They don’t, we lock them up. Spud Daniels, Mr. Tanner, and I’d be proud to fix your vittles.”
The next cowboy was leaner than a cow prod, if that were possible. His cheeks were sunken and his chest heaved with each breath he drew. “Ike Justice. I watch after the saddles and riding tack. Round up time, I’m the cook’s flunky.”