by Ron Schwab
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Well, it goes a little against a man’s grain. But not just that. Meaning no disrespect, I know’d you when you was a little girl, and that wasn’t so long ago. It goes down a little hard when you’re up there telling us what we ought to do.”
It was Cal Salway’s deep, mellow voice next. “I think we ought to hear what Mr. McClure has to say.”
That decided it. The ranchers fell silent.
“I’ll be more than glad to tell you what I had in mind,” Dan said. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I hope that’s going to change very quickly. Megan’s told you about my background. You can decide for yourselves what that’s worth. There is one other thing I have to offer, and that’s time. All of you have ranches to run. You’ve got work you ought to be tending to right now. All of my land is under lease. I can leave my work for a time, although reluctantly, without great harm.”
“Just what kind of work is it that you do?” Tom Powell asked, his voice hostile.
“I’m a painter . . . an artist.”
Silent disapproval hung heavy in the room. Dan had weakened his case with that admission, Megan thought, and she felt a rising tide of anger at the prejudice of her rancher friends until she recalled that they reflected doubts that she, too, once had.
Dan continued, “Let me tell you what I think we should do. Then you can ask yourselves if there is a man here who can make the time to plan and organize an army. At this point I have to speak in generalities, but somehow I want to establish, beyond any doubt, who’s responsible for these raids.”
Tom Powell interjected. “Hell, if you ain’t got that figured out, mister, you can’t do us no good.”
“I know everything points to the Diamond D,” Dan said, “but who at the Diamond D? Woodson Dunkirk? Or is it Sutherly? Where exactly does Sheriff Keaton fit in? Somebody used the word ‘general’. Well, that’s what we’ve got to do here . . . know for sure who their general is before we try to whip his army. Beyond that, there are some things I’d like to see done as soon as possible. You’ve got places on these ridges that overlook half the county. Men like we’re dealing with ride mostly under the cover of dark and generally attack between sundown and shortly after sunrise. I want to establish a series of watch posts during those hours. We’ll station men at strategic places and work out a signal system. If they see fire or smoke or some other sign of trouble, they can alert the other ranchers and hopefully, we can get help to the parties in trouble. If we can spare the men, I think we should consider night patrol. At the very least, deploy scouts along the roads leading from the Diamond D headquarters. I’d like to divide the valley into four or five areas with a commander designated for each and have the ranchers and cowhands in each area organized so they can ride at a moment’s notice. But the important thing is for someone to be in charge and to have a plan of action.”
“I can’t guess who that might be,” Powell said sarcastically.
Dan ignored the comment. “We continue to lose valuable time sitting around waiting for the next strike, hoping it will be somebody else’s place. Defending the ranches in the Pine Ridge should be our primary objective, but once we’re organized we can develop a plan to smoke these raiders out, maybe set a trap and spring it. I don’t want to live in a county that’s protected by vigilante committees for the next ten years any more than I want to live in a place that’s run by one man’s law. I don’t think any of you do, either. But one way or another, we’ve got to bring a halt to the raids and killings. We might find good reason to continue our organization for other purposes over the years, but that’s something we can discuss later. After we put our guns away. That’s pretty much it, gentlemen.”
“And where do we fit into this?” Cal asked.
“From what Charlie Gates says, your ranches are pretty well scattered over the valley. You would be logical area commanders, but a few of you might fit somewhere else. That all has to be worked out, hopefully, yet this afternoon, if you want to be counted in. Certainly, you are the men who will have to get the word to the other ranchers. You were asked to come here because it was felt that you had the respect of your friends and neighbors. I’m a stranger. You’re naturally skeptical about anything I have to say. I have to convince you before we can look to other support.”
“You can’t organize the ranchers in these parts,” Powell said. “I ain’t sayin’ your notion’s so bad. Landowners hereabouts have been feudin’ and fussin’ amongst themselves too long. But, hell, you got about as much chance as a grasshopper in an anthill of getting the Pine Ridge ranchers to go along with something like this.”
“Tom’s right,” Lem Stack drawled. “Ranchers are an independent bunch. That’s why they sink their roots in this Godforsaken country. They like working alone, being their own bosses.”
“How can a man be his own boss,” Dan countered, “if Woodson Dunkirk ends up with his ranch? A dead man doesn’t have much say.”
“Even if we go along with this idea of yours, McClure, folks around here wouldn’t go for a stranger ramrodding the operation,” Stack said.
“That’s fine,” Dan said. “I’m not looking for a job. I’d be more than happy to let somebody else take charge. I just want you to know I’m willing to do it. But you know your people best. I’ll put it in your hands, and I’ll play whatever role you want me to. But even if you don’t want any part of it, Megan and I don’t intend to lie down and play dead for the Diamond D. We’ll go it alone.”
“You’re sayin’ we’re yellar?” Powell said.
“No, of course not. I respect your rights to make your own decisions. My natural inclination is to sit back and hope that this is the end of it. But I’ve been following my natural inclination since I was shot, since the night Megan was injured, and in that time, three people have been killed.”
“I ain’t backing away from a fight,” Powell said. “Me and my hired men have been packin’ a lot of hardware these past weeks, but I don’t know that you’re the man to tell us when and who to start shootin’.”
Megan heard Caleb Salway, who sat to her left, scoot his chair back on the hard oak floor. “I got a long way to ride gents. I got to be on my way. Count me in, McClure. If you want, I’ll work the ranchers north of Beaver Creek. I think most of the boys in that part of the county will see it your way. We don’t need but one general. Figure out your plans; get word to me what you want done.” Salway stood. “I thank you for the invite, Miss Megan. You set a mighty fine table. More than that, you do a real credit to your pa and old Sol. We need more ranchers hereabouts with your kind of grit and horse sense.”
Taken aback somewhat, Megan smiled weakly. “Thank you, Cal. Thanks for everything.” She heard the clack of the salty rancher’s boots as he ambled across the floor and walked out the door.
A dead silence consumed the room for a moment after Caleb Salway’s departure. “Oh, what the hell,” Lem Stack growled. “What have we got to lose? I’ll ride with you a ways, McClure.”
“Yeah, me too,” Tom Powell said. “As long as it’s understood that I pull out if I don’t like the way things are going.”
“That’s understood,” Dan said. “I wouldn’t expect anyone to do otherwise.”
An hour later, when the four remaining ranchers rode away from the Bar G, the foundation of the Pine Ridge Cattlemen’s Association had been laid.
19
IT WAS MID-morning when Dan bolted upright in bed at the sound of the soft rapping at his door. He rubbed the back of his neck, groggily thinking he had been dreaming. He heard the knocking again.
“Dan, are you in there?”
Damn, it was Liz. Not today. He wasn’t ready to deal with her yet. “Yeah, just a minute. I’m in bed. I’m not dressed yet.”
“That’s all right,” she said teasingly. “Don’t get dressed on my account.”
Dan swung his long legs off the bed and reached for the faded denim trousers that were draped across the chair.
He had slept a drugged sleep last night. He could not remember the last time he had not been up with the sun. Sol’s death; the meeting with the lawyer; the confrontation with the ranchers; it must all be wearing on him more than he had realized. He felt like he’d been trampled by a buffalo herd this morning, and now he had to start the day by facing up to Liz Dunkirk.
He buckled up his britches as he padded barefoot to the door and opened it. She stood there, facing him, her golden mane shining in the morning sun, her devilish blue eyes betraying the feigned pout formed by her full lips. Her alluring fragrance and the sight of her clad in violet riding garb, tailored precisely to her full and statuesque figure, exposing her tantalizing cleavage, overpowered him, and the hunger surged in him again, threatening to tear down his resolve.
She pushed by and marched into the house, brandishing her riding crop in her hand like a royal scepter. He shrugged and closed the door, and as he followed her into the room, he noticed that her eyes were casting about suspiciously before she turned to him.
“You took long enough,” she said.
“I told you I was in bed.”
“I thought you had company.”
“You obviously thought wrong.”
She placed her riding crop on the table and stepped to him, placing one hand tentatively on his bare waist, running the slender fingers of the other through his curly, sandy chest hair, raking, combing and smoothing, like a woman might caress a pet cat. She was wise in the ways of seduction, almost as astute as Angela, he thought. But Angela had been a professional.
What Liz lacked was Angela’s warmth and humanity. On second thought, perhaps Liz Dunkirk should be ranked with the professionals, for a man who dallied with Liz’s kind paid a price in more than dollars. And Dan had an uneasy feeling she had come to submit her bill.
“I told you that you didn’t have to get dressed on my account,” she purred, her hand slithering down his belly and coming to rest on his belt buckle.
Maybe they could talk later, he tried to convince himself as his arousal heightened. No, the lines were being drawn in more ways than one. It was time for choosing. He had decided several years back how he was going to spend the rest of his life, and Liz Dunkirk could only get in the way of those plans. She had only one thing he wanted, but there were other—more important—things, in life. Liz was like a festering boil on his butt; he wouldn’t rest easy till he got her out of his system.
He moved away from her, leaving her standing there, the expression on her face disbelieving. He searched out a shirt and pair of socks, averting her gaze as he slipped on the shirt and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. After he finished dressing, he looked up. She stood where he had left her, hands planted on her hips, staring at him with cold eyes, her lips pursed tight.
He rose and moved toward her. “We’d better talk,” he said.
“So it would appear.”
He gestured toward the table. “Shall we sit down? Have a cup of coffee?”
“I think not. I have the distinct feeling I’m not welcome here.”
“It’s not that. I’ve enjoyed the times we spent together.” He was trying to choose his words carefully.
She turned away from him. “I should think so. Now you’ll be able to tell your friends about your tumbles in the hay with Miss Dunkirk.”
“I think you’re a better judge of character than that, Liz. Whatever happened between us is our private business.”
“May I ask why you’re casting me aside like this?”
“Don’t play the woman scorned, Liz . . . it doesn’t become you. You’ve come to our . . . our little rendezvous with more than your share of enthusiasm, but I never felt you attached any more significance to our relationship than I did. We found pleasure in each other, nothing more. It would have ended sooner or later.”
“Why now?” she asked.
“I can’t say.”
“I know about the Pine Ridge Cattlemen’s Association. I know you’re heading it up. Does it have something to do with that?”
Dunkirk knew already. And in less than 24 hours. That placed a new urgency on the work to be done. If the Diamond D meant business—and he was quite certain it did—there would be more strikes against the valley ranchers in an effort to diffuse the Association’s attempts to organize resistance.
“Yes, that’s a part of it. It seems likely that the Association and the Diamond D are going to be on opposite sides. I think it would be a little awkward if we continued to see each other under the circumstances.”
She turned to face him again, her face calm and impassive.
“You’re a fool, Dan. We could be on the same side.”
“I doubt it.”
“I’ve asked you to kill Clay Sutherly several times.”
“I’m not a hired gun. And anyway, I didn’t take it seriously.”
“But I was serious. I hate Clay Sutherly. I’ll be nothing but a slave if he acquires control of the Diamond D. By marriage or otherwise. I want him dead. Then Daddy will listen to me.”
“You want the empire for yourself, is that it?”
“Frankly, yes. And Clay Sutherly stands in my way. If you kill him, Dan, you’ll solve all your problems. He’s behind the killings, not Daddy. Oh, Daddy wants the ranches. He wants your place in the worst way, and the Bar G, and most of the others in the valley. But killing’s not his way. He would find a way to take them if he was calling the moves. But physically, he’s too weak, so he’s leaving it all in Clay’s hands.”
“Then you’re admitting that the Diamond D’s responsible for the killings and burnings?”
“Clay Sutherly is, not the Diamond D. And the gunslingers he’s hired. If I had my say, I’d fire them all . . . after I had Sutherly killed.”
“Why don’t you go to the law?”
“Daddy would never forgive me. And besides, I hate to bring Sheriff Keaton into this. It’s a family matter. Can’t you see how easy it could be? You could do it. You’re one man who could do it.”
“It’s not that simple. I don’t kill men because somebody asks me to. I’m not a gun for hire, and I’m beginning to understand that’s what you had in mind from the beginning. You thought you were hiring a gun.”
She seemed unfazed by the innuendo that she was no more than a prostitute. She walked over to the table and picked up her riding crop and toyed with it in her hand for a few moments before speaking. “You could marry me, Dan. Daddy would have to change his plans then. We’d have to get married right away, before Daddy or Sutherly could interfere.”
“I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“I’m quite serious.”
“But I don’t love you, and I don’t believe for one moment that you love me.”
“I’ll be totally truthful with you,” she said. “No, I don’t love you, at least not in any especially sentimental way. But I’m looking for marriage. I want a strong man, one who complements my own personality. Think about it, Dan. You could do worse. You can’t deny that we satisfy certain needs that a man and woman have. And I am fond of you.” Her eyes roamed up and down the length of his body. “I think we could make strong, intelligent children together. A solid new generation to take over the Diamond D someday. And your work . . . you could pursue your painting without financial worries. I know nothing of art, and I don’t care to know more, but I would think that our financial resources could be useful in acquiring the fame I assume you seek. I would tend to the day to day operation of the ranch; that’s my dream. That’s where my fulfillment is.” Her eyes met his. “Now, does this seem so absurd?”
“No, not entirely,” he admitted. “It might appeal to a lot of men. It would be like being put out to stud, so to speak. But I don’t find it very appealing. I’m afraid my pride is such that I want whatever talent I have to provide any recognition I achieve, as well as any financial success I have. And I want to love the woman I marry. I had that experience once, and I want it again. I won’t settle for less.
And I’m looking for a partner in the woman I marry. I don’t want to be her pet husband, and I don’t want her to be my pet wife.”
“Your idealism makes me nauseous,” she said.
“Then perhaps you’d better go. The fresh air might help.”
She started to turn away but then hesitated. “I’m curious,” she said.
“About what?”
“You’ve found that woman you’re talking about, haven’t you?”
“No. What makes you think so?”
“The things you’ve said. You know too well the kind of woman you want to spend your life with. She’s already there. Somewhere in the back of your mind. Is it that young Grant woman? She doesn’t seem much more than a child. Of course, I haven’t seen her for some time. She always seemed such a wild creature. I suppose a man might find her beautiful in an exotic sort of way. Is she the one?”
“I’ve never thought about her in that way.”
“You will.” She smiled knowingly.
“Somehow, you just don’t look like a gypsy fortune teller,” he said.
“Just wait and see.”
She extended her hand, and Dan took it in his own. “I shall miss you, Dan, but I wish you well. And I give you my thanks, because I think you will still help my cause in spite of yourself.”
“Good luck, Liz, and I wish you well, too.” He released her hand and watched her as she turned away and jauntily walked out of the house.
As he heard her horse gallop away, it occurred to him that he had liked her better in those last moments than he had at any time during their most frenzied romp. She was a formidable woman. Life with her would have been anything but dull . . . and anything but happy. Then he remembered what she had said. Clay Sutherly knew about the Cattlemen’s Association. Damn. He couldn’t waste another day. He had better ride out and call upon the area captains, perhaps scout out some signal posts. He had a feeling time was running short.
20