Scarlet Sunset, Silver Nights

by Leigh Greenwood

  “Letter for you,” Slade said coming into the kitchen. “One of the boys brought it in from town.” He held it at some distance from himself. He had seen expensive stationary, his mother had always insisted on it, but he was unused to letters that smelled of damask roses.

  “It’s from Amanda,” Pamela exclaimed, excitement shining in her eyes. “I haven’t heard from her in months.”

  “Amanda?”

  “Amanda duPont,” Pamela said tearing open the letter. “She’s my best friend. We went to school together.”

  Slade poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table—it was covered with a fresh cloth—but something about that letter, or rather about Pamela’s reaction to it, bothered him. He knew she liked this Amanda duPont and wanted to go back to Baltimore, but the way she acted now, well, you’d think she’d been given the one thing she most wanted in the world. And that disturbed him.

  “She’s coming for a visit,” Pamela exclaimed excitedly, “and she’s bringing Frederick.”

  Slade’s hackles rose instinctively at the mention of a man. “Who’s Frederick?”

  “Shhh. I’ll tell you when I finish reading,” Pamela said.

  Ever since he arrived at the ranch, he had felt like Pamela was constantly comparing him to people in Baltimore. He didn’t like the feeling. Now it looked like things were going to get a whole lot more specific.

  Hell, now he was starting to feel mediocre all over again, and that made him angry. He knew in his mind he wasn’t inferior, but no man can be rejected by his mother and the first woman he falls in love with and not suffer doubts. Even if he won’t admit them, they’re there all the same. And Slade knew it. He couldn’t help feeling there was something about this Frederick that made him better than he was. It looked like the same thing all over again. First his mother walked out on him. Then Trish. Would Pamela be next?

  She can’t exactly walk out on you he told himself. You just work here. But he knew better. Something already existed between them. Preferring this Frederick to him would be the same as walking out on him.

  Slade drank his coffee, but it tasted bitter now.

  “They’re coming for a visit this summer,” Pamela said when she finished the letter.

  “You already said that.” The coldness in Slade’s voice was unmistakable, and it stung Pamela.

  “They’re on their way to California and they want to see me. They even changed their route.”

  “I wondered why they weren’t traveling by boat. A stagecoach seems a little rough for their kind.”

  “And just what do you mean by that remark?” Pamela demanded. “You know nothing about them.”

  Slade cursed himself for a fool. Here he had been thinking that maybe Pamela had changed, that she might consider staying in Arizona, even consider falling in love with him. It surprised him to discover that all this time she had never wavered in her determination to return to Baltimore. It made him angry, too, but he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

  Obviously her kisses hadn’t been any more than a friendly gesture. Well, maybe it had been more than that, but obviously not much more. Certainly not what he had hoped they meant.

  He swore he wouldn’t let himself hope again.

  “I know their type. They come West to gape at the land and the people, just like we’re animals in a carnival. They complain about the heat and the dirt and marvel that human beings could live like we do. Some of them tolerate us pretty well, even pretend to like us, but they can’t wait to get back to their comfortable cities so they can entertain their friends with tales of the savages they’ve seen.”

  “How dare you speak of my friends like that.”

  “I doubt they’re any different from the rest of their society.” Slade knew he shouldn’t be saying anything, that it would only make things worse, but he couldn’t help himself. He could see her slipping away from him, but the knowledge he had said exactly the wrong thing didn’t stop him.

  “Amanda belongs to one of the most prestigious families in the United States,” Pamela told him with an indignant toss of her head. “They own this terribly big company. They’ve been important forever.”

  “And that makes her special?”

  “Of course it does. She knows everybody and can go anywhere. She’s beautiful, knows just what to say to every kind of person in any situation, and is still the most wonderful friend. I don’t know how I’ve stood it so long without seeing her.

  “We used to have the most wonderful times,” Pamela continued, dropping into a reminiscing mood. “We went everywhere together. She didn’t have to take me along—I didn’t know anybody—but she refused to allow us to be parted. We went to balls, weekend parties, trips to the mountains or the seaside, the theatre and museums, all kinds of things I’d never done before. I know you can’t understand any of this, but …”

  “And this Frederick,” Slade interrupted, unwilling to hear any more about the experiences which separated them, “is he a paragon as well?”

  “Frederick is the most perfect man I’ve ever met. He’s wonderfully handsome, tall, and rides a horse with the most unbelievable style. You ought to see him play polo. There was a time when I was madly in love with him—maybe I still am—but I knew he would never marry me. I couldn’t have been happier when he and Amanda announced their engagement.”

  Knowing that Frederick was married ought to have made things better, but for some reason it made them worse. An unreasoning anger rose up inside Slade. He could see the brush-off starting all over again, anticipate the humiliation of being rebuffed in favor of someone else, predict the hurt he would feel when everything he had to offer got rejected in favor of the emptiness of money and social position.

  “I wish we could have a party,” Pamela thought aloud. “They’ll be bored with so little to do.”

  “Why don’t you meet them in Santa Fe?” Slade said, barely able to keep the anger out of his voice. “You could be with your father and they would be spared the discomfort of putting up on a ranch.”

  “I can’t do that. It’s the ranch they’re coming to see. Besides, Dad needs me here.” But Slade’s bitterness penetrated Pamela’s happiness, and she lost some of her enthusiasm. “You act like you don’t want them to come.”

  “That’s none of mv business.” Slade said. “They’re not mv friends. This isn’t my ranch.”

  “True.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter what I think. I’ll stay out of sight while they’re here. You can have Belva send my breakfast out to the bunkhouse. Or maybe you’d prefer I stayed out on the range until they leave.”

  The rage in his voice shocked Pamela. Anger that had obviously been bottled up for a long time boiled over. She wondered why he should object so much to people he had never met? Why should he care whether they came to the ranch? And what had she said to make him think she wanted him to hide until they left? It wasn’t like she was going to show him off or anything. He was just another one of the men who worked for the Bar Double-B. Amanda and Frederick would expect to see lots of men around the ranch.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to hide. They won’t dress the way they do in Baltimore or expect you to be interested in the things they enjoy.”

  Slade rose abruptly to his feet. “You don’t expect your guests to hobnob with the rest of the hired hands, so there’s no reason for anybody to bother with me. You’ll have lots of things to talk about. I don’t belong to that world. I never have and I never will.”

  “I never expected you to.” Pamela realized she had put her foot in it again. Could she be such a terrible snob that she didn’t even know she was a snob? “I mean I don’t expect you to be anything but yourself.”

  “Who’re we kidding? It may be exciting to have a wild man around the house for a little bit, to try to tame him, keep him as something of a pet,”—Pamela tried to interrupt him with an indignant denial but he barrelled ahead—“but we both know it can’t go on. You have yo
ur world and I have mine, and they have nothing in common. Pretending otherwise will just give me unsuitable notions.”

  “Slade, that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Slade did know it, but he wasn’t going to stand around waiting for her friends to look down their noses at him.

  “It would be better for everyone if I just made myself scarce,” he said, angry at himself now for upsetting Pamela. “Who knows, I might be in California by then.”

  It never failed to give Pamela a sick feeling when Slade mentioned leaving. “You don’t have to go anywhere, and you don’t have to be nervous about my friends. They’ll enjoy talking to you. I’m sure they’ve never met anybody like you.” That was the wrong thing to say and Pamela knew it the minute the words were out of her mouth, but it was too late then.

  “Let them talk to Gaddy. He’s related to all those Virginia folks. All he has to do is clean himself up and he’ll be acceptable. I have no family. Nothing will make me acceptable.”

  Then he walked out of the kitchen. Just left her standing like she was nobody, without even giving her a chance to explain she hadn’t meant any of the things the way he took them.

  But he was gone, and she knew he wouldn’t come back. Well, she wouldn’t go after him. Pamela White didn’t have to explain her actions to anybody.

  But that didn’t make her feel any happier or the day seem any less empty as hour after hour went by and Slade stayed away. She quickly discovered that pride could be a comfortless companion.

  Chapter 10

  Pamela heard the sound of running feet only moments before the kitchen door burst open. “Dave’s been shot!” Gaddy said between gasps for breath.

  Pamela could hardly believe it. They had talked about it, but she never thought it would happen. “Is he … ?” No, he couldn’t be dead. “How badly is he hurt?”

  “He looks pretty awful to me, but Belva says it’s a clean wound.”

  Pamela jumped to her feet and ran to her father’s office to gather her medical supplies.

  “How did it happen?” Slade asked.

  “Dry-gulched,” Gaddy announced dramatically, his face an almost comic display of adolescent excitement.

  He’s dancing with eagerness, Slade thought, as though he has suddenly found himself set down in one of those penny westerns. “Anybody else hurt?”

  “Naw. Dave always rides alone.”

  Pamela hurried back into the kitchen. “Come on. We can find out what happened from him,” Pamela said heading toward the door, her arms full. Slade held the door. “You’re sure he’s all right?” she asked Gaddy.

  “Yeah. You don’t need all that stuff. Belva had him all bandaged up before I got there. He was trying to sit up when I left.”

  The Bagshots lived in a small cottage which had been built with the same care and quality of materials as the ranch house. The furnishings, however, were a careless mixture of Mexican, western, and Indian. Gaddy led them to a small room dimly lighted by a single oil lamp. Dave lay on a cotton-filled mattress in a rope bed.

  He was completely bandaged from hip to knee. Bloody clothes lay in a corner, but Dave wouldn’t let Pamela inspect the wound.

  “Belva’s already fixed it up.”

  “You know I’d have taken care of you,” Pamela said.

  “I didn’t want to bother you. It was clean. The bullet went right on through.”

  Slade tried to see Belva’s face—she stayed so far back in the shadows he couldn’t see her features clearly—but he could tell she didn’t look right. She didn’t act like the Belva he knew. She was nervous and jumpy. He would have sworn she had been badly frightened by something. It was natural to assume it was because someone had tried to kill her husband, but that didn’t feel right to Slade. He was certain she was afraid of something else.

  “Make sure he stays in bed,” Pamela told Belva. “I don’t want him up until he’s completely well.”

  “What are we going to do about the roundup?” Dave asked. “It’s supposed to start tomorrow. They can’t change it now.”

  “I can lead it,” Pamela said.

  “No!” All three men spoke at once, but Pamela turned on Slade.

  “Why not?” she demanded. “I am the daughter of the owner of the Bar Double-B. And if it comes down to it, I can shoot.”

  “Have you ever ramrodded a crew?” Slade demanded.

  “No.”

  “Have you ever worked cattle?”

  “No, but…” She wanted to explain that she could learn while she supervised, but Slade wouldn’t let her.

  “Do you know anything about a roundup?”

  “No.” The admission was forced from her.

  “It wouldn’t matter if you did,” Dave said, trying to soften her disappointment. “The men would be shamed if anybody saw them taking orders from a woman. Besides, there’s going to be trouble.”

  Pamela forgot her irritation. “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know. If I did, I’d do something about it. Right now it’s just a feeling, but I think there’s something big brewing. The boys feel it too. They’re working themselves silly throwing stray cows off our side of the river. You expect some mixing during the year, but they’re driving back whole herds. If they don’t, our cows won’t have any grass.”

  “Whose cows are they?”

  “Can’t say for sure. The brand is new to the area, but I figure they belong to Mongo Shepherd. He’s the last one to come here.”

  “It can’t be Mongo,” Pamela said, her gaze clouded by thought. “He wouldn’t do anything like that.” Belva glanced uneasily at her husband, but he shook his head ever so slightly. “You’ll have to ramrod the crew,” Pamela said. “I can go along and you can give your instructions to me.”

  “I’ll do the best I can, but I wish …”

  “And I’ll ask Mongo to lend us some of his men. Even if Dad were here, we’d still be short-handed.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t ask Mr. Shepherd for any of his riders,” Dave said. “I know you like him and he might help us to please you, but some of our boys have had trouble with his crew.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Pamela asked anxiously.

  “Shooting trouble,” Dave explained. “And none of our boys are up to handling that kind of affair.”

  Some of the color drained from Pamela’s face. “What makes you think there’ll be any more shooting?”

  “Somebody shot Jody Flint from behind the other day. He’s not hurt too bad, but the boys are all upset over it. Jody’s right popular, and he’s the youngest kid on the crew. No one but a low-down skunk would shoot him in the back. We don’t know who did it, but Bob Sprevitt found some tracks near where the gunman laid up. He swears it’s the same tracks he’s seen from one of Shepherd’s horses. Of course, since they all use the same horses, there’s no way to know who fired that shot, but the boys are certain someone on Mongo’s crew is responsible.”

  “That’s all the more reason to talk to him,” Pamela insisted. “I know he would put a stop to that.”

  “Belva tells me he came here today, and that Slade had to fight him to keep him from forcing himself on you. That so?” Pamela flushed from embarrassment.

  “He just got carried away. He doesn’t like to be refused, but he wouldn’t allow his men to shoot at our men,” she added quickly. “People aren’t brought up that way in Massachusetts.”

  “You’re talking about thousands of cows that’ll starve this winter if he doesn’t find range,” Slade interrupted impatiently. “That could add up to a hundred thousand dollars. They shoot people in Massachusetts and anywhere else for that kind of money.”

  “I still don’t believe Mongo had anything to do with it,” Pamela insisted, pointedly speaking to Dave rather than Slade. “Tell the boys to keep moving strays but not to start any fights. I’d rather have hungry cows than get anybody hurt.”

  “You don’t understand,” Dave said wearily. “Almost all the land we graze out
side this valley is owned by the government. Once cows become established on a range, they have a right to it. If that happens, their owner won’t let you drive them off without a fight.”

  “Two of your men have been shot already,” Slade broke in again. “And setting fire to the barn was no accident. Somebody is trying to run you off this range.”

  Pamela wouldn’t listen to Slade. She wouldn’t let him panic her into believing there was a plot against her. There had to be a rational explanation for these shootings. She would find it. She would show him. “Why are you so worried about the roundup?” she asked Dave.

  “What better time to cause trouble?” Dave asked.

  “I would have thought almost any time would be better,” Slade volunteered, clearly surprised at Dave’s remark. “Too many witnesses.”

  A spasm of pain caused Dave’s expression to grow rigid, but it relaxed almost immediately. “Maybe you’re right. Still, what I said is true. None of the boys want the job.”

  “Dad will be back soon.”

  “We can’t wait on him. I think you ought to let Slade lead the roundup,” suggested Dave.

  “What?” demanded Pamela, her voice rising an octave.

  Gaddy looked from Slade to Dave, his expression of excitement growing. “Sure. He can shoot the wings off a bat.”

  Slade’s expression didn’t change. “Why choose me?”

  Dave looked Slade straight in the eye. “Because I know who you are.”

  The tension in the room closed in on Slade. Pamela stared at him, an element of fear in her expression. He watched her body stiffen as though preparing to withstand a blow. Slowly all expression drained from her face until nothing remained but a beautiful mask. “Who is he, Dave?”