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  “I have a lot to do here, but I can go with you, I suppose,” her father said.

  Isolda seized the opening. “Why bother? I’ll have Stumpy drive me. If we leave early I can be back by nightfall.”

  “Edana should go, too,” Alexander said.

  “Whatever for?” Isolda countered. “She has plenty to do, what with learning about cattle from her good friend Neal.”

  “Stop that, you hear?” Edana said.

  “I’ll be perfectly fine, Father,” Isolda said. “If you’re truly worried, send a couple of your cowboys along. I understand they’re reputed to be perfect gentlemen around women.” She threw that last in as icing on her argument.

  “I don’t like the idea of you going alone,” Alexander said, setting down his soupspoon. “Not after all the tales we’ve heard about hostiles and outlaws and the like. These are the Badlands, after all. I don’t feel it’s safe and there’s no one I trust to—” He glanced out the kitchen window and suddenly stopped.

  “Father?” Isolda said when he just sat there.

  “Why not?” Alexander said.

  “Why not what?”

  Alexander turned to Edana. “Would you agree that Mr. Bonner’s judgment is of the very highest order?”

  “I couldn’t agree more, yes.”

  “Then I should rely on that judgment, shouldn’t I? Since we’ll be working so closely with him.”

  “That goes without saying,” Edana said.

  Alexander faced Isolda. “Very well, daughter. You get to go into town tomorrow. Leave at sunrise. I’ll inform Stumpy he’s driving. And I’ll take your advice and send one of our cowboys along.”

  “Just one?” Isolda said.

  “From what we hear,” her father said, “this one will be more than enough.”

  • • •

  Beaumont Adams lowered his hands to his pockets and started to slide them in, saying, “You have, have you?”

  Scar Wratner glanced at Beaumont’s pockets and laughed. “No need for your hideouts, gambler man. If I was out to bed you down permanent, you’d already be lyin’ there with holes in your head.”

  “Then what?” Beaumont said in puzzlement. He’d had little to do with the notorious leather slapper since Wratner showed up, and was at a loss to guess what they had to talk about.

  “How about if we take a stroll?” Scar Wratner said, and without waiting for a reply, he turned and sauntered along the boardwalk, saying over his shoulder to Grat and Tuck, “You two hang back. This is between him and me.”

  Beaumont gestured to indicate that Dyson and Stimms should do the same. Falling into step with Wratner, he said, “If this is about me pokin’ fun when you braced Alexander Jessup yesterday . . .”

  “The rancher? I couldn’t care less about him. He riled me, is all, callin’ me a specimen. I still don’t know what the hell that is.”

  Beaumont kept quiet.

  “No, I wanted to talk about somethin’ else. I want to offer you somethin’.”

  “Your scar? No, thanks. I like to look at myself in the mirror.”

  Scar’s scar twitched. “Don’t start up again, damn you. Save your funny remarks for that gal you were oglin’.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Sure you don’t,” Scar said. “But I’m not here to talk about the filly, either.”

  “Than what do you want to talk about?”

  “If you’d shut the hell up for two minutes, I’d tell you,” Scar said in mild annoyance. “What you did last night was damn slick. It took grit to get in close like you did to blow out their wicks. You were the talk of the Tumbleweed the rest of the night. It got me to thinkin’.”

  “Oh?”

  “I asked around, and there wasn’t any bad blood between you two. You didn’t kill him on account of some grudge. It appears to me that the only reason you did it was to help yourself to his saloon. Yet you already have one of your own that does real well, from what I saw when I’ve been in there.”

  “You figured that out all by yourself.”

  Scar stopped and swung around, his hands at his sides. “Poke fun at me one more time. I goddamn dare you.”

  “Force of habit,” Beaumont said. “Go on.”

  Scowling, Scar resumed walking. “It hit me that if I was right, you might be out to rule the roost hereabouts. You’d likely help yourself to Garrison’s, too, and who knows what else?”

  “Now I am impressed,” Beaumont said. “I figured it would be a while before anyone caught on.” He’d intended to go about taking over as quietly and secretly as possible. Less trouble that way.

  “I’m not as dumb as some folks seem to think,” Scar said, and touched his scar. “It’s this thing,” he said bitterly. “It makes me look dumber than I am.”

  Beaumont smothered another retort.

  “I’m not just fast with pistols. I have a brain,” Scar said. “But it’s my pistols I’d like to put to work for you.”

  Beaumont came to a halt. It was turning into a day of surprises. First Garrison, now this. “What makes you think I’d want to take you on?”

  “Common sense,” Scar said. “You, by yourself, might be able to pull it off. You’re not afraid to kill. Everybody saw that last night. But there’s still bound to be some who will raise a ruckus about you takin’ over. And you won’t be able to take them by surprise like you did Zimmerman.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Do I really have to spell it out?” Scar said. “You hire me and my pistols to back your play.”

  “I already have Dyson and Stimms.”

  “Small-fry. So are Grat and Tuck, for that matter.” Scar grinned. “But me and these?” He patted his Smith & Wessons. “I’m not small-fry, and everyone knows it. My reputation can work for you. If someone has to go through me to get to you, they’ll think twice. Taking over will go a lot smoother.”

  Beaumont had to admit he had a point. With the notorious gun shark on his payroll, he’d be far less likely to have anyone stand up to him. But it created an important question. “I’d imagine you don’t come free.”

  “Not hardly,” Scar said.

  “How much do you reckon your services are worth? I pay Dyson and Stimms a hundred a month.”

  “Don’t insult me. I wouldn’t be on your payroll, not the same as them. You and me would be partners.”

  “Uh-oh,” Beaumont said.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t think I’d be worth it?”

  “You said it yourself. I aim to rule the roost. Not share the roost with someone else.”

  “Who said you have to? I’ve got no interest in runnin’ things. I’ll leave all that up to you.” Scar paused. “I was thinkin’ more like a fifth of what you make. In return, I’d keep you safe and kill anybody who needs killin’.”

  “A fifth is a lot.”

  “You still get the other three-fourths,” Scar said, “which will be more money than you know what to do with. And it’s not as if I’ll stick around forever. Sooner or later Whiskey Flats will tame down. Towns always do. And I don’t like tame towns.”

  “I’m not fond of them myself.”

  “Tame towns have law dogs, and tin stars are always quick to raise a stink when I gun someone.”

  “I’ve met a few marshals who were less than friendly to gamblers in my travels,” Beaumont remarked.

  “Gamblers and shooters aren’t well liked,” Scar said. “Decent folks look down their noses at us. Some towns get so tame they outlaw guns and cards, both. Like it is back East. There’s those who say the West will be the same one day. I sure as hell hope I’m not around to see that.”

  “Me, either.”

  “So you see?” Scar grinned. “We have a lot in common. What do you say to my offer? I’ll stick for as long as you nee
d me. Then I’ll mosey on to wilder pastures and leave you to have it all.”

  “I need to think on it some,” Beaumont said. He half expected Wratner would get mad and was glad he had his hands in his pockets. He was under no delusions about being able to outdraw him. But the surprises kept coming.

  “That’s only fair, I reckon,” Scar said. “Take as long as you need to. I’ll be around.” Hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, he ambled off.

  Grat and Tuck hastened to catch up to him.

  “Well, now,” Beaumont said.

  “Is there a problem we should know about, boss?” Dyson asked as he and Stimms came up.

  “No problem at all, boys,” Beaumont said. “Fact is, life is treatin’ me nice for once. It makes me suspicious.”

  “Of what?” Stimms asked.

  “Of when it’s goin’ to jump up and kick me in the teeth.”

  15

  Isolda could hardly sleep, she was so excited. What she was doing was so bold, so audacious, it would scandalize her father. If he found out, he might punish her by restricting her to the ranch. She didn’t want that. She must be clever. She must outsmart him.

  Isolda was up an hour and a half before dawn. She’d taken a bath the night before and done her hair to perfection so that all it needed now was ten minutes of brushing to make it shine. She realized she might be wasting her time. Three hours in the buckboard with the wind and the dust might make a mess of it. But that’s why shawls were invented.

  In order not to make her father suspicious, Isolda had to forgo her most revealing dress, the one she wore to dances and on other special occasions, in favor of a plainer one. She chose a dress that clung to her where a man was liable to appreciate clinging the most. She also wore her smallest shoes. They tended to hurt her feet after a while, but she wasn’t walking to town, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

  Now came the important part. Her face. Isolda knew men found her naturally attractive. She wasn’t above helping things along, though. The year before she’d gotten hold of some Crème Celeste and fallen in love with it. A mix of almond oil, rosewater, white wax, and that oily substance they took out of a whale’s head, it was, in her estimation, simply wonderful. It not only smelled nice and kept her skin from becoming too dry, but it hid wrinkles, too. Today it would keep her looking fresh until she got to Whiskey Flats.

  Isolda also dabbed a little castor oil onto her eyelashes and eyebrows. The sheen was alluring. Then there was the pomade, made from beeswax, for her lips. She had to be careful to apply it lightly or it made her lips sticky, and she hated that. Finally she had a carmine dye she liked to rub into her cheeks. She’d been told it was made from dead insects, but she didn’t care. She liked the luster it gave her.

  Finally done, Isolda admired her reflection in the mirror of her portable toilet table. It was made of rosewood with a velvet lining, able to hold all her toiletries and then some, and she never went anywhere without it.

  With a shawl over her shoulders and a handbag in hand, Isolda ventured down to the kitchen. Her father and sister were already there. Her father believed that breakfast was the most important meal of the day and insisted they eat with him, even though she had made it plain countless times that she was never hungry early on and much preferred to save her big meal for supper.

  Alexander stopped chewing long enough to ask, “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes, Father,” Isolda said dutifully. She forced herself to eat some toast and picked at an egg to please him.

  Edana was looking at her and grinning. “Your hair looks nice today,” she remarked.

  “Why, thank you,” Isolda said, thrown off guard by the praise. Her sister rarely complimented her on her appearance.

  “And your cheeks are the very pink of health,” Edana said.

  Isolda realized her sister was aware of the extra effort she’d gone to, and was teasing her. “How observant you are today.”

  “I feel very much alive,” Edana said. “Here we are, starting a new life. Think of all the new experiences we’ll have.”

  Isolda made the mistake of saying, “A cow is a cow.”

  Alexander smacked his fork onto his plate. “Here we go again. Thinking like that annoys me, daughter. You couldn’t be more wrong. A longhorn isn’t a dairy cow, and this ranch is nothing like those dairy farms. So what if you mainly handle our bookkeeping? I expect you to familiarize yourself with all aspects of ranching life as you did with the dairy profession.”

  “Yes, Father,” Isolda said while thinking there were few things that interested her less.

  “Personally, I’m looking forward to all the new things I need to learn,” Edana said. “And not just about the cattle. At my request, Neal is going to teach me how to use a rope one day soon.”

  “So you can throw a loop over him?” Isolda said.

  Edana looked down at her food.

  “What will you be doing, Father?” Isolda pretended to care.

  “Mr. Bonner is taking us out on the range,” Alexander answered. “I want to see some of these longhorns up close.”

  “Be careful you don’t get too close,” Isolda said. “They call them ‘longhorns’ for a reason.”

  They all heard the clatter of the buckboard as it came around the house, and Stumpy saying, “Get along there, you lazy so-and-sos.”

  “Oh my,” Isolda said, rising. “Time for me to leave.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” her father said.

  “No need. Finish your meal.”

  “I insist.”

  Isolda was in too good a mood to argue. She’d gotten the better of her sister, and she would soon see Beaumont Adams again. Humming to herself, she hurried down the hall and out the front door onto the porch. The buckboard and Stumpy were waiting. So was someone else. At the sight of him, she stopped in consternation. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I told you I was sending someone along to watch over you,” Alexander said, moving to the rail. “Mr. Bonner assured me that you’re in perfectly safe hands with Mr. Jericho along.”

  “Mornin’, ma’am,” Jericho said. His black hat was low over his brow, hiding his eyes. In the growing daylight, the white of the pearl handles on his Colt contrasted sharply with the black of his leather vest. Isolda was fit to spit nails. “I hate to put Mr. Jericho to any special bother,” she said in the vain hope her father would take the hint.

  “He works for me, my dear,” Alexander said. “It’s no bother at all, is it, Mr. Jericho?”

  “I ride for the brand,” Jericho said. “What you want, I do.”

  “Excellent,” Alexander said with a broad smile. “Heed me closely.” He nodded at Isolda. “I don’t want anything to happen to her. Although Mr. Bonner deems it unlikely, should you encounter any hostiles, you’re to protect my daughter with your life.”

  “That goes without sayin’,” Jericho said.

  Stumpy piped up with “Same here. I’m not about to let redskins get their hands on a white gal.”

  “When you get to town,” Alexander said, still only addressing Jericho, “you’re not to let anyone near her who doesn’t have any business doing so. That especially goes for—what was his name? Scar Wratner.”

  Isolda was relieved he hadn’t mentioned Beaumont Adams. But her relief was short-lived.

  “It also applies to that gambler. Edana tells me he was too free with his eyes, and I won’t have a man like that around my girls. Do you understand?”

  “I savvy,” Jericho said.

  Stumpy interrupted again. “Just so I know, Mr. Jessup. How far are you willin’ for Jericho to take it?”

  “I don’t get your meaning.”

  “Let’s say we run into that gambler feller or Wratner and they say somethin’ they shouldn’t to Miss Jessup and Jericho tells them to back off and they won’t. Can he shoot them with your blessin’?”


  “I’d rather it didn’t come to that,” Alexander said.

  “What’s he to do, then? Say ‘pretty please’ and if they laugh in his face, tuck tail?”

  “I don’t tuck,” Jericho said.

  “You’re making more of this than I think is warranted,” Alexander said to Stumpy. “Despite what everyone keeps telling me, I can’t see Adams or Scar Wratner resorting to firearms without being provoked, and you’re not under any circumstances to provoke them.”

  “What about if they do the provokin’?”

  “I leave it to your best judgment,” Alexander said. “The important thing is that no harm comes to my daughter.”

  Isolda saw Stumpy give Jericho a troubled look. She couldn’t tell what Jericho was thinking, because his face seemed to be made of stone and that black hat covered his eyes. “Don’t worry, Father,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”

  “I hope so,” Alexander said. “It would devastate me if anything were to happen to you or your sister.” He took hold of her arm. “Here. Let me help you up.”

  Isolda settled in the seat and carefully slid the shawl up over her head to protect her hair. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said to Stumpy.

  “We’re ready now, ma’am.”

  Isolda was jostled slightly as the buckboard lurched into motion. She didn’t look back. Her father probably expected her to, but she wasn’t feeling particularly sentimental at the moment. Not that she ever did normally, anyway.

  Glad to be finally under way, Isolda sat back and smiled. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, and a brisk breeze was blowing. She shivered slightly.

  Stumpy noticed and said, “I’ve got a blanket in the back if you need it, ma’am. Brought it just for you.”

  “That was thoughtful,” Isolda felt obligated to mention. “But I don’t need it right now.”

  “Suit yourself,” Stumpy said. “And if you don’t mind my sayin’, you might want to turn a bit and watch to the east. Sunsets out here are downright pretty.”