Badlanders (18 page)

“As someone I'm very fond of likes to say,” Isolda said, “it should prove interesting.”

T
he time rushed by.

Edana had her dress made by a woman who had opened a millinery in Whiskey Flats. She would have liked to fashion the dress herself, but she had no time for sewing and stitching with all the other things she had to do.

Early on, Edana sent word to her sister, through Stumpy, that she would be grateful if Isolda would come out to the ranch and assist with the preparations. Stump returned to inform her that Isolda “respectfully declined,” as Stumpy quoted Isolda, because she was too busy.

It hurt Edana's feelings. She'd always thought she could rely on Isolda. But with her typical industriousness, she barreled on. She asked the woman who ran Ma's, Mrs. Ferguson, if she would cater the wedding. Mrs. Ferguson asked how many guests Edana expected and Edana estimated over a hundred. At that, Mrs. Ferguson balked, saying she couldn't possibly provide food for so many. Neal, who was listening, mentioned that they could slaughter a few beeves for the occasion. Problem solved.

Every hand on the ranch was invited. Edana also had invitations delivered to a score of businessmen and others in town, including the new mayor and the new marshal.

“I don't know as I like the notion of Scar Wratner comin',” Neal remarked when she mentioned it.

“What harm can it do?” Edana rejoined. “He's the law now. He'll be on his best behavior. And it might result in some goodwill between him and us.”

“If you say so,” Neal said skeptically.

For weeks Edana hardly got any rest. There were never enough hours in the day. With only three more to go until the grand event, she sat in the kitchen sipping tea to relax, when in jangled her betrothed.

Neal kissed her on the cheek and claimed a chair. “How was your day, Mrs. Bonner?”

“Hectic,” Edana said. “And you shouldn't call me that until after the wedding.”

“I'm gettin' in practice,” Neal teased.

“How was your day?”

“We found another steer.”

Edana felt a flash of anger. “The cow killer?” That was what she'd taken to calling whoever was responsible for shooting their cattle. “How many does that make?”

“Seven that we know of,” Neal answered. “There's probably more we haven't found.”

“Who can be doing this?”

“I sent Jericho out. He took Billy and Yeager and they followed the tracks of a shod horse for about half a mile, then lost the trail on some shale.”

“They always lose it.”

“It's not their fault,” Neal said. “I've said it before and I'll say it again. Whoever is shootin' our critters knows this country a heap better than we do.”

“You still don't think it's an Indian?”

“It could be a warrior who stole a white man's horse,” Neal said, “but my gut tells me it ain't.”

“Our punchers haven't seen any strangers on our range?”

“Not a one. But if he keeps at it, sooner or later his luck will run out.”

“I hope sooner. I'm starting to take this personally.”

“I have from the start.” Neal gave his head a slight toss. “Enough of him. How are you holdin' up? You look a little frazzled.”

“I can't wait for it to be over. To be husband and wife. To start our new life together in earnest.”

“Maybe you should sleep in tomorrow. Catch up on your rest.”

“I have too much to do.” Edana sipped her tea and relished the minty flavor. “Mrs. Ferguson is bringing out some of the things she'll need and setting up in the kitchen. And the dressmaker is bringing my dress for a final inspection.”

“Are you sorry you said you will?” Neal joked.

“Never in a million years.” Setting her cup down, Edana stood and went around the table. “Push your chair back.”

Puzzled, Neal did.

Edana sat in his lap and draped her arm over his broad shoulders. “This is more comfortable.”

Neal coughed.

Laughing, Edana kissed his cheek and his chin. “Look at you. I hope you won't be this embarrassed on our wedding night.”

“Oh, Edana,” Neal said.

She rested her cheek on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I'm so tired I could fall asleep right here.”

“You've had too much to do for one person,” Neal remarked. “It's a shame your sister wouldn't help.”

“I'm worried about her.”

Neal shifted and put his arm around her waist. “Is it that gambler she's taken up with? They say he goes around like God Almighty these days. He can shoot, too.”

“The shooting's not important,” Edana said. “Or even his profession. It's that she's living with him out of wedlock. Our mother raised us to be ladies, not . . .” She couldn't bring herself to finish.

“Not live below the tracks?” Neal said.

“Where?”

“In some train towns they keep the saloons and such south of the tracks, so they won't disturb the good folks who live north of them.”

“That's one way of putting it,” Edana said. “I admit I'm disappointed. But she's a grown woman and can do as she pleases.”

“Did you ask her to be your maid of honor like you were goin' to?”

“I did, and she accepted,” Edana said. “She'll do that much for me, at least.”

“There. You see? She does care.”

“I hope so,” Edana said sincerely. “I would hate for the two of us to ever be at odds.”

•   •   •

The big day came.

The wedding was slated for one in the afternoon. That way, guests from town could leave early in the morning and be at the ranch in plenty of time. It also allowed for travel time back to town before dark.

Edana didn't sleep well the night before. She blamed it on ordinary jitters. It certainly wasn't because she was having second thoughts. She entertained no doubts whatsoever that marrying Neal was the right thing to do.

Isolda had arrived earlier that evening, with Beaumont Adams. She'd accepted Edana's offer to stay over, which pleased Edana greatly. It bothered her, though, that when they embraced in greeting, her sister was aloof, almost cold.

“It's so wonderful to see you again.” Edana sought to rekindle their sisterly affection.

“I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world,” Isolda said.

Edana had been somewhat relieved to hear that Marshal Wratner wasn't attending. When she asked why, Beaumont responded, “Someone has to watch over our town for us while we're gone.”

Now, unable to sleep, Edana lay on her back staring at the ceiling and recalled the gambler's comment. The rumors were true. Her sister and her sister's lover saw themselves as the town's lords and masters. Beaumont was already mayor. What next?

Did it even matter? Edana asked herself. The answer was no. She wished her sister the best in whatever she did, but it was no concern of hers. She had the ranch, and Neal, and their new life together.

Edana was so deep in thought she almost missed hearing the rooster crow. Sitting up, she shrugged into her robe and moved to the window. Stars sparkled overhead, but to the east the sky was brightening.

It wouldn't be long before others were up.

Hurrying out, Edana headed downstairs. She'd like a cup of coffee to start her day. It wouldn't take long to fix, and she could take it back to her room before anyone was about.

The parlor was dark, but the kitchen was bathed in a rosy glow. She was halfway along the hall when she smelled a familiar aroma. Someone had had the same idea and beat her to it.

Edana figured it might be Mrs. Ferguson, but she was mistaken. “You,” she blurted without thinking.

Over at the cupboard, bundled in a robe of her own, Isolda was taking down a cup and saucer. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.

“Sorry,” Edana said. “I didn't get much sleep.”

“Me, either,” Isolda said.

“Anxious about the wedding?”

“Why would I be? You're the one getting married.” Isolda stepped to the stove, touched the top of the coffeepot, and carried it to the counter. “I couldn't sleep because this house reminds me too much of Father. It
was the last place I saw him, the last place I spoke to him.”

Edana found that touching, and said so.

“There you go again. Reading more into things than there is.”

“You don't miss him?” Edana said. “I do. There isn't an hour that goes by that I don't think of him.”

Isolda turned and sipped her coffee. “I try not to.”

Shocked at her callousness, Edana said, “You don't mean that.”

“I most certainly do. If he were still alive, I'd probably still be living here, stuck doing work I didn't enjoy, and miserable as hell.”

“No need to swear,” Edana said.

“But I like to now and then,” Isolda said. “With him gone, I can indulge my every heart's desire.”

Edana regarded her with dismay. “Where did all this come from? You're not the sister I grew up with.”

“Oh, but I am,” Isolda said cheerfully. “I'm more me than I've ever been and loving every minute of it.” She smiled and ambled out.

Edana thought about that all morning. She tried not to. She tried to dwell on Neal and their nuptials, but her sister's statement deeply disturbed her. Isolda had gone from a bookkeeper who spent her days with her nose buried in ledgers, to . . . what exactly?

She almost came right out and asked when Isolda showed up to help her dress.

She decided not to. Today, of all days, there should be no spats between them. They would get along as sisters should.

It took an hour and a half for Edana to get ready.

The years sloughed away, their loss was put aside, and for ninety minutes the two of them were girls again, joking and laughing as they had done when they were little. They reminisced about the time Isolda got her hair caught in the fireplace grate, and the time Edana fell down the cellar stairs and fractured her leg, and the
water fights they used to have in the summers when they'd take two glasses and fill a bucket and throw water at each other until they were soaked clean through.

Then came the moment when Edana stood in front of the full-length mirror while Isolda adjusted her veil.

“Thank you for your help,” Edana said.

Isolda stepped back. She stared at Edana's reflection, her features hardening, and said with more than a trace of bitterness, “Look at you.”

“Is something out of place?”

“You look perfect,” Isolda said. Suddenly turning away, she said, “I'll see you downstairs.”

“Wait,” Edana said, but the door closed behind Isolda, and she was alone.

Bewildered, she tried to make sense of her sister's behavior. The only conclusion she could come to was that Isolda resented her getting married. But that was ridiculous.

The momentous event arrived, the guests assembled on the front lawn. The ceremony was to take place on the front porch where the overhang would shield the parson and the bridge and groom from the worst of the midday sun.

Edana had no aisle to walk down, and didn't want one. Without her father to give her away, what did it matter? Isolda ushered her outside, and there was Neal, dressed in a new store-bought suit. To her eyes he looked positively handsome.

Jericho was best man. He wore his usual clothes, his usual black hat. On his hip was his pearl-handled Colt.

Edana thought that was uncalled for, but she didn't make an issue of it. She stood at Neal's side, proud and straight and nearly overcome with joy, and when the time came for her “I do,” she said it willingly and gladly and without reservation.

“You may kiss the bride,” the parson intoned.

Neal surprised her. Where previous to this he had always been timid about showing affection, now he
scooped her into his arms and planted a kiss that literally took her breath away.

Jericho distracted her by chuckling. She'd never heard him chuckle before.

Then people were whooping and clapping and some of the cowboys fired their six-shooters into the air.

Neal let out a yip of his own and scooped her into his arms. There would be no honeymoon. Not then, anyway. They'd decided to hold off until later in the year, when things slowed down.

Jericho opened the door so they could go in and she could cut the cake.

Smiling and returning the waves of the well-wishers, Edana felt her happiness suddenly shattered when she saw her sister glaring at her. Before Edana could call out and ask what the matter was, Neal whisked her indoors.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and for the life of her, Edana had no idea what it might be. She personally carried a piece of cake out to give Isolda and question her, and was stunned to find out that her sister and the gambler had already left for town.

Edana didn't know what to make of it. One thing she knew, though. It didn't bode well

It didn't bode well at all.

Three months later

W
hen Holland wasn't breaking broncs, he worked the range like the rest of the hands.

On a crisp autumn morning he was twenty miles from the home ranch, searching for strays in a rugged area of mostly rock and sandstone, when he heard a shot. Several bluffs caused an echo. Reining up, he cocked his head, trying to pinpoint the direction. He hoped there would be another, but there wasn't.

Gigging his horse, Holland trotted to a tract of spires and slabs. He wound through them cautiously.

Beyond stretched a flat dotted with scrub brush and mesquite. And there, out in the middle, lay a steer.

And the man who had shot it.

Holland drew rein. The shooter apparently hadn't heard him, and was intent on cutting meat from the body. Sliding his Colt from its holster, Holland cocked it. He was no gun hand. Like most cowboys, he regarded his revolver as just another tool of his trade. He'd killed a few rattlers with it and once he shot a rabbit for the
supper pot, but that was all. Scarcely breathing, he moved his horse forward at a walk. He needed to be closer to be sure of not missing.

The cow killer wore a floppy hat that had seen a lot of use and, of all things, an old bear-hide coat. Hunkered down, he was slicing away with a bowie. His back was partly to Holland, and the bronc buster couldn't see the man's face.

Then the man's horse, a paint with a saddle but no bedroll or saddlebags, raised its head and pricked its ears in Holland's direction, and whinnied.

Instantly the cow killer stood and whirled. He looked to be as old as his hat and his coat, and had a mane of gray hair. Bending, he scooped a rifle off the ground, shoved the bowie into a sheath, and vaulted onto the paint with an agility that belied his years.

“Hold it right there, mister!” Holland hollered.

The cow killer did no such thing. Reining around, he flew to the north.

With a jab of his spurs, Holland gave chase. He extended his Colt but didn't shoot. He might hit the horse and he never, ever harmed a horse if he could help it.

That paint could move. Raising swirls of dust, it reached the other side of the flat and started up a rise.

Holland wasn't expecting the cow killer to turn on him, but that's exactly what the man did. Suddenly reining broadside and stopping, the man jerked his rifle to his shoulder. A Sharps, unless Holland was mistaken. No sooner had that registered than the Sharps boomed and it felt as if a sledgehammer had struck Holland in the shoulder. The impact lifted him from his saddle and sent him crashing to earth. He lost his six-shooter and his hat, and lay dazed in a welter of pain.

Shock began to set in.

Holland fought it. He was bleeding, bleeding badly, and if he passed out, he might never wake up.

Belatedly, Holland became aware of slow hoofbeats. Struggling to stay conscious, he blinked up into the glare
of the sun. Without warning, it was blocked out by the cow killer and the paint.

The man pointed the Sharps. “Did you do it?”

“Do what?” Holland gasped in confusion.

“Did you kill him? Were you the one?”

“Mister,” Holland got out. “I've never killed anybody in my life.”

The cow killer bent down. He had gray eyes to match his gray hair, and there was a fierce glint to them. “I reckon I believe you. You get to live. Tell them others I'll find the one who did, and when I do, there'll be hell to pay.” With that he straightened and reined around.

“Wait,” Holland called out.

The drum of the paint's hooves faded.

With an effort, Holland rose onto his elbows. The cow killer was just going over the rise. “Hold on!” Holland tried again, but it was no use.

Gritting his teeth, Holland sat up. He saw his hat and jammed it on his head, and his Colt and jammed that in his holster. His horse had gone another dozen yards and stopped. He tried to whistle, but his mouth was too dry. Swallowing a few times, he tried again, and the roan returned, as he'd taught it. He snagged a stirrup and with considerable difficulty managed to pull himself to his feet. Leaning against the roan to keep from falling, he gripped the saddle horn with his good arm and attempted to pull himself onto his saddle. He was too weak. More from the shock than anything, he reckoned, and took deep breaths to steady himself.

Holland tried again. This time he got his leg up and over and then sat slumped in the saddle, his head pounding.

His shirt was wet with blood. He had to reach camp and get help.

The ride was a nightmare. He blacked out several times. Each time he expected to wake up on the ground, but somehow he stayed on the roan.

Holland lost all track of time. It could have been an
hour, it could have been two, when he saw the wagon and the horse string and several cowboys around the fire.

He tried to call to them, but he couldn't yell loud enough to get their attention. His chest felt numb, and he was light-headed.

He blacked out again.

The next Holland knew, hands were on him, lowering him. He was aware of voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. A face floated above him, a face he should know but couldn't seem to place. As if from down a long tunnel, a voice reached him.

“. . . did this to you, Holland? Who shot you?”

“The cow killer,” Holland croaked. “Fetch Neal.”

Blackness devoured him.

•   •   •

Neal Bonner was on the front porch with Edana in matching rocking chairs, enjoying the spectacle of the setting sun.

“This is one of my favorite times of the day,” Edana remarked. “All the work is done and we can be together.”

It was one of Neal's favorite times, too. He liked quiet moments with her, just the two of them and no one else.

Neal had never imagined married life could be so grand. They got along so well, sometimes it astounded him. He considered himself incredibly lucky to have met a gal like her. That she'd cared for him enough to marry him was a miracle.

“Who can that be in such a hurry?”

Neal looked in the direction Edana was gazing. A puncher was coming from the north, riding hell-bent, lashing his horse with his reins in a way a cowboy would only do in an emergency. “Trouble,” he said, and was off the porch waiting when the puncher galloped up and came to a sliding stop.

“Neal!” the hand exclaimed. His name was Aldon. “It's the cow killer.”

“He's shot another steer?”

“And Holland, too.”

Edana gasped.

“Is he . . . ?” Neal said.

“He almost was,” Aldon said. “He'd lost a lot of blood, but we managed to pull him through. He's weak as a kitten and can't be moved, but he'll live.”

“Thank the Lord,” Edana said.

Neal barked orders. He told Aldon to go to the bunkhouse and tell Jericho, Billy, and Yeager to saddle their horses and be ready to head out in half an hour. Aldon was to get a fresh horse and lead them back.

Nodding, the puncher clucked to his lathered animal.

“This is terrible, Neal,” Edana said. “I should go with you.”

“No.” Neal turned and went up the porch steps. She caught up with him as he entered their parlor.

“I'll bring bandages. And I have some tincture in the cabinet that helps prevent infection.”

“No,” Neal said again. He stepped to where he had propped his Winchester a couple of days ago, picked it up, and stuck it under his arm. He turned to go, but Edana planted herself in his path.

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

Edana put her hands on her hips. “We run the Diamond B together. We make decisions together. We do things together.”

“Not this.” Neal started to go around, but she caught hold of his sleeve.

“You're being unreasonable. I want to talk this out.”

“There's nothin' to talk about,” Neal said. “No means no.”

Edana regarded him in baffled hurt and puzzlement. “This is the first time you've ever done anything like this.”

“Like what? Puttin' my foot down?”

“You're treating me as if I'm inferior somehow. As if I'm a child who must be protected from herself.”

Neal was anxious to get to the stable and saddle up.
Instead he grasped her hand and led her to settee. He bid her sit and she did, but he stayed standing. “First off, when it comes to brains, I'm the one who's inferior, as you put it. You think rings around me, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.” She went to respond, but he held up his hand. “I'm not done. As for you bein' a child, that's plumb ridiculous. But you are my wife, and it's a man's duty to look out for his runnin' mate.”

“I don't need looking after,” Edana said. “I'm perfectly capable of holding my own in a man's world.”

“Us men run things? That's news to me.” Neal tried to make light of her anger. “Seems to me that women do more of the bossin' than men do.”

Edana wasn't amused. “Give me one good reason why you don't want me to come. And I do mean
good
.”

“Have you ever shot anybody?”

“You know I haven't.”

“Could you?”

Edana hesitated.

“You see? That could get you killed.”

“Nonsense.”

Neal was patient with her. “Whoever this cow killer is, he has no qualms about killin' people, too. And when someone is out to shoot you, the only way to stop him is to shoot him first. Hesitate like you just did and you're dead.”

“Is that your reason?”

“I care for you too much to let you be hurt, or worse,” Neal said. “If that's not good enough, I'm sorry.”

“I don't like being treated this way,” Edana said. “I don't like it at all.”

“Then stay here for my sake.”

“Yours?”

“If you come with us, I'll be so worried I won't be able to do my job. We catch up to that cow killer, I'll be thinkin' about you and not what needs doin', and that could get me hurt, or worse.”

Edana chewed on her bottom lip, then said, “When you put it that way.”

“You'll stay?”

“I will. But just so you know. The next time you want me to do something, ask. Don't order me. Don't boss me around like I'm one of the hands. I'm your wife. I deserve better. I deserve respect.”

“There's no one in this whole world I respect more,” Neal declared, and bending, he kissed her. “Now if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Bonner, there's a coyote who needs tendin' to.”

“Give the bastard hell.”

“Oh, Edana.”

She laughed.

Neal grinned and was still grinning when he reached the stable. His saddle and saddle blanket were in the tack room. When he led the buttermilk out, Jericho, Billy, Yeager, and Aldon were waiting on their mounts.

Neal nodded and climbed onto the buttermilk. No one said anything as he reined to the north. Edana was on the porch, looking apprehensive. He smiled and waved. She waved, but she didn't smile.

The sun had set and twilight was falling. The first star had appeared and it wouldn't be long before more did the same.

Jericho brought his zebra dun alongside the buttermilk. “Your missus ain't happy about you goin'?”

“You read minds now?” Neal rejoined.

“She didn't smile.”

Neal sighed. “You notice everything, don't you?”

“Try to,” Jericho said.

Just then Aldon brought his horse up on Neal's other side. “I almost forgot,” he said. “There's more.”

“I'm listenin',” Neal said.

“Holland wanted me to be sure to tell you what the cow killer said to him. He reckoned it might be important.”

Neal had assumed that the killer shot Holland from a ways off. “They talked?”

“The killer did most of it. He asked Holland if he'd killed somebody. When Holland said he hadn't, the killer rode off.”

Neal glanced at Jericho. “Make any sense to you?”

“Not a lick.”

They settled down for a long night's ride.

Neal spent the first hour or so thinking about Edana and her sister. Edana hadn't heard from Isolda since the wedding, and she was anxious to go talk to her. He hoped she didn't do it while he was gone.

Midnight came and went. A crescent moon provided enough light to see by, and the wind, for once, was still.

Neal held to a walk in order not to tire the horses more than was necessary. It would take them until almost dawn to get there, and after a short rest, they'd head out again after the killer while his trail was still fresh.

Occasionally a coyote yipped. Once, far off, a wolf howled. Another time, a cougar screamed.

Finally they arrived. All the punchers were up and standing around looking miserable.

Neal's gut clenched when he spied a blanket draped over a body. He had no sooner drawn rein than the punchers converged.

“Holland didn't make it,” one said. “We thought he was doin' all right, but he passed away in the middle of the night.”

“Well, damn,” Billy said.

“I liked that hombre,” Yeager said.

“Grab a bite to eat,” Neal directed. “We're goin' after the cow killer as soon as the sun is up, and this time we're not givin' up no matter what.”