Trouble at Saddleback Creek

By Buck Immov

Trouble at Saddleback Creek
This book has been called 'very entertaining', 'funny', and ‘reminds me of Twain'. You'll probably like it.
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This book Includes Something for Everyone

Adventure for the boys (and men):
Snakeskin McMurtry had two six-guns, a lever action Winchester, and a long-range Whitworth rifle. He had put his life on the line dozens of times to get his ranch and no man was going to take it away from him. Not by a jugful. Yeah, and no woman was either. No matter how he felt about her.
A rip-roaring western full of action and adventure, gunfights, and hair-breadth escapes, cowboys and Indians, love and romance along with Doc Holliday, Butch Cassidy, Stinky David, Pine Cone Ray, and Johnny-Behind-the-Rock.
If you like westerns, thrillers, hard men, beautiful women, the smell of gunsmoke, and even some humor, this is the book for you.

Romance for the girls:
Annawest looked up at the beautiful moonrise and wept. She had finally found the man who could be hers for life. But Oh! She was afraid to love him. Every time she gave her heart to someone, that man was killed. This handsome, brave, and loving man she had just met had been a bounty hunter. If his past caught up with him, her heart would be broken again. Dare she risk it? Dare she take a chance? She didn’t want to live life as an old maid with a heart as dry and bitter as an alkali desert. But how could she bear weeping again over the body of a man she loved. Whatever was she to do? (She gets it figured out. Pretty much.)

And for the thinking man and woman:
Here’s what a highly intellectual reviewer might say, maybe: “Just when you thought the western clichés could not be avoided in another way, along comes this first novel by ‘Buck Immov”. (We suspect a pen name, here.) It is a western and a fun read but there are themes: 1) You gotta change to remain the same, 2) Happiness takes courage sometimes, 3) Killing kills the killer 4) Think, don't shoot, 5) Prejudice backfires, 6) Save the earth, you can't live anywhere else.

There are, needless to say, narrow escapes (She saves him), romantic problems, terrible choices, and knotty conundrums ("How is he going to get out of this one?" you'll say.) Oh. And the girls get to be heroic, too (only fair). Not only that, but ‘Buck’ has actually done his research (!). From the Timber and Stone act, to the Hagarman tunnel, to the capacities of the Whitworth rifle, and the facial expressions of horses, he remains, accurate.
This western version of the Canterbury Tales takes us to the Old West, the Old South, and the old St. Louis social scene. There is authentic western dialog, believable emotions (Surely the girl would object to her chosen one getting into gunfights.), ingenious plotting, clear narrative, and humor. We pronounce this novel ‘highly readable’. We have spoken.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Buck Immov
• Release date: Oct 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370129447

Buck Immov

About the AuthorI grew up in a small town in the middle of the Colorado Rockies. I fished and hunted and rode horses over Saddleback Pass to fish the upper Frying Pan River. Up there, Colorado was still Colorado. You could catch a hundred fish a day, if you wanted to. The deer would walk into camp, look around, shrug their shoulders, and walk on down to the lake. One thing about a Rocky Mountain fishing trip, you don’t have to go down to the creek for water, just leave a bucket out for 15 minutes and you are all set. On the few occasions it doesn’t rain, you get dew and then all you have to do is to swish the bucket through the grass a few times and you have enough water for coffee and soup. If you have any washing to do, you put the clothes under a bush and hit it with a stick. You had better use a long stick, though. Raincoats are a help, but you have to put them on before you get out of the car. Otherwise your hands are too cold to fasten the snaps. It used to take me three days to thaw out enough to straighten my knees after I got home from the Frying Pan River...........four if the weather was cloudy.I remember being a real little kid riding with Daddy when he was feeding his cows on the Hayden ranch. He would open one corner of the bag of oats, half-open open the pickup doors, hang the bag outside, and drive along scattering oats with one hand and steering with the other. One time he got stuck and couldn't dig out. He told me to wait there and, in a little while, here came Mommy in the other car. What excitement!I graduated from a couple colleges, Reed and the University of Oregon, and got a job as a professional diver, a marine biologist. We counted things or caught them: fish, sea fans, kelp, rocks, and mud. I learned about attending to business when the claw of the sea puss was hovering around my hind end. We used to put lines of 50 shark hooks inside the surf line to catch shovelnose sharks for research. (Shovelnose have great inner ears.) You had to sit in the skiff and wait for a chance, then run in and set the lines before a big wave threw the boat, together with a tangle of shark hooks, shark lines, and anchors, on top of us. Once I was about to pull the line and looked up and saw a huge wall of water coming. I remained calm and said calmly to the kid running the motor, "Point the boat toward the open sea and go that way."And he said, "Hunh?"Then I realized that calm had its drawbacks and did my D. Duck impression, "Go that way, go that way, go that way fast. Wak, wak, wak, wak !!!!!!!"Just before a wave breaks, it throws up a little spray. We went over three of them before we got outside. After a while, we went back in and pulled the lines. Got enough sharks to go on with.While I was doing research, I published about 25 articles on science. I also taught college for a while because when a diver gets old and decrepit and can't do his job any more, they fire him. The very reverse is true for a teacher. Recently, I decided to take a break from teaching for a while and write a book or two.

Book preview

Ain’tagonna – Refers to an unlikely or exceedingly improbable event, i.e., viz., to wit, ‘Never happen’.

Beeyuny – Buena Vista, a small town located far above most places. Foreign languages are never spoken there and their English bears only a passing resemblance to that spoken by Elizabeth the Second or any other member of the royal family, for that matter. Pronounced Bee-you-knee.

Belly through the bush – Avoiding legal entanglements by absconding, particularly in a clandestine manner.

Bucket of Blood - An inexpensive albeit egregiously poor-quality hostelry

Buscadero - An individual adroit in handling firearms, particularly in stressful circumstances. May be largely responsible for eliciting the aforementioned circumstances.

Cutting a Rusty - Engaging in courtship behavior. The intentions thereof may be marital or simply a fuller involvement in the joys life has to offer.

Corral Dust - Balderdash, albeit entertaining balderdash.

Hoodathunkit - Who would ever have considered such a course of action feasible? (Chiefly West Texas).

Lie up among the willows - avoiding arrest or retribution by concealment, particularly in a sylvan environment.

Mizewell – Said of an alternative that is just as efficacious or appropriate as any alternate alternative.

Mudsill – Reprobate, degenerate, depraved, and disadvantaged, i.e., ‘Not our sort’.

Rainch - Rural establishment for the purpose of raising livestock, particularly bovids. For the correct intonation, a non-native needs must compress the nostrils with thumb and forefinger while pronouncing this word.

Shiheart – Navajo term of endearment

Slommack - An inexpensive albeit poor-quality ‘Lady of the Evening’

Stainchable - Durable and able to withstand strain. Again, a non-native must hold his or her nose to attain the correct pronunciation.

Talking iron – A pistol, i.e., a small, hand-held firearm without a shoulder stock, especially one with a rotating cylinder holding several projectiles. (The projectiles usually number six. (This is perhaps a reflection of the sexigesimal system of numbers used in ancient Sumer (See Samuel Noah Kramer: History Begins at Sumer).))

Too much mustard – Said of egregiously boastful statements

Waddie – An individual living in a bucolic environment who is involved in the care of bovine quadrupeds, particularly if they go ‘Moo’.

Whyncha – Used to indicate an advantageous course of action.

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Chapter 1 – Devil’s Rope

I won't be wronged. I won't be insulted. I won't be laid a-hand on. I don't do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.

- John Wayne

The tallest rider raised his hand and all three drew rein and stopped. They heard the ‘toc, toc, toc’ of a hammer and the ’spang’ of staple flying. The tall rider gestured to a pile of granite boulders. They rode over behind the boulders and peered down into the shallow canyon. The oldest rider looked back to make sure that they weren't skylined, but the dark firs on the mountain hid them well enough. The wind that had covered the sound of their approach hissed in the branches of the dark green piñon pines and the gray sagebrush. The horses shifted restlessly with high heads and twitching tails; the older riders soothed their mounts with soft words and gentle pats. The youngest rider, a gangly teenage boy, ignored his horse and started to pull his rifle out of its scabbard.

The rider next to him wore an old-fashioned high-crowned hat over his white hair. He held out an admonitory hand and said to the boy, No! Not yet, Chuckie. Rub your horses’ neck, talk to him low, and breathe deep and slow yourself. The boy did.

The tall rider was a strongly built man with a short black beard flecked with gray. As soon as his horse was calm again, he reached for a worn leather case attached to his saddlebow. The case had an inscription on the corner of its lid, ‘Sgt. Roy Craddock, 4th Cavalry, US Army’. He opened it and pulled out a pair of brass binoculars bound in leather. The top parts of the barrels of the binoculars were conical and only the eyepieces moved when he turned the knurled knob.

He first looked at the buckboard tied in the shade of a cottonwood tree next to a big granite boulder. A gust of wind made the cottonwood leaves jerk and twist. The buckboard carried coils of barbed wire and a small water barrel. A shotgun was lashed to one side of the seat with a slipknot that could easily be jerked loose. He saw a 30-30 Winchester lying on the seat. He shifted his gaze to the men working next to the buckboard. Another Winchester rifle was propped up on a stump close behind them. A heavy-set man inexpertly nailing barbed wire to a fence post carried a pistol in his back pocket; the corner of the pocket was torn and the gun barrel protruded. A slight youth digging with a shovel wore an enormous Colt .45. It was so heavy that he had to lean sideways to balance himself.

The third cowboy was a wiry man of middle height with wavy blond hair. He wore a hat with a flat crown and a tear in the brim. The cuffs of his pants were frayed and muddy. He was carrying two .38 pocket pistols in snakeskin holsters, which rode low on his hips and fit the guns exactly. Craddock had never seen pocket pistols with such long barrels. This man was evidently the boss, because, when the boy said something, he put down his coil of barbwire, walked over, inspected the hole, and, after a glancing back and forth, pointed to a spot on the ground and the boy began digging there.

The old man tugged his moustache and said, Roy, you don’t want to let them catch you lookin’ like you're spyin’ on them.

Young Chuckie grinned. Yeah, especially since that’s exactly what you’re doin’.

Craddock put the binoculars back in their case. They’re using that devil’s rope for fence all right. And the one in the middle is wearing custom-made pistols.

Chuckie piped up again, Well anybody kin buy a custom pistol. Maybe he’s just putting on the style. Putting on the agony. Showing off.

Don’t go with the rest of his clothes, Craddock replied.

So what does that mean? said Chuckie.

It means, admonished the old man, that we are real careful ‘til we see how the land lies.

Pete, you ever see that horse before? said Craddock. You, Chuckie? The two other riders shook their heads.

I wouldn't even know what to call it, said Chuckie. The horse had a white coat peppered with reddish freckles.

Flea-bitten gray, said old Pete.

Craddock backed his horse and the other two followed. Once they were out of sight, he pulled up and slowly rolled a cigarette.

Wait, said Pete, gimme those lookers a minute, Roy. Pete rode back up to the boulders and used the binoculars to take a second look at the fencing crew. Then he came back and returned the binoculars. That big waddie has a scar from a bullet on his left arm. Little one is missin’ the top of his near ear. Seems to me, Ah heared about a couple a waddies, partners, that looked jist about exactly like those two hands down there. Got into a shoot-out with four or five hard cases up above Rock Springs. They were the only ones walked away. Yeah, and they said one of them had a funny looking shotgun that turned out to be a repeater. Looked about like the one on the buckboard.

Craddock lighted his cigarette and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. OK, he said, "we ride down there openly. We go through the sagebrush so they can see us easy. We jack a shell into our rifles now, unfasten the thongs across our pistols, and put a live round under the hammers. But. We keep our hands away from our guns until I say otherwise. He looked at Chuckie. You hear that?"

Yessir, said Chuckie, I listen for the word ‘Otherwise’.

An’ don't act smart. said the oldster.

And we act polite and friendly, said Craddock.

Friendly? said Chuckie, I thought this was serious business!

The old man turned to him, Looky here. The more serious the business, the friendlier you act in the beginnin’!

Throw them off guard, huh? replied Chuckie.

Whether the business is serious or not, said Craddock, ye always look for a way to keep away from gunplay. And look real careful. If ye don’t, ye ain’t never going to ride with me again. Ever.

Chuckie looked abashed and held up both palms, OK, OK got it.

Craddock rode around the boulders, and began descending. As soon as they crossed the ridge, the saddle horse tied to the buckboard raised her head and looked at them. The blond boss caught the movement and looked also. He turned sideways and said something to his crew. He dropped his off hand down by his holster and evidently unfastened the thong across his pistol, because the slight youth with the shovel loosened his pistol in its holster, something that evidently drew a rebuke from the two older men because he quickly moved his hand away and started shoveling again, though he didn’t move much dirt. The heavy man put down his hammer and walked very casually over to the buckboard and got a drink from the cup chained to the barrel. He leaned back against the wagon so that the shotgun was right at his elbow. Craddock noticed that he had untied the lashing on the shotgun, though he had not seen him do it. The blond boss raised his right hand and waved to the riders in a friendly fashion. Then he walked over to his horse and dug a bottle of whiskey out of a saddlebag and waved it at them. Craddock figured he had undone the thong on his left holster at some point. The youth stopped digging and leaned on his shovel without putting much weight on it.

Craddock said to Chuckie, Pete and I got to drink, but ye just smile and say no. When ye dismount, hold your pistol in your holster with your elbow. Don’t fasten the thong.

OK, said Chuckie.

The riders pulled up when they reached the fencing crew.

Good afternoon, said their boss. I’m real glad to meet you on this fine afternoon. This here is Tim Sholtz and the stalwart young man is Eddy Koffpot. My name’s McMurtry. I bought a little land up in here. Going to run cattle.

Craddock thought a ‘little’ land meant a lot. If he had bought a small amount of land he would of said ‘some land’. It was good, too, that he intended to run cattle. That made an understanding more likely.

This here, said Craddock, is Pete Grey and the kid is Chuckie Quarll. I’m Roy Craddock. We work for Old Man Quarll at the Salt Works Ranch.

Well then, said McMurtry, we’re going to be neighbors. And like the good book says, neighbors should allus be friendly, get along, and help one another. Nothing in all the world more important. Nothing. And what do you say we step over in the shade and drink to that?

Sounds good to me, said Craddock and all dismounted.

McMurtry turned to his crew, That includes you boys too. Knock off for a little and have a drink.

Little Eddy Koffpot stuck his shovel in the ground and grinned. "Now I call that real kind. I will witness to all the world, it’s a real pleasure to work for...Snakeskin McMurtry."

Craddock had heard that name before. He frowned at Pete, but quickly put a friendly look back on his face. Young Chuckie looked puzzled. Tim Sholtz suppressed a grin. There was no change in McMurtry’s calm amiability. They all walked over to the wagon. Craddock set his right heel against the boulder, and leaned back a little. He used his left hand for his cigarette, however, and let his right hand hang near his pistol. The others followed suit; the fencing crew set their backs against the wagon, the Salt Works men, against the boulder.

The bottle went around and finally came to Chuckie Quarll. He was thinking that the other kid had had a drink and didn’t look any older than he was. He held up a hand. Bit early in the day for me, thanks. He thought of something else he had heard. Last night is too clear in my memory, what I remember of it. Last Saturday night, I mean. He rubbed the side of his forehead with two fingers.

Koffpot grinned, I’ve woke up a few Sundays myself ready to take the pledge. Almost. Neither boy had ever done any heavy drinking.

That’s real good whisky, thanks, said Craddock. So ye bought land, instead of free grazin’?

Yeah, said Snakeskin, and there’s a sad story connected with that. I went to a big cattleman’s conference in Denver. I’m afraid your free grazing is about done.

Yeah? said Craddock.

They had, Snakeskin went on, all the big cattlemen there. I saw Chisum, Shanghai Pierce, Goodnight, Ora Haley, even Ol’ Man Clanton. And there were forest service people, eastern money, college professors, and politicians. I never saw so many politicians.

Politicians! snorted old Pete.

Yeah, well, said Snakeskin, nodding his head, I know how they are.

Ah’d about rather have six Redskins than one dang politicians, said Old Pete.

Trouble with them, said Snakeskin, you shoot an Indian you’re done with him, but if you shoot a politician you get another one before the body is cold. Any way, believe it or not, the politicians were doing more listening than talking.

Pete lowered his head, "Ah’d have to see that before Ah believed it".

I was amazed myself, said Snakeskin. Any way the cattlemen weren’t saying anything everybody here doesn’t know about. We’ve all seen overgrazed range. Nothing but Texas croton, tumbleweed, and gullies. No use for anything. Can’t even fish for trout. Water’s too muddy.

Pete stood up straight and stuck his thumbs in his belt, "An how are them there politicians especially those double-danged federal politicians goin’ to help. They’re all bought with eastern money and you know that eastern money."

Yeah, said Craddock. Those eastern tycoons, they buy some cattle and want their profits whether it ruins the range or not. And if the caporal doesn't follow their dirty orders, they fire him.

Yeah, said Snakeskin, nodding again, if they’d jis leave it up to men that actually ran the cattle, there wouldn’t be a problem. Any way I saw some of your caporals and cattlemen going to dinner and I says, ‘Scuse me gentlemen, but I’m jis a young man wanting to start up in the cattle business and it sounds like the rules have changed. I’d be happy to buy you dinner if you'd gimmie your opinions on that.’ Well, they wouldn’t let me buy anything but a round a’drinks, but I made sure they got the best whisky.

And? said Craddock.

"Well, they were trying to ask the politicians to pass laws cutting back on free grazing. They all thought that, any more, the only way to raise cattle is to buy ranch land and take care of it. Irrigate and raise hay for the winter. Then you got to spread your hay out so all the cow pies ain’t all in one place. I mean aren’t in one place. Mom was a schoolmarm and she was allus saying, ‘There ain’t no such word as ain’t. But I keep forgetting."

Why do you want the cow pies spread out?

It’s fertilizer. Too little fertilizer is bad and so is too much. I don’t mean to give you the all overs, but you got to be a little bit of a plow chaser.

Farmin’ hay ain’tagonna hurt anybody, said Old Pete, "but looky here, how you goin’ to make enough money to make that worth while?"

"What you do, you get a Hereford bull and breed him to your longhorn cows. The cross‘ll gain two-three hundred pounds more than a longhorn. And you get better beef. It’s a lot more work, though. You jis’ can’t shoot a cow that can’t deliver her calf. Too valuable. You got to get in there with a pigging string, rawhide lariat’s too rough, and help it get born. And if your calf dies and rots inside, you got to pull it out with a hay hook. Talk about a nasty job. And you allus got to keep track of your cows. If a cow can’t give birth right, she’ll pass that on to her heifers so you got to sell them. This Scotchman there was amazed we didn’t know all our cows by sight. And give them names. It’s going to be a lot less fun. He pursed his lips for a second, then looked straight at Craddock, One thing you got to remember. You got to control your breeding. Breed a cross-bred cow to a longhorn bull, you get a longhorn and you're back where you started."

Snakeskin paused, stood up straight with his legs slightly spread, and looked Craddock straight between the eyes, turned his eyes to look at Pete, and then back to Craddock. So, he said, you can see why you got to put up fences. You can’t have stray cattle eating up your hay and you can’t have stray bulls breeding your cows. I spent half my life raising money for this ranch, went into debt, and I’ll do whatever I got to protect it.

The horse's heads, which had begun to droop, came up again, their tails started switching, their mouths tightened, and wrinkles appeared above their eyes. The kids, who had been decorously silent, hooked both thumbs into their belts and eyed each other. Tim Sholtz stood up straight and put his hand on the buckboard near the shotgun. Old Pete remained leaning up against the boulder, but, with a motion of his hip moved his gun to where he could easily draw it. Snakeskin stayed relaxed, but his hands were at his sides and close to his guns.

Craddock dropped his cigarette, moved his boot off the boulder, and ground the cigarette out with its heel. He put both feet on the ground, stood up straight, and looked back at Snakeskin. Ye know, he said with ominous quietness, "people get down on cattlemen when they run out the homesteaders, but what your plow chasers will do is fence off the water so the cows can’t get to it. That ain’t never right." A gust of wind hurled leaves and sand and cracked a branch in the cottonwood. None of the cowboys paid any attention.

Snakeskin gave a half-nod without taking his eyes off the Salt Works men. There is nothing more dumb in all the world than that sort of thing, he said. That can lead to real difficulties, shooting difficulties. And there’s nothing worse than shooting difficulties. It ain’t…isn't good morals and it isn't good sense. Take Butch Cassidy. No smarter outlaw anywhere and he never shot anybody. Then there was this forest ranger in Brown’s Hole trying to patrol this reserve they set up to cut down on grazing and he saw a cookfire. Did he ride up and talk to them and explain? Did he say, ‘Go ahead for now, but we’re going to have to start enforcing the rules?’ No. He pulled a gun and made the cook put three buckets of water on a one-bucket campfire. And you know what happened? Not only did that forest ranger get shot later, but there was no more overgrazed place in all Brown’s Hole than that reserve. No, gunplay is the last thing I want to see happen. You can’t put weight on a cow with a gun.

I’m glad ye feel like that, said Craddock, cause Ol’ Man Quarll worries about his water. We always watered in Saddleback Creek here. And need to.

Snakeskin gestured with his left hand, palm turned up. That all, he said. Well, I own the land and the creek, said Snakeskin, but getting water to my neighbor’s cows? Nothing more important in all the world. Nothing. He picked up a stick in his left hand. Now, I own the land, but suppose I do this. Here’s Saddleback Creek. He drew a line in the dirt. Suppose I put the fence in like this. He drew an imaginary fence line that crossed the creek and crossed back. This way everybody’s cows get water. And I’ll be willing to run the fence back across the creek jis about anywhere he wants it. He put down the stick and spread his hands with the palms facing the Salt Works cowboys. That look reasonable to you?

Craddoc studied the map Snakeskin had drawn. Looks fine, he said. If ye don't mind me askin’, what land did you buy?

Snakeskin drew on the ground, Don’t mind a‘tall. I’m going to run fence along Saddleback Creek like this, cross the creek and go north here, come back east jis this side of north Cottonwood Creek, then south along the Arkansas, and back here. I didn’t buy all of that though, some of it I leased. He looked up. Well now, he said. Is that going to interfere at all?

Doesn't look it to me, said Craddock. Pete?

It don’t look it to me, either. Cuts down on the grazin’, but they’s plenty more. They ain’t nothin’ for Ol’ Man Quarll to get his back up over. Not that it takes much to rile him. ‘Specially lately.

Craddock hesitated, Yeah. Old Quarll won’t mind this but… He’s down on that devil’s rope fence. Ye sure ye got to use that?

Snakeskin spread his hands with his palms up, Why, barb wire’s the only way we can afford to fence on a big ranch. A rail fence would take forever to put up. You know how bad cowboys are at splitting rails or using an axe for anything. One drive I was on, we had to build kind of a log bridge over a river with a quicksand bottom. There were plenty of trees, but boy you shudda seen those waddies try to turn them into logs. If the cook hadn’t of been good with an axe, we’d be there yet. And your cows will rub up against a rail fence an knock it down. You know that.

Craddock sighed and said, Yeah I know that. He looked at the horizon and back towards Snakeskin. Look, ye had better go see Old Man Quarll, he said. He’ll want to hear about that Cattlemen’s confab. And Herefords. Start with that and work into fence. Treat him easy and we might keep away from difficulties.

"And, chariots of fire, don’t never mention no sheep," put in Old Pete.

Never do. I should of gone before this, said Snakeskin. Mebbe I’ll go now.

The horses had lost the wrinkles above their eyes, their heads had dropped back down, and their tails now twitched only to flies. One horse pulled against his reins to get at a bunch of clover. The men had taken their thumbs out of their belts and leaned back again.

OK, said Snakeskin, I’ll go see Mr. Quarll now. He turned to his men, You guys leave the fencing where it is, take the wire back to the barn, and start work on that reservoir we were talking about. I might be late coming back so don’t forget to knock off for supper. He turned back to the Salt Works riders. We’re going to dam that little north fork of Saddleback Creek. Any objection to that?

Nope.

All the riders mounted up and the fencing crew gathered their tools. They all fastened the thongs on their holsters so their guns didn’t fall out as they mounted. Snakeskin’s horse danced around as if eager for the exercise. Craddock thought Snakeskin had used the movement to unfasten the thong on his left-hand gun again. He noticed that Snakeskin choose to ride on the left. Craddock also saw that Snakeskin carried two rifles. He did a double take and quickly looked away. Snakeskin’s second rifle was a Whitworth. Craddock knew Whitworths. "Custom-made pistols, a long-range rifle, a Winchester rifle, and two gun hands. By the great horn spoon, he’s ready for trouble," Craddock thought.

Chapter 2 – Cherchez la Femme

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

-Jane Austen

The four riders rode abreast, when they could. At the first narrow place, Old Pete and Chuckie fell in behind. Snakeskin, outwardly calm, glanced back twice and moved to the left of the other riders as soon as he could. Craddock noticed. "Better let him and me ride behind after this," he thought.

Pete muttered to his horse, Ah sure hope the old man is in a good mood. He shook his head. His horse put its ears back to listen and tensed up a little. Pete patted him until he relaxed.

The canyon opened out onto a broad ridge. Snakeskin moved up so that he was abreast of the other riders again. Luddy Mussy this is pretty country. I like the big boulders and the moun’ens up here. And the aspen in the fall, he said.

Yeah, said Craddock. I always liked it.

I found a waterfall up Saddleback Creek, went on Snakeskin. White rocks and a round pool in the stream, you know. And flowers. Good place to take a girl, if I had one.

Umph, said Pete.

He eased his horse next to Snakeskin and said. You building a rainch house to go with that there rainch of yours?"

Yup, said Snakeskin. House, barn, bunkhouse, corrals. Got three carpenters working. Down by the river.

Long ways from most of your ranch, said Craddock.

Well, said Snakeskin, keep this dry, but the railroad is putting a stockyard in there.

Pete looked at Snakeskin with his eyebrows up, Boy howdy, he said, you're jist one gold mine of information! You know Ah’m thinkin’ we’re lucky you decided on here.

Thanks, said Snakeskin.

You’re how old? said Pete.

Thirty-four.

Pete gave Snakeskin a considering look, then took the plunge. You know, my opinion, whatcha need now is a nice little wife to go with it all,

Craddock was surprised that Pete was talking about women. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea in this situation.

Pete went on, "You know, Ah tried it both ways, and your married men might complain, but a good wife makes life a lot more comfortable and a lot less work. Ah tell you it’s worth havin’ to scrape your feet before you go into the house. You got to get the right woman, though. City girl jist wouldn’t be the best idea. Ah know a waddie that married a city girl. You know how we go and have a few drinks after we ship off the cows? Celebrate the end of the year's work? Well he got drunk with us like always and did she throw a hissy fit? He had to pry her off the ceilin’ with a crowbar. And she couldn’t stand the smell or the mud or the cowpies. Nothing pleased her. And she was jis’ bound and determined that her husband was going to move into town and be a counter-jumper for her old man."

Jesus! said Craddock.

Man oh man, said Chuckie, I ain’t never gitting married.

Well, said Pete severely, if your main interest is whores, saloons, and rustlin’ cattle from the man you work for, then maybe you shouldn’t get married.

Chuckie reddened and subsided into an angry silence.

Now it is true, says Pete, turning back to Snakeskin, "that you don't want to marry too young. But, you know you don't want to marry too late either. You get set in your ways, and you cain’t be set in your ways when you have kids. Boy howdy. But a good, warm-hearted, hard-workin’, fairly reasonal woman ain’t somethin’ you wanta miss out on."

What happen to the city girl?

Left him. Pete mused a while. Tapped his saddle horn with his fingers and decided to go on. "But now, your woman has got to have good judgment and a little sand."

Ah, um! said Craddock and banged his forehead with his palm and covered the gesture by adjusting his hat. Yeah, he agreed, There’ll be people and things to stand up to.

Yup, said Pete slowly, and looky here, you know why the Good Lord give men and women different points of view? Ah’ll tell you. Ain’t it better to look at problem from more'n one point of view?

Yup, said Snakeskin.

Man should be the boss, sure. Easier on the kids. But a man would have to be a dang fool not to listen to a wife. Unless she was a fool.

An' ye wouldn't want to marry a fool, chimed in Craddock.

Ain't a man alive, Pete went on, "that ain’t never got a crazy idea. Ah remember one time Ah was all for selling out and going to the Klondike to mine gold. And Ah knew perfectly well, from the fifty-nine Colorado rush that the only ones that does any good in a gold rush is them that’s already there before the rush. Well Aggie, God rest her soul, put her little foot down. And Ah have been eternally grateful. Because Ah’m a cowboy. Not a miner."

Never thought about it that way, said Snakeskin, but it sounds right.

Trouble, is, not a lot of good women around. Not many women, period. Pete glanced at Snakeskin. When you get to the rainch, make sure you meet his daughter, Annawest.

Snakeskin turned his head to look at Pete. She pretty?

Chariots of fire, yes, Pete replied. "Good woman, too. You’ll never meet a better rainch woman than Anna West Quarll."

"He’d have to be awful fussy if doesn’t like her looks," said Craddock to himself. Annawest always reminded Craddock of a pronghorn antelope. Anna’s chin and lips were firm, but her eyes were large and dark. Her hair and complexion were fawn-colored and she was tall, restless, and graceful. Her legs and arms were slim, but her movements suggested a hidden strength.

Chuckie had finally forgotten his pique. Too tarnal pretty if you ask me. We wore out more horses runnin’ off those sapheads she'd take up with than we ever did punchin’ cows. He straightened up and looked over his shoulder. Well, well, speak of the devil and who should appear. They all looked. There was a lone rider on a little buckskin also headed for the Salt Works ranch.

Pete chewed his moustache, You know, whyncha…ain’t no time like the present.

Borrow your binoculars a second? said Snakeskin.

Sure, said Craddock with a small grin.

Luddy Mussy! said Snakeskin after a moment. He handed the binoculars back. I wonder if you gentlemen would excuse me for a minute.

Shorely.

What did you call her? Annett?

No, said Craddock. "Anna West. Her mother’s name was Anna, so we had to give Annawest another name. It stuck." Snakeskin started down the hill at an easy lope.

The lone rider saw him coming and looked down for a moment. Craddock knew she was looking at her shotgun. It was double-barreled and 20-gauge, slightly smaller than the usual twelve-gauge. Craddock knew that one barrel was loaded with dried beans and rock salt. I have got to have a load I will not hesitate to fire, she would say, and the other barrel, needless to say, is buckshot.

Might be a good thing after all, said Craddock, her gettin’ kicked out of that eastern school.

They all knew Annawest had been expelled for a display of trick riding that had stunned and terrified her audience. It would not have been so bad if it had not been a formal horse show wherein both women and horses had all loose hair in tight buns and all fingernails and hooves were brightly varnished. Further, the women wore top hats and face veils. Annawest been informed that, though indeed it took skill to take a jump at a gallop whilst standing on the saddle, it still just wasn’t done in polite society. And putting a top hat and a face veil on a horse was, furthermore, not funny. Anna’s reply was not done in polite society, either.

Craddock watched Snakeskin pull his horse to a walk as he approached the girl, then he stopped removed his hat and bowed from the saddle. He gestured back at the Salt Works riders with his hat while the two horses blew companionably into each other’s nostrils. The girl looked up and all three Salt Works riders waved reassurance. After a moment the couple resumed their ride to the ranch house. Their horses had relaxed, oval outlines and only swished their tails at flies.

Cross your fingers, said Pete. "We might jist solve more’n one problem for Old Man Quarll."

Yeah, said Craddock.

Chuckie straightened up. His horse jerked up its head, tightened its mouth, and gave a crow-hop. "You mean it’ll give my dad somebody to leave the ranch to. That jis’ bites my hind end! As if he hadn’t rustled cattle by the herd himself. And run with outlaws. It ain’t fair. And that ain’t fair what you said, Mr. Pete. Even if there were some of his cows in that herd we rustled, it was because Ol’ Ruction had stole fhem from him. And I wouldn’t have let him sell them. Or if they did, I would have give Dad the money. He is just so tarnal quick to believe the worst of me. It ain’t fair. It ain’t. Maybe I deserved a whuppin’, but I did not deserve to lose my whole share of the ranch!"

Lord, cool off, said Craddock. I meant ye won’t have to keep runnin’ off them four-flushers and hard-cases ye was cryin’ about.

An too, said Pete, it ain’t jist you. Lately he’s been a lot rougher on all of us. Used to be a lot easier to get along with. Ah dunno. He chewed his moustache. Worries me.

Chuckie calmed down. His forehead wrinkled. You think...

Ah dunno, Ah jist don’t.

The three riders were closer to the girl now and a high and carrying voice reached them, "You mean you’re him?"

Pete looked that way and grinned, Least he’s enough of a desperado to suit her. Ah never knowed a respectable woman pick out men the way she did. You’d think she’d learn after the first fifteen or twenty. Well, Snakeskin’ll run them off all right. You think even Laughin’ Sam Cary would go up against him?

Not if he was smart, said Craddock.

What Ah’ve heared, said Pete, he’s am-bye-dex-tie-russ. That means you can use one hand jist as easy as the other. So he shoots quick with one and careful with the other. He’s supposed to be as fast as Luke Short and as good with Kentucky windage as Wild Bill Hickok. Ah got that from Waco L’Amour. Yeah, Waco said he wouldn’t go up against him. ‘Bout only time Ah ever heared Waco say that."

What’s Kentucky windage? said Chuckie.

When your bullet leaves the gun, it starts to drop, so you got to aim high at long range. But it’s real hard to figure how much. Not a lot of men can do it. Need a good gun, too. You remember those custom-made pistols.

Seems a nice, peaceful fella, said Chuckie.

Might be a curry-combed wolf, though, said Craddock. Looks good on the outside, but mean as a snake on the inside.

Pete chewed his moustache. From what Ah heared, that's going a little far, he said. Probably not a good idea to push him too hard, though.

I wonder how he’s doin’? said Chuckie. Loan me the binoculars, Roy and let me get behind you. She’d bite my head off if she caught me lookin'. He watched a minute. Oh-oh, I know that look. He lowered the binoculars, ducked his head, raised his hand to his throat, pulled his shirt open slightly, fluttered his eyelashes, and curled his lips into a smile.

The men grinned. OK, said Craddock, probably be better if she took him in to Old Man Quarll instead of us. Let’s check the east windmill before we go in.

Chapter 3 – Old Man Quarll

For we like sheep!

Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

('Coyote Chorus’ from Handel’s Messiah)

It was late afternoon when the three cowboys rode into the stables. They groomed their horses thoroughly, leaning heavily on the brushes to remove loose hairs and dead skin. They didn’t use the usual currycombs because Quarll believed in treating horses as gently as possible. They used hoof picks to scrape the mud and straw out of their horse's hooves and then examined the hooves for stones and loose nails. Only then did they saunter up to the ranch house.

The central part of the house stood two stories tall and was made of hand-planed white clapboards. A porch with white pillars ran the length of the center house. The porch had a gable end portico over the central door. A matching cross gable was set into the main roof over the portico. Dark green gingerbread decoration lined all the eaves. Connected to the side of the main house was the original cabin. It was made of unpainted hand-hewn logs fitted with dovetail notches at the ends. The logs were dark brown with age and seamed with cracks. The clay calking had fallen out in several places. An open dogtrot connected the other side of the central house to a white clapboard cookhouse.

The three Salt Works cowboys went in through the back door of the central house. They walked across the main house to the door of the old cabin. The floor between the cabin and the back door was the only part of the central house that showed any wear at all.

Inside the cabin, the air smelled of gun oil. Quarll’s desk was an old faro table with small drawers. The cards had been worn off, mostly. There was enough gold paint left so that it was just possible to make out ‘Buck the Tiger’ across the customer’s side of the table. Only the tail was left of the tiger itself. The desk was covered with guns and gun cleaning equipment. A pipe rack with six pipes with their stems bitten through had been pushed to the front of the desk. The bowl of one pipe was carved like the head of a longhorn steer; one of the horns was missing.

Next to Quarll’s desk was big round table made of warped pine. Piled on this table were ancient bills and letters, leather folders full of papers, mason jars full of horseshoe nails and buckles, seven spurs (three broken four not), two boxes of shells that did not fit any gun in the house, a cigar box holding six broken arrowheads, two rattlesnake rattles and three mousetraps, and an open brown leather account book with lines labeled steers, cows, heifers, calves, and doggies followed by dozens of tally-marks in pencil. Behind the table, a pair of elk horns were nailed to wall. Three quirts, two suits of unmentionables, and a high-crowned hat hung from these horns.

Annawest was leaning against the pine table. She had taken off her hat and released a flood of blond hair. She had appropriated the wastebasket, a wooden barrel with no top, which was filled with oily rags and newspapers. She had also excavated six stained coffee cups and stacked them at her elbow.

Quarll was of middle height, but looked shorter because his body was so broad. His hands were big and seamed with scars and rope burns. He had a rattrap mouth under a thick, gray moustache, and hard black eyes that could turn mean in an instant. His skull was broader at the back and flattened behind giving his head a triangular appearance. Some called him ‘Old Horny Toad’, but never to his face. One waddie had said of him, He looks like he means it. He still did, though age had added fat to his belly, several chins to his throat, and left him bald except for a horseshoe fringe of white hair over his ears and around the back of his head.

As they came in, Quarll was saying, "John Chisum said that?"

Yup, said Snakeskin, "And there was real general agreement."

Unh, growled Quarll, times always do change. Sure ain’t like it was when I come out here. He sighed and scratched gave a sideways nod. An’ you got to change with them. Like it or not.

Craddock was amazed; he had never heard the old man come within a million miles of admitting he was wrong before. The Salt Works waddies shuffled their feet and removed their hats in honor of Annawest.

Snakeskin glanced at them and turned to Quarll. Say, you mind if I look around your ranch? I imagine you got plenty of ideas that’d help a young man starting out.

Sure, Quarll nodded, his thoughts elsewhere.

Snakeskin leaned forward and clasped his hands in a parody of eagerness. Can I choose my own guide?

The corner of Quarll’s mouth twitched, Yeah, you two go ahead. Snakeskin and Annawest left. Annawest carried the cups. Snakeskin, at her direction, carried the wastebasket.

The Salt Works cowboys moved forward to tell Quarll about their formidable new neighbor. When they finished, Quarll frowned and said, So it’s him using that devils rope, eh? Chuckie, go get him and bring him back in right now.

As soon as Snakeskin came back in, followed by Annawest, Quarll straightened up in his chair, crossed his arms, and started in. How come you use that devil’s rope for your fences? Why not just rails?

Well, bob wire’s a lot quicker and then too cows will rub themselves against a rail fence and knock it down. And like I said, if you got good stock, you got to control their breeding or you’ll lose your investment, returned Snakeskin.

Why you’ll lose your investment anyway if they stampede into the bob wire and get tore up.

Your cows may be dumb, said Snakeskin, but they aren’t that dumb. Otherwise you couldn’t raise them in cactus country. They bump into that bob-wire fence once, they won’t do it again. You’ll have trouble driving them between two posts with no wire on them, even.

You get a grizzly come around they’d run into the fence alright. Quarll was still looking straight at Snakeskin.

Oh Daddy, said Annawest, any more, you don't have grizzly in the moun’ens, much less down here. That’s just specious. That means it doesn't hold water.

Quarll turned his head and frowned at this daughter. Wah Annawest, he said, that’s the third time you’ve took his side. A girl would have to have a jo-fired silly head to have it turned by a pair of fancy holsters. He turned to Snakeskin. How much did you give for them anyway?

Nothing at all. I made them myself after chores. Never cared for checkers. My dad showed me leatherwork when I was a kid and one day a guy brought in this big ol’ diamondback he jis shot. Well I hate to see anything killed for nothin’, even a rattlesnake. So I tanned it up and made hatbands for everybody for Christmas. That’s where I got the ‘Snakeskin’. And I made my Auntie a vest, too. She really liked it. He smiled at Annawest. Be glad to make one for you, he said. She smiled, put her hands on the table behind her and leaned back. Quarll looked at Snakeskin’s frayed clothing and frowned.

Pete quickly spoke up, Speaking of clothes, Snakeskin, yuh ought to wear at least four mebbe five lines of stitchin’ on your boots. Ah mean you’re going to fence a good fifty thousand acres of land.

Well, said Snakeskin, scratching his head, I never was much for putting on the style.

Now looky here, said Pete, a man that owns that much rainch and dresses like a pore puncher is kind of like puttin’ on the style too!

Yeah, said Chuckie, It looks like you’re proud of your humility. I learned about that in school. Ben Franklin. Instead of ignoring him as usual, the Salt Works cowboys gave him sagacious nods, which he found immensely gratifying.

And, said Craddock, it makes it easier on the other fella if ye dress like what ye are. When we first saw ye, we thought that mebbe ye was an outlaw that stole the guns and holsters.

Well, said Snakeskin. I ain’t given up my jeans."

Well now looky here, said Pete, you could get them sewed so they fit more or less. You got them turned up a good four inches at the bottom.

Annawest smiled at Snakeskin. I’d be happy to do it, she said. "They’ll stay sewed, too. Stainchable seams are my métier. That’s your long suit, a métier.

"Lord, what a smile, thought Craddock. Ever since she was in diapers."

Snakeskin smiled and gave his open-palms gesture. Well, nothing more important in all the world than getting along with your neighbors. I suppose I could put on the dog a little, he said.

Quarll had been sitting stroking his chin with his thumb and looking out the window. Now he dropped his arms to the desk, We better try it. I ain’t spendin’ my last dollar on it, but we better try it. Kin you get me some of them Herefords? And bob wire?

Sure enough. I’ll loan you the bob wire.

OK thanks, said Quarll. "Listen Mr. McMurtry, its gettin’ late. Whyncha stay for dinner. We