Emerson Goes Cowboy: An Emerson Adventure, #1

By Arthur Flavell

Emerson Francis Whitman, whose parents were great admirers of philosophy–and philosophers–has the distinction of being the technical representative of Primary Pulse Energy Systems of Research Triangle Park, North Carolina. As a tech rep, Emerson, accompanied by his spouse and sidekick of many years, travels to trade shows to assist distributors of the company's product line to learn the equipment and to sell more of the same.

Unfortunately he also displays a propensity for becoming entangled in sticky situations through absolutely no fault of his own.

Dispatched to an outdoor equipment show in the ranch country of Cheyenne, Wyoming, Emerson inadvertently embarrasses an egotistical ranch hand of questionable skills and even more questionable character. He awakes from the encounter to find himself stretched out on the venerable mahogany bar of the vaunted Long Drink Saloon & Dining Emporium.

Things proceed rapidly downhill. He will need a concerted application of both intelligence and troubleshooting skills to survive this ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arthur Flavell
• Release date: Oct 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9780996158435

Book preview

●  Chapter 1  ●

T ake the next one – Hynds Boulevard Exit.

Emerson peered ahead through slightly myopic blue eyes to the ramp diverging to the right and activated the turn signal on the motor home.

Yes, dear, came the long-ingrained correct response.

We need to go north on Hynds Boulevard four blocks and turn right on 8th Avenue. She compared the highway atlas to the dash-mounted GPS and nodded with satisfaction.

The Cheyenne Frontier Days complex should be right there on the left after we turn and the campground is just past that.

Another voyage successfully navigated. He smiled at his companion of twenty nine years. You rarely miss.

A self-satisfied sniff sounded from the passenger seat.

That is because I am female and not afraid to ask for directions when the circumstances require it.

And what circumstances might those be, my dear? A tiny twinkle shone in his eye.

When you are lost, which is a good deal of the time. If it were not for me, heaven knows where you would end up.

He grinned. Probably not heaven. What would be the fun in that?

Pay attention to your driving, you old goat! If we miss that exit it’s two miles to the next one to turn around.

PJ Whitman looked closely at the buildings they passed as if registering strange new objects in her world.

I was beginning to think the only thing in this part of the world was grass.

Well, it is the high plains my dear, and we are in the heart of cattle country. Fortunately, ranching here requires a considerable amount of power machinery. That equipment has batteries that need occasional  maintenance; else we would not be enjoying this little jaunt to the Wild West.

Emerson Francis Whitman, whose parents were great admirers of philosophy – and philosophers – had the distinction of being the technical representative of Primary Pulse Energy Systems of Research Triangle Park, North Carolina. As a tech rep, Emerson traveled to a variety of trade shows to assist distributors and dealers of the company's product line to learn the equipment and to sell more of the same. The work itself was pleasant and relatively undemanding. It allowed him to travel across the country in a leisurely fashion, accompanied by his spouse and partner of many years, PJ – aka Priscilla Jeanette.

On this particularly spectacular weekend in early June, the Wyoming Livestock Association was hosting the High Plains Outdoor Equipment Show. Primary Pulse was introducing its new line of high-tech battery reconditioning systems and the Whitmans were there in good time to take care of business as usual.

Emerson gestured to an intriguing enterprise on the right.

We can check into the campground, let Dave know we have arrived and then come back here for some dinner.

PJ eyed the establishment critically as they rolled past it. The grandiose name of The Long Drink Saloon and Dining Emporium was at some odds with its dubious appearance. Little did they know it would be neither the rustic exterior nor the elaborate name, but a simple mechanical bull riding machine that would roll the first pebble of the impending landslide.

●  Chapter 2  ●

Emerson closed the door of the motor home and followed PJ around the side of the Emporium toward the front door. Her solid five feet of femininity was ensconced in brown Cobbie Cuddlers, sky blue Capri pants and a comfortable, loose top decorated with what their niece called granny flowers.

His even more solid bulk ranged several inches shy of the six foot mark and was clothed in what PJ called his daily slob look when he was not working. His completely practical and semi-elegant wardrobe boasted rough-out Hush Puppy desert boots, chinos and a Duluth Trading Company tee shirt guaranteed to cure plumber’s butt. It was not only practical, it was considerate.

PJ cringed as she passed through the front door of the Emporium.

Are you sure you want to eat here? It's awfully noisy.

If this many people are here, it must be a good place to eat.

Emerson inhaled a plethora of smells emanating from the room. Barbecue, beer, smoke, kerosene lamps, perfume, steaks and hot grease all clamored for attention. I imagine a lot of folks have come to town for the show this weekend and they just want to let off a little steam.

Well, it sure sounds like the bunch of them are bursting at the seams from too much pressure.

She peered into the gloom of the dining area. There's a table for two over there in the corner.

They worked their way across the room to the corner formed by the back wall and the bar. Emerson scanned the room with a smile of delight on his face. Let's just soak in the local color.

His voice was almost a shout to be heard over the din. A loud whoop erupted from the far side of the dance floor.

What in the world is that?

PJ turned in her seat, trying to penetrate the throng of bodies in the adjoining area with X-ray vision.

I sincerely hope it's not a fight!

Emerson shook his head. Don't think so. They all sound too happy for that.

At that moment a vast collective groan issued from the crowd.

The noise level dropped immediately and a single voice rang out of the relative quiet. Aw, shit, Billy! Now you done gone and busted it.

Another groan followed the hoots of derision aimed at the unfortunate Billy.

PJ looked at Emerson in confusion. What's busted?

Emerson turned from watching an attractive, gum-chewing waitress approach the table. Don't know.

Hi, folks, I'm Sharon. What'll ya' have?

The slender blonde stood hipshot, pencil in one hand and order pad in the other.

Emerson smiled. What's good?

The special is chicken fried steak with mixed veggies, mashed potatoes, rolls and a side salad.

She waited as PJ thumbed the menu.

Everybody says it's real good.

Emerson nodded. I'll have the special.

PJ turned a page in the menu and looked up. What's busted?

The waitress looked a bit startled, as if it should be obvious to anyone.

The bull.

The bull? What bull? PJ looked more confused than ever. Do you butcher your own meat here?

The waitress threw back her head and brayed with pure enjoyment.

No. She stopped speaking to get her breathing under control. The mechanical bull those would-be cowboys ride trying to impress the girls. Billy Ray Jackson forgot to take off his spurs and shorted something out in the dang thing. She snorted again. Now it won't buck a lick.

Emerson cast a sympathetic look. I can see where that might put a damper on the evening's festivities.

Oh, yeah! If they don't have that thing, they'll find some other way to make jackasses of themselves. And they won't find anybody to work on it, especially this weekend. She shivered slightly as if encountering a cold draft. This could turn into a pretty rowdy session tonight.

Well, my business is electrical equipment. Emerson sent an apprehensive look toward PJ. Perhaps I could take a look at it?

PJ quirked an eyebrow and engaged her best Mom voice. You would do well to keep your beak out of other peoples' business, Emerson. It tends to drastically reduce the amount of incidental damages.

What harm could it do? Emerson squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Sharon seems to think it may even reduce the possibility of trouble if the machine could be repaired and made available for the balance of the evening.

Sharon nodded vigorously in agreement. That is sure enough true, my friend. Let me ask the owner, Warren. That's him tending bar over there. She pointed to the far end of the mahogany edifice.

Emerson did a double-take as he looked at the burly bartender. He idly wondered if Slim Pickens had adopted a second career to supplement the movie income.

Sharon smiled down at PJ And let me get your order Sugar. Then I can turn them both in on the way.

PJ sighed. I'll have the special too, and shook her head ruefully.

Emerson edged off his chair against the wall. I'll just scoot out to the motor home and grab my tool box. There can't be too much wrong with it.

Frost flowed from PJ's side of the table.

It'll just take a few minutes. I'll probably have it done before our dinner is here, and headed for the door.

A cheer went up as Emerson approached the mechanical monstrosity with his tool box.

Do you really think you can fix it?

Emerson looked up into the eyes of a cute brunette in a cowgirl skirt and pointed-toe boots as he knelt beside the immobile hulk.

Emerson touched the brim of his imaginary ten-gallon hat and effected his best John Wayne drawl. Well, little lady, a touch of country doctorin' should see the beast frolickin’ in no time. He smiled his warm, aw-shucks, frontier doctor smile at her.

The brunette’s eyes widened in appreciation. Ooooh!

Emerson reached under the contrivance and loosened the spur-gashed cowhide covering the flank of the bull. The hide rolled up out of the way revealing a rectangular access plate sporting a deep dent.

Total silence fell in the bar as Emerson reached into his tool box and extracted an LED head light on an elastic band and an electric screw driver. He carefully placed the light on his forehead, adjusted it and switched the brilliant light