Cowboy and the Lady

By Patrick M. Browning

Hi, I'm Pat Browning. I'm proud you chose to ride along with me a little way. My whole life has been spent cowboying, except for two brief moments when I thought I'd try something else awhile. Both attempts were fairly successful but completely unfulfilling. Once you've made your living horseback, everything else seems a little dull. As this goe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westwood Books Publishing
• Release date: Jan 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685362867

Patrick M. Browning

Patrick M Browning has spent his life Cowboying all over the west and deep into Old Mexico, managing some of the largest cattle and horse ranches in both countries. These many years in the saddle have given him the advantage of a perspective and knowledge of his subject matter, few writers of our generation have the benefit of drawing from. His works on Contemporary Cowboy life have a true to life feeling and flavor that only comes with actual experience. PMB, 'Lives the life he writes, and Writes the life he lives!"

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Copyright © 2022 by Patrick M. Browning.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Westwood Books Publishing LLC

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www.westwoodbookspublishing.com

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Author and the Book

Introduction

Problems developed in the jet Madeline Steel had pressed into service for this unusually spontaneous and extremely important business excursion. These mechanical problems were no doubt the result of her rushing the prescribed scheduled maintenance and routine repair work on the plane. It had been undergoing these when this unusual and potentially obscenely lucrative opportunity presented itself and the trip had become mandated.

She insisted on going ahead against all objections made by the staff at her private hangar not to pull this plane out of the shop until repairs were complete and all safety checks were made. They also suggested she could simply bring in another of her planes from some other location, but she was obsessed with the urgency of her mission. Mad insisted that too many people already knew she was making an unscheduled trip. Someone leaking information had just gotten her beaten to the punch on the last deal she had put together, and it was not going to happen again.

This ill-fated flight was made in spite of all advice against it and was racked with trouble form the very takeoff. The first warnings came when the oil pressure indicator gauges began to fluctuate radically, and soon complete engine failure seemed inevitable.

Good judgment and common sense forced a landing at a small private strip close to the foothills on the eastern slope of the Great Rocky Mountains. This seems to have been the only time either good judgment or common sense was brought into play on this particular journey. This remote little strip was not often used by anyone but the strip’s owner and never by a plane the size of hers. The strip was really too short to accommodate a landing by a plane this large, but there were no other options at this juncture. The landing had to be attempted and with no little trepidation, was made successfully. The impromptu landing at this tiny airstrip had, for the time, brought them back to ground safely, but lacking the proper equipment necessary to repair the jet on-site, again options were limited.

With Mad’s extreme anxiousness to get on with her mission as quickly as possible and her aggravation with the problems and delays at hand, things there were starting to get really high-pressure quickly. Everyone in the group was waiting for and expecting her to do something superhuman, as she had always seemed to be able to do before in situations like these. Maybe she would just will the jet back in operating order. She had, after all, overcome what seemed to be insurmountable obstacles and shaken the world of high finance, clawing her way to the very top of the formerly men only club of world trade and international commerce. Surely nothing like a little engine failure could stop Wall Street’s Wonder Woman, but Mad simply had no miracles for defective jet-plane engines, and it weighed heavily on her that she did not!

There were great billowing clouds building over the mountains. They as yet appeared far away, but still they were there, lying ominously on the horizon. They were an advanced warning to all that would listen and a death threat to those who would not.

The guy with the little strip where they made their emergency landing had a small prop-driven plane they could all squeeze into and said that for a price, he could take them to a larger airfield, where they could possibly meet another jet. Mad was already livid from all the delays and by now was not open to suggestions, even those with obvious merit.

She was always madder at herself than she ever was at anyone or anything else when a mistake was made or things simply just did not go as planned. She always accepted personally the full responsibility for any action taken by herself or any of her people. She was the head of her empire, and that’s where it all begins and ends! When things did go wrong, she operated on the premise that if you blame yourself 100 percent of the time something goes wrong, you will only be incorrect about 2 percent of the time. In her world, she was the alpha and omega, and she would not have it any other way.

She had worked hard to become the decision-maker, and now she had to make one more. She could have just radioed ahead and had another plane meet them at another strip large enough to safely land a jet. To Mad, that was not a viable option. She wanted as few people to know of her plans as possible and was concerned about the number that already knew.

She was so close now to pulling this big play off and wanted to just push on. Mad lived for the big play, and this more than qualified. It was, in fact, the largest deal she had ever even attempted, and she had been a major leaguer and master of the big play for some time. She had always been able to find a way to overcome any obstacle and persevere, regardless of the hand she was dealt. She was relentless, and although she was human and was capable of making mistakes, the key to her success was she endeavored to never compound a poor decision by making more of them, and it had more often than not worked out in her favor—so far, that is! She figured this was just one more difficult situation fate had given her to challenge her right to be and, more importantly, to stay at the top. Like always before, she would handle this in her own way and get back in the air and now.

Very seldom had Mad’s instinct in these matters failed her. This one apparent lapse in judgment might just to prove to be her last. She eventually told the little man with the plane to fuel up, that she had decided where he could take them. Everyone in her party was relieved, thinking they were about to be taken to some sanctuary with at least the simplest of amenities of comfort and simply await the arrival of another jet. Her pilot suggested he stay with the jet until they were able to get someone out there to repair it. Besides, he argued, there was hardly enough room for the three of them and the pilot in the little prop plane anyway.

No! was her reply You will go with us. I want no one behind to tell tales. You can sit in behind the seats in the cargo area. You will be fine.

After refueling and so as to be able to file his mandatory flight plan, the little fellow asked Mad where he was going to take them. Mad only told him they were going south toward Denver to the first strip large enough to land a jet safely.

He had responded, Hell, it isn’t that far, I had plenty of fuel already. I didn’t need to top her off for a little trip like this.

Mad responded, You just never know what might come up. It is best to be prepared!

The hearts sank in all those accompanying Mad. They each knew she was about to commandeer this tiny toy of an airplane and then force this silly little man to fly them over the Rocky Mountains through that awful-looking storm. She looked back into the scared faces of her staff as they boarded the tiny propeller-driven plane, reading in their faces the one common question.

I will tell him soon enough, she stated and stepped in.

With Mad absolutely determined to push on, the group was soon aloft and heading south. Once in the air, Mad calmly explained to the pilot that they were to head west over the Rockies toward Salt Lake. The pilot said he would not even consider it and started to turn the plane back toward the strip he called home. Mad, again very calmly, stated that she could have Nick, her bodyguard, throw him out of the plane and have her pilot fly it but that she hated violence and would much prefer he remain inside and fly his own plane. He too thought remaining inside sounded like the better of the two options he was given. As he veered the plane west toward the great mountains, he took another look back at Nick to reassure himself that it would be absolutely futile to resist, as that behemoth could indeed actually fling a little fellow like him out of this plane and do it near effortlessly.

Paranoid as she was, after the pilot had radioed in his original flight plan of heading south to the larger strip, Mad had insisted on complete radio silence so as not to allow anyone to learn of her actual intended destination.

As yet unknown to any of them, they were flying into the worst storm in recent history. The foreboding cloud bank had built steadily into a black torrent monster. The pilot had seen many times before what these storms could do and do quickly, and he again wisely recommended turning back. Mad would have none of it and glanced back over her shoulder at Nick to add an exclamation point to her conviction on the matter. It was well understood by the poor little man that she was very serious, and he pressed on toward whatever fate destiny held for him. He reasoned that inside the plane, he at least had some chance to get through this nightmare.

Mad thought to herself that if he kept on whining, she may still have Nick throw him out of the plane. It would give the rest of them more room in the cramped little cockpit. She was displeased with herself for considering this option seriously, but she had made many hard decisions before. Never before had she even considered throwing a man from a moving airplane, but it was enough for him to know that she would do whatever she felt she had to do. There wasn’t any storm or nervous little man going to keep her from getting to Salt Lake and beating Garth to the church’s vast wealth of mineral deposits rights. He had beaten her too many times before, but this time the win would be hers. That was all that mattered.

The little pilot’s insistent and extremely adamant warnings stopped instantly when the first bolt of lightning hit the plane, instantly killing all electrical power inside the cockpit. Simultaneously the wind picked up more and then still more, tossing the little plane mercilessly. The pilot handled himself like the pro he was, but he and his aircraft were well overmatched. An early spring snowstorm anywhere can become frighteningly powerful. One on top of the great Rocky Mountains can be treacherous, even deadly, and this one was worse than most. The plane was tossed like a toy and was being blown off course more and more, and soon the frightened pilot had lost all idea even of which direction. Soon it made no difference where it was being blown, as it was becoming obvious they were soon going down. All was silent, and everyone braced for the worst, and it came.

The end wasn’t at all like Mad had thought it would be. After the terrifying free fall and the first tremendous jerk, then the ensuing and near-deafening explosion, all was quiet. Slowly awakening, she was becoming aware of the smell of things burning and the sounds of fire crackling. She could not see anything. She had been severely injured in the wreck. That was quite apparent. She could not see, and there was an incessant throbbing and excruciating pain in her head and many other parts of her body as well, but her head hurt the worst of all. With the fire roaring now and the strange and sickening smells of many different and unknown things burning, for a moment Mad thought of hell. This must be it!

She felt a cold wind and rain, or it might have been snow on her back and shoulders. She was freezing cold! No, this was not hell, not yet anyway. She was still alive, maybe just barely, but alive. Then Mad blacked out again. When she came to this time, she thought she heard the flames getting even louder and thought she should try to crawl away. Because of her blindness and the fact that the sound of the fire seemed to be coming from all sides at once, she was afraid she might crawl toward the fire instead of away from it and into an even more hazardous situation. Madeleine heard more sounds. She was sure something was moving around, but still she could not see anything.

The pain was even worse now, and panic began to set in. Panic was an emotion Mad had never allowed herself to slide into regardless of the situation. Her ability to stay cool and keep her head even when everyone around her was falling to pieces had placed her on top many times before. Panic was the very thing that separated successes from failures and the weak from the strong in her world. Now it was forcing its way into her very core. Being weakened by the desperation and helplessness that was now consuming her, she was, for the first time, vulnerable to its power, and at this moment, she, Madeline Steel, was just a human being, helpless and weak and scared just like any other human would be in this situation, and she hated the feeling!

She slipped in and out of semi-consciousness. Then she again sensed a slight sensation of something moving near her. She imagined she felt a pull and with it, more extreme and near unendurable pain, then a floating feeling. This must be the end, the final mercy that will end all this anguish, but did she hear talking. A voice maybe? Then there was blackness again and absolute silence.

Chapter 1

His Christian name was Dustin Thomas, named for his great-grandfather, who was a legendary gunfighter and Western frontiersman who had helped settle the very territory where his namesake was now ranching these hundred years later. From early childhood, everyone had called the boy Cowboy! It just seemed natural and fit him so well, it stuck, so much so that if everyone that knew him were asked, there would not be a handful of people who could even tell you what his given name was, and most would take an oath that his own dear mother had bestowed this epithet on the child at his birth. Cowboy was even the way he signed his name. Nobody ever even questioned that this sobriquet was not actually his real name. Cowboy it is.

He had often joked about it being a good thing he hadn’t become a doctor, a banker, or a radiator repairman. His name just would not have fit, but fit it did!

Cowboy was not just his name—it’s what he was. He was highly thought of by everyone that knew him and considered a top hand anywhere he went. He worked hard to maintain this respect, in fact, just as hard as he had to work to earn it in the first place. It all paid off the many times cash was short, and he needed to hire himself out to help make ends meet. He always knew he could simply contact any of the neighboring ranches, and they would have work readily available for him as long as he would stay. He never took this for granted and lent a hand every time he was asked to help; regardless of the task, he took pride in how he did it. Pride in his work is one of the most powerful driving forces behind any good cattleman, and Cowboy was a good cattleman above all else.

He certainly had a right to be proud of a lot in his life. He had worked hard and sacrificed much to get to where he was. He and May, his wife, had owned their own place for years now. Not a real big place, but a good one. A sure enough horseback cow ranch. No motor scooters or helicopters or even hydraulic squeeze chutes or calf branding tables on his outfit! They still roped and dragged calves to the fire behind good ranch horses.

The one near-modern piece of equipment Cowboy used was a propane branding pot to heat his branding irons in, instead of an open wood fire on the ground like they did a hundred years ago. It can take several hours to ear-tag, castrate, implant, vaccinate, and brand a big bunch of calves. The propane pot provided a constant even heat for the extended period of time these big brandings required. This consistent temperature was a great asset in the application of uniform-appearing brands. Cowboy was wont to say, She’s going to carry that mark with her the rest of her life! She and that brand may be all someone ever sees of this place, and I want it right.

This propane potfire was also less affected by the wind and rain, and Cowboy’s ranch was located in the high country of New Mexico. It would rain often, but the wind blew always, making the branding firepot indispensable.

Once an old-timer was kidding Cowboy about this modern piece of equipment being used on this old-timey cow spread, Cowboy had simply replied, Hell, Zack, this little propane tank ain’t exactly space-age technology. Anyway, there’s no reason to live plumb in the Dark Ages.

By god, it’s little things like this newfangled branding pot of yours that’s spoiling cowhands nowadays. There ain’t none of you youngsters half the hands we was forty years ago. Soft! That’s the problem. You’re all soft. You want everything easier, faster, newer, and prettier, Zack taunted.

Old Zack McWiggins had been a cattleman his entire life. He had done well enough on the ranch his father left him. Still he was a guest in Cowboy’s camp and was being just a little too ornery, taking advantage of his advanced years and Cowboy’s natural good nature. Cowboy, feeling just a little froggy himself, answered the old gentleman’s mock admonitions with, "Zack, you’re right. Us youngsters are ruining the cow business with all these modern luxuries. I’ll tell you what. Let’s jump in your brand-new Ford Power Stroke 4×4 pickup and drive over to your new Featherlite aluminum horse trailer. We’ll get your new electric chain saw and your portable generator out of the front living quarters. Then we’ll go cut some wood for a sure enough branding fire. Just like you real cowboys use to do it!"

Kiss my tired old butt, you young smart-ass, Zack said all in good fun and smiled a childlike smile at Cowboy.

"I’ll tell what I will do. I will go pull my brand-new truck over to the pens so’s we can listen to the CD while we brand," the old cowman said mischievously.

Cowboy watched as the silly old fart skipped and hopped along going to get his truck like only a crazy old man or any boy of any age could do! This was a great life, and Cowboy loved living it, so did ol’ Zack!

Yep, it’s been a hell of a ride so far, Cowboy thought to himself. Life had treated him fairly, fairly as it had anybody. Life is, after all, sometimes wonderful and sometimes not quite so wonderful. It really didn’t much matter either way. Cowboy handled it all, good times and bad, the only way he knew how, like Jerry Jeff says in his song, You just keep on keeping on.

Cowboy knew God had a big plan for everyone and everything, like in a great big stage play. He just wasn’t sure what part he was playing in it. He figured that wasn’t his to know. He’d just keep on doing the best that he could at everything he did and hope that it would be good enough. It had always been so far, and he saw no reason things should change now.

He was still doing that now on his summer job, in the high mountains of central Colorado. This place was a cowhand’s dream. The ranch Cowboy was riding for, the Bar J Bar, held a government lease way up on top of the Rocky Mountains. The lease had been renewed for another year, and Cowboy was sure tickled it had been. This outfit had held the lease for several years, and Cowboy had ridden it for Butch Granger, foreman of the Bar J Bar, the last two of those summers, and he was sure looking forward to another season.

The Bar J Bar headquarters sat in a valley nestled between two huge mountains. It was one of the last really large mountain ranches left. The ranch had a lot of lease land up on top with some hay fields and a feedlot down in the valley below near the headquarters. The Bar J Bar ranch was actually two large ranches and three more little places that had all been separately owned originally. On down lower in the canyon past where the main ranch, as the headquarters place is called, is the old Diamond R place. At one time, this place was owned by a judge, who had put the ranch together to give his problem son something to do, and Cowboy had worked for them years ago. It turned out the son was indeed a problem, so after giving the place a fair chance, Cowboy headed for greener pastures and let the old man put up with Sonny-boy!

The Diamond R was a pretty nice-size ranch by its self, and the place had been taken good care of and had some real nice improvements on it—lots of beautiful trees around all the buildings and homes, and the whole place was landscaped up real pretty yet still practical but sure enough, extra nice. The judge eventually realized his kid was still a problem, on or off the ranch, and decided to sell the place to the Bar J Bar people. Cowboy had really liked the ranch and was glad when the Bar J Bar got a hold of it.

A syndicate of businessmen from Denver got together and hired themselves a sure-enough top cattleman by the name of Louie Beard. They were able to