The Jeweled Spur (12 page)

****

Susan Taylor left her house and soon reached the center of town. Crossing the busy main street, she headed for the short building with the newly painted sign. The
Sentinel
was one of the better small-town newspapers of the territory, and as she entered the door, she always felt a small thrill of pride knowing that she was a part of it.

“About time you got up and came to work.” Mason Taylor, her father, was a heavyset man with a batch of thick black hair and sharp black eyes to match. “Susan, I’ve warned you before about this. This paper can’t get itself out.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Susan said. She came over and turned
her large eyes on him, adding, “I’m real sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

Mason Taylor knew people very well and was not fooled for one minute by Susan’s big eyes, or by her apologetic attitude. “What time did you get in last night?” he demanded. Then without waiting for an answer said, “Never mind, I know what time it was. No time for a young girl to be coming in. From now on you get yourself in earlier, you hear me?”

“Oh, I’ll be more careful, Daddy,” Susan promised. Then quickly changing the subject she said, “Let me get busy now, and I’ll work hard and catch up.”

Before he could say another word, she went to work. For the next hour she bustled about the
Sentinel
office. Finally, she sat down at her desk and was going through some papers when she heard a familiar step and looked up.

“Well, how’s my best girl today?” Harve Tippitt, a tall, well-built man of about twenty-five, stepped in and came to stand before her. He pulled his hat off, his blond hair falling over his forehead. He had searching blue eyes that were bold and prominent. He smiled broadly, aware that he made a handsome picture. “I didn’t keep you out too late last night, did I?”

Susan shushed him, glancing over, for her father was sitting at his desk peering at them over his glasses. “Daddy says I have to be in earlier,” she said loud enough for him to hear, “and I think he’s right.”

Harve Tippitt turned his head so that Taylor couldn’t see, and gave her a wink. “Well that’s right, a young woman can’t be too careful about her reputation.” As he stood there talking, Susan thought of all the young women in the county who would give anything to be the center of Harve Tippitt’s attention. He was the son of George Tippitt, owner of one of the largest ranches in the county, and about half the town. As she flirted with him, she thought,
Big, handsome, rich, and lots of fun. What more could a girl want out of a man?
But aloud she said, “I can’t go out with you tonight, Harve. I need to stay home more.”

Harve Tippitt leaned over on the desk, smiled and shook his head. “You can stay home when you’re an old lady,” he whispered. “There’s a dance over at Fairview tomorrow. Be ready at six o’clock.” He straightened up and said, “Mr. Taylor, I’m going to borrow your best worker for a dance tomorrow. If it’s all right with you, that is.”

Taylor well knew that Harve Tippitt’s father, George, was one of his best customers, and the most influential man in the county. He said, as amiably as he could, “Have her in early, Harve. She needs to get more sleep.”

“I’ll have her in early enough to suit everybody,” Tippitt assured him. Then he turned and left.

As soon as he was out of the door, Taylor rose and came over to stand beside Susan’s desk. “You’re flying pretty high, Susan. Which one of those two men you gonna have, him or Cody?”

Susan looked up. She made a pretty sight, her eyes glinting. She had beautiful blue eyes that went well with her blond hair, giving her a dramatic look. When she smiled her lips were soft and curved upward humorously. “I won’t even tell
them
that, Daddy. You don’t expect a girl to tell everything she knows, do you?”

Taylor shook his head and went away muttering, “You’d better pick one or the other of them or there’s gonna be a whale of a fight someday.”

His warning had little effect on Susan, and all afternoon as she worked, humming to herself, she thought about the dance at Fairview.

****

The community building that was used for the dances in Fairview had been decorated extensively by the ladies of the town. Brightly colored draperies hung from the ceiling, and the walls liberally caught the bright amber glow that a myriad
of lamps cast over the dance floor. As Harve Tippitt entered with Susan on his arm, he looked around the already crowded room and commented with satisfaction, “Well, I don’t see Cody here. Maybe he’s decided to let the best man win.”

Susan smiled up at him and shook her head. “I doubt you’ll get rid of Cody that easy,” she said. She was wearing a bright red dress, which few young women could wear with such aplomb. Her blond hair was piled up in curls on top of her head, and two small pearl earrings dangled from her ears. She looked beautiful and knew it. “Come on, Harve, let’s dance,” she said at once.

The two moved to the dance floor, and as the music began Harve commented on her dress and her lovely appearance. He had a certain flare with women, having had much experience. As Susan well knew, he had been in trouble several times, primarily for fighting and drinking. But being the son of George Tippitt, he had never received more than a reprimand. He looked smart in his brown suit with the white shirt setting off his florid complexion. He was entertaining, too, keeping her amused as they twirled round the floor, until suddenly he stopped and a frown crossed his face.

“What is it?” Susan asked. Then looking over toward the door, she saw Cody come in. She concealed a smile, knowing that Harve was terribly jealous. She secretly took pleasure in keeping both men off balance. She had learned this knack of handling men when she was no more than sixteen years old, and had refined it almost to an art. “Why, there’s Cody,” she said sprightly, and waved at him. “Look, he’s coming over. I think he’s going to cut in.”

She was not wrong, for when Cody came up, he gave Tippitt a crooked grin, saying, “You don’t mind, do you, Harve?” and then turned his attention at once to Susan. Putting his arms out, he moved her away in a sweeping series of turns, laughing as they went. “Old Harve doesn’t like to be cut out, does he Susan?”

“You’re
awful,
Cody!” she rebuked him. But she was
smiling, and the two danced the rest of the dance without incident.

As soon as the dance was over, Tippitt was right at Cody’s side, saying, “All right, my turn.” Though he was smiling, there was a tenseness around his mouth as he suddenly asked, “Cody, why don’t you get a girl of your own?”

“Got one,” Cody said. He looked over at Susan and nodded. “You’re looking at her. I’m just letting you bring her to this dance because I’m bighearted.”

Tippitt took Susan’s arm, squeezing her so hard it hurt, and swung her away as the music began. As they danced, she admonished him, “You shouldn’t be so short with Cody.” Looking at him curiously, she asked, “You two were good friends for a long time, weren’t you?”

“When we were kids. Cody’s a pretty good hand, but he doesn’t move in my circles now.” He purposely said this as a reminder of the difference in status between him and Cody. Cody was little more than top hand on his stepfather’s ranch, while Harve was heir to a large cattle empire plus various business ventures. “I don’t see why you don’t tell him to stop coming around, Susan. You and I have fun, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do, but Cody’s fun, too.” Susan had been half waiting for Tippitt to make some sort of comment about a more permanent arrangement, but he did not.
He’s a hard man to pen in,
she thought,
but sooner or later, he’ll come to heel.
She was not at all a spiteful girl, but she was enjoying being the center of attention of these two eager suitors.

The dance went on without incident until almost eleven. At that time, some of the men had gathered around a table to play the old arm-wrestling game. Sturdy Ben Williams of the Bar X had been the champion for a long time, and he looked around after defeating his last opponent, asking, “Any more takers?”

“Go on, give him a try, Harve,” Cody grinned.

Harve was proud of his strength and sat down in front of Williams. “I’ll have a try,” he agreed. Harve put his whole
effort into the match, but Williams was too much and put Tippitt’s hand down without any trouble. Williams grinned, “You may have all the money in the world, Harve, but I ain’t never been beat at this game.”

Tippitt got up, his face red. He was a man who did not like to lose, and he glared at Cody, challenging him, “Have a try yourself, Cody. Let’s see what a man you are.”

Susan encouraged him, “Go on and do it. If you beat him, I’ll let you take me home.”

At this, Cody’s glance went at once to her face, but a streak of jealousy, almost a rage, ran through Tippitt. “He can’t beat Ben,” Tippitt stated flatly. “Nobody can.”

Cody looked at the husky Williams, sobered, then walked over and took his seat. He extended his hand, and Williams grinned back. “How much you pay me to let you win, Cody? Then you can take that pretty girl home.”

Cody shook his head, saying, “Let her rip whenever you’re ready, Ben.”

Ben smiled a little contemptuously and began exerting the pressure. Almost at once a look of surprise flitted across his face. He was such a powerful man that he had little trouble putting most men’s hands down almost at once, but he was having difficulty now, and his lips drew into a fine white line as he threw all of his force into his forearm. Cody’s arm was pushed halfway back toward the table, but he lowered his head and threw every ounce of his will into his right arm, bringing the force of Williams’ massive power to a slow halt. The two men appeared to be frozen, but everyone saw the power exerted by both. Cody did not seem to be strong enough to hold Williams off, but he had spent a lifetime in the saddle, besides working in the forge doing all the heavy, hard work of a ranch hand. And now he was calling forth every ounce of strength in him to push Williams’ hand back.

“Look at that!” a man next to Tippitt whispered. Tippitt looked on in amazement at what he saw. The hands of the two men were moving, and to everyone’s surprise, Cody was
actually forcing Williams’ big arm upright. A murmur went around the room, and a bead of sweat popped out on Williams’ face. Gritting his teeth, he tried to stop the pressure, but the steely hand of Cody Rogers had closed around his hand with a grip he had never experienced, almost paralyzing it. Cody looked up, and a wild fire burned in his eyes as he looked into the eyes of the man opposite him. With a final burst of strength, he slammed Williams’ hand down against the table.

At once Ben Williams got up and said with astonishment, “I never knowed you could do that, Cody! Here, you’re the top hoss from here on in at arm wrestling.”

Cody looked at his own hand that was tingling and his arm that felt almost dead. Then he grinned up at Susan. “Looks like I’m the one to take you home.” Turning his gaze back to Harve Tippitt he said, “Too bad, Harve. Go do a little growing up, then maybe you can take her home the next time.” He laughed, took Susan by the arm, and swung her out on the dance floor for the last dance.

Harve Tippitt stood there, anger flowing through him. He wanted to fight but knew this was no time for it. Charlie Littleton had come up behind him and now said, “Well, Harve, that’s one dance you won’t get. Probably one kiss, too.” Littleton was a rancher out in the deep hills, rightly suspected of being a rustler. He was the only one who could tease Harve Tippitt, for he had nothing to lose. “Now was that me, I don’t think I’d let that yahoo take my girl away.”

And then Tippitt’s eyes went a little crazy. So wild that Charlie Littleton, for all his toughness, blinked and stepped back. He had seen murder written in a man’s face before, and he knew at once that Harve Tippitt was only a step away. “Hey, take it easy, Harve,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “She’s only another girl.” Then seeing that Tippitt was not listening, he turned and walked away.

Staring at the pair on the dance floor, Harve Tippitt
muttered under his breath, “We’ll see about who takes whose girl. We’ll just see about that!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

No Quarter Given

When Les Dunbar decided to give up being a puncher for the Circle W and start his own small spread, he received all sorts of fatherly advice, mostly negative, from the crew. Smoky Jacks, upon hearing the news that Dunbar was going to marry Mary White and become a rancher, gave a slight smile and said, “Les, take the advice of one who’s like a father to you. Never stray far from a steady paycheck, honor your parents, cherish the little red schoolhouse, speak respectfully of all our great institutions—and don’t ever try to run a jackrabbit ranch.” The trim rider shook his head sorrowfully, saying, “You’re looking at one who busted his back trying, and found out it’s harder than it looks.”

But young Les Dunbar was a man in love and not to be denied. The affair proceeded and finally, in August, a cabin raising was organized by Dunbar’s friends to set the new couple up on their small ranch.

When the day arrived and all the logs had been cut, Dan Winslow proclaimed a holiday, and the whole crew left just after daybreak for the cabin raising. After a steady ride, with a few stops to rest their mounts, they reached the small ranch by ten o’clock. Dismounting, they tied up their horses a ways off from the pile of rough lumber and logs that marked the future house of the young couple. Les Dunbar had picked a long, narrow meadow that lay against a small river, and being practical, he had also found a spot relatively close to the railroads, where he could ship his cattle.

The site was covered with more than one hundred people milling around—most of them from town, but many of them from small ranches and farms nearby. They were drawn not so much by the fact of a marriage as by the need they felt for an occasional cheerful gathering. Families worked hard to eke out a living from the land. The day’s labors started early and often went till long after the sun set, especially for those who had stock. Any social event that came along helped ease the strain of it all.