Wyoming Wildfire (11 page)

“You wouldn’t
dare!”

“Then I’ll send you to your room until you stop behaving like a spoiled, willful brat.” He slammed through the door, leaving her no means of venting her wrath. She turned to her aunt, swollen with fury wanting just the slightest touch to set it off.

“I don’t think it was thoughtful of you to embarrass him in front of his men, dear,” her aunt pointed out in an apologetic voice. “Men always set great store by that kind of thing.”

An odd, completely unfamiliar sensation came over Sibyl, and she fled to the sanctuary of her own chamber.

“Oh dear,” sighed Augusta, “I’m afraid this is going to be rather difficult.”

Much to Sibyl’s surprise, the threw herself on her bed and burst into tears. Deep, heartrending sobs flowed from her as a new kind of misery enslaved her whole being. Never had she felt so thoroughly wretched, not even when she thought she was going to have to choose between being a spinster and marrying Kendrick. She hated Burch Cameron; he was the most cruel and insensitive man she’d ever known, and she didn’t know why she had ever thought he was handsome. No one, not even the obnoxious Moreton, and ever dared to call her ignorant or stupid. She would show him, the blind, crass beast, that she was not the empty, foolish female he thought; she would show him mat she knew just as much about managing a ranch and making money as he did. One didn’t have to be covered with cow dung for a decade to understand basic economics, and if he thought his strong arms or swaggering good looks were going to deflect her from pushing her ideas forward, he just didn’t know her. Maybe the girls in Wyoming simpered and fell over backward when he smiled at them, but Sibyl Cameron was made of different stuff, and he would find that he had hooked a rival worthy of his rod. She’d drive him so hard he’d never think of kissing her again.

But this resolution only caused her to cry harder; victory, even in her imagination, seemed empty and tasteless. All of a sudden she didn’t know what she wanted; everything she had was useless, and everything she reached for was beyond her grasp. Wyoming wasn’t turning out to be any better than Virginia. It didn’t matter that he gave her complete freedom in the house; couldn’t he see she had done it all for him? Why couldn’t he listen to her? All she wanted was to share the ranch with him. How could he be so blind? She cried all the harder.

Chapter 8

The house was quiet when Sibyl came down the next morning; Augusta was still in her room, and she suffered from the want of some company other than her own. All at once she felt cooped up and in need of some fresh air, but she hadn’t gone ten feet outside her door when she saw a small cloud of dust in the distance made by a group of approaching horsemen. Feeling unaccountably alone, she hurried back into the house, but it wasn’t long before she could make out three cowboys heading toward the ranch accompanied by a huge, plodding Hereford bull and some dozen-and-a-half cows and calves. A feeling of satisfaction swept through her and set a smile on her drawn face. Her father’s breeding herd was here at last! It had taken so long she had begun to worry they might have been lost or stolen. “Aunt Augusta, the herd is here,” she shouted up the stairs and hurried outside.

Two of the men looked to be no more than sixteen, eighteen at the outside, and were devoting all their energies to keeping the fat and lazy animals moving, especially the huge bull. The third cowboy wasn’t a boy at all but a grown man, probably about forty and of formidable size. It was immediately apparent that he had an open, outgoing personality and a curiosity about everything that happened around him.

“Hello there. I brought Burch’s cows over to him. I saw these poor fellows wondering all over the hills and decided to take mercy on them”

The flow of words ceased abruptly when he got a closer look at Sibyl, and he let loose a long, slow whistle. “I heard tell Burch’s Virginia cousin had come to stay, but I didn’t know you looked pretty as a picture postcard. I’d’a been trampling down the sagebrush just to set and look at you for a spell”

“You can stop trying to get around me with all mat flattery,” smiled Sibyl, taking him to be the honest, good-natured man he seemed to be. “And just so there won’t be any future misunderstanding, that herd belongs to me, not my cousin. He’s not here right now, but you’re welcome to come inside and wait for him if you like.”

The big man got down and took off his hat in a salute. “Lasso Slaughter’s the name, miss. I’m young Randall’s neighbor up the creek a few miles. That’s a mighty fine bull you’ve got there. Burch planning to use it to upgrade the herd?” He walked around the creature, who was content to stand still after his long walk. “Yes sir, a mighty fine bull. I’d like to put some of my cows to him, see what kind of steers he throws. How is he at foraging?”

“I don’t know. Daddy always kept him up, but the cows were allowed out until late fall.”

“Fall in Virginia’s no more than midsummer out here,” Lasso sniffed. “This fellow’s going to have to be penned up, fed, and sheltered throughout the winter, or you’ll find him a frozen carcass in some arroyo come spring.”

“Of course I’ll keep him up,” answered Sibyl. “He’s the only one of his kind. You can’t expect me to let such a valuable animal wander over the range.”

“What does Burch say about it?”

“He hasn’t seen him yet, so I haven’t had a chance to find out.” And after last night, she was a little nervous about telling him.

“I think you’re about to get your chance,” Lasso said, nodding in the direction of a huge white stallion cantering easily toward the house. The bull looked up in idle curiosity, then went back to the more interesting task of trying to push his head through the fence rails to reach the more appetizing grass on the other side. “There’s not much spirit in the critter, is there?”

“He’s bred for beef, not spirit,” retorted Sibyl, provoked into springing angrily to the defense of her father’s achievement.

“If he doesn’t have spirit, he won’t survive.”

“What’s all this?” Burch asked, giving Lasso a hearty greeting. “One of the boys said he saw you heading this way with a huge bull in tow. I knew you must be up to another one of your tricks.”

“That’s not my trick. The little lady says it’s hers.”

Burch stiffened and turned mechanically toward Sibyl. She flushed slightly but stood her ground. Lasso, only casually interested at first, sensed the rapidly escalating tension and became very attentive.

“Are you responsible for all these animals being here?”

“Yes,” she replied, and for the first time in her life, she felt a reluctance to explain herself. “This is my father’s herd, and that is his best bull.”

Burch began to study the sleepy animal. “You planned to put him to my herd?”

“Somebody’s going to have to wake him up first,” Lasso commented.

“It seemed such a waste to sell him when you had all these cows and father had spent so many years trying to breed one like him.”

“So you had him sent out without saying a word to me.”

“I didn’t have time to ask you. Well, I couldn’t, really, not when I had to make all the arrangements before I left Virginia.”

“And you never thought to mention it to me after you got here?”

“It took them so long I guess I just forgot.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he could arrive before you got here and that I might sell him?”

“Nobody would sell him once they saw him.”

“If you don’t mind a bull that takes a siesta every afternoon,” Lasso interpolated with maddening calm. Burch’s mouth twitched.

“You say it took your father twenty years to come up with this animal?”

“Burch Randall, mat is the finest bull in Virginia, and if you look down your long nose at him, then you don’t know anything at all about cows, no matter how stubborn you can be about markets and roundups.”

“He is not the best bull in Virginia,” declared Burch with a wink that caused Lasso to nearly burst his ribs trying to hold in his laughter. “He’s not even the one-hundredth best bull in Virginia.”

“You—you or!” Sibyl finally exploded.

“He’s not in Virginia, don’t you see?” explained Lasso, choking. “He’s in Wyoming, so he can’t be the best or even the worst bull in Virginia.”

Sibyl’s expression became glacial when Burch laughed as hard as Lasso at the childish joke.

“He slid that past you smooth as silk,” said Lasso, going off into another belly laugh.

Sibyl’s feelings were still lacerated from the previous night, and she was so angry that she wouldn’t have cared if the bull had lowered his head and trampled both men. She had suffered something of a shock when Burch and the bull burst upon her at the same time, but being made the butt of some stupid joke was too much.

“He’s the best bull I’ve ever set eyes on,” said Burch with a jubilant crow of laughter, “and if he doesn’t make me the richest man in Wyoming, it’ll only be because I don’t have enough cows for him.”

“You mean you like him?” Sibyl said, relieved and too confused by the rapid swing of emotions to be able to keep track of the true meaning of anything any longer.

“Of course I like him! What rancher wouldn’t like a bull that could add fifty pounds to every steer he sent to market? I don’t know how your father produced him, but if he puts his stamp on his offspring, he’ll be the best dung to happen to the cattle industry since Crazy Horse was confined to the reservation. I’ve got plans for you, my man,” he said, slapping the dozing bull on the shoulder. “You’re the first good thing to happen to the Elkhorn since Uncle died.” Burch did not see Sibyl swell with indignation. “I’m going to settle you down in some nice corner, and come next spring we’re going to wear you thin doing your duty. By fall you’ll be glad of a little peace and quiet.”

“Miss,” the young man named Gaddy spoke up, “if these are your cows, you ought to know five or six of them got run off.”

“When?” asked Burch, all interest in silly jokes gone.

“When we bedded down for the night, maybe six or seven days out of Laramie. These two men came whooping and screaming down out of the hills and scattered the herd. We didn’t know what to do at first—go after the men or the cows—but before we could make up our minds, they had run off close to a half dozen and disappeared. By the time we got the rest together and settled back down, there was no sign of them. We tried to follow them the next day, but the trail went into rough country, where we couldn’t possibly take the herd. Since there was only two of us, it didn’t make any sense to split up and take a chance on losing the rest of them.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“No, but I’d recognize them again. One of them was a tiny little man, all twisted and just about the ugliest human I’ve ever seen. The other was about the size of that bull yonder, with several missing teeth.” He reached in his vest pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper folded over twice. “Here is a likeness I made of them.”

Burch recognized the pair easily. “Loomis Cutler and Ute, his half-breed pa,” he stated without hesitation. Those two have been stealing cattle in the Chalk Canyon region ever since they turned up out here. It’s about time someone put a stop to it.”

“You going after them?” Lasso asked.

“Just as soon as I can talk to Jesse.”

“I’m coming with you. It’s been too quiet here ever since the Indians went and got tame.”

“We’ll need some good directions.”

“We’ll do better’n that,” Gaddy said. “We’ll come with you. It goes against the grain to be trusted with something and men not deliver it. I’ve got just as much to complain of to this Ute fellow as you do.”

“It’s not likely he’ll do much listening. Those two have a reputation for shooting first and skipping the questions altogether.”

“Do you mean they would kill you?” Sibyl asked, unable to believe that men could be talking about death as calmly as that.

“First chance they get,” answered Lasso swiftly. “Ute’s mind is twisted plumb loco, and Loomis is the worst cutthroat in the territory, despite being raised a Methodist.”

“Then let them have them” objected Sibyl. “It’s not worth it. We have the bull. That’s what counts.”

“We can’t do that,” Burch said. “You let it be known mat scabs like Ute and Loomis can run off with your cows whenever they like, and every man with a weak conscience and a wandering eye will come knocking about your place looking to fill his pockets. Pretty soon you’ll be picked as clean as a week-old carcass.”

“But surely nothing’s worth being killed over.” “How can you say that and be from Virginia?” “But that was different,” Sibyl protested feebly. “Not at all. You fought for what you thought was yours. We’re fighting for the same thing.” “But this is cows, not people.” “It starts with cows, then moves on to people.” Sibyl began to understand something of what Burch meant and knew he wouldn’t change his mind. She really couldn’t see how this related to the war that had torn her beloved Virginia to shreds, but she recognized in Burch the same crusading spirit that characterized her father and her Uncle Wesley. There had been no turning either of them from an objective once it had been decided upon. “When will you be back?” “I don’t know. I hope not more than a week.” “Is there anything I can do to help you get ready?” “We’ll make our own preparations, but one of your nice hot dinners would taste mighty good.”