be going, anyhow,” Roper said. “Cows won’t move themselves.”
“Are you moving them off the Fifty down to the Bench already?” Ruby asked.
“Nah, just moving them from my East Spring pasture to my Tank Springs pasture,” Roper explained. “You know, BLM makes me rotate every two months.”
“Seems awful early,” Ruby insisted, looking puzzled, “I’m not rotating mine for at least another month.”
“Yeah, but with the drought, my feed’s mostly gone,” Roper answered. “Your pasture probably is in better shape.”
“Brisco ask you to move early?” Ruby asked suspiciously.
“Nah,” Roper replied. “Feed’s just gone. Cow’s can’t eat dirt.”
“This is way early,” Ruby persisted. “You’re going to run out of winter pasture way before spring.”
“Just have to sell some early.” Roper shrugged.
“Who’s this guy, Brisco?” Bucky interrupted, mashing the sausage into patties and grabbing a frying pan out of the sink. “I’ll cook youse up a batch.”
“He’s the new head of the BLM,” Ruby replied,” and he’s a she— Judith Brisco. She took over for Egan.”
“Can’t say that I’m sorry,” Roper said, sitting back down on the stool again. “Didn’t much like Jon Egan. Never knew where he stood.”
“Well,” Lee said, dropping meat patties into the sizzling hot skillet. “This is just the beginning, mark my words. First they’ll ask you to move early, then they’ll ask you to voluntarily drop allotments, then they’ll just seize ‘em. Be just like the little Battle of the Bighorn.”
“Nobody asked me to move,” Roper replied, a hint of irritation laced his voice, “and I’m not moving all three hundred and fifty. Anyway, I don’t see any similarity to the Little Bighorn.”
“If they restrict my allotment, I won’t be able to make it.” Ruby frowned and removed her black Stetson, then untied the red-checkered bandana that bound her coal-black hair. “Not the way beef prices are droppin’.”
“You an Roper ought’ta go on and join up outfits—less overhead and youse are across-the-fence neighbors anyway,” Bucky advised. “R and R ranching, sounds good.”
“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Ruby said, still fussing with her hair.
“Not that complicated. Youse two are already shackin’ up anyway, ain’t you?” Bucky Lee sneered.
“No!” Roper blushed, quickly averting his copper blue eyes to the smudged fireplace at the far end of the disheveled room. The rancid aroma of hot grease and frying sausage permeated the room, making the cabin feel, in spite of the clutter, a little more homey.
“Can’t believe you’re such a prude,” Lee smirked as he forked sausages onto a paper plate. Almost instantly, a grease halo appeared on the plate encircling each patty. “Youse ain’t no saint, even if ya don’t cuss and yer old man was a Mormon Bishop.”
“Whether we are or not, is no business of yours,” Ruby cut in fiercely.
“Bucky, I’ve never claimed to be like my father.”
“Youse absolutely right,” Lee smirked, “and youse certainly ain’t. He was a real cowman. Here, try some of this, Rube.” He offered her the paper plate. “Use your fingers—I ain’t washin’ no dishes.”
Not waiting to be invited, Roper plucked a hot patty out of the frying pan then quickly tossed it from one hand to another while it cooled. Gingerly, he took a bite. “Hot!” he wheezed, hurriedly sucking in cold air. After a moment he continued, “you know the one I feel sorry for is Angus Macdonald.”
“You mean that stumpy Englishman?” Bucky asked as he wolfed down a sausage.
“With a name like that,” Roper scoffed. “No, not English, Scottish. He’s about as English as haggis.”
“What’s the difference?” Bucky asked. “Either way he’s a limey.”
“Scotland was settled by the Picts and the Scotti in the north and Angles and Britons in the south,” Roper answered matter-of-factly. “England, on the other hand, was settled by various invaders including the Kelts, Romans, Angles, Saxons and the Normans. That’s the difference between them, that and about a thousand years of war.”
“Jesus, college-boy, that’s a hell-uv-a-lot more than I wanted to know,” Bucky growled.
“I was just trying to explain.”
“It don’t do no good showin’ off heer. Nobody’s impressed,” Bucky said sourly, “an if’n youse was so good at college, why din’t you stay?”
“No good jobs for English history/literature majors,” Roper said, staring down at his now leathery hands and again massaging the finger stub. Certainly, they were not the hands of an English history professor. “And I couldn’t stand being cooped up.”
“Well anyway, what about Angus?” Ruby interrupted. Suddenly, she seemed interested.
“Din’t you date him for a while?” Bucky asked
“It was nothing,” Ruby declared. “Just sat with him a couple times at the bar.”
“That’s not what I heer’d,” Bucky said. “I heer’d he was sweet on ya and still is, and youse just up and dumped him.”
“No,” Ruby protested, shaking her head, “we were always just friends.”
“They’se say he had it bad.” Bucky turned off the gas on the stove. “They’se say he used to follow youse everywhere. A regular midnight stalker.”
“No,” Ruby insisted again, firmly. “We were then and still are, just friends.”
“Well it don’t matter. What about Macdonald, anyway?” Bucky Lee asked Roper. “What’s he got to do with this heer daisy-pickin’ liberal’s folly?”
“He owns Highland Mining and Mineral. They’re just a small outfit, not like PacifiCorp or Andalex. Really don’t think he has other assets other than his Kaiparowits coal leases.”
“Well then he’s just plain dead in the water,” Lee said flatly.
“I suppose, like a canoe without a paddle,” Ruby said sarcastically.
“No, more like a mallard swimmin’ next to an aviary,” Bucky said.
“It’s not just us and Angus goin’ to be affected,” Roper continued. “What about loggers, hunting guides and prospectors? All of them will be affected.”
“Your president made it clear there would be no minin’, prospectin’ or loggin’,” Lee said. “An who knows for sure bout huntin’.
