horse.”
“Best I can tell, there ain’t no holes in her,” Skinner agreed.
“You want a beer?” Ruby asked.
“Sure pretty lady.” Skinner dismounted, grinned then stripped forward both ends of his mustache to a perfect point. “Unless’n you got somethin’ harder?”
“Nope,” Ruby answered, taking his reins and securing his horse. “It’ll have to be beer.”
“What you doing up here?” Roper asked, getting up to shake Skinner’s hand. Lately, every time Roper saw Skinner he was amazed at how much he looked like the legendary General George Custer.
“Same as you. You seen any of my strays?”
“Nope,” Roper said. “Don’t usually get yours this far south. I often get a few of Ruby’s ‘cause we border, but I’ll be moving my cattle to my Tank Springs pasture. If I see any of yours, I’ll let you know.”
“A little early, ain’t it?” Skinner asked, accepting the beer from Ruby. “Did that new Manager ask you to move?”
“No—there’s not much feed left,” Roper replied, shaking his head. “No point in grazing down to the roots, the grass won’t come back.”
“Trying to stay on their good side, huh?” Skinner said, then took a swig of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No, not particularly,” Roper continued, “but if we show them we’re responsible range managers, maybe they’ll pretty much leave us alone.”
“Don’t count on it, college boy,” Skinner said.
“Well,” Roper said undeterred, “you’ve got to admit it’s a pretty bad drought. Haven’t had more’n five inches all year.”
“That’s why they call this here place a desert,” Skinner said, “it’s supposed to be dry. But if’n I’d know’d the feed would go this fast, I would’ve raised more hay.”
“Yeah,” Ruby sighed, “but takes water for that too.”
“Guess that leaves only one choice, take ‘em to the auction in Salina and give ‘em away,” Skinner complained, shaking his shaggy blond head.
“Good luck, cause that’s what you’ll be doing,” Ruby said. “With the price of beef now, you might as well just shoot ‘em.”
“With this drought, everyone’s been selling,” Roper said. “That drives the prices down.”
“No shit, Cowboy,” Skinner said, sneering. “Nothin’ like stating the obvious.”
“Also, beef’s not selling like it used to,” Ruby added.
“This here no red meat craze has nearly blow’d me away, “ Skinner said. “People’s acting like if’n they eat red meat today, they’s goin’ have a stroke or heart attack by tomorrow. It’s all so much bullshit.”
“Well, I’m open to suggestions,” Roper said, everting his palms in a show of frustration. “What’ll we do?”
“The only other option as far as I can tell,” Ruby replied, “is bankruptcy.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Roper said. “If we work with them, they will work with us. Nobody wants to ban ranching.”
“Yeah, and Kim Basinger wants me real bad,” Skinner replied.
“You got any better ideas?” Ruby asked.
“I’ve been talking to some of the other guys,” Skinner said, lowering his voice and quickly looking around. “And they think we need to organize. Otherwise, they’ll pick us off one by one. You know, divide and conquer.”
“We are organized,” Roper said. “It’s called the Garfield/Kane Cattleman’s Association.”
“Nah, we was thinkin’ of somethin’ more discrete, more covert.” Skinner stood up and looked Roper in the eye. “Somethin’ whose actions are not so easily traced.”
Roper evenly met Skinner’s glance. “I flat don’t like secret organizations.”
“That so?” Skinner sneered. “What about that Mormon Church of yours? Talk about secret organizations.”
“What are you talking about?” Roper asked, gritting his teeth.
“All right, that temple over there in St. George. Tell me what goes on in there.”
“I can’t discuss that.”
“My point, ‘zactly,” Skinner grinned, again reshaping his moustache. “I’d think you’d be sore by now.”
“Sore?” Roper asked, winkling his forehead.
“From all that pole fence sittin’. People say to me, that Roper ain’t got no balls, but I tell ‘em, yeah, he’s got balls all right, just sore ones from being sit on.”
Roper glared at Skinner for a moment and took a threatening step in his direction.
“Come on, you token cowboy” Skinner taunted, raising his fists. “I’ve waited for this a long time.”
Instinctively, Roper also hoisted both fists, the left one looking a bit asymmetric with the index knuckle and finger gone.
“Consider this payback,” Skinner snarled.
“Payback?”
“Payback for that bottomland your father stole from me,” Skinner hissed, his face taut and his fists ready.
“I wouldn’t exactly call outbidding, stealing,” Roper replied, taking another step forward.
Swinging wildly, Skinner’s right fist clipped Roper’s chin. Roper staggered backward, but regained his balance. He then hooked with his left and as Skinner was ducking from that punch, he quickly jabbed with his right hand, solidly connecting with the side of Skinner’s face.
Instantly, Ruby wedged between them. “This is not the time,” she said firmly as she shoved them apart. “We’ve got real problems ahead and we don’t need all this testosterone bullshit.”
“This ain’t over yet,” Skinner said, pointing a finger at Roper, “not by a long shot.
“I’m not looking for a fight,” Roper said. “Let’s just forget it.”
Skinner glared at Roper for a few seconds then turned to Ruby. “How about you, Rubles? You interested in our little group?”
Hesitating, Ruby gnawed at her lower lip. Alternately, she glanced at Skinner then at Roper, then back at Skinner again. Throwing up her hands, she walked toward her buckskin. Turning back she muttered, “maybe, I don’t know. I’ve got to know
