out as to how she felt about him. He pulled the team to a halt in front of the steps, then, wrapping the reins around a davit on the dashboard, hopped down from the surrey and hurried around to help Lucy down.
“I—uh—am glad you were able to come over today,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world,” Lucy replied. “It was great fun.”
“Wasn’t Maria good?”
“Yes, she was wonderful. And she is such a lovely little girl,” Lucy replied.
“Yes. And she is a very sweet little girl, too. Everyone on the ranch just loves her.”
There was a beat of silence, finally broken by Lucy.
“Well, I suppose I had better get on inside.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Thanks for driving me home.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Lucy started toward the porch.
“Miss Lucy?”
Turning back toward Pearlie, Lucy had a big smile on her face. “Pearlie, don’t you think you and I are good enough friends now, for you to call me Lucy? Without the Miss?”
“Uh—yes, I think so. I just didn’t want to be too forward.”
Lucy chuckled. “Pearlie, believe me, no one could ever accuse you of being too forward,” she said.
“There’s a dance Saturday night. Actually, there’s a dance in town every Saturday night.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Will you be going?”
“Why, would you like me to go?”
“Yes. I mean, that is, if you are going anyway. I mean, if you want to go.”
“I will be there,” Lucy said, a little disappointed that he didn’t ask to escort her to the dance.
“Good, good,” Pearlie said. He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll see you there then.”
Fontana, Colorado
Lucas Keno was at the Brown Dirt Cowboy Saloon in Fontana. It was still too early in the day for the evening trade, so there were few in the saloon. An empty beer mug and a half-full ashtray conveniently placed by the piano provided the only evidence that anyone ever played the instrument. Keno ordered a beer, then found a table and looked around.
There were two people were sitting at the table nearest the piano—a middle-aged cowboy and the only bar girl who was working at this hour. The fact that both of them had only one glass before them, and that the glass was still half-full, indicated that the bar girl either found the cowboy’s company pleasant, or had accepted the slowness of the afternoon.
There were brass spittoons conveniently spaced around the room, but despite their presence, the floor was riddled with expectorated tobacco quids and chewed cigar butts.
The other cowboys who had worked for Jensen during the roundup just passed had gone on to other jobs, and even though he had not been particularly popular with the others, a few of them had even invited Keno to come with them.
“Thanks anyway, but I got me some other plans in mind,” Keno replied.
“What plans you got?” one of the cowboys asked.
“Just plans,” Keno answered.
Keno was vague about his plans because it wouldn’t do for anyone else to know what they were. But before leaving Sugarloaf, Keno had moved fifty head of unbranded Sugarloaf cattle into a hidden box canyon and penned them up inside. His plans were to sell the cattle and get enough money to head down to Arizona or New Mexico or even Texas. It didn’t really make that much difference to him where he went, just as long as he left Colorado.
Keno was here to meet a man who was going to help him carry out those plans, and as he looked up, he saw the man he was to meet coming in through the batwing doors. Toby Jeeter was considerably older than Keno, and his hair and beard were laced with gray. He nodded at Keno, then stopped at the bar to buy a beer before he joined Keno at the table.
“I found a buyer,” Jeeter said.
“Who is it?”
“His name is C.D. Montgomery. He’s a cattle dealer from over in Wheeler.”
“Did you tell him when and where to meet me?”
“He’ll be here to talk to you this afternoon,” Jeeter replied.
“Good.”
“When do I get my money?”
“As soon as I get my money, you’ll get your thirty dollars,” Keno promised.
“You didn’t say nothin’ ’bout me havin’ to wait,” Jeeter said. “You told me to find a buyer and you would pay me.”
“How do you expect me to pay you before I sell the cows?” Keno asked.
Jeeter scratched at his beard, then pulled out a flea. He examined it for a moment, then crushed it between his fingernails. “All right, I’ll wait. But I want fifty.”
“What do you mean? Thirty dollars is a month’s wages and you didn’t do anything for the money. “
“I set up a meeting for you with a cattle buyer. That’s what you asked for.”
“All right, fifty dollars,” Keno said. “But it better pay off.”
“It will,” Jeeter said. “Montgomery buys cattle all the time.”
True to his word, Jeeter brought Montgomery to the saloon that afternoon. Montgomery was an older man, but his well-kept silver hair, clean-shaven face, and tailored clothes made him a very distinguished-looking figure.
“Keno, this here is Mr. Montgomery,” Jeeter said. “This here is Keno,” he added.
“Mr. Montgomery,” Keno said. “Have a seat.”
Taking out his handkerchief, Montgomery brushed off the chair before he sat down.
“Would you like a beer?” Keno asked.
“Thank you, no,” Montgomery replied.
“I, uh, reckon that Jeeter told you what this was all about, didn’t he?”
“He said you had some cattle for sale.”
“Yeah, I do. Fifty head. I know it ain’t all that much, but it’s all I got at the moment.”
“All right, deliver them to me at the railhead in—” Montgomery began, but Keno interrupted him.
“You’re
