Atlanta Daily World

CHAPTER 32

WITHIN two weeks, buffalo grass again waved green and thick around the trading post as far as the eye could see. Finley Burkhauser was still there, occupying himself with the endless small chores that needed to be done. Elizabeth Rettig had settled down anew to the daily life she had led before. She said to Finley that it seemed now that they had never contracted smallpox or been to the Indian village. The presence of Wilson Tanner at the trading post was a reminder of their finding him in the Indian camp, but Wilson, too, seemed to have been at the trading post all along. Elizabeth was thankful that Wilson got along so well with Tom and the girls.

The first indication that the Texans were on the move came when two men rode out of the south. Burkhauser saw them first and stood in the front yard as they splashed across the creek. They were wild men on wild horses, both uncurried and wiry from two and a half months on the trail.

They did not immediately dismount, but squirmed in the saddle and looked around. They looked Burkhauser over carefully, noting the familiar Ranger badge. One of them cuffed a battered hat to the back of his head.

"Whup me, if it ain't so. There is a place here. Tell me, fella, be there a drink of whiskey inside?"

"There is."

The man's smile brightened. "And a purty woman?" He asked it breathlessly, as though it couldn't possibly be true.

"There is."

The two men looked at each other briefly, then whooped loudly, and swung down from their saddles. They made for the door with long strides but Finley Burkhauser flung out both arms, effectively halting them. They looked at him, the grins still there, but patiently waiting for his excuse before violence commenced.

The shorter one said, "Now it do seem to me that you're a might unfriendly there, fella."

"I don't mean to be," Burkhauser said. "But there are a few rules that all gentlemen are expected to observe. No cussin'. No shooting holes in the ceiling. We finally got the roof to quit leaking and we want to keep it that way."

"With an effort," the other one said, "ah can restrain mahself."

They started forward again, but only surged against Burkhauser's arms. They frowned. "Fella, yo'all are stoppin' mah pleasure and it do aggravate me considerable."

"If that pleasure is a drink," Burkhauser said, "I'll join you."

"Now that's neighborly," the short one said. "But I do want to look at that woman I heard tell about."

"But only look," Burkhauser cautioned. "No man is allowed behind the counter."

"Why, 'shore," they said.

He dropped his arms and they went inside. Elizabeth was behind the counter and both men stopped and stared at her.

The short one stepped forward, hat in hand. "Dog me now if you ain't the purtiest thing I've seen since leavin' San Angelo. What air yer name?"

"Elizabeth."

The short one clapped his hands to his chest and let out a ringing whoop. "This air the place, Smoke. That was her name as I heard it: Elizabeth, by name, that's what the fella said."

Finley Burkhauser had come quietly up to the bar. "Let these two gents have a drink, Elizabeth. On the house." He looked at them and smiled. "The first Texas men of the season take a full jug back to camp with them. What's your outfit?"

"Y on a Rail," the short one said.

"I've heard of it," Burkhauser said. "A big drive this year?"

"Ninety men and three hundred horses." This was the kind of an answer Burkhauser expected for after losses by stampede, rustlers and Indians, the exact number of cattle remaining would only be a guess, but the dumbest horse wrangler would know how many men they had and how many horses, this was an excellent gauge of an outfit's size.

"You tell your friends you'll be welcome here," Elizabeth said.

"We surely will," Smoke said. He tucked the jug under his arm. "Let's go, Pokey. Thank yo all for the hospitality." Then he grinned again. "My but you air purty."

They mounted up and rode away, yelling, whooping, firing their pistols. Elizabeth watched them, then said, "They certainly seem wild, don't they?"

"Wild?" Burkhauser laughed. "Just like they'd been let out of a cage!"

Len Ricker was the trail boss; he made his appearance in the early morning, ahead of the cattle herd. He rode a big horse, for he was a big man in a big job. He dismounted in the yard, gave his horse to one of the Azavedo brothers, then came on inside, stripping off his leather gauntlets.

Burkhauser stood behind the counter, a cup of whiskey waiting. Ricker looked about once, then tossed off the drink. "Where's the woman?"

"She'll be here when she gets here," Burkhauser said. "The whiskey's a quarter."

Ricker laid a quarter on the counter. He squinted then and fingered Burkhauser's coat aside, exposing the badge. "Smoke said there was a ranger here."

"Company D, 3rd Battalion." Burkhauser gave the tincup a shove. "Another?"

"Sure," Ricker said. He paused to drink his whiskey. "What about money? We won't pay off until the buyer deposits his check."

"Your credit's good," Burkhauser said, "We'll keep a record of what the charges are and when you go on in to Dodge, you can