A Wolf in the Fold

This one looked to be no different from the rest. Cattle were being rustled. The letter had not pointed the finger of blame, but apparently the Butchers were believed to be the culprits. Without their being aware, I studied the two brothers. Carson was a hothead, that was for sure, but he had sounded sincere when he claimed his family had nothing to do with the missing cattle. And there was no doubting Sam’s honesty. The boy was hardly an accomplished liar.

I shrugged and drained my cup in two gulps. It wasn’t for me to decide guilt or innocence. I was paid to do a job and I always did it.

Just then the front door opened and in swirled a stiff-backed woman dressed in the height of fashion. Her hat, her dress, everything looked as if she had just bought it, and paid top dollar. She had a sharp, flinty face, and dark, brooding eyes that flicked over me and then fixed on the Butcher boys. Without hesitation she strode up to their table and snapped in a voice as hard as her features, “You have your nerve.”

Sam rose and doffed his hat, saying nervously, “Mrs. Tanner! This is a pleasure.”

So here was Gertrude Tanner, wife of Lloyd Tanner, Gerty, as Calista called her. She impressed me as being the kind of woman who would never stoop to nagging a man to death. She would not nag, she would command. She would tell her man what to do, and he had damn well better do it.

“Don’t patronize me,” Gertrude rasped. “The gall! Showing yourselves in public after killing more of my cattle.”

Carson wiped a sleeve across his mouth and jabbed a finger at her. “A couple of your cowboys were in here a while ago accusing us of the same thing, and I’ll say to you what I said to them.” He paused. “We didn’t do it. We’ve never killed any of your stinking cows, never stole a single head.”

“So you claim.”

“Now look, lady,” Carson said. “My family is sick and tired of you blaming us if one of your cows so much as comes up lame.”

“We’re not rustlers, ma’am,” Sam added.

“Spare me your shammed innocence. I was not born yesterday. Of course you deny it. Your ilk always do.”

Sam glanced at Carson. “What’s an ilk?”

“I reckon she means an elk. But that makes no kind of sense. We don’t have antlers or four legs.”

Gertrude stood with her hands folded and her chin high and sheer scorn on her features, as a queen might regard disloyal subjects. “Have your fun. But we won’t abide your shenanigans forever. My husband has reached the end of his tether.”

“Send him over to talk to Ma,” Sam proposed. “She would love to sit down with him and hash this out.”

“That will be the day,” Gertrude replied. “I will not have my husband associate with the likes of you or that liquor-guzzling mother of yours.”

“Be careful, lady,” Carson said.

“No, you be careful. You and your entire wretched family. If you do not cease and desist, I will not be held accountable for the consequences. Consider this your final warning.”

“I don’t much like being threatened, even by a female.”

“And I don’t much care what you like or do not like. As for my gender, don’t let that hamper you. I am the equal of anything in britches.”

I had met some tough women, but this one was at the top of the ladder. She could whittle most men down to size with her tongue alone.

Carson was plunking coins on the table. “Let’s head out. I can’t take much more of this shrew.”

“Be nice,” Sam said.

“To her?”

Carson shouldered past Gertrude, and I swear she almost took a swing at him. Sam smiled and bowed and said, “Sorry about the misunderstanding, ma’am. I sure do wish we could be friends.”

“When hell freezes over, boy.”

They left, and Gertrude Tanner turned. The change that came over her was something to see. She went from hard to soft in the blink of an eye, from a fierce she-cat to a kitten. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you a man of the cloth?”

“Reverend Storm, ma’am,” I said, rising. We were alone, so I felt safe in revealing the truth. “Or Lucius Stark, although you might to keep that to yourself. We need to sit down and hash things over. Your letter didn’t give a whole lot of details.”

Gertrude did not hide her surprise. “Can it be? You’re him? I must say, you chose a marvelous disguise.” Lowering her voice, she leaned toward me. “Yes, by all means, we must talk. But not here. Later.” She smiled thinly. “Then you can start the killing.”

Chapter 3

The Tanner ranch was in the shadow of the Fair Sister. Besides the main house, there was a bunkhouse, a cookhouse, a blacksmith shop, the stable, a chicken coop, six or seven sheds, and the inevitable outhouse. Make that two. Gertrude Tanner insisted on having her own, and as I had guessed, whatever Gertrude Tanner wanted, Gertrude Tanner got.