Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron (25 page)

"Why? Because people might learn the truth
about your so called friends, or because it might cause a problem
for you and your campaign?" Priscilla said, her voice laced with
vexation.

"I don't give a bloody damn about the
campaign," Adam said, "but you're getting into something you know
nothing about."

"If you're talking about Ella Watson and Jim
Averell, you were standing right next to me a few minutes ago. Do
you have any reason to believe that either the boy or Jim Averell's
nephew were lying?"

"It doesn't matter if they were or not. The
issue has to do with cattle rustling and mavericks disappearing
from herds. Miss Watson might feel justified in taking unbranded
animals because she was not able to secure her own brand, and
Bothwell might feel justified in taking action against her to stop
what she's doing."

Priscilla glared at Adam. "And Bothwell and
the others might also be making false homestead claims with
moveable cabins, and false accusations about cattle rustling when
they know Miss Watson has papers for her cattle, and threaten her
with hanging to run her out. But you don't care about any of that
because you don't want to know the truth. Well, I refuse to be
intimidated by Bothwell or any of the other members or your
prestigious stockmen's association, and I plan to write up exactly
what I just learned from Ralph Cole and the boy. It will come out
in the next issue of
The Town Tattler
." Priscilla folded her
arms and said nothing more.

***

Four hours later, Adam stepped into
The
Town Tattler
building to find Priscilla hunched over the comp
table while inserting ems upside down into the composing stick,
letter-by-letter, line-by-line. "What do you want?" she asked,
while transferring the ems in the composting stick to the
galley.

"To talk to you," Adam replied, certain she
wouldn't listen, wondering what to do next. She was playing a
dangerous game, toying with men who he was all but certain had been
behind at least some of the incidents that the homesteaders
related.

"Talk about what?" Priscilla asked, while
dropping an em into the composing stick to start another row of
type.

"What you're about to do."

Spotting a sheet of paper with what appeared
to be hastily written hand copy, which sat on the comp table beside
her, Adam picked it up and began to silently read:
It has come
to us from a reliable source that a woman named Ella Watson, who
has a claim on the Sweetwater River, has become a victim of
cattlemen who wish her to pull up stakes and leave the valley.
According to our source, Miss Watson was approached by Albert
Bothwell, owner of the 76 Ranch, to sell her place to him. It seems
Miss Watson's claim is in the middle of the cattle baron's best
grazing pasture. When Miss Watson refused, the
Cheyenne Daily
Leader
, which is owned and operated by the WSGA, began running
false stories, claiming that Miss Watson is a cattle rustler and a
prostitute...

The story went on to tell about Jim Averell
writing letters to the Casper Weekly Mail warning that Albert
Bothwell and his partners were involved in a land scam, and that
some members of the WCGA were filing illegal land claims with
moveable cabins, and perhaps someone should look into the legality
of these land claims, the editorial ending with the incident of the
skull and cross bones appearing on the doorstep.

"You can't do this," Adam said.

"Well the fact is, I am doing it," Priscilla
countered. "When I first arrived here I never intended for
The
Town Tattler
to take sides in the issue between the cattlemen
and homesteaders, but I'm in the thick of it now. If there's still
doubt as to which side
The Town Tattler
is on, this
editorial on Ella Watson and Jim Averell will make things crystal
clear. But in the editorial, I'm also inviting members of stock
growers association to look into the matter themselves and post a
response. Just because there are some bad eggs in the basket
doesn't mean they're all bad," she added. She transferred another
line of type from the composting stick to the galley.

Adam walked up behind her, put his hands on
her shoulders and said, "If you don't stop this for yourself, then
do it for me."

Priscilla turned on the tall stool to face
him, and said, "Why, because it puts you in a sticky position with
your voters and your friends at the Cheyenne Club?"

Adam tightened his hands on her shoulders.
"No, because I care about what happens to you," he said, looking
down at her, seeing the dogged intent in her eyes, knowing he was
making no headway. "I've known A.J. Bothwell for years, and he's
not a man to trifle with."

"That's exactly why I'm writing the
editorial," Priscilla said, with resolve. "It's time people stop
being intimidated by the man and take action against him and the
others. You're running for mayor. Why don't you tell them to stop
bullying people. They're running thousands of head of cattle on
thousands of acres of land. The homesteaders are only trying to
farm one-hundred-and-sixty acres each. They need to be left in
peace."

Realizing he was fighting a losing battle,
Adam decided on another approach. Pulling her to him, he kissed her
soundly, and at first she all but swooned in his arms while kissing
him back. Then abruptly, she pressed her palms against his chest
and said, "You can no longer manipulate me with kisses, Adam. The
lines between right and wrong when it comes to our physical
relation may be blurry at times, but the lines between right and
wrong when it comes to what the cattlemen are doing to the
homesteaders are distinct. Now if you'll excuse me, I want to
finish typesetting so I'll be ready to start printing as soon as my
order of Readyprint arrives, which will be on the stage due here
from Denver tomorrow."

"Then there's nothing more I can say or do to
stop you from cutting your own throat?" Adam asked.

Priscilla shook her head. "Nothing at all,"
she replied, then turned her back to him and started placing
another row of ems in the composing stick.

Adam mumbled a string of expletives under his
breath, then stalked out of the building, frustrated and worried
that Priscilla was so damn stubborn, but filled with admiration for
a woman who stood on her principles and refused to back down, even
in the face of adversity. If there was anything to what Ralph Cole
said about A.J Bothwell and the others involved in a land claim
scheme with moveable cabins, or in fabricating stories about Ella
Watson to demonize her in the eyes of the townsfolk, he intended to
look into that now.

Heading down the boardwalk in long,
determined strides, he went to join what remained of the stockmen's
meeting, which was underway at the Cheyenne Club. After the meeting
had adjoined, and while the men were sitting around the conference
table puffing on cigars and discussing what to do about the
homesteaders continuing to come in droves, Adam looked around at
the men, and said, "What's the story on Ella Watson?"

A.J. Bothwell was quick to reply, "Cattle
Kate? She's nothing but a cattle-rustling whore living up the
Sweetwater. She's been branding my mavericks and I aim to stop
her."

"What makes you think she's a whore?" Adam
asked.

Bothwell mouthed his cigar, while replying,
"Averell's her pimp. He runs a roadhouse and she services all the
cowboys in the area, swaps her favours for cattle. It's common
knowledge the woman's a prostitute."

"I was out at her place earlier today and
talked to her son and Averell's nephew and they claim she's being
confused with Kate Maxwell, a woman living in Bossomer, who's a
known prostitute around the army base there."

Bothwell glared at Adam, eyes hard as stone,
and said, "They're lying. Read the papers, Whittington. It's all
there. We'll be riding out there tomorrow to give her something to
think about, along with an alternative. Either sell out or get out.
She's robbing us blind, building up her herd from our stock, and
Averell's running a brothel and she's his whore. So you're either
with us, or against us, and we're giving you the chance to ride out
there with us and show us which side you're on. So what's it going
to be?"

Adam slowly scanned the faces of the men
around the table, then settled his gaze on A.J. Bothwell, and said,
"I'm not riding anywhere with a gang of vigilantes."

He turned and started for the door.

Bothwell called after him. "Your problem is
you've got a red-headed spinster in your bed who's also bedding
down with the homesteaders, figuratively speaking, and we've got
our sights on the woman. She's been nothing but trouble since she
first arrived in Cheyenne and we'll shut her down if we have to,
one way of another."

"Anyone of you goes near her and you'll be
hearing from me directly," Adam said. He walked out of the room. He
had no idea what the men had planned for Ella Watson, but he'd
shoot at close range anyone who threatened Priscilla. But Bothwell
had sent a clear message, and the fact was, if Priscilla printed
the editorial, she'd be just as much a target as Ella Watson.
Holding that thought, he knew he'd have to stop Priscilla, no
matter what it took. And he thought he knew exactly the way to do
it.

Climbing into the buggy, he gave the command
and headed for the ranch to get his horse. If he hurried, he could
bed down on the road from Denver for the night and intercept the
northbound stage before it reached Cheyenne tomorrow.

***

Priscilla stomped into
The Town
Tattler
building, slammed the door with force, and let out a
very unladylike expletive. Hearing the commotion, Abigail dashed in
from the backroom about the same time Libby came bounding down the
stairs. "What's wrong?" asked Libby.

Priscilla crossed her arms and paced the
floor. "The Readyprint wasn't on the stage," she said, agitated.
"The driver claimed that when he stopped to change horses, someone
must have taken the shipment off the stage. He didn't know it was
missing until this morning, when he started unloading."

"Why would someone take a shipment of
Readyprint?" Abigail asked.

"To stop me from printing the editorial about
Ella Watson," Priscilla said, feeling her fury rise as she
considered how completely trusting she'd been in urging Jeanette
Jamison to divulge her information.

"But, who would want to do that?" Libby
asked. "None of us here have said anything to anyone about the
editorial, not even to our beaus."

"It's clear who did it," Priscilla said. "And
I think I'll just pay Adam Whittington a visit right now."
Snatching up her reticule, she stormed out of the building, got on
her rover, and pedaled the few blocks to Adam's house on 17th
Street. When the butler opened the door, she marched into the
house, turned to face the man, and said, "I've come to see Lord
Whittington, Winslow. Is he in?"

The butler looked beyond her toward the
closed door to the library, and before he could answer, Priscilla
headed across the entry and swept open the door. Adam, who was
sitting at his desk bent over some paperwork, looked at her with a
start. "Is there a problem?" he asked, when she stood at his desk,
drumming her fingers against her folded arms.

"You know there is," she snapped. "Where is
it?"

"Where is what?" he asked.

"My Readyprint!"

Adam stood and came around the desk. "I have
no idea what you're talking about," he said. He walked past her and
shut the door to the room.

"Why did you do that?" Priscilla asked.

"So I could do this." He took her by the
shoulders and kissed her. Pressing her lips together firmly, she
refused to kiss him back. When he could not get a response from
her, he said, "We'll talk about this later."

"No, Adam, we won't because we have nothing
more to talk about. We are miles apart on two different sides of a
very important issue, and there will be absolutely no coming
together about this. Now, I want my Readyprint."

"I told you, I don't have it. But even if I
did, I wouldn't give it to you because you're playing with fire and
you're going to get burned."

"I'm not a little girl with matches, Adam. I
know exactly what I'm doing," Priscilla said, glaring at him. "I'm
getting ready to expose Albert Bothwell for what he is, and send a
warning to the others to leave the homesteaders alone. There are
enough of us here now to start a lot of trouble if we want."

"Us? You're not a homesteader, sweetheart,"
Adam said, peering down at her. "You're a newspaper woman who
refuses to listen to more than one side of the issue."

Priscilla hardened herself to Adam's
endearment. "As far as I'm concerned there is only one side of the
issue," she said. "I believe everything Ella Watson's son and Jim
Averell's nephew told us. The skull and bones are evidence that
they were not lying about any of it, and I intend for them to be
heard. I also plan to have Ella Watson come talk at the next Town
Tattler meeting and I'll be riding out there tomorrow to tell her.
And you don't have to worry about me riding out alone because I'll
have my pressman with me."

"Don't do this, honey." Adam reached for her
and she backed away.

"You can stop the sweet talk, Adam. I am
neither your honey nor your sweetheart," she said, struggling to
ignore his troubled eyes and the look of concern on his face, and
her desire to kiss him and feel his arms around her. But whatever
there had been between them was over. She could not align herself
with a man who could stand by and let hardworking people be bullied
by men he consorted with almost daily. "I should never have trusted
you with Jeanette Jamison's story, and I should never have let you
come with me to Ella Watson's place. The only reason you did was to
find out what I was up to so you could report back to your
associates and stop me."