Wyoming Wildfire (53 page)

Brutus was a big, lumbering mix of several kinds of dog, Great Dane seeming to be the most prominent among them. He had the speed to chase down a wolf and the strength to kill it, and there wasn’t a cow or steer on the prairie that would dispute with him. An amazingly ugly dog, he was fiercely loyal and no one doubted his willingness to defend Burch with his last drop of blood. Several times during the day he stopped test the wind, but he did no more than wag his tail and turn back to Burch.

“What is it, boy?” Burch asked Brutus who, sniffing the wind once more after finishing with his own dinner, lay down next to his master and eyed the meat on the spit. “Not one slice! You’ve already had enough for two of your kind.” Again Brutus stared into the night and whined. “I wish you could talk. Whatever’s out there may not bother you, but it’s starting to make me real jittery.” The venison was soon done and Burch ate his meal in silence. Brutus either forgot what was lurking in the dark, or it went away; when he couldn’t coax Burch into feeding him a second time, he dozed peacefully near the fire.

Brutus’s unconcern didn’t make Burch feel any safer, and when it came time to go to bed, he didn’t feel at all comfortable about lying down. He hobbled Silver Birch, who was foraging hungrily on grass uncovered by the melting snow; Montana hadn’t suffered as severely from the thought as Wyoming, and Burch didn’t want him to wander too far before morning.

“I can’t stay up all night,” Burch muttered to himself when he couldn’t think of any more reasons to put off going to bed, but even as he lay down, he knew he wouldn’t be able sleep. A sixth sense warned him that danger was still present, and instinctively he knew he was its intended prey. Brutus still lay by the fire, eyes closed and his great head resting on his paws, but the ears stood erect and the wet black nose seemed to twitch automatically at regular intervals. Burch knew there could be no better guardian of his rest, and he lay down to sleep.

It was Brutus’s whine that woke him. The dog was on his feet, staring expectantly into the surrounding darkness. The dying embers cast no light and only the most probing eye could detect the outline of the great beast and the darker human shape nearby. A crack of rifle fire, quickly followed by another, broke the stillness as a spurt of flame showed in the distance. Burch’s bedroll, thrown high in the air, was ripped to pieces, the debris Burch had used to stuff it raining to the ground for a radius of twenty yards.

“After him, Brutus!” Burch shouted. “Bring him down.” A murderous curse knifed through the dark, and the ground near where Burch lay hidden was torn by scattered shots; then came the sound of horses’s hooves in retreat. Brutus needed no extra encouragement and sprang into the inky blackness, heart-stopping growls issuing from his massive throat, cougar-size fangs bared and dripping the saliva of hate. Burch was on his feet, too, and had the hobbles off his horse in seconds. He had recognized Jesse’s voice and was determined he wouldn’t escape this time.

Somewhere in the distance the rhythmic sound of hooves was broken. Brutus had pulled down a bull once; Burch wondered if he was big enough to pull down a horse. Two more shots, and then the hooves resumed their rhythmic retreat. A cold fear clutched at Burch’s stomach. He threw himself on Silver Birch’s bare back and kicked him into a gallop. He couldn’t hear any sound over the noise of his own mount’s galloping hooves, but he didn’t need any to know that Jesse would not have ridden away if Brutus had still been on his feet.

Silver Birch sensed he was to follow the path Brutus had taken, and it was not long before they came upon a shape sprawled awkwardly on the prairie. Burch slid from the back of his still-moving mount and knelt down beside his canine friend.

Brutus lay on his side, his eyes half closed with pain and his breath coming in gasps. Burch carefully felt his limbs. They were unbroken, but when he ran his hand across the heaving chest, it came away clammy with warm blood. “The bastard!” cursed Burch. “The bloody, bitching bastard! And you didn’t warn me because you thought he was your friend.” Burch picked up his dog, nearly staggering under his weight, and started back toward camp. The long walk over nettles, sharp rocks and patches of snow turned his bare feet into a bloody mess, the weight of Brutus nearly ripping the tendons from his bones, but he could not let his friend die in the darkness.

Once settled near the fire and the coals made to dance with flames, Brutus opened his eyes. They were filled with pain, but not the clouded, dim gaze of death. An attempt to move was quickly abandoned with an agonizing yelp, but Burch began to hope. If the bullet passed through him clean, there was a chance he would pull through. He opened his saddlebags and began to take out various salves and ointments.

“You’re not going to like what I’m about to do, old fella; in fact, it’s not going to seem the least bit friendly, so if you don’t mind I’ll just tape these jaws of your shut.” Brutus
didn’t
like anything that happened to him during the next hour, and Burch would have been in a sad way himself if Brutus could have gotten his jaws open. “That ought to hold you,” Burch said at last. He felt his throat close, and he swallowed convulsively several times. “We have a score to settle, old man, but first you’ve got to hang on.”

Sibyl stood back to get a better look at the windmill. A smile broke up the seriousness of her expression as the wheel, not yet attached to a pump, slowly began to turn in the breeze. Three weeks had passed since she had come back from Lasso’s, and still Burch had not returned.

She filled the lonely hours with days of hard work and evenings of making plans. She drew up a guide for an extensive orchard and completely reorganized the garden. The farm buildings were reallocated to make their use more efficient, and one of the smaller storage buildings had been turned into a cabin for Rachel and Ned.

They can’t be going back to Rachel’s place every night” Sibyl told Balaam when he turned obstinate about the extra work. The only other thing we could do would be for you to share your cabin with them.”

“Well, I ain’t going to share with no female, so don’t think it,” he stated indignantly. With the garden, the cow, the pigs, and the chickens under his jealous care, the crusty old bachelor was an important man at the Elkhorn once again and he was ready to trade upon his advantage.

Another bedroom was newly papered, and Sibyl was only waiting for the weather to warm up before setting the men to whitewashing some of the buildings. She was still trying to decide what color she wanted to paint the house.

“I don’t see why you’re bothering with paint,” said Balaam, his sense of manly pride outraged by her well-organized neatness. “Any man who claps eyes on this ranch painted brighter than a dance hall girl is going to think we’re a bunch of sissies,” he said, revolted. “I won’t be able to hold my head up”

“At least then we won’t be forced to look at your ugly face,” Ned said, setting Balaam off on a tirade.

“That’s enough,” Rachel said when she saw Sibyl’s brow begin to crease. “You can have my cabin, Balaam. It ought to be plain enough for you.”

“It reeks females,” Balaam replied contemptuously.

“Better that than sweat and cow dung,” Sibyl snapped, out of patience. The long wait was stretching her nerves to the limits. She tried not to show it, but the others were acutely aware that she jumped at the sound of an approaching horse and could be found staring out at the purple hills several times each day.

“You can start sinking the well tomorrow,” she told Ned.

“If the weather holds out.” The rising wind was blowing banks of dark clouds across the sky. “We might be in for some rain.” The wheel whirled faster and faster as the rudder jerked about in the erratic gusts.

“A gully washer,” Balaam said.

“The creek and ponds are already full,” Ned said with great satisfaction. “With them and this windmill, we’ll have more water than we can use come summer.”

“If God had wanted water to come shooting up out of the ground, he’d have put a hole there himself,” muttered Balaam irritably.

“Don’t be such an old fool,” Ned told him. “It beats hauling it up from the creek.”

“And you won’t have to carry water for your garden, either.” Sibyl could see that thought hadn’t occurred to Balaam.

“You mean there’ll be something left over after those greedy cows of his get through filling their bellies?” he asked caustically. He had never accepted the fact that sole responsibility for the prized herd had been given to Ned.

“There ought to be enough for a pig wallow even,” Ned taunted.

“You two can abuse each other as much as you like when I’m not around, but if I have to put up with any more of ths now, you’ll have to fix your own supper.”

The combatants glared at each other but set about their work without any more squabbling.

“You couldn’t have found a better way to keep those two peaceful,” remarked Rachel as she accompanied Sibyl back to the house. “Ned won’t say anything about my cooking and Mr. Randall did his best to swallow it, but the whole time you were gone Balaam never stopped moaning that I was trying to poison him.”

“If he said half of what I suspect he said, you should have.”

“He’s a cross-grained old cuss, but I don’t pay any attention to him. Some men just don’t like women, and I guess he’s one of them.”

Chapter 36

Sibyl was almost through setting the table when Jesse walked in unannounced.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “Everybody’s been looking for you.” She gave him no more than a brief glimpse before going about her work, and she missed the nervous, almost furtive glance he cast about the room. “Have you seen Burch?”

“Not lately,” he replied, brightening immediately. “Where is everybody?”

“Rachel has gone to get Ned and Balaam. You’re just in time for dinner. When did you last see Burch?”

“Several weeks ago.”

“Where?”

“Over the other side of the ridge. He was riding line during the blizzard.”

“But that was almost two months ago.”

“I guess it was.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“I haven’t had much chance, what with him traipsing off after you and then heading off to Montana. Somebody has to make sure things keep going around here.”

Sibyl wondered at the sudden show of hostility; it was much more than momentary annoyance, and Burch was not one to thoughtlessly anger his employees.

“What you need,” Jesse continued, “is a husband to help take care of this place.”

“Burch takes care of it just fine.”

Jesse was obviously upset about something, and his ire could not be defused so easily. “Don’t let him fool you with his show of running about doing nothing. He spends weeks at his hunting, and once he marries Emma Stratton, he won’t be here much in between. You can bet your last petticoat that Emma will see to that. No hot, dusty old ranch for Miss Stratton.”

Sibyl was dismayed at the sudden weakness in her knees, but forced herself to continue as though his words were not lapping at the foundations of her already shaky confidence.

“Did Burch tell you he was going to marry Miss Stratton?”

“I’m not blind. After the way he acted during Christmas, everybody’s got to know his intentions. If his uncle hadn’t left half this place to you, he’d have married her long ago.”

There was such a strong vein of fierce hatred in Jesse’s voice that Sibyl involuntarily looked up in surprise.

“I gather his Virginia trip wasn’t any use. You still haven’t sold your share of the ranch, have you?”

“I have no intention of selling it to Burch or anyone else.”

“Then the sooner you get married, the safer you’ll be.”

Jesse had never talked or acted this way, and Sibyl didn’t understand it. He was gradually becoming more and more enraged until the naked hatred in his eyes almost took her breath away. However, when Rachel returned with Ned and Balaam he seemed to re-collect himself, and sat down to eat without any further outbursts.

Everyone kept questioning Jesse about Burch until he lost his temper and said sharply, “I haven’t seen Burch for weeks, and what’s more, I didn’t want to see him.”

“I don’t guess he’s over-anxious to set eyes on you neither, but that’s no call to act uncivil at the table,” Balaam shot right back.

Nevertheless, they dropped the subject and asked about the herds instead. A full account of the sometimes heroic efforts of the men captured everyone’s interest, and Sibyl never noticed that Rachel didn’t contribute a single word to the discussion.

“Your haystacks have been the key to everything,” Jesse said generously as he accepted a third cup of coffee. “With all this thawing and freezing, the cows would never have been able to get to the hay if we’d left it uncut.”

“Does everyone agree with you?” Sibyl asked.

“It’s not a matter of agreement, everyone
knows.
What with paying the boys wages all winter and providing them with plenty to eat, you’re about the most popular female this side of the Mississippi.”

Later, they all gathered around the fire, the men enjoyed their tobacco and everyone another cup of coffee, while the talk ranged from spring roundup to next year’s calves. When the coffee ran out, Rachel got up to fix another pot.