Taken By A Texan. Lass Small

explained, “I didn’t really notice.” Tom was gently turning his head, looking around. “Then there was such a choice! I thought I had the time.”

      “Men are greedy.”

      “Yeah.”

      There was a thoughtful silence. Then his dad advised, “You better get to looking farther for other women and get serious. Men snatch them up awful quick.”

      “Do you suppose the magic She will come out here on a limping horse?”

      “Who’s that?”

      “Mama did it for you. Think there’s a woman who could cotton to me?”

      His daddy frowned as he studied his son. Still frowning, he observed, “You got all the parts. You look good. You seem smart enough. I think you’re a catch. You be careful you get a good woman. Don’t get panicked and bring in a shrew.”

      “I’ll try not to.”

      “Yeah.” His daddy watched his son for a full minute. Then he sighed and mounted his horse. He asked, “Coming?”

      Tom came out of his thoughtfulness and looked up at his father. “Hmmm?”

      “What you thinking, boy?” His voice was gentle.

      “I think I’ll go over to the prairie dog kingdom and see how the dog is doing. He might be lonesome.”

      “Go by the house and take Queenie along.”

      Tom had been pensive. But as his daddy’s words soaked in, he smiled a tad and he said, “Right.”

      

      Tom watched as his father moseyed off on his horse. The dogs chose to go with his dad.

      Tom went to his own horse and took up the reins. He looked at the horse and indicated the bunch leaving them as he asked Oscar, “You that easy?”

      The horse blew through his loose lıps in disgust at such a question, then walked on off with his burden.

      So at the ranch house yard, Tom whistled for Queenie. Think of a dog having such a name. It must irritate the hell out of her. They’d labeled her Queenie while Tom was gone, so he hadn’t had any part of the naming. But she was now used to being called such a name.

      It was rather apologetically that Tom called to Queenie. She came with curiosity. That was the best part of her. She was endlessly curious. If something went into a hole, she watched, but she looked around to see if there was an exit hole. She was an unusually smart dog.

      Tom told the other dogs to run along, but he took Queenie. He closed the gate so that the other couple of dogs stayed where they were supposed to be.

      It didn’t take forever to get out to where the prairie dogs lived. The holes were many and the ground was bare and hilly from their digging.

      As soon as they approached the prairie dog mound, the dog was there. It was the dog that Kayla Davie Fuller had bought from the dogfight pit and one of those given to Tom to find a home.

      The dog was not a family dog or even a barn dog. It was a loner. However, the dog did notice Queenie quite avidly. He ignored the human and the horse and was zeroed in on the female dog. She wagged her tail and her smile was big.

      Off a way, Tom stepped down from the saddle and watched, not intruding. Queenie obviously communicated with the big, mended dog, who had fighting scars and healed rips. She was impressed. The big dog moved and watched her watch him. She continued her pleased smile.

      The two looked at the prairie dog hill. The dog in charge apparently told her why he was there. That he was invaluable in keeping the rodents under some control.

      She apparently was curious. So after several serious tries, he caught her a prairie dog and gave it to her, laying it before her.

      Queenie was intently curious. She sniffed the gift, and it flipped over to run! The male caught it again! It wasn’t dead! He’d given Queenie a live one.

      Tom watched, absolutely fascinated. How amazing to realize what the male dog was doing to impress the female. How typical of all males to show off, and willingly be the slave of a female. After she’d eaten the little creature, the dog took Queenie to a small rill that emptied into a bigger stream down a ways.

      She lapped the water. She looked at the male dog and then lapped some more. She had indicated to her host that the water was good.

      There was no difference between the males of all species. The male courted the female in the very similar ways of all males. They all communicated.

      After a time, Tom went to his horse, mounted and turned it slowly to go back to the ranch house. He went diagonally, at first, so that he could look back at the dogs.

      . Queenie saw that he was leaving. She watched but since he did not call to her, she didn’t feel committed to follow. She turned alertly to the male dog and her smile was big.

      The male dog stood with his head up and his neck stretched, watching after the human on the horse. Then he turned and looked at the bitch. He smiled. She moved and flirted and played around the big dog.

      He sat and laughed.

      

      Tom left knowing that delivering Queenie to the isolated dog had been a good thing. The fact that he’d supplied another male with a handy, willing female was balm to his own lonely feelings. Tom had helped a male to a life of better interest. And apparently Queenie hadn’t minded at all.

      Then Tom wondered who in the world had named that female dog...Queenie? When the two dogs met just what real name had she’d given as hers to the male and what real name had the male supplied as his?

      For some reason, Tom turned his horse away from the direction of the ranch and toward the stream. There he allowed his horse to drink rather slowly and quite a bit. He encouraged it as he went upstream and also drank water. The man and his horse were oddly silent and watchful.

      The horse kept looking up and to a certain spot. He blew his lips as he watched and lifted his head higher.

      Tom glanced around the area and was aware they were very alone. Then he noticed the attention of the horse, and he looked out and away. He saw nothing to cause the horse to give such attention.

      Then Tom saw a dot in the distance that was a dog. With a deep breath and using his fingers in his mouth, he whistled the ranch double whistle for dogs at that distance, and the dog came his way. Tom noticed it had come from some distance, and that it was not one of the ranch dogs. It was the human whistle that caught the dog’s attention. It walked oddly.

      Tom told the horse, “Steady.”

      Although it wasn’t yet summer, the dog could have rabies. Sick dogs generally left home. Or he could be lost. And he could be a calf killer. The approaching creature could be just about anything.

      The man and the horse looked other places, to keep track of the area, but they were for the most part concentrated on the approaching dog.

      Because of the waterless area beyond, Tom didn’t go to meet the dog. If it had come across that stretch of barren land, it would be thirsty, and there was water close to where Tom was standing.

      The dog could smell it. He was urgent to turn back, but the water lured him on. And Tom remembered that he and the horse had drunk especially—for a reason. Was there a person out there on the flat, alone? In danger? Harmed? Where would he be? She?

      With more intentness, Tom watched the approaching dog. So did the horse. The dog was coming from a bleak area. The land was used to graze cattle—on occasion—depending on how the weather had been, which year. If it’d been wet, there’d be enough growth for a herd, if it had been dry, other places were used. Beyond, the land was fragile.

      When the dog came to the water, it was still some distance from where Tom stood. It walked into the water and lapped carefully.

      To gulp water immediately