Violence of the Mountain Man. William W. Johnstone

Why don’t me and you bet that thirty dollars on which one of us is the best? I could use an extra thirty.”

      “I don’t want to bet you,” Pearlie said.

      “Ha! I reckon you don’t. What you mean is, you don’t want to lose the money.”

      “No, I don’t want to lose the money,” Pearlie said.

      “Don’t know why you’d be so worried about losin’ thirty dollars,” Keno said. “Hell, bein’ as you and Cal are Jensen’s pets, you don’t get fired like the rest of us. You’ll get yourself another thirty come next month.”

      “We ain’t bein’ fired, Keno,” one of the other cowboys said. “We know’d comin’ in that this was a temporary job. All roundups are temporary jobs. Hell, that’s what cowboyin’ is all about.”

      “Yeah, so you say. But from the way I’m lookin’ at it, it is the same as bein’ fired,” Keno said. Then, turning his attention back to Pearlie, he continued his pitch. “All right, you don’t want to bet. At least shoot against me so I can prove I’m better.”

      Aiming at one of the empty cans that had been set up for a target, Keno pulled the trigger. He hit the can, knocking it into the air. Then he shot again, hitting the can a second time and knocking it farther back.

      “Can you do that?” Keno asked Pearlie.

      “Probably not,” Pearlie answered.

      “Ha! Then admit it, I’m better than you.”

      “We aren’t going to find out,” Pearlie said.

      “Yeah, well, I don’t blame you none,” Keno said as he blew the smoke away from the barrel of his now empty pistol, then began punching the empty shell casings out to replace them with fresh cartridges. “I mean, let’s face it. As long as you don’t shoot against me, you’ll have your puppy, Cal, convinced that you can beat me.”

      “It’s not something we’ll ever want to find out,” Pearlie said.

      “Oh? And why not?”

      “Because if we do find out—one of us will be dead,” Pearlie said flatly.

      Before Keno could respond, the ringing of an iron triangle called everyone back up to the lawn of the big house. There, two long tables had been set up under the arching aspen trees and were now loaded with dishes, eating utensils, and several large bowls of such things as beans, rice, corn, steaming tortillas, and cornbread. Juan and Carlos stood proudly by the glazed beef, carving off generous portions to serve the men.

      Pearlie filled his plate with beef.

      “Tell you what, Pearlie, why don’t you pass your plate around for the rest of to divide up, and you just eat the rest of the cow your own self?” one of the cowboys shouted. “Hell, we’d wind up gettin’ more meat that way.”

      The rest of the cowboys laughed at the tease.

      “Folks say you show a cook how much you enjoy their cookin’ by how much of their food you eat. I just don’t want Juan or Carlos thinkin’ I don’t appreciate them,” Pearlie said, and again, there was more good-natured laughter from the men.

      “Hey, Slim, what say you’n me head for California?” one cowboy asked another.

      “What for do you want to go to California?” Slim replied.

      “There’s gold out there. I read about it in a book. You can just go out there and pick it up off the ground, gold nuggets as big as pecans.”

      “I never heard of such a thing,” Slim said.

      “Tell ’im, Miz Sally,” the gold hunter said. “Tell ’im there’s gold out there. I know about it ’cause I read about it in a book. It’s called forty-niner.”

      Sally chuckled. “You’re partially right, Mickey, “she said. “Gold was discovered there in 1849—that’s where the term ‘forty-niner’ comes from. And there may still be some gold out there, but I doubt it is lying around on the ground like pecans.”

      “Yeah, well, I want to go anyway,” Mickey said. “What about it, Slim? You want to go with me?”

      “Sure, why not?” Slim replied. “There’s an ocean out there, ain’t there? I ain’t never seen me no ocean. I think I’d like to see one. They say it’s so big you can’t see the other side.”

      “Really?” Mickey said. “Well, now, I think I’d like to see that my own self.”

      As all the cowboys and the permanent hands continued to enjoy their meal, Smoke stood up and tapped his spoon against the glass in an attempt to get everyone’s attention.

      When it appeared that he wasn’t succeeding, Cal put his fingers to his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle.

      Around the tables, all conversation and laughter stopped as everyone looked toward Smoke.

      Smoke laughed. “Thank you, Cal, for that whistle.”

      The others laughed.

      “I want to thank all of you, cowboys and ranch hands, for helping to make Sugarloaf one of the most successful ranches in the entire state.”

      “State? In the entire West!” Cal shouted, and the others mouthed their own agreement with the statement.

      “Now that the seasonal employment is over, many of you will be going on to other things, and I wish you all the best and hope that you can all come back to ride for us again next spring. And now, I think Sally has something to say.”

      “I hope so,” one of the cowboys shouted good-naturedly. “She’s a lot easier on the eyes than you are.” Again, the others laughed.

      Sally stood up then, still smiling at the cowboy’s comment.

      “As I’m sure you know, I run a school here on the ranch for the children of our permanent hands. Maria Rodriguez is one of my students. She is only nine years old, but already she is exceptionally talented as a flamenco dancer, and I thought you might enjoy watching her. Pearlie?”

      Pearlie and Cal had brought another table up, and now Pearlie helped the young girl onto it. Maria was wearing a low-crowned black hat, and her dark hair hung in curls down her back. Her costume consisted of a white ruffled shirt, a black beaded vest, and a long flared red skirt. She was holding castanets, and she held her hands up, jutted out her hip, then looked over at the guitarist and nodded.

      The guitarist started playing, a weaving, single-string melody that worked up and down the scale, all the while providing a strong rhythmic beat from the lower register. To the accompaniment of the guitar, Maria danced, whirling and dipping so that her wide skirt spun out and her hair tossed from side to side. Her booted feet beat a loud staccato on the table and the castanets clicked in counterpoint. Everyone watched her, transfixed by the talent and beauty of the young girl. Then, with a crescendo, the music ended and Maria curtsied.

      Maria was cheered and applauded by all, but none so loud as the cowboys, who added loud whistles to their applause. Maria looked over toward Sally, then smiled in appreciation at Sally’s reaction to her performance.

      Finally, with the dinner ended and the ladies of the ranch cleaning up, the cowboys who were leaving mounted their horses, then gathered near the porch, where Smoke stood to bid them all good-bye.

      “Boys,” he said. “I want you to know this. If the going gets too hard for you come winter, you are more than welcome to come back here. I won’t have any work for you to do, but if all you need is food for your bellies, a place to keep warm, and a pillow to lay your head, you’ve got it at Sugarloaf.”

      “Thanks, Boss,” one of the cowboys said. “I’ll see you next spring.”

      With a shout, the cowboy spurred his horse and galloped away, followed by all the other temporary hands. Smoke and Sally waved to them from the porch, and