Two Trails to Judith
By Dexter C. McPhersonAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Dexter C. McPherson
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4389-7159-9Contents
DEDICATION....................................................ixNOTES.........................................................xiACKNOWLEDGMENTS...............................................xiiiPREFACE.......................................................xvCHAPTER 1 INFATUATION.........................................1CHAPTER II TRAGEDY & TRANSFORMATION...........................21CHAPTER III FOUR, THREE, TWO..................................38CHAPTER IV AND THEN THERE WAS ONE.............................50CHAPTER V GETTIN' ACQUAINTED..................................70CHAPTER VI THE ROAD HOME......................................80CHAPTER VII TOUGH WAY TO MEET.................................94CHAPTER VIII REALITY & MATURITY...............................110CHAPTER IX SURPRISES..........................................136CHAPTER X THE TEST............................................160CHAPTER XI BIRTH OF A DYNASTY AND A CHILD.....................172CHAPTER XII THE CLEANSING.....................................183CHAPTER XIII CLASH OF CULTURES................................193CHAPTER XIV SHADES OF RED AND SCARLET.........................202EPILOGUE......................................................234
Chapter One
INFATUATION
Crude, disrespectful laughter jolted Clayton McMahon from his reverie.
Clayton idly walked his mount down the dusty main street of Moccasin, pulling abreast of the Blue Bull Saloon. Three men lounged against a railing in front of the weathered board-and-batt exterior. Now, eying the men from beneath the lowered brim of his Stetson, he could plainly see that the raucous laughter was, indeed, directed at him.
As he turned to face them, the two in shabby range garb leered back in obvious contempt. The third man, dressed in a neat black suit with pant legs tucked into shiny riding boots, was familiar to Clayton. The dark-haired man turned to his two seedy companions and spoke sharply, but inaudibly, whereupon the three turned and entered the saloon, one of the men looking over his shoulder, sneer still in place.
The Stetson shaded Clayton's rusty hair, which crowned a lithe six-foot frame. Deep blue eyes squinted in concentration as he rubbed a hand across his freckled and sunburned nose. Wide shoulders erect as he rode easily astride his sturdy pinto, he pondered the unusual confrontation.
Just troublemakers wanting to push an unarmed man into a fight? It didn't make sense. There were many sheep men, miners, and sodbusters who frequented Moccasin, Montana daily as they went about their business and pleasures. Why single out an inconspicuous cowboy to taunt today?
Clayton could not rationalize the strange behavior. He had seen the well-dressed man around town several times during the past week. Marvin Quessing had told him the man spent most of his time at the poker table and seemed to do well, winning steadily from many of those who played against him, including Marvin, who said the talk around town was that the man cheated but no one had caught him at it.
Clayton had met the man face-to-face only once as he entered the bank to see Bonnie. Bryce, as he was known, had looked Clayton straight in the eyes as if curious, but there didn't seem to be any animosity or recognition. The black eyes, set in a handsome, dark-skinned face, seemed questioning in their directness.
Was the man someone from the past also struggling to place Clayton McMahon? Clayton searched his memories. Someone from his rowdy days as a young man in the Dakotas; his brief fling as a deputy sheriff in Rapid City where he had dogged a wanted killer south to Texas? In a showdown, he had outdrawn and killed that man.
The systematic track down of the outlaw and Clayton's courage in facing up to a known gunman had made him a hero in Texas-so impressive that the fledgling Texas Rangers had offered him a job with the agency. He had spent five years as a ranger. Now he sifted through the many faces of outlaws, cattle rustlers and killers for some resemblance to the man or his two sidekicks. Nowhere in his past could he recall the three.
Clayton knew the possibility of someone with an old hatred recognizing him as one who had wreaked justice on a miserable soul and would want revenge, but he had resigned himself to living with that. He always carried a carbine in his saddle scabbard but had laid aside the gun belt and pistols over a year ago. He did sometimes wonder how he would react if challenged at close range. Still, a peaceful rancher should not have to carry a sidearm, Clayton reasoned.
Returning to more tender and pleasant thoughts, he savored the warm satisfaction that comes to one who has finally reaped a return from years of hard labor and difficult times. The sale of the first beef shipment had gone well and prices had been good.
Bonnie had bestowed a look of pride upon him as he cashed the check and made the deposit, all but enough to pay off faithful old Curly and a little cash for supplies. Maybe now he could convince Bonnie she needn't work at the bank any longer and should move out to the C-Bar-M for good. His heart ached so for her those five days a week she stayed in town, coming out to the ranch only on weekends.
His lips still burned from the emotional kiss they had shared outside the bank doors as he left. He did not recall any kiss like that in their brief marriage of six months but Clayton reasoned it was a good sign that things were looking up.
Many a young lady had been attracted by Clayton's good looks, easy manner, and ready smile, but he had always been able to slip from their grasp, leaving them heartbroken, although still friendly. What was it about this dark-haired, olive-skinned girl that had suddenly captivated his heart above all others?
He had first met Bonnie when he went to the bank one day, immediately stunned by her beauty and grace. Dark laughing eyes set in a lovely face; full, expressive lips below high cheekbones, all framed by shining black hair that fell in soft waves below her shoulders. Clayton was sure Bonnie was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen or would ever see again.
Haunted by this beautiful girl, Clayton knew he must see her again soon. The next day he moped around, accomplishing little meaningful work. By noontime he knew he just had to see her again. He idly announced to Curly that the gate hinges he had ordered should be in so he might as well ride into town and maybe just stay for the Friday night dance.
Curly looked up curiously from his plate, surveying Clayton intently and shrugged. "Well, you just as well bein' you ain't getting' nothin' done around here anyhow, but what's the damn rush? Those hinges won't run off on you."
"I know, but I'm just not in the mood to ante in today. Maybe a couple days off will do me good, huh?"
"Hell, I don't know, I ain't been your age for a long time but as I recall, I always worked my ass off just to keep my belly from collapsin'. Didn't have much time to go dancin' and that kinda' crap, but I guess things is different now."
Not another word was spoken as they finished their meal, but as Clayton got up to leave, he took a glance at Juanita standing in the kitchen door and the knowing smile on her face told him she had a shrewd insight that her husband lacked.
As he headed for town, Clayton didn't try to hold Shoshone back as the spirited pinto cantered past neighboring ranches-where he usually stopped for a chat-and right into the main drag of Moccasin.
He went directly to the bank and Bonnie's window on the a pretense of drawing out some cash. His face burned as he found the courage to invite her to the dance.
To his amazement, she accepted, making him the envy of all the bachelors as they danced every dance. His head reeled in silly giddiness as he smelled the light fragrance of her hair and felt the lithe slenderness of her body against him.
The courtship had been short and sweet with Clayton floating on air when she said "Yes" to his proposal. He rented a buggy that day and she visited the ranch for the first time.
Bonnie seemed delighted with the ranch in general but said, "That house needs a lady's touch and I'm just the one can do those things."
When Clayton gently explained to her that all those changes she planned would cost money they didn't have, Bonnie pursed her lips in silence. That was when she announced she could stay on at the bank for a while and save her income for the new curtains, chiffonniers, bed, and other items on a long list.
Juanita looked sharply at Bonnie in a way Clayton had never seen before. Although they both had the same kind of dark beauty and there was even a similarity in the soft slight accent of speech, he felt the older woman did not approve of Bonnie, but as in the way of a man in love, Clayton assured himself that it would all change once they were married and both living on the ranch. How could anybody not love this beautiful creature, given time to know her?
Curly maintained a patient aloofness throughout the courtship, even though Clayton's attentions in town had shifted more of the workload on the old man. He made only one comment after the wedding, "Mebbe' we'll get some work done around here now, but it'd be a shuck better if'n she was here all the time to help with the cookin' and ..." He dropped the subject in mid sentence as he caught the glint of resentment in Clayton's blue eyes.
Clayton had known Curly was right and that he had been forced to, more or less, take over management of the C-Bar-M once Clayton had lost his heart to Bonnie. Because of this, the resentment was short-lived and Curly had never volunteered any other opinions on the subject.
Juanita, who had longed to have children of her own, quite openly treated Clayton as a son and he also developed a warm love for the kind and doting lady.
She remarked once, "I guess old numb nuts came down in the wrong way too many times while breakin' broncs and just couldn't make babies no more. It wasn't cause we didn't try though."
Juanita accepted Bonnie's weekends at the ranch cordially enough but Clayton had noticed how she studied Bonnie at times as if trying to recall a person from her past. He also noticed, when she was unaware, a look of worry on her face from time-to-time.
It brought back memories of a similar look on another woman's tired face when, as a young lad, he had announced he was leaving home to find a life in the west. Sometimes at night the hurt in the eyes of both ladies returned to awaken Clayton, trembling and aching inside.
Those times he would get up and dive into chores with wild abandon. Such recollections, coupled with the ache in his heart to have Bonnie near, made further sleep impossible. An early breakfast, coffee and work often helped ease such frustrations.
As Clayton resumed his way out of town, the memory of Bonnie's touch and kisses, and how she would yield her warm, searching body to him when they were together as man and wife, rendered him completely oblivious to the riders, wagons, stores, and bars he passed. Those hot, moist tissues and soft eager hands that guided him into the union that made them as one for the first time sent imagination reeling wildly. The coming weekend with her at the ranch promised to be exciting, indeed, and his heart pounded in anticipation.
There would also be a time to talk about her becoming a fulltime ranch wife and leaving the dull little room she rented from Mrs. Calahan.
As he neared the edge of town, Clayton reined Shoshone to a halt as a buxom lady, gray hair braided into a bun, waved and called from the door of a small shop.
"Yoohoo, Mr. McMahon, hold up a minute."
Clayton turned his spirited horse to the cramped boardwalk and swept the battered Stetson from his head with a flourish. "Afternoon, Mrs. Byrd. You're lovely as ever."
"Now you stop that foolishness, Clayton, this is business. That pink satin you picked out for Bonnie's new dress is here and I'll get started sewing right away. Bonnie won't need to know about it because I can use Kalee, the Blackfoot girl who works for me, as a model. They're just the same size and build, but I still don't see why you spoil her with such a dress for a six-month wedding anniversary present. Heavens, any woman should be happy with less than this, even after a year. I hope she appreciates it."
Startled by the woman's sudden harsh voice, Clayton looked down into her clear blue eyes that seemed to reflect worry, then quickly softened to a look of affection as she said, "Don't worry, I'll have it done by Thursday and you can pick it up then."
Clayton quickly forgot Mrs. Byrd's harsh words as he pictured his wife in the new gown. The vision of her young, firm breasts filling the bodice, long black tresses spilling down the open back over olive skin sent his mind wandering again to manly needs when he pictured her dark eyes flashing with delight as she came to his embrace.
The sun was just sinking behind the Little Belts as Clayton drew abreast of the Q2 ranch. The Quessing boys had been good neighbors and they seldom passed each others spreads without stopping for a chat.
Rob was the most business-like of the two Quessings. Of course he had a jovial wife, Doreen, to keep his mind at home. He stayed pretty much on the spread and tended to ranching, while younger Marvin, although hard working when things needed done, was not beyond a drink or two or a good poker game when he could get to town.
As he turned the pinto into the Q2, Clayton could see Doreen's smiling face peering between two polka dot curtains and then turn toward the living-room where he knew she would welcome him at the door with a big hug.
"Clayton McMahon! What are you doing headin' home so late? You're sure lucky you've got Curly and Juanita to look after the place while you're gone. What you need is a woman who'll stay with you and help make a home for you. Say, just when is Bonnie going to quit that piddling job at the bank and join you on the C-Bar-M? Soon, I hope."
Knowing Doreen as a big hearted, but extremely frank woman, who would not purposely hurt anyone, least of all him, Clayton replied, "You're just like all these country gals, Doreen, you just got to have your man right under your bossy nose all the time or you're insecure. Nosy too, so I just as well tell you. I'm going to convince Bonnie this weekend on our anniversary, six months that is, to quit the bank and move to the ranch. No need for her to work anymore. We got a good bank account and a good crop of yearlings comin' on. Ain't no reason we can't live like you'd want us to now."
"Well, glory be, I'm sure happy for you. Now you just set down while I pour some coffee and then I'll go holler for Rob. He's out around the feed shed somewhere."
A lanky redhead with a big smile, Rob Quessing popped Doreen on the rump as he entered the kitchen to grab Clayton's hand. "You must have done good on your herd from the smug look on your face. We're all done with roundup and are gonna' have some good stock to market too. We'll run 'em in next week if Marvin will get his butt back here in time. He and the others lit out for town as soon as we was done cuttin' and brandin'."
"If you need a hand, let me know Rob. Me an Curly can help. Glad to lend a hand anytime."
"Yeah, might do that. This is the biggest bunch we've ever had. Fat and sassy and wilder'n hell."
Although the Quessings always made it painful to leave them, Clayton knew he had best return to the C-Bar-M. It was now dusk and the four miles yet to go would be largely a ride in the dark.
A ride home in the dark was not uncommon for ranchers in this remote area of Montana but Clayton wanted to get the pay owed Curly and Juanita to them as soon as possible. Tomorrow would be their day to do shopping in Moccasin and he'd have to be up early to feed and turn out the riding stock, feed chickens and milk the old Durham cow Juanita kept for milk.
Clayton was extremely grateful for the warmth the old horse wrangler and his charming wife had brought to an otherwise ordinary cattle ranch. Just to be in their presence was like backing up to a red, potbellied stove on a cold winter day.
Curly had started as a boy in Missouri and slowly worked his way west to Texas, always near horses, finally becoming a top-rate bronc buster and remuda boss. He met Juanita, as a beautiful French-Mexican girl in Austin and promptly won her hand.
When the trail drives started north from Texas to Kansas, Dakota, and later to Montana, Curly and Juanita became widely known for their individual skills-she as an excellent trail cook and baker, Curly as a wrangler, remuda boss and later as trail boss, but as the years and miles piled up, they longed for roots and a home.
They both fell in love with Montana and the endless miles of waving grass, where, Curly opined: "Longhorns grow fat as Swedish milk maids, while in Texas they have to pick shit with the chickens." When they had occasion to deliver the first small herd Clayton had purchased for starter stock, the meeting turned out to be a God-send for all.
Not having ready cash to pay his new employees, Clayton had offered a house of their own, a small monthly income and ten percent of each sale of beef, half in cash and half in shares in the ranch. Curly and Juanita cheerfully accepted-an agreement Clayton was increasingly grateful for.
Curly would brush off questions about their last name with a wry smile and the comment that, "He wasn't borned, he was hatched on a stump in the sun." Taking Clayton into confidence one day, Juanita whispered that their last name was a rather embarrassing Wilphart and Curly had absorbed so much ribbing about it that they no longer revealed it except on legal papers. Clayton vowed never to use or reveal their secret and Juanita smiled broadly.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Two Trails to Judithby Dexter C. McPherson Copyright © 2009 by Dexter C. McPherson. Excerpted by permission.
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